Non Practising Zennist

Mint Juleps

2009-05-28T17:31:00.001-07:00

Recently went to visit Disneyland, and couldn't help but stop by the fake French Quarter to get some Mint Juleps (no alcohol, naturally!). The mint juleps are in the back corner window by the bathrooms beneath the train stop near the Pirates of the Caribbean. Sucking down the fake julep, I was pleasantly transported back to a N'awluns pre-Katrina trip I had taken.

We had gone on one of those tour buses that take you out to a manor on the plantation and you're supposed to be so interested in life and slavery in the old days that you love to look at a bunch of old stuff laying around and marvel at the greens. In this case, the only interesting aspect of the whole tour was the long road way covered with the huge Oak trees.

After the tour and before the bus would leave again, we browsed the shop and considered eating at the restaurant, but decided against it. We did, however, buy the $5 Mint Juleps (leaded, alcohol!) and I particularly asked for no ice. That raised some eyebrows (I hate ice, stop looking at me funny) but I certainly enjoyed it. Needless to say, I was quite refreshed and jolly for many hours.

Later in the same trip, we had stopped at some bar and I ordered a mint julep. It was served in a huge tumbler, and was completely undrinkable. I mean, if you pour three litres of gin into a flower vase, add some crushed ice and top it with a sprig of mint, that's not a mint julep. I had to abandon the poor thing and slink away, hoping no one had seen me. You could get the entire continent of Africa drunk on that thing and I would have died if I had tried to get past the 1/3 mark.

"Ah, mint juleps," I thought as I sipped the Disneyland version.

Trip to San Francisco (very long)

2007-04-02T15:08:00.000-07:00

In a continuing series of vacations, xxxx and I flew to San Francisco for the weekend.

We took an 8pm flight to SFO and caught a cab to the Hotel. We were staying at a fancy French-named hotel near the embarcadero on Clay St. Giving the name and address to the cabbie was shockingly easy. I wonder how they really know where everything is without a map. This guy probably does nothing but drive back and forth between the airport and hotels in the city. He was also a maniac with the gas pedal, exceeding 80 miles per hour most of the way. Which was fine by us, as it was late and we would like to get to the hotel as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, when we got off near 4th street (near AT&T park), we ran into a huge crowd exiting the game. All the roads were blocked off as well. We had to detour a bit up to Market St to Kearney, then back down Clay. xxxx noted the street name (Kearney) because her friend had recommended "the best" chinese food at a restaurant there. We resolved to go back to find it. The cab ended up to cost almost $45 with tip; I was rather upset to pay that amount when a shuttle or train should have been suitable for much less.

The next morning, we stumbled across the street to Elephant and Castle, an english pub which had been recommended by the hotel staff. It was absolutely horrible food for hugely expensive cost. The quote-unquote "banger" was actually American pork sausage, the bacon was simple American bacon, and the potatoes were bland boring blocks. We decided not to go there again. We went around the corner to one of the millions of Starbuck's located on every single corner and got some coffee to start the day fresh.

We walked about two blocks south through some dreary unkempt parks, trying to avoid the hundreds of horribly dirty filthy homeless people that would become regular sights on our trip. We reached Embarcadero square a few blocks south of the hotel, somewhat impressed by the square's fresh hip vibe and the rather interesting concrete and water feature structure. Across the sqare was the San Francisco port at which xxxx and I queued up for the F bus to visit Fisherman's wharf.

Something must have been amiss because we spent the better part of an hour waiting for the bus that should run every ten minutes or more. The wait was so long, we actually watched crowds of fellow tourists show up, wait for a length of time and then leave. Eventually, a rail bus did come by, but it was jammed so full that it never stopped. That caused a loud row among the waiting tourists and most of them left after that. We still waited at least another 20 minutes before another bus showed up. I found that strange for 9:30 am on a Saturday morning, but it might be normal. Little did we know this would be a premonition of our public transport problems.

A word on the weather. I was not foolish enough to think that just because the city is technically part of California that it must be warm and sunny. I have actually been to San Francisco a few times before and know that it can be quite damp and cold. But waiting for the rail bus that morning, I was glad that I had worn a warm wind breaker with hood for my head and ears. Whenever the wind picked up off the bay, it was like cutting ice on your face -- and it couldn't have been much colder than 69 degrees or so. Something about the humidity and cold and fog and damp that just bites hard.

Eventually, the rail bus showed up and we paid $3.00 to travel to the Fisherman's wharf. We got down with the rest of the tourists at Wharf 39, which was horribly touristy and tacky with shops and horrible looking food choices. I wanted to leave the area, but xxxx egged me on and we finally arrived at the end of Wharf 39 and were treated to the famous spectualar view of Alcatraz island and the bay. This was an example of how the best experiences in travel come free, although you have to press through the horrible, gaudy tourist shit to get to it. We walked around the corner to look at the sea lions, which were few but neat to see. Walking back along the "back side" of the wharf, we were able to avoid the touristy crap and continue strolling.

We saw a few of the crab shacks that I had wanted to try, with hundreds of identical dead dungeness crabs piled upside down on ice. I actually decided I wanted to try some oysters on the half shell so we stopped at one shack and asked what kind of oysters they had. The man shrugged and said "Regular oysters." So I ordered three to get a taste for them. He shucked and served them to me on a paper tray. For $4, it was either going to be good or discarded, I thought. I figured I could just stand at the counter and eat them right there.

So I sucked down the first oyster and was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't the best oyster I've ever had, but it was extremely briny or salty and that is my type of oyster. I would say in fact, that most people would not like the oysters I had. But they were good to me and I enjoyed it. Now, after I had sucked down the first oyster, a clique of tourists had shown up, watching me. I think they were interested in what we were doing, and I believe they were trying to see what the crab shacks were like. So, while I sucked the second oyster off the half shell, a crowd had started to form to watch me eat. I was thinking, "Get off me you wankers." xxxxx was getting uncomfortable with me as I always attract attention, all 6'4" amazononian blonde doing crazy shit. But I wasn't doing anything more than eating oysters off the half-shell.

I was able to slug the last one down, but xxx and I cleaned up the stand-up counter quickly and ran off. I believe the curiosity and crowd was only people who were trying to gauge the crab shacks and trying to decide what kind of lunch to take. I guess that if I were to survive the oysters and actually enjoy them, then they felt safe to go eat lunch at the shack. It was just before lunch time and so they were probably milling about trying to find a place to eat. I hope.

So we continued strolling along the bay and walked up to the the curved break water area that was billed as a "beach". If this was a beach, then my name is Sam Peckinpaw and I'm a famous director. The "beach" consisted of four small steps down to a four foot section of drab sand leading directly into the frigid, grey green waters of the bay. There were several idiots swimming laps in the water, and I don't know what kind of sick masochist you have to be to swim in those waters.

We wandered a bit up the hill to the Ghirardelli square but weren't interested. We just went back to the trolley car station which was our original target. I purchased two tickets for $5 each and noticed xxxx standing in a huge line that wrapped around the turn-around for the cars. I asked her what was about and she noted that there were several cars sitting around queued up but they weren't running. Apparently, some road work or track work was being performed and so everything was being held up. We waited for the better part of 2 hours in the queue to get on the trolley cars which were only running whenever the road or track construction crew would move out of the way to let one car past. It was entertaining (once) to watch the cars coasting by gravity into the turnaround platform, watching the conductor get out and push with brute force the cars to turn on the platform. Once the car had been rotated through 300 degrees or so, the car would then be pushed with brute force on the new outbound track.

During the wait in the queue, we got to enjoy a relatively clean bum who was playing amplified guitar music and singing. He wasn't terrible and the music was mildly diverting. He occasionally went off on amplified tangent conversations with fellow bums who were nearby. The only part that was amusing was that only his end of the conversation was mic'ed so that we were hearing only his portion of the comments. xxxx felt sorry and she took out $1 to place in his guitar case as we went past to board the car. I told her not to support these folks, that if people wouldn't pay them money, then they wouldn't bloody sit out there and bother the good tourist folks with mediocre-to-good music and half conversational banter. She gave him the dollar anyway as we moved onto the car.

Suffice to say that the trolley car was an exceptional track if only for the amazing views it offered of the city. Taking the photos at the top of Lombard Dr. is not to be missed. Unfortunately, we purchased the one-way tickets which don't allow one to hop on-and-off. For only $11 (each) you can get the all-day ticket and jump on and off to stop and look around. We didn't have the time or inclination to do so, but it's probably well worth it for some others.

Eventually, we got down near Stockton to go to chinatown. The place is a lot bigger and toursity-er than I had rememebered it from previous visits. At this point of the day, we were well past noon and getting fairly hungry. But xxxxxx and I weren't going to jump into the first place offering food. We wanted to find the same little dim sum restaurant we had discovered 8 years ago when we had visited previously. We were able to retrace our steps at the parking station with the park, but were completely unable to find any landmarks or restaurant names that were familiar. We eventually settled into Great Eastern Restuarant which looked quite good and was fairly clean. Even though it looked a bit clean and was Zagat rated (which is not always a good sign), it was stocked with authentic chinese waiters and maitres-d', as well as plenty of non-english speaking authentic customers.

We ordered several pieces of dim sum and enjoyed all of them. The dim sum wasn't served in the usual style on carts; instead you order them on a piece of paper and they are delivered to your table. However, the trade-off is that you get the food a lot hotter and "wetter" than normal, still dripping with the steaming the food had been through. It was quite good and has become our new place to go; our little secret restaurant that means something only to us if/when we return some day.

As we were wandering the gaudy goods shops, we went into a video store that sold foreign asian videos. xxxxx was acting very strangely so I eventually asked her what was going on. She was all excited and asking me if I remembered "that guy from VH1". I was wondering what "guy"? There are hundreds of them. She kept going on about him and I finally deduced she was referring to Hal Sparks. So we quickly went out to try to find him and couldn't -- xxxx was trying to describe his hair and clothes and I couldn't find him.

We walked up the street a bit to go to a tea tasting shop that offered free samples of tea. We quite enjoyed sampling the different varieties of teas, some as much as $160 per pound. Speaking of excellent tea, I tasted a "milk oolong" which does indead smell a bit like milk might, but another patron said it exactly -- it tastes and smells a bit like popcorn. Not buttered and salted popcorn, just plain regular popcorn. I was absolutely entranced by the samples (which I suppose is the point) and xxxx was able to purchase some "Blue" tea (which leaves an aftertaste of honey although there is no honey in it) and I purchased the expensive milk oolong. I was a bit shocked to see it cost almost $20 for 1/8 pound, but it should be good at home, and with whole leaf teas like this, you can reuse the leaves to make several cups from each serving.

Eventually, we were tired and walked back to our hotel from Chinatown. We walked right underneath the Transamerica "spike" and next to a really neat shady redwood "park" that is next to it. We stopped at the hotel for an hour's rest for our poor feetsies. I've walked quite a bit in a lot of cities, including Manhatten, and never really been this tired. It's the uneven hilly landscape that tires one out, even though we never walked up any large hills nor even down the hills that were tall (we always took transportation for anything steep).

About an hour's rest later, we walked the few blocks to Union Park. I was hoping, based on the map and google satellite photos, that this was the square from one of my favourite movies of all time, The Conversation. xxxx rolled her eyes as I quizzed her on where she had seen the sqare before, and in what movies. Hey, it was Gene Hackman, ok? He's only the greatest actor of all time, ever. Not to mention Francis Ford Coppola, Harrison Ford, Cindy Williams -- what else do you need?

Anyway, xxxx was more excited about the HUGE Macy's building across the street and the huge sign advertising their new flower show with an Indian theme. We went inside and it was packed very very tightly with bustling people. One forgets how dense these cities can be, if one is used to non-dense exurbs like Los Angeles. After shopping a bit at all the shops around Union Park, we walked back to toward China town to find the restaurant that had been recommeded by a friend.

We were able to find it on Kearney, called the House of Nanking. The food was absolutely brilliant. The hot tea was served in a glass mug with all the floaty leaves and bits and flowers still in it. All of the food and sauces were excellent tasting. The vegetables were delicious and fresh, in fact, they were apparently flash cooked as they are cooked but almost raw inside which was wonderful. Highly recommended. We walked back past the Transamerica spike and back to the hotel for an early night's rest.

The next day we walked to Market street to take the 71 bus to Golden Gate Park. We waited at least 30 minutes in the bitter blowing cold wind for the bus and finally rode it up. The public transport in San Francisco is supposed to be good or even "excellent", it is actually pretty horrible from my experience. The bums seem to enjoy riding the bus and the human smells that were available for breathing were quite sickening. A hippy kid with tie-died sweater and huge camping gear backpack sat across from us and tried to engage in a conversation. We were luckily saved by another couple of tourists who got on and he started to talk with them.

Reaching Haight and Ashbury streets, I suddenly bolted off the bus dragging xxxx. I was pretty hip and keen to cat the jibe from the hella cool address. Or whatever, man. We walked back from the bus stop to the corner of Haight and Ashbury and could not discern any historic sense or occasion from the location. Not even a contact high from the soaked concrete or the lingering wail of Pearl who died so young (in Los Angeles, near an apartment where I lived when I was young). Or Hendrix, or whatever used to happen around here. There was nothing there, it was just a street corner. In fact, it was a rather dirty street corner in a relatively bad part of town. We walked up Haight to continue to the park.

The park was quite large but unkempt. It doesn't compare favourably with Central Park at all.
I wouldn't be proud of that park if it was my park. It does give a good sense of what the natural form of the land looked like when settlers arrived hundreds of years ago. And it was also bitterly, bitterly cold and foggy. The wind was fierce at times and I had to bundle tightly and get my hoodie pulled up.

We were in search of the Japanese tea gardens and eventually found it by following signs. It was only $4 entrance fee and $3 each for tea, but we were slightly disappointed. While the landscaping is very pretty and the arhitecture is authentic, nothing was authentic about the kimono-wearing servers or the cheesy, expensive items in the gift shop. The gift shop was basically the same trash we were pawing through in China town, but approximately 5 times the price. So we had tea in front of the pont and it was nice, but that was about it.

The cherry blossom trees were a high point, luckily they were blooming for us. But we walked a bit north to the museum and decided not to go in. We were lucky to find Fulton street and take the 5 bus back toward downtown. Amazingly, the bus was clean and smelled fresh, and arrive almost as soon as we stood at the stop. We were trying to get to Japantown and got off at Laguna. We had to walk up a hill a bit, but eventually got there. It was small and would have been disappointing if I hadn't already been there and knew what to expect. Little Tokyo in downtown Los Angeles is a lot bigger and better in my opinion.

We walked the indoor mall and found a nice-looking restaurant named Suzu. The place was a bit small and full, but the nice waitresses offered us hot tea while we waited in seats outside. Inside, the food was very good and authentic, I ordered the salmon sashimi don (over rice) and it was terrific. The bowl of ramen in the combo was only decent, the noodles were too hard. I think most people would like it, but I am a bit of a snob and prefer very soft noodles. I was listening to the patrons speaking in fluent Japanese and saw an odd exchange when some customers entered, speaking Japanese, deciding whether to eat here or not, and then switching to horrible broken English to ask "How long is wait?"

I was wondering about that and made a stupid mistake that xxxx usually does -- I tried to thank our waitress and ask her for the check in Japanese. She looked at me strangely and I repeated clearly the request. She looked strangely and I realised I had missed some clue the other native Japanese people had picked up -- she either didn't speak Japanese or she wasn't Japanese at all, or both. Before you judge me, remember, I can indeed tell asians apart, recognising Koreans from Japanese, North Chinese from south, and so on. I guess we can't be perfect.

After the very satisfying lunch, xxxx and I walked into a store next door that sold the usual manga, anime and so forth action figures. As we were looking in the window, Hal Sparks (!!!) walked past me with some friends and entered the store. This time, I was just as giggly and wobbly as she was spotting (admittedly) one of my favourite guys on VH1. It was pretty funny and amazing that we had met the same person twice in a huge city, separated by 24 hours and 10 miles.

We left there and caught the 2 bus toward downtown, just about ready to call our trip a success. Amazingly, the 2 bus arrived immediately and was clean. We got our bags from the hotel and walked a few blocks back to the Embarcadero square. From there we found the BART station and took the train back to the airport. I was not impressed with the BART at all -- it was slow and noisy and bumpy. The seats are more comfortable than any other subway I've ridden -- but so what? At least it was a lot cheaper than a cab -- $5.15 each one way. Keep your ticket -- I threw ours away after entering the stiles, much to the anger and consternation of xxx. On the exit, you are supposed to deduct the amount from the card -- and you cannot purchase a new one.

So we jumped over the stile and ran to the "Air Train". There's that stupid, asinine "Air Train" phrase again. What kind of brain dead autistic retarded mongoloid came up with that?

Gnarles Barkley part 2

2007-03-12T16:04:00.000-07:00

I wrote recently about my recent favourite music video with the bugs, and then had this conversation with a co-worker who turned out to be unusually wise beyond years:

Me: I love the video because it also shows that you don't quit. You're on the dog, you're rocking out, the dog scratches you off. Some of your bandmates are squashed. No problem, you're on the carpet, you're still rocking out. The lady tries to vacuum you. No problem, you lose a few band members and you keep running. You take the Marshall stack, load it onto your back and you keep rocking. You rock all the way across the kitchen floor.

I pause, a little breathless, then continue.

Me: You're still rocking. Nothing stops you.

Co-worker: The green smoke stops you.

Me: Yeah, that's true. The green smoke stops you.

Gnarls Barkley video

2007-03-08T15:29:00.000-08:00

I recently watched the Gnarles Barkley video with the animated bugs on TV. I am absolutely in love with it. The song "Gone Daddy Gone" is a tepid remix of a pretty good album, but that is not the point. The point is the video. I love it to death.

Let's upgrade, folks

2007-02-13T11:22:00.000-08:00

I received this shell script via email last week, asking if "there was a way to improve it". I just about fell out of my seat laughing so hard. The command was used to copy a file to a remote location:

tar cf - file_name|gzip|ssh -T remote.host "(cd /path/to/destination/dir; tar xzf -)"

Are you serious? Did you find this in an archealogical dig while searching for T-Rex? I used to type this nonsense when I was thirteen, hacking on daddy's mainframe at the Los Alamos project. Except we didn't have gzip back then. And we didn't have ssh, either. We had to open a TCP socket with a C program on both ends. And we liked it!

I know that we don't want to jump into the 21st century all at once. We want to ease the transition. I know that we don't want to go through a painful upgrade from 1982 technology to 2007 technology. But let's please upgrade to at least 1999 technology. Please?

How did that happen?!

2007-01-18T16:33:00.000-08:00

Here is an interesting story that I made up that is a perfect example of how screwed up a project plan can get at work. I have rephrased everything in terms of a road trip, but the idea is applicable to any work project plan.

Person 1: Let's go to Las Vegas.
Person 2: Can't go to Vegas.
Person 1: Why not?
Person 3: Not enough gas in the car.
Person 4: We have enough gas to get to Baker!
Person 2: Let's go to Baker!
Person 1: Baker? There's nothing in Baker except that stupid World's Largest Thermometer. I said we should go to Vegas.
Person 2: We can only get to Baker.
Person 3: Let's go to Mojave, then. It's next to Baker
Person 4: We can go camping in Mojave.
Person 5: One time I went to Joshua Tree and saw all those nice cacti.
Person 6: I've been to Joshua Tree. It's really nice.
Person 2: We only have enough gas to get to Baker.
Person 5: If you want to gamble, let's go to Reno.
Person 6: Reno's great. I've been there before.
Person 1: Reno's OK, but it's too far and it's too cold this time of year.
Person 3: If we're going to Reno, we should fly instead of drive.
Person 4: One time, I went camping at Tahoe, it was really nice.
Person 6: I've been to Tahoe; I love it a lot.
Person 7: Since we're going to fly to Reno, we should just fly to New York.
Person 1: New York?!
Person 2: We have enough gas to drive to LAX, no problem.
Person 3: I once went camping in New Jersey, it was very nice.
Person 6: I love New Jersey and the Appalacians!
Person 4: Considering that we're going to New York; it will take at least 8 or 10 hours door-to-door, we should just drive to Reno.
Person 5: I like Reno; I've been there quite a few times.
Person 3: Rather than camp at Tahoe, we should just go to Ensenada and camp in the desert, as the first person suggested.
Person 1: Ensenada?!

So, when you end up getting ass-raped by rats, standing in 6 inches of mud in a Mexican prison, saying to yourself "How the FUCK DID THIS happen?!", you will remember that all you need to do is go to the gas station to get enough gas to drive to Vegas.

Bring on the probe(s)

2006-11-08T09:23:00.000-08:00

Now that Democrats have taken over the House, it's time to explain what is available and what I want.

The House has the power of subpoena. I want subpoenas issued. Many of them. I want them to fly like the wind and fall like the rain. Hurricane Katrina is going to start a-blowin' on capital hill.

I want some investigations started now.

I want the false, empty, non-existant WMDs investigated.

I want the torture procedures investigated. I want secret prisons investigated.

I want the glove to be put on all the way up to the shoulder and I want all the depths of darkness and brown stuff investigated.

Nancy Pelosi has stated that Impeachment is off the table.

The House has the power of Impeachment.

I want Impeachment on the table. NOW.

I want Impeachment to follow the deep probing of the shoulder-length glove investigations.

Gentlement, you may begin starting now.

I am a Republican who is deeply disconcerted by the performance of this wacked-out religious, out-of-it president who should get a good cold water blast in the face. I could not bring myself to vote Democratic, but I am pleased about this change of power. Sometimes the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Go Dems, for now.

I am T. Pascal and I approve this motherfuckin' message.

Hurricanes in New Orleans

2006-11-03T13:07:00.000-08:00

I was very disappointed lately that there hasn't been another Hurricane to hit the poor (both economically and morrally poor) folks of Mississippi and Louisiana. I was disappointed that all that hard word on the levees and cleanup wouldn't be swept away once again.

But then it hit me, you know, that it might be a good thing to skip a season or two. Let the inhabitants perform the suicidal ritual of living below sea-level. Let them exercise their darwinistic selection against survival this way. Give them a few years to sit around say, "What hurricane? Ain't never go'n' happen. I'm stayin' right he'ya."

Let them settle in, get cozy. Then hit them maybe next year, or two years. Hopefully in three years they will get hit again really hard. One can only dream.

Tough being a pimp

2006-10-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

Overheard today:

"It's tough being a pimp."
"It's tougher *not* being a pimp."
[laughs] "That's right. Try being a motherfuckin' ho!"

Pascalian Risk Curve

2006-10-17T11:46:00.000-07:00

I've been creating this new idea for a curve that you can reference as the "Pascalian Risk Curve". It has up to six interesting inflection points and tries to plot a chart between preparation/planning/tuning and risk/reward/danger.

Start with the horizontal X-axis representing increasing "Planning". Now raise the vertical Y-axis representing increasing "Risk". The resulting plot lines with these constraints will usually give you a parabola shape. That is, with little planning, your risk of failure is high. With too much planning and tuning, your risk actually increases even more due to over planning and too much "futzing". Here is a default curve with some label points:


 ^
 |\              /
R| \            /
 |  \          /
i|   \        /
 |    \      /
s|     \    /
 |      \__/
k|
 |
 +-------------------->
      Planning
  1  2   3 4  5  6
1:  Fools go where angels dare to tread
2:  Keep It Simple Stupid
3:  Practice makes perfect
4:  A stich in time saves nine
5:  Don't fix it if it ain't broke
6:  Stop fucking with it moron

Some procedures and processes never get rid of the risk; no amount of planning and tuning can get rid of it. Take space flight:


 ^
 |
R|  |  i|   ---------------
 |
s|
 |
k|
 |
 +-------------------->
      Planning
  1  2   3 4  5  6
1:  Let's see how high we can launch ourselves
2:  It's OK, I have a prachute
3:  It's OK, we set the failsafe
4:  Let's see if this monkey survives
5:  Who cares about a little bit of foam?
6:  Houston, we have a problem

Some processes are actually tuned to be easy because all the work is done for you. Too much messing with it is very very bad:


 ^
 |
R|          /
 |         /
i|        /
 |       /
s|      /
 |     /
k|    /
 |---/
 +-------------------->
      Tuning
  1  2   3 4  5  6
1:  I can check the tire pressure myself
2:  I think I can change the oil myself
3:  What's that noise?
4:  What's this hose?
5:  I can chip my Honda and get 5 more HP
6:  I think I can remove the alternator

Or, for Microsoft Windows with the same curve as above:

1:  Hey, the mouse moves
2:  I can start MS Word
3:  What does this button do?
4:  I donwloaded a helper
5:  I don't need these files
6:  I'm going to clean up some unused registry entries

Survivor 27

2006-10-13T10:02:00.000-07:00

I was watching part of Survivor Racist Beach last night. It was putrescent. The show is completely unwatchable. I think the show jumped the shark right about the time Tom danced with a feather in his ass. And that was, like, Suvivor 9 or something.

Thinking back on it, the signs were there. When Probst was asked about the upcoming season he kept referring to how interesting it was to "see new ways of making fire that we haven't seen before on Survivor". Now I realise that the potentially exciting five seconds of seeing fire as it's never been done before on this stupid show was THE MOST EXCITING PART OF THE WHOLE SEASON. In other words, if there was anything else more exciting about the show than watching some dullards start a FREAKING fire, Probst would have mentioned it.

The first episode involved the useless, worthless darkies who lost. The second episode involved the intentional loss of the challenge (which was almost won anyway, because the darkies tribe were so useless) to get rid of that fat gay kid. Bobbie, I think. Or was it Billie. Billie Bobbie.

I don't even know what last night's episode was about. Apparently, the salad days of "seeing fire made in ways that we haven't seen on Survivor" are over.

Google satellite

2006-09-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

I did something rather simple but profound yesterday. After looking at the google satellite maps of the Palm Islands in Dubai (I saw the construction project documented on the National Geographic channel), I had a sudden idea.

I typed in the name of the city where I was born. Then, based on childhood recollections, I followed streets in "hybrid" mode, literally walking (or panning) street by street, house by house, to find my old elementary school, the park where I played and swam, the house where I lived, my friends' houses, the little triangle grassy area where three roads met and we kids used to meet or hang out, and so on.

I wasn't too nostalgic about the whole thing, but it was intriguing and interesting. In theory, I'll never have any reason or need to go back to my birthplace (it's far and there's nothing there), but it is pretty darn cool to "revisit" and check it out from above. Highly recommended.

Flavour of Love continues

2006-09-25T15:11:00.000-07:00

Actually, I had predicted Bootz would win before she did that stupid "I'm a celibate" self destruction.

I still say that Flav won't pick Krazee, but he won't pick New York either, so I guess that leaves the only man in the game, Deelishis. I can't fathom that. I bet the show is slanted toward making Krazee look bad because he'll choose her. She's the most quote-unquote attractive of the remainder, but she won't work out. So sad.

This Sunday, looks like New York's mother meets with Flav again, and the daughter freaks out. Again. I can't frigging wait!

W. Bush and war crimes

2006-09-18T18:06:00.000-07:00

I think Bush should come to task for these secret prisons. Torture is not only ineffective and inefficient, it is immoral. I don't care if they are terrorists with valuable information. Lock them up and let them take the information to the grave. You say they have information on future attacks? How about beefing up security in meaningful ways other than banning yoghurt and lipsticks?

Of course, Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, and everyone in the CIA will claim that we are at war. Or that it was all legal. I think a great many people will disagree. But if we are at war, then there is still procedure and rule of law. And there are consequences even when at war: war crimes tribunals and crimes against humanity. Saddam is having his day in court, so should the Bush White House.

I am a dyed-in-the-wool republican. I voted for George W. Bush in 2000. It pained me to vote for Kerry in 2004. I hope and wish that the next president will investigate and try George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld for war crimes. I may be forced to vote Democratic once again to achieve these goals.

Hopefully he won't pull an O.J. Simpson. Or a Michael Jackson. Or a Blake...

They killed Lazarus!

2006-09-15T13:56:00.000-07:00

I was recently watching The Last Temptation of Christ, which is not a terrific movie despite the talents of Willem Dafoe, Harvey Keitel and Martin Scorsese. I hadn't watched the whole thing before now, so it was a fair amount of entertainment. I absolutely loved the soundtrack by Peter Gabriel, by the way, and I still do.

I was laughing so hard at one point, however, I couldn't believe it wasn't a comedy. First of all, I understand that this movie amounts to heresy for most Christians. Well, I say Fuck all the Christians, including G.W. Bush. But second, portraying Jesus as a somewhat hesitant, surprised god-in-training wasn't very convincing despite Dafoe's genius acting.

However, the scene where Jesus raises Lazarus was pretty cool and neat. Lazaurs rises, and his hand is grotesque and white, skin falling off, and covered in bandages. It was a neat scene. A couple days later, we see Saul (who is in cahoots with Judas) talking with Lazarus.

In a reprisal of his role in Apocalypse Now, Saul asks Lazarus about dying, "What was it like?"

Lazarus says some stupid shit, then, Saul pulls out a knife. He holds it for a second, then, stabs Lazarus. Lazarus falls down dead, and Saul and his two buddies trot off into the desert.

That shit was extremely funny. I don't remember reading that in the Bible. Poor bastard Lazarus dies, raises from the dead, and then is killed! That's awesome. If you're going to make a sacrilegious film, that's the proper way to do it.

Flavour of Love vs. New York

2006-09-11T17:18:00.000-07:00

This is a spoiler if you love Flavour of Love as much as I do. The spoiler is that "New York is in the mother fucking house"!

While I was initially upset that she was brought back, and even more upset that she was allowed back into the house, I eventually calmed down. As stupid, neurotic, obsessed and psychotic as she is, she's actually one step up from all the whores currently available to Sir Flav.

Deelishis[sic] is, or was, a motherfucking man, and nothing you can say or do will convince me otherwise. Those transgender operations are so good, I hear, they can nearly fool a gynocologist. I will not be fooled.
Krazee[sic] is bound to be kicked out. I was highly suspicious of her early moves and crocodile tears of love. She got way too much early screen time and plot lines to be the final winner. There's no way that the show will be that obvious. Few people could see last season's Hoopz[sic] win
Speaking of which, Bootz[sic] seems like the one who will win. Although Krazee[sic] looks more like the Hoopz[sic] type, I believe Bootz[sic] seems sincere, if not crafty and manipulative.
New York did not win the first season, and she won't win the second! Although I still want to see her mother and that uncomfortable situation again. And again, and again...

As a semi-serious aside, I am posting about Flavour of Love, what could be considered one of the trashiest TV shows around, ever, on the fifth anniversary of September 11. That is my subtle "eff you" raised middle finger to the fucking terrorists and friends. There's another one for Bush et.al., too. And here's one for you if you complain!

Head on -- apply directly to your asshole!

2006-09-07T10:43:00.000-07:00

You've seen the commercials if you're unfortunate enough to watch CNN or CNN headline news (which I do). It's a very simple product and catch phrase. They just repeat it three times in a row, three times, so that you don't forget:

"Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead. Head on, apply directly to the forehead."

Sure, I could come up with some kind of slimy salve, put it in a deodorant stick and sell it myself. But I wouldn't have been able to come up with that sickening phrase, and then repeat it until it become meaningless mumbo-jumbo.

And then, if that weren't enough, they have branched off into joint therapy:

"Activ-on, apply directly where it hurts. Activ-on, apply directly where it hurts. Activ-on, apply directly where it hurts."

I can't believe they sell head-on as activ-on, and use the same slogan. I think they can charge more for Activ-on because it can be used in more places than Head-on. Maybe they charge more for the Activ-on, because it's missing an "e". Clearly this is aimed at the 90+ crowd, right? The crowd that watches QVC -- the crowd that trusted Dan Rather because he was "one of them".

But then, I started to wonder, you know, what if you mixed up the Head-on and Activ-on in your bathroom cabinet.

"Head-on, apply directly where it hurts. Or is it directly to the forehead? I can't recall. Activ-on goes directly where it hurts. But my head hurts. So can I use Activ-on there? My hemorrhoids have been acting up too, I think I can use Activ-on there! Clearly, you wouldn't use Head-on on your hemorrhoids!"

You thought that was a joke, right? I did too, but if you wait 15 seconds another commercial pops up exclaiming,

"Freedom from hemorrhoids? FREEdHEM! Freedom from hemorrhoids? FREEdHEM! Freedom from hemorrhoids? FREEdHEM!"

Oh.

My.

God.

"FREEdHEM, apply directly to your asshole! FREEdHem, freedom from head apply. Activ-on, apply directly to your forehead. Head-on, apply directly to your head. But not after you apply it to your ass. Remember, head first, ass second."

Coming soon,

"Vagidildo, apply directly to your cunt! Vagidildo, apply directly to your cunt! Vagidildo, apply directly to your cunt!"

Math for Dummies part 2

2006-08-25T17:50:00.000-07:00

This maths lesson is a little bit harder than the first one, but it is more powerful. It is also the basis for all modern cryptography. A child of 12 or 13 who is good with multiplication and division can understand it. Let's begin.

Definitions: A prime number is a whole number that is divisible only by itself and the number 1. The number 1 is not defined as being prime. A number is divisible by another number if the resulting fraction is another whole number.

Theorem: There are an infinite number of prime numbers.

Proof: Proving that there are an infinite number of something is kind of hard. Let's assume the opposite and see if we can disprove it. So if we can disprove that there are a finite (or limited) amount of prime numbers, we have shown there must be an infinite supply of prime numbers.

Given that we have assumed there is a limited supply of prime numbers, we can easily list them. So we have a list of prime numbers for which we will use alphabetic symbols instead of the actual numbers:

a, b, c, d, e, f

There could easily be more, but for the time being we just list these. Now the math gets a little tricky, but just get your pen and paper and we'll be fine.

Assuming these list of prime numbers is complete, let's find out if there could be any more numbers that fit a prime definition that isn't in this list. Let's try a trick where we multiply all the prime numbers together and then add 1 to them:

(a * b * c * d * e * f) + 1

This resulting number cannot be divisible by any previous prime number. Any previous prime number in our list would always have a remainer of 1 (that's why we add 1 in there). It also cannot be divisibly by another other smaller number -- why is that?

Notice that any number that is not prime would be divisible by some other smaller numbers. The resulting divisors would either be prime themselves or not. If not, they could be divided again. Eventually, you will be left with a bunch of divisors that are all prime! Let's try this example with the number 20:

20 is divisible by 10 and 5. Clearly 5 is prime. But 10 is not.
10 is divisible by 5 and 2. Clearly 5 and 2 are prime.

So, any number that is prime is divisible by only itself and 1. Any non-prime whole number is divisible by (eventually) a series of primes.

So, backtracking a little bit to our number again:

(a * b * c * d * e * f) + 1

This made up number is not divisible by any of a, b, c, d, e, or f, and cannot be divided by any smaller number (because those smaller numbers would be in turn divisible by a, b, c, d, e, or f). So this number we invented is another prime number!

What we have shown is that if we believe we have a comprehensive list of prime numbers (no matter how long a list), then we can always generate a larger number that is also prime!

Clearly, there are an infinite number of primes.

Did you get it?

When the Levees Break

2006-08-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

As Led Zeppelin said, "Cryin' won't help ya, prayin' won't do you no good. When the levees break, mama you got to move."

I watched Spike Lee's When the Levees Broke, a Tragedy in Four Acts

I thought it was quite good and certainly not as bad as anything that Michael Moore has produced. Unfortunately, people are quite stupid and idiotic. Put them in a position of stress and survival, and their eyes roll into the back of their heads and their brains (what little they have and use) shut down. I have some serious issues with the documentary:

If you did not leave New Orleans before Katrina hit, then I have no shred of sympathy for your plight
The levees were not bombed, you dumb fucking idiots
There are a lot of stupid, dumb, idiot politicians and bureaucrats who deserve a lashing. Nagin, Blanco, Brown, Chertoff, Bushes, and on and on. But if you live in Lousiana, you should be used to it. Louisiana politics are not just merely crooked or shadowy, they're downright corrupt. It's the political equivalent of Nigeria. If you don't like it, move or vote.
"I grew up here and my mommy grew up here and her grandmother grew up here..." As the New Orleans natives found out, everything is impermanent. Your life is transient, your house is not permanent -- as evidenced, the whole city of New Orleans was impermanent. It is better to remove attachments to things that are illusions (like cities, houses, family, people) and end your suffering. If you like suffering and attachment, then please, by all means, go ahead and suffer. It made some interesting TV at least.

Dirty, filthy, rotten blues

2006-08-22T16:50:00.000-07:00

I've been exploring Pandora as noted in an earlier post. You will need to download a web plugin (you probably already have it), and sign up with your age and zip code (supposedly for music licensing issues), but it is totally free. They want you to buy the music that you like, but I ain't buying shit.

Well, now I have perfected most of my radio stations and I can share them. I have a generic "Classic Rock" station which is seeded with the usual suspects, Leddy, Jimi, Pearl, etc. If you need a translation, man, then, like, open your mind and go cosmic, man. Do some research -- smoke some dope, drop some acid, take some DMT, do some Kundalini yoga, go to Vietnam and get back to me, man.

This site is so good, I didn't even enter the group Cream, and it found Spoonful all by itself without asking. I of course added Cream, a grievous oversight.

I have a "Suicidal White Male" station, built mainly off the likes of Roger Waters, Coldplay and Peter Gabriel. I don't listen to it much, but it's there if I need to be down.

I've also got a "70's guitar solo" station, seeded with the best of Leddy, Jimi, Cream, etc.

Then there is the "Dirty Blues" station. And I must say, this is some of the best blues I have had the particular joy of listening to. In Los Angeles, there is a radio show called Nothin' but the blues. It is, unfortunately, pathetic because:

Oh, you want to listen during the week? Fuck you.
Oh, you want to hear some dirty, filthy blues? Sorry, it's not commercial. This is a jazz station. Nobody likes dirty blues, you disgusting mess.
Oh, you want to hear music? Sorry, we run 45 minutes of commercials per hour. We run money-grubbing begging sessions 50 weeks out of the year
Oh, you want to hear something new and unusual that you never heard of? Fuck you, this is a radio station with a 12 song playlist. We only play 25 minutes of music per show anyway, so fuck off.

With Pandora, I can listen to the world's greatest, filthiest, most bluesome blues there is.

I recently heard the one-two punch of Once I had a Woman followed by The Sky is Cryin' and I just about wet my pants, the seat, and the floor.

You want good blues? Turn off the radio. Put your vinyl down. Check out my Dirty Blues station here.

Math for dummies part 1

2006-08-08T13:54:00.000-07:00

I was recently in the elevator, and there were two others besides myself in there. There were two floor buttons pressed. For the time being, assume that we are going up and there are only two floors remaining. I smiled as I quickly deduced that at least two of us would get off at the same floor.

I am starting this series because there are some extremely simple mathematical concepts that are actually quite profound. These are some of the fundamental theorems of math, but they can be understood by any 7 year old. It is a shame that 7 year olds don't get taught this stuff. It's simply bril.

Pigeon Hole theorem:

"If there are N pigeons and N-1 pigeonholes, then there must be at least one pigeonhole with more than one pigeon."

Proof:

Imagine, you have a certain amount of pigeons on your roof. You raise them for companionship, for transporting important missives via courier pigeon, and (of course), for food. Now, you have, let's say, 4 pigeons. Alas, you only have 3 pigeon holes. Not realising the impact of the this mathematical model and needing to house your pigeons in pigeonholes, you stuff one pigeon in hole 1.

You now have three pigeons and two empty pigeonholes. You cannot put another pigeon in pigeonhole 1 unless you want to end this proof prematurely. Besides, you have empty holes to use. So you stuff a pigeon in hole 2.

Now you have two pigeons and one emtpy pigeonhole. So you stuff a pigeon in hole 3.

Now you have one pigeon and no empty pigeonholes. This last pigeon must become a roommate to an existing pigeon filling an existing pigeonhole.

Easy.

Pandora music

2006-07-27T16:49:00.000-07:00

The site Pandora may be the world's greatest music site, at least for me.

The idea is you type in an artist or song that you like and it creates a station for you to listen to based on that type of music or artist. I typed in the usual, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Janis Joplin, etc. Out pops the most beautiful, wonderful music you'd ever want to hear. Not just the artists you type in, but different and varied groups you might not even have heard of.

And it's free.

If you like the song, you click the thumbs up and probably hear more like that. You don't like it, and click thumbs down. It goes away. The only "bad" song I've heard so far was when "Start Me Up" started. I nearly broke my laptop when that piece of shit floated up. But other than that, it's the most sublime wonderful thing I've found in quite a while.

I also created a Dirty Blues station. Maybe more on the way.

It's basically a scam to try to make you buy the music. I ain't buying shit, mofos.

I'm in frigging heaven here.

WSOP, part 3

2006-07-17T18:05:00.000-07:00

Went back for some more satellites on Saturday. First table I sat at was a $225 satellite. The notable players in this were the rich kindly old man in seat 1, myself in seat 2, young shaved head asian guy in 3, a Eurofish in seat 5, a cranky-type woman in 6, a grandmother in 7, and a motorised wheel-chair guy in 8.

The first hand of the game, I was the small blind and dealt Q8 of clubs. Four or five limpers including the big blind were playing (good, I thought, loose players will go out quicker). Flop was Q64 rainbow. I bet the pot (about 125) and all folded. Kindly gentleman tells me, "Congratulations, you are now the official chip leader!"

On the second level, after the blinds raised to 25/50, shaved head asian guy started raising every other hand. I was eager to look him up but unfortunately, he had position on me. When he was one off the button, I saw AJo and raised 3 times the BB and he called, but the big blind (the guy next to the wheelchair guy) who hadn't played a hand the entire time, moved all in. I quickly folded and shaved head asian guy too.

The very next hand, I look at my cards and see AQs. This is actually good for me, it looks like I was stealing before, so now it looks like I'm trying to steal again. I make it 3 times the BB again. This time, shaved head asian guy reraises a substantial amount, probably around 400 (which would be more than half my chips at that point). All fold to me, and I put him on a re-steal, so I move all-in. He quickly calls, so I realise he must not be re-stealing. He has about 400 more chips that I do.

He turns over QQ. Uh-oh. The flop is no help, the turn is a blank, but the river is an Ace. I say, "nice hand" and he looks crushed. Poor bastard. If I had a dollar for every time my QQ was cracked by AQ or AK, I'd have 23 dollars, 14 cents.

None the less, shaved head asian guy keeps raising. He's stealing the blinds from cranky woman and grandma. Those were my blinds to steal, goddamn it. Sometimes the seat draw is the most important card you play in a single table tournament. Suddenly, he runs into the wheel chair guy is low on chips. They essentially go all-in against each other. Wheel chair guy turns over 89 of diamonds (!!) and shaved head asian guy sighs and says, "I'm beat," turning over 55. Wheelchair guy wins the race and is still alive.

Grandma starts to make some moves with Ace-high, but she's cut down. She folds way too much and defends her blinds when she's low on chips. She spirals out when wheel chair guy puts her all-in with a King-high flop. He of course had the king, she had naught but an Ace.

Eurofish starts making some downright bizarre moves. Raising up front and folding to a reraise. Raising and then calling an all-in with Q8o. Raising 1000 into a 100 pot. He seemed to know what he was doing sometimes, and occasionally the calls were correct. But then he would shift into full eratic mode where you couldn't see any logic for his actions.

Around this time, cranky woman goes all-in against the shaved head asian guy and he calls. She shows KK, he shows A6o or something. An ace on the flop wipes her out down to 3 green chips. She goes all-in several times over the next few hands and wins all of them. She's back to normal-sized stack by then, making her even more cranky. She busts out Eurofish when he puts her all-in with his J4s. That takes her crank edge down a notch.

At the 100/200 level, I raise to 600 with my by-now-non-chip-leader stack with AA, hoping and praying for a re-steal or call from shaved head asian guy. He does indeed call, and we get to the flop. The flop is KQ-blank, rainbow, and having only 600 or 800 more, I push all-in. He stares me down for a very long time before folding. I suppose he didn't realise I would do that, or he was trying to push me around if I didn't move in. That was a mistake, I think, because with 600 more chips for a 1200 pot, I'm committed.

Eventually, wheel chair guy busts out shaved head asian guy, and cranky woman miraculously busts out everyone else. Wheel chair guy and I have about double the starting amount of chips each. Cranky lady has about 8 times more chips than each of us. Wheel chair guy offers a deal to save the buy-in. I vigorously nod and make some agreement noises. Cranky lady, understandably, looks at her mountain of chips and says she wants to win. I think, "This is a business enterprise, not some contest to see whose of our clenched cunt muscles can lock out the most dick."

I resolve to take a stand because I'm either going to place second or third at that point. I don't have a chance to win in third place, but I might be able to do something in second place. So a few hands later, wheel chair guy goes all-in, and I decide I'm going to call with JTo. He has K8o, and a ten on the flop saves me. It's now heads-up with cranky lady and me.

I have a rule, as you know, of not offering deals but I will gladly accept them. With her 4-to-1 chip lead, the odds are large but not unmanageable, especially if she isn't any good heads up.

The first hand, I am the button so I act first on the first round. I watch her look at her cards closely. She shouldn't look at her cards before I act, but she's stupid. So I raise with trash and she folds.

The second hand, she raises, I see trash, so I play weak to give back a little. I fold.

The third hand, I watch her look at her cards and raise with trash. She folds.

The fourth hand, she raises, so I play strong and flat call. I don't remember what the cards were. The flop was a total miss with Q-high. I push all-in. She folds. She starts to make her cranky exasperated noises.

The fifth hand, I watch her look at her cards and get a feeling, so I fold. She shows AK. She makes even more cranky, exasperated, "Why Oh Lord, why me, why poor, poor me, I am like Job's wife who must die because her husband needed to be taught a lesson by Thee, Oh Lord, in thy dispute with the Devil" type of noises.

The sixth hand, she raises and I play strong and call. The flop is A55. I wish I could remember and tell you my cards. I believe I had a queen. I push all-in. She agonises and waits and agonises. She makes exasperated noises. She looks at her cards, shuffles them, looks again. Quite frankly, I was getting a little worried she would call with 66 or 88 or something here. She finally folds and I'm now up to about a 3-1 dog.

"You had the ace?" she asks.

"Of course," I say. "I was worried you had a five," I lied.

"Do you want a deal?" she asks. I gladly and triumphantly take the fucking deal and the fucking money and fucking run. We split it down the middle, two tourney chips each plus $60 cash minus dealer tip. That wasn't so hard, was it?

I take my thousand dollars and play one more $125 table. The table is very unusual in the fact that we were down to 3 players at the 100/200 level. That's probably only 45 minutes or so. I still had my original stack, more or less. The guy to my left had a huge stack, basically 8.5 to 1 on me. The old guy to my right had a slightly larger stack than me.

I break my rule and ask, "Has anyone heard of people making deals?" The dealer nods and start to talk about "saving the buy-in", "chopping," etc. Unfortunately, these dunderheads don't even know what saving the buy-in means. Fortunately, the chatty dealer explains it. The chip leader says, "I'll do what he does," pointing to the old guy. What about little old, poor little me?

Old guy takes the deal and we agree to save the buy-in for second and third. I'm now on a freeroll. Chip leader busts out the old guy on the very next hand, to my chagrin, so now I have to pay that losing geezer part of my potential winnings to save his buy-in.

And, lucky of all luckies, chip leader turns to me with his 9-1 chip lead and says, "You want to chop it? It's a crapshoot really."

"Yeah," I smile nicely, "I've had a chip lead like that lots of times before and still lost." It's very important to lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, and lie some more. Sometimes I wonder about the ease with which these lies pour forth and I wonder if there might be something wrong with me. Then I think of all the asses I've had to kiss, and all the dicks I've had to suck, and all the "Oh you're so big and strong" I've had to utter to get something done in this world that I shrug my shoulders and say, "Fuck 'em."

We split it one tourney chip each, minus 125 for the geezer, so basically just the chip each. Pretty good. Pretty, pretty, pretty good.

WSOP part 2

2006-07-10T13:30:00.000-07:00

WSOP, part 1

With my new winnings, I went back to play several more satellites the next day. In the first one, I was playing quite well down to about 5 players left. The guy to my immediate left was a loose-mostly-passive player. I wasn't going to be able to buy the button or steal from him. He would always seem to call people's bets. He would show medium-or-lower strength hands, like T9o, 87s, etc. He was the kind of player where if he bet with nothing showing on the board, you would fold because he would never bet unless he had a made hand.

Needing to get in a steal to keep up with the blinds, I made a steal-raise one off the button with J9o. He called as I had hoped he wouldn't, but the beautiful board flop of AKx made me happy. Two of the cards were suited, so I bet the pot to push him off. He folded.

Maybe only one orbit later, I tried the same raise in the same position, but this time had some goods: AQo. I was glad when he called. The flop was two-suited small cards, ten-high. I bet the pot and he called, but not entusiastically. I put him on a flush draw and when the turn was another low blank, I pushed all-in. I was low enough that a pot bet would have committed me, so might as well continue to represent JJ, QQ, etc. If I didn't bet, I would be forced to fold to anything unless he miraculously checked. Comments here?

Unfortunately, he called with T4o, hence top pair. He had correctly read me as AK or similar, or maybe he just wasn't reading at all. I wasn't too upset about it; I had made a fairly good read and would have been right more than 50% of the time. I did fail to integrate more information into my decision, such as him holding a small pair or top pair on the small board. I should have given up when he called. If he had a set, I felt he would have raised on the flop. I definitely made a mistake pushing the hand so hard. Could be the rust of taking some time off. Duly noted, and back into line for another satellite.

In the next table, I found one very interesting hand that didn't affect the game, but I was very intrigued. Blinds were early, 50/100. In the big blind with only the limping small blind, I see AQo, so I raise. The small blind is fairly weak; he seems extra-tight, so a limp could be KQ, KJ, etc. He calls, so I put him safely on a small ace, biggish-king or small pair. The flop is KKJ. With a flop like that, no one wants to bet or call. He checks, which I determine could be a trap; but on the other hand, I check to setup my own bluff of the trips with a straight backdoor or something similar, but even if I can win this pot, I'm going to keep it small. I set the mental alarm that says "Don't go broke".

The turn is some blank, no flush draw. So he checks, nervously, I thought, and I check. I read him for not having the full house or trips. But the flashing light "Don't go broke" is still there. The river is another blank, and he now bets a very small amount, less than the pot, maybe only 100. Normally, that would be a bad sign, but I don't have any bad feelings. I am not certain what he has, but I still have a good read that I can break him, so I raised approximately the pot, which would have been about 400-500 then. I had enough chips to fold and continue; I wasn't going to put any more in. It was enough for him to really think about the call and would have dented his chips.

The small blind then goes into the tank. It could be an act, but he really does appear to be folding. And when he's counting his chips, he's counting out a call, not a raise. I am pretty sure he's going to fold. Some table talk ensues, which I found quite irritating, but couldn't do anything about.

One guy at the other end says about me, "You sat that long on AK?" Which was what I wanted them to believe, but shut up for chrissakes!

The guy next to him mutters, "Geez, just fold." Which was what I wanted him to do, but shut the fuck up already!!

Someone else whispers to the second guy, "I would have bet on the turn." For fuck's sake, I know! Shut the fuck up motherfuckers!

And the guy, amazingly, calls. He waits for me to show, he called so he has the right. I turn over the AQ, and it takes about 10 seconds for everyone to realise I missed. He turns over 33! I don't know how he made that call, but that's pretty amazing to me.

I lied and said, "I forgot I had a queen." Everyone laughs and agrees they've made that mistake. The guy turns to me and says, "I though you had the king." I said, "Yeah, so did I." Inside, I'm thinking, "What if I had 66, asshole? Next time, fold."

Comments on this one?

So I played for a while longer, got down to four players blinded down and took a stand on terrible cards. I had to make a move, and none of my steal attempts had been working.

Then, having enough of the satellites for a day, I went back to Binions for the 1pm tourney. It's supposedly $175 on the weekend, but there's an "optional tip" add-on for $25 and twice as many chips and a "rebuy" for $50 in the first hour. Only, the "optional tip" is bought by everyone (why would you start for half your chips) and the "rebuy" is actually an "add-on" because you don't have to bust out to take it. So it's really a $250 tournament. Now you know.

I definitely like these tourneys because they play long (probably too long to be worth it for the small prize) and are good for practice. For the first hour, nothing much happens, I am simply learning the players and coasting. I was able to get to the final table twice last year (or longer) and monied twice. Both times, though, I only got a few hundred dollars more than my buy-in. The problem this time was that this should have been a bigger tourney, but only 41 players buy-in, below the anticipated 60-70 usual. Slow weekend, probably due to the WSOP, of course. But it was also a holiday weekend. The floorman though it was unusually low, however, so I don't know.

I was able to take down a fairly large pot after the first hour. Approximately 4 limpers in front of my big blind, plus small-blind and I see KQs. I didn't feel too good about a raise, especially if someone is willing to call with a pair. The flop is a beautiful KTJ, but two suited not my suit. I bet out the pot to try to catch a set or chaser, and get one caller. The turn is a non-suited blank so I go all-in, which was appropriate to the size of the pot, and my stack size. The guy thinks it over, and says "I know I'm behind." I wasn't too happy because he must have a flush draw, although I'll still take the call. Someone else says, "Even I know you're behind, that player hasn't played a hand since this thing started." Why don't you assholes flapping your ass-cheeks in the wind just shut the motherfuck up?! Even if it benefits me, I don't want any table talk.

Stunningly, he calls with T7 suited for the flush draw and doesn't make it. I was now the chip leader at the table, and started stealing some good blind money. Our table was broken down, and my first hand at the new table (where I was, say, second largest stack) I look down to see QQ. I raise to 400 or so, the small blind reraise to 1000. I went all-in, easily covering her and she calls. She turns over AA. Her boyfriend or husband who happened to be sitting next to her starts yelling and cheering. The flop contains a Q, and I bust the poor bitch out. Her husband starts glaring at me, he's real pissed. I don't say anything, because if I had a dollar for every time my AA is busted by KK or QQ, well, I'd have about 10 dollars. I determine that I can take him out by using his anger.

Well, now, of course, I've got a really large stack, so I start bossing people around. Especially that pissed husband who gets really pissed when my steal with 85o wins against the guy next to him who had KJs. So I try to steal again against the mad husband's blind with T7s, and he calls me defiantly with AJo. Uh oh. A 7 on the flop gets him hopping mad and yelling, but a Jack on the river makes him burst out in cheers and jabbing his fists toward me. Oh well, that was only 25% of my stack or so and I'm still good.

On the last hand before the third break, down to two tables, a semi-tricky player on the button raises my big-blind. The table is essentially empty as everyone else is leaving for a break. I look down to see T4 off-suit, so I try to re-steal by reraising him all-in, about 15-20% of my stack. He calls with AJ, and no help, so I lose. I end the hour with only average stack now.

With possibly one too many steals gone bad, I play the fourth hour a little more conservatively to try to get to the final table. I do some blatant steals with 75o and even 83o, to great success. With antes 75 and blinds 400-800 or something, putting up 3000 to steal 2000 is a bargain.

The mad-husband guy busts out in a rage to someone else and leaves. We get down to 11 players, so the tables are about to join. I try to steal with a very small stack and lose. They only pay 6 places, so I didn't make it. Too bad.

WSOP, part 1

2006-07-07T12:52:00.000-07:00

After taking more than a year off, I have jumped back into the poker scene. July 4th weekend is a perfect time to start, considering the World Series of Poker® has just recently started.

Before that, though, I visited the Horseshoe to see what was going on. In a word, not a goddamned thing. Last year, only the final event was held in Binion's. This year, as I walked into the Horseshoe, there wasn't even anything so much as a paper sign to indicate the series event even existed.

Running over to the Rio (where it's held now that Harrah's bough the Horseshoe and the World Series of Poker® name), I looked in vain for the event. Walked all over the place, ducking and weaving, looking for the World Series. I saw some signs, but they never pointed anywhere substantive. I asked around and pit bosses pointed vaguely about. Finally, with some triangulation of directions and signs, I was able to discover a semi-hidden passage way toward the pool area and the conference centers. Walking about another 5 miles (no, seriously), I was able to finally!! get to the convention center where the event is held.

Outside the huge room, there were several vendors hawking stupid useless shit. There were the requisite short-shorts ass-cheek-showing and tied-shirt-belly-showing girls. I know this is a manly event, but please let women have some dignity who come to participate or watch the game. One scum-sucking guy was selling "program guides" that looked to me like free Card Player magazines for $10. Anyone who was stupid enough to stop and look at his wares was given the hard sell. And if they didn't want any, he would give them a "discount" if they were "playing".

Inside the huge room, the light was bright and the air was clear. It really is a wonderful thing to walk into a brightly lit poker room with hundreds of tables and thousands of players. I may be exaggerating the numbers, but it really brings a smile to your lips and a watering in your mouth. Pavlov should have done his experiments on poker players listing to the click/clack of poker chips.

I quickly moved over to the satellite tables. I am considered somewhat of a "satellite specialist" and in previous years, used to make a large amount of cash feeding on the single-table tournaments and selling tournament chips. I used to harbour the quaint notion that I could one day win the main event; easily beating 6 or 8 hundred players. I remember thinking, "I need to be really good to beat 'The Spainard'", "I could whoop that sorry gay-ass Varkonyi", "I probably couldn't have called that maniac Moneymaker either", and "I'm not too impressed with Fossilman, he seems overrated". Now, however, with the sheer number of players, I don't think I have a real shot any more, if indeed I ever had one.

Ironically, as I approach my 7th or 8th year of pooker exploits (including time off), and approach the magical 10th year soon (in which is supposedly gained World Class status), I realise I am content to simply make my money $1000 to $2000 dollars at a time, skimming the cream off of the sweet nectar of single-table satellites.

So I sat down at the first satellite table and about an hour in not playing much, I busted out when my AQo runs into A9o which turns into a straight on the river. I wasn't upset, in fact, it's curious how quickly the groove slipped back on. I haven't played a single hand of cash poker for essentially 15 months, and here I was, playing well, alert and attentive and intuitive within 10 minutes of sitting down.

I promptly sat down at another table and started playing again. With some maneuvers and a KK hand, I easily passed the first hour in great shape, but very low on chips. I've always played deep in almost any tournament, which may be a bad thing or a good thing, depending on when I make my moves toward the end. I could probably shorten my average depth of play but make more earnings if I boosted my chip count more often, but I'll get there eventually.

So, after the first hour, we get down to five players (from the initial 10), including a fairly decent player to my immediate right, a complete fish across from me, and two others. At a key point UTG, I look down to see AA, and I raise. Fish goes all in, all fold, I call. He has QQ. An unfortunate queen on the flop gives him all my chips except 3 greens (75). Fortunately, or unfortunately, the blinds are 100. My next hand is the big blind, so I post short. Four people see the flop (woohoo to quadruple up), and check the pot down to the end. Amazingly, I turn over my cards, 88, and it's good! I think Fish had a King-high for the side pot.

Next hand in the small blind, all fold around, I see AJo, I go all in against the big blind and he calls. He turns over K9o, my unimproved hand wins. I essentially go all-in or steal some more hands to move up to average stack again. After a few more levels, we're down to three players, just the Fish, Decent Guy, and I. I am now small stack again, and I go all-in with AQo. Both players call, easily covering me. The flop comes out with a raggedy rainbow, and the Fish (amazingly to me), bets the pot against the Decent Guy. Decent player guy flips his top. He starts yelling at the fish, "You better have a good hand, I can't believe you bet me out of the pot, we can get rid of this player and you're pushing me off the hand." Etc.

Fish turns over King-high, my AQ wins. Now the Decent player guy who is demoted to Decent-player-who-is-over-emotional-and-won't-progress-until-he-can-handle-himself-better starts really chewing in on the fish. He's yelling practically, continuing into the next hand about how bad the play was. The dealer, trying to break the tension, turns to me and says, "You don't mind the play, do you?" and I smile and say no. I pretend like I don't even know why he should be upset. "Fish could have won the pot," I say, not using the name "fish" but instead referring to the player. Inside, I'm thinking, "Don't educate the motherfucking fish you motherfucking twitter headed motherfucking motherfucker and shut your mouth now."

The Decent-but-emotional-guy then calms down about three hands later and apologises. The dealer then says, "I've seen all kinds of plays and players. Everyone can do what they feel is best. I recognise you and the other guy," referring to the guy formerly sitting to the right of Decent Player Guy. Then, horror of horrors, the dealer turns to me and says, "And I recognise you too." Cold ice hit my anus and I tried to smile weakly. Internally I said, "Dealers should speak only when A) action is to be called or B) when fucking spoken to, asshole."

A few levels later, I was able to bust out Fish and so it was heads-up betwixt me and Decent player guy. He had about a 4-1 chip lead on me. I have a rule that I don't offer deals, but I will gladly accept them (even if I am chip leader, or I should say, ESPECIALLY if I am chip leader -- heads-up can go either way and you have great negotiation leverage), but Decent guy didn't offer.

The first hand I raised as the button and he folded. Second hand, he limped, I raised, he folded. Third hand, I raised, he folded. This guy wasn't very good heads up. Fourth hand, he raised all-in. I saw K6o, called immediately and showed my junk. I was pretty certain this guy wouldn't raise all-in with a premium hand. He immediately started bitching, much to my joy, because it meant I was ahead. "How could you call that, with King-high? Oh man, I can't believe that. How can you call that?" He proceeded to flip over an equally worthless J5o.

The hand held up and now I was a 8-1 chip leader. We went all-in about four times with 1 chop, and three double-ups before he lost. He left in shame. I tipped the dealer and sold my tourney chips for continued action...

Keeping up with the Smiths

2006-06-28T12:30:00.000-07:00

At the risk of becoming a movie-review blog, I recently encountered Mr. and Mrs. Smith on cable. Yes, I know I should actually visit a movie theatre at some point, or at the very least get a Netflix subscription. Well, shove it up your ass and listen to my story.

I was bothered by the amount of domestic violence that was displayed in this movie. Surely, a movie like War of the Roses would have taught us a lesson. In this day and age (halfway through 2006), a man must be arrested on a domestic violence call if there is any visible injury on the woman. She can have a nose bleed from stress, call the police and he'll go to jail. Not that he doesn't deserve to, mind you. I say lock the guy up.

But the point is that we cannot condone these scenes of violence just because they are movies, and especially not because they are portrayed as "comedy" or "sexy". If someone hits me in the midst of some passionate love, then I shall hope that they leave a mark, because the phone will be dialing 911 faster than you can say "put your clothes on and get the cops out here!"

Overall, I thought the action was decent, and the director never really bothers to stop for dialogue or pauses. It moves along briskly, which is an incredible relief these days in my old age. I didn't like the short pauses to capture the facial tics on Brad's face. These tics weren't comedic, they were like watching the RCA dog tilt his head at his master's voice. "Huh? Oh. Ah! Wha? Hmm." Very boring and forced.

The final action sequence is extremely marred by poor choreography, especially the slow-mo crap where they work together as a team to shoot the bad guys. Those tactics would never fly in any military or paramilitary formation. It was idiotic and foolish.

Look at the scene where they are inside the elevator (twice!), going up to the second floor of the Home shop at the end. You'll see Angie has a full MP5 or other machine gun. But getting in, she clearly has a hand gun. Coming out of the elevator at the bottom, she has a hand gun again. Kind of fun when you catch movie goofs by yourself, without having to watch twice, or be told.

Revenge of the Star Nerds

2006-06-23T09:35:00.000-07:00

I finally saw Revenge of the Sith on cable. It bounced between campy, hokey, choppy, cool, and satisfying. There is a lot to hate:

Yoda's lame-ass acting and repulsively stupid lines like "Time is over, yours is."
Whirly twirly Brazillian dance saber fights (in some cases, it's so slow and bad that you can actually see the actors thinking about their choreography)
Stupid hand-pushing-hand-with-invisible-force and flying-away-and-bouncing-off-a-wall-or-railing.

There is a very satisfying few minutes toward the end where Vader's helmet is sealed shut and he begins his "darth breath noises".

I obviously wouldn't say it is worse than Episode 1 or 2, for heaven's sake. A two-hour film of any pile of dog shit on the sidewalk would be better than those two. But it's certainly not very good compared to the original series and it's only mediocre in a general "sci-fi film" category.

This stall is occupied

2006-06-14T09:46:00.000-07:00

So I was in the toilet stall closest to the entrance of the public bathroom at work (because that is the least used; I used to also proceed as far back into the stalls as possible until I realised I was doing myself more harm than good), when someone came in and sat in the stall right next to me. The layout was four regular stalls, and one extra-large handicapped stall on the end.

So I'm sitting there, shitius interruptus, wondering how someone can just come in, sit next to you and blap blorp pfffft start going at it so calmly and quickly. I'm the type of person, no matter how badly I have to go, if I see someone else in the public restroom at all then I'll turn around and leave to find another unoccupied bathroom. I know where all the bathrooms in the building are, what their cleaning schedules are, and when they are most utilised.

So I'm sitting there, stuck between a shit and a hard place, half in half out, so to speak, and I decide, I'm going to try to do this. Who cares who is there and not there, and how long they'll be? No one knows I'm in here.

And then another person comes in and in the stall next to that person. Soon the sounds and smells of bathroom essence were floating amicably through the air.

Just about the time that I was ready to just wipe and run, and hopefully just throw my underwear away if they get marked, another person comes in and sits in the far stall (leaving the handicapped stall available). I sometimes have a hard time understanding a panic attack that a claustrophobic person might have. But now I think I can imagine it is similar to the feeling that I experienced in that toilet-phobic experience.

May all your stalls be clean and your public restrooms be empty.

Wear my genes

2006-06-12T14:04:00.000-07:00

The question that was brought up over the weekend at my parenting classes (see this article) was "Are you worried that you adopted child will not share you biological material and how will that affect your ability to parent?"

And my answer was that I had already given up - to a point - becoming a biological parent. The number of years and dollars that have been wasted by myself and many many others pursuing medical reproduction is truly horrifying. Mark my words, if you are considering pursuing IVF or infertility treatments, you probably shouldn't. Maybe your body is trying to tell you something. Maybe your time and money is better spent elsewhere. Maybe not, but don't go into it blindly, thinking it will work out extremely well. The odds are against it. At the very least, think about what else you could do that is more important and worthwhile. Nobody I know who went through infertility for many years did think about the other side, including myself.

In any case, another factor that plays here is that I could very well almost be a better parent when not genetically related to my child. I can be a bit too harsh on myself and might pass that on to my child. It is a sin to project yourself too much onto your child. They are a separate individual, related or not. Being an adoptive parent actually gives me a little more distance to consider our relationship and give the developing person a separate space to grow. The distance I'm talking about is not emotional. It is more an intellectual distance that helps keep the child separate from being a cloned image of the parent.

To all you birth mothers who gave up their children, I have the utmost compassion for you and your decision. It certainly isn't or wasn't easy. But once an event happens, you can't undo it. If a child is born, it must be cared for. If you can't care for it, it should be given to another who can. Nothing ever works perfectly all the time, but then, it doesn't need to either.

Your mileage may vary.

To my daughter

2006-06-02T15:28:00.000-07:00

Dear so-and-so,

Although you are not physically near me as I write this, you are very near to my heart. My hope is that two decades from now, I can send you out into the world as a whole and vibrant individual. Right now, I can only hope that these words will give some guidance to you as you mature and develop into a wonderful woman. You may need a dictionary and thesaurus for each of the words that are used here, but that is OK. It is necessary to learn and explore new ideas and concepts and words. This document should be able to help you develop from your teen years through your early adulthood -- and hopefully beyond.

These concepts were not invented by me, although I did synthesize them according to my own understanding and traits. They may not all apply to you, but even if you find my ideas flawed or structurally unsound, you are free to recreate or rearrange them for yourself.

There are four components of character that are necessary to understand and develop over the course of a lifetime so that you can become the best person you possibly can be. The four pillars of character are Strength, Integrity, Curiosity, Compassion.

The first pillar is Strength, which is composed of the elements of courage, fortitude, discipline, and dedication. Strength is not a function of muscles, but of mind. No matter how physically strong you may (or may not) be, objects do not move by desire, but by will. You should understand the difference between wanting to do something and moving forward and doing it. Every physical action that you perform is brought on by the will of your mind to do so. When no one else is willing to get a job done, you should be able to do it by willing to get it done. Courage is the ability to face fears (which are a natural reaction to something that is unknown) and taking direct and immediate steps to removing the fear. Fear of danger is a wonderful motivation to get out of harm's way. But fear can also paralyze and freeze those without courage. When you feel yourself locking up in fear, shake it off and act in a positive direction.

The second pillar is Integrity, which is composed of the elements of honesty, morality, excellence, and loyalty. Integrity implies that you can be counted on by others and by yourself. Honesty with others lets others know they can trust and rely on you. Honesty also has an outward-to-inward context. One half of honesty is projecting out the truth to others. The other half is receiving truth from others or the world. No matter how uncomfortable a fact or reality, you should unflinchingly look at it and truly face it. Honesty is based on reflecting (or receiving) reality as it is, not as you wish or desire it to be. Use your inner judgement to decide the most realistic scenarios and be satisfied with that. You will not always be happy, you will not always be the most attrative, you will not always be the most popular. Deal with your short comings openly and you will be at peace with yourself. Excellence is to strive for respect and constantly improving your quality of work. Anything that you touch, or make, or create should be of the highest quality. Even the smallest task that you undertake should be done with quality and presence of mind. Take pride and ownership in what you do and others will respect you for it. Do not let your desires or wishful thinking of others take advantage of you.

The third pillar is Curiosity, which is composed of the elements of questioning, seeking knowledge, and flexibility. When presented with the way that things are, you should always wonder "why"? You may not receive the answers you seek, but it is important that you seek them. Sometimes the question has no answer, but the questioner is enriched by asking. Always seek, always ask, and even go so far as to doubt the answer that you are presented if they do not match what you already know. In this way, you flexibly learn and grow to know the world. By questioning things that you my experience or find out, you will piece together how things work and why they are designed that way. If you cannot find an answer, it may not exist, but that is part of the joy of discovery.

The fourth pillar is Compassion, which is composed of the elements of love, friendship, empathy, sympathy, altruism, and self-esteem. As you go through life, you will meet many other souls just like yours wandering this planet. Always give your fellow souls the benefit of the doubt when you first meet them. Know that they are often times going through the same thoughts, feelings, and emotions you are going through or have gone through. If one of them were to strike out at you, consider what may have caused them to do this. See if you can figure out what is driving their behaviours. If you can figure it out, offer some honest help. If they do not accept it, move on. Offer everyone you meet compassion, but if they take advantage of it, or if they abuse it, move on and do not waste any more time. There are plenty of other souls who are willing, able and eager to give and receive compassion.

These four pillars are all good and well, but you will only have a limited time on earth to accomplish anything. So make sure that all of your time is spent wisely for it is a limited resource that disappears quickly. Do not, however, fall in the trap of looking too far ahead or too far behind. The past is already gone. Do not dwell there. The future has not arrived. Do not look to it while ignoring the present. You only have the present moment to do what you need to accomplish, so be efficient about it and choose wisely.

The last ingredient that binds these together is Balance. Moderation in all things is important to keeping an even keel. Too much strength and honesty without compassion results in rudeness. Too much curiosity without integrity results in nosiness and meddling. Too much compassion without strength leaves you vulnerable to those who would hurt you or anyone else. Too much integrity without compassion results in a person who is judgemental and snobbish. There are always two sides to every argument and situation. Choose the third, middle, compromise each time.

By mixing and matching these pillars of character, you can draw on each to go out into the world and face it with wide open eyes, an open heart, and a smile. Others will be attracted to your spirit like moths to a flame and your duty will be to share with them the joys of what you have learned and share what you have to give.

And finally, know that you will never achieve perfection in all of these realms, not even in a few. There are too few years in a lifetime to master all of them. Develop all of them in moderation and balance as you grow and you will achieve as much as you need to. Work on the elements of your character that are weakest first. You will know how weak an aspect of your character is by how hard it is to develop it. If you find yourself struggling with a facet of your character, then that is exactly the facet you need to develop most. Do not dwell on character traits that you find easy to promote and grow. These will develop by themselves because you are naturally inclined toward it. Strenghten your weaknesses and your strengths will follow. Neglect your weaknesses and you will have a double problem -- your strengths will become unweildy and unbalanced, and your weaknesses will contribute to your unbalance even more.

In contrast to my own advice, there will be times when you will feel like a total failure. Everyone has been there, even myself, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar. You will want to lay on the ground and cry at the disaster you perceive yourself to be. Cry for a while, if you like. Once you're done crying, get up and do something about it. Make a positive change, do something to increase your character. The rules of the universe say that anything that stops moving is dead. Keep moving and ducking and dogding and weaving. The mere effort to continue will develop the strength and integrity to realize what is wrong and to fix it. You do not have to make constant progress, but you must constantly strain to do so.

Always remember that we are here to raise and protect you. We can give you guidance. But you must have the strength to work at it, the integrity to face it without fear, the curiosity to explore things I have (and have not) taught, and the compassion to share it with others.

Much love,

Celebrity Sighting #233

2006-05-25T14:35:00.000-07:00

I was recently at the Getty Museum in the "central garden" when I met one of the old geezers from Everybody Loves Raymond. I think his character's name is Garvin. He's got the really hooked nose and he always raises his arms and shouts, "Hey hey, it's RAY-MOND!!!" when he sees Raymond.

Seriously, though, the d00d is O-L-D, like on oxygen and ready to die O-L-D.

A void

2006-05-22T06:55:00.000-07:00

There was some discussion in our adoption class over the weekend about talking to our future daughter about how they were adopted and how they came to be with us. One of the pitfalls might be to tell our daughter that we were infertile and that she became our "second" or "last" choice.

And I thought of something I should have said, but I probably couldn't have in front of everyone else.

For us, the void that exists in our lives is like a puzzle piece that is missing, or a chair that doesn't have anyone to sit in it. We kept trying to fit something into the void to see if it would fit and it never did. The pieces we tried to fit in were too big or too small, or the wrong shape, so that it just fell out. Anyone who tried to sit in the empty seat found it didn't fit them correctly.

But soon, the correct puzzle piece will fit and stay. The chair will be filled with the person who is supposed to sit there. It will be a very good thing.

SJP

2006-05-12T09:28:00.000-07:00

I saw the recent (one of many) commercials featuring Sarah Jessica Parker. I personally think she is old and fugly as shit. I never though she was hot, not even during the height (if you want to call it that) of the Sex and the City days. As far as I recall, the only nudity I saw on the show was that other old fugly on the show. Goddamn, I forgot her name, but she was the one who was near menopause.

If SJP isn't the most overrated "hot" old fugly ever, then I don't know who is, except maybe Holly Hunter or hardcore manly lesbian Jody Foster.

Broderick is the gay lover of Lane, anyway, so there can't be anything going on between her and Parker.

America's Next Top Idiot

2006-05-04T09:16:00.000-07:00

I was watching America's Next Top Model (gods help me!) and heard some particularly idiotic phrases when one of the vapid mulatto aspiring model idiots was introduced to an elephant:

Quote 1: "These elephants are preposterous!"

Quote 2: "I think of them as dinosaurs. That's what they are. Elephants are part of the dinosaur family."

I'm going to jump off a bridge for watching America's Next Top Model and having to listen to these idiots talk.

Illegal immigration boycott

2006-05-01T11:17:00.000-07:00

I haven't noticed any ill effects from the boycotts today.

I have, however, noticed a huge improvement in traffic patterns and congestion.

I think this is the downside of any kind of strike. You have several possible outcomes from this boycott in my way of thinking:

Big protests, nobody cares, traffic is nicer, the message is, "I wish those illegals would protest more often!"
Big protests, people care, but they ask, "So what are we supposed to do?"
Big protests, people get angry saying, "If they're pissed off, let them leave. They cause problems for me as an employer, and I'm going to kick them out!"
Big protests, people get polarised, saying, "I was a centrist but now I'm not so happy. We need to really crack down and fix this problem."
Big protests, people are touched and affected, and we grant them amnesty and citizenship. Repeat this process 10 or 20 years from now.

Not very good outcomes, any of these. Whoever arranged these protests isn't too terribly bright. I predict only bad things from this. But I've been wrong before.

Da Vinci Code Balderdash

2006-05-01T08:57:00.000-07:00

I'm getting a little sick and tired of all the hype surrounding the Da Vinci Code.

First of all, the book is a work of FICTION. It says so in the cover page.

Second, the book purports to state several "Facts" on the first page regarding the Priory of Sion and some other nonsense. These "facts" have been debunked, not once or twice or even independantly by three researchers. Not five or ten or twenty researchers have debunked it. It has been thoroughly debunked and documented by hundreds of researchers. There is a video of and interview with the creator of the hoax documents regarding the Priory of Sion who clearly recants the documents. The creator of these hoaxes and false documents was actually convicted of fraud in France.

Third, Tom Hanks' hair looks simply ridiculous.

Sleep

2006-04-28T08:46:00.000-07:00

This past week is very exciting with the new job, but also has severe sleep issues. I am now coming home in the evening and feeling a little run down. As soon as I eat dinner and sit on the couch, I start to nod off. In fact, on Wednesday night, I spent three hours going in and out of consciousness watching TV when I should have gone directly to bed at 19:00. Instead, I managed to doze uncomfortably on the couch and then wake fully up and drink some tea and go to bed as late as 22:30.

Yesterday I was a little better (meaning that I could stay awake, but I was still pretty tired). I determined to watch a horrible episode of CSI: Nevada (hard to tell which one is which without the cities anymore). I thought it had something to do with the CSI picture "clues" they've been hyping.

Speaking of clues, I've noticed a couple of points. All of these clues can be seen without magnification. My personal stance is that the magnification can help you identify certain clues or items, but if they are visible only in the magnification, then that is just bullshit.

Stokes on the far left has a visible cut or gouge on his neck
The rookie investigator is clearly looking at the coroner with interest...
...who appears to be holding a scalpel in his hand (but that's really weird because it looks like the scalpel was photoshopped in -- it's definitely not a real scalpel he's holding and it could just be something on the wall behind him)
The slot machines say "Lucky Dragon" and the left-most slot machine has three cherries while the right slot machine has two blank white plates with a missing third plate
Who's missing? The detective cop...
...who might be the one shot dead and slumped over but probably not -- a little too portly and grey-haired...
...and appears to have a yellow kercheif or something kinda strange in his suit pants pocket which probably protrudes due to the man pulling something out of his pocket...
...and the dramatic bullet hole in his back with blood could possibly be an exit wound from a small caliber weapon, or a large caliber entry wound (shot from the back?)
Speaking of slumped over, the dead guy's hand extends down below the window frame so we cannot see what is in his hand (I suspect a weapon or briefcase or something dramatic)
The neon sign says "Play" backward. I'm not sure if that's supposed to be the place or not. The original scene that this picture is based on says "Bar" backward

Thanks and take care.

New Job

2006-04-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

Just started my new job yesterday. This was somewhat of a happy surprise. I gave my two week's notice three weeks ago and was only unemployed for one week. Technically, I got 60 hours of vacation paid out so I was actually never really unemployed; I was on vacation in between jobs.

I won't specify which company I work for; in fact, I shouldn't have mentioned my interviews with Google at all. The company is one of those "dot com" type of companies with free daily lunches, free soda, free snacks, free massage, etc.

It's fun.

Happy easter

2006-04-09T11:08:00.000-07:00

I was listening to the radio yesterday and heard a very amusing sound effect of someone lighting up a big old bong, coughing heavily and shouting hoarsely, "Thank you Jesus!"

So I thought in honour of Easter that I would recognise our Lord Jesus who died on the cross so that we could smoke dope.

Thank you Jesus!

Job market traction

2006-04-07T10:47:00.000-07:00

I'm getting some good traction with my resume in the last three weeks. I've been on five (yes, count them, five) phone interviews. I've also been to three face-to-face interviews, and I've got at least two more scheduled.

I would estimate that from 1999 until 2004, I had sent out my resume to at least 200 job postings. I recall getting 2 email questions, two phone calls, and two face-to-face interviews. Those are some horrible, pathetic, ridiculously low numbers.

Previous to that, from 1993 to 1999, I sent out my resume less than 100 times online and offline, and I had so many interviews and offers, I would routinely turn them down and delete the voicemails. In fact, I was getting calls for interviews at the rate of at least once per week for several years.

It's been a long 7 or 8 years, but it seems like the thaw is melting.

Cirque du Soleil

2006-04-04T13:23:00.000-07:00

I went to Quidam this weekend and enjoyed it. I didn't like the two fake "audience participation" sequences. They weren't very funny, nor was I even slightly convinced that it was real. There was a sequence involving a nearly nude woman with tight body suit who hung from red drapes and did the usual acrobatics. I shudder to think of the symbolism of the "blood" red cloth and the woman hanging from her waist by these threads... but to each his (or her) own.

However, there was a sequence which involved four of those small China girls who play with the wooden spools on the strings. They're apparently called Diabolos and here's a picture from the same Quidam link above: China girls with Diabolos.

And tears started to well up in my eyes because some day soon, one of those little China girls could be my daughter.

Free at last

2006-04-03T13:25:00.000-07:00

I turned in my two weeks' notice today. Boy does that feel good! Goodbye, bitches. I'm gone. You can let the Russians win; give them the reigns. I don't have any vested interest any more.

Cat sneezing

2006-03-31T08:14:00.000-08:00

Our female cat started sneezing last night. Seriously, she is sneezing like a human. It's funny too, because this morning when I was feeding her, she bent down to eat and then paused, a funny look passed across her face, and then she bobbed her head up and sneezed. Then she rubbed her nose with her paw. Exactly like a human would.

I didn't know that cats could sneeze.

Betting

2006-03-30T13:56:00.000-08:00

Betting on an outcome is a very instructive way to figure out the future. For example, will you be in a car accident tomorrow? No way. Want to wager on it? Hmmm. What if it is going to rain tomorrow? What if tomorrow is a Friday and you'll be driving late at night past a lot of bars just past closing time? What if you are not going to drive 20 miles to work, but instead you will stay home and make a quick trip to the grocery store?

All of these factors could weigh into a decision on how much you would be willing to wager and what kind of spread you will take on it. I often take bets on office events and project milestones. "I'll bet you 2 to 1 for a dollar we don't finish the project this year," "So and so won't last a year, he'll be fired or quit. Wanna bet?" Etc. I keep the betting money in my desk drawer, with neat notations on the bet and whose bet it was etc.

So today, I had this awkward exchange with one of the guys who works for me:

Me: Um, do you recall we made a bet?
Employee: Vaguely.
Me: It was 2 to 1 for a nickel. I put up 10 cents, you put up a nickel.
Employee: It doesn't sound familiar.
Me: Well, it has your name on it and the bet, see here? I don't have the parameters or the date.
Employee: It was probably the ***** project.
Me: Ah, yes. [smiling] How long ago was that?
Employee: Uh... It was... Yeah... Um...
Me: So you would say that I won the bet, yes? [smiling]
Employee: As usual, you asshole.
Me: So we're square, I'm going to take your five cents.
Employee: Ok.
Me: Would you like to make another bet, perhaps? Double-or-nothing?
Employee: I'm not really comfortable with that. Maybe later.

A finely tuned mind can make quite good bets on the future, especially if there is a monetary tie-in like a small wager.

Religion and mental illness

2006-03-27T08:33:00.000-08:00

Believe nothing, no matter where you have read it, no matter who has said it, even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense.

Buddha

The reason that I love this quote so much is because I truly believe that all religions that I have studied or had exposure to did not address the fundamental issue of human suffering. I was raised as a protestant Christian, and believe me, these people with whom I went to church every Sunday were some that I judged to be the most mentally ill people I have ever had exposure to.

I never once received a lesson in my Sunday Schools or sermons that taught me how to identify suffering, its causes, and how to get rid of it. Quite the opposite, in fact; I am certain that these religions do more harm for mental health than good. I recall attending so-called Sunday School to study how great God was when I was thinking the whole time, "I would like to jump out of that window if only I could fit through there and no one would stop me." There is no singular, magical method of removing human suffering, but if one can understand the causes and identify the patterns of it, the path to freedom is made clear.

No religion -- not one that I know of, including the "mystical" or "organised" forms of Buddhism, addresses the need to solve human suffering. I am referring to my own personal suffering, which was extreme and pronounced until I read the Zen and Buddha's teachings in my early 20's. My advice is to stop going to church or temple and sit and read. Quit your job, move out of your house, break up with your abusive partner or get a divorce. Then, sit and remove your suffering.

Do it now. Otherwise, stop yer whinin'.

Celebrity Citing #113

2006-03-25T09:26:00.000-08:00

I stepped into the Gap this past Sunday and saw a tall stringy woman with a bulky vest jacket and her hair tucked up under a Maoist green communist cap. She turned to talk to a an older woman (whom I will assume was her mother or possibly her assistant or maid) and I recognised the face immediately as Uma Thurman. I've been wrong before, however, so I just watched as she (somewhat nervously) picked out clothing and walked back and forth between the main floor and the dressing room.

As I drew closer, I was able to hear her talk to her "alleged" mother and there was no mistaking that manly, raspy voice with a weird european lilt. Her face is much more angular and she is really tall in person. I made eye contact with her without really wanting to, but she gave me a quick, nervous smile and I returned it, only to be nice.

I wanted to tell her that her Japanese accent was pretty bad, but it was much better than that horrible Lucy Liu's. It's also not her fault that Kill Bill should have been one good volume instead of two really terrible volumes, neither of which, separately or together, is very watchable.

Adam Carrola

2006-03-22T08:30:00.000-08:00

Paraphrased from the Adam Carrola show this morn (he has two products he pushes in "live" ad spots much like the late great Howard Stern - Quizno's™ subs and Brother™ P-touch® labelers):

Adam: Brother™ P-touch®. I love Brother™ P-touch®. You can use the outdoor labels that will withstand the elements. Why, the other day, I labeled a squirrel. Of course, he ran around in circles until he ran out of gas and died. And then a crow got him.

But then I labeled the crow! And a coyote got him.

But then I labeled the coyote! And a mountain lion - but you get the picture.

[other side talk with his sports guy whom I hate]

The ultimate labeling prey is man. That's the next thing I'm going to label.

That was some slightly, mildly amusing shit.

Rejection

2006-03-21T16:24:00.000-08:00

Sent: Tuesday, March 21, 2006 3:44 PM
To: xyz
From: ^^^@google.com

Dear xyz

Thank you so much for your interest in Google and especially for taking the time to speak at length first with *** and then with ---. After careful consideration, we believe there is not currently a position on the Google.com ... team that aligns with your experience and skills.

We certainly hope that, in the future, a position at Google arises that will be a better fit. So we'll keep you in mind as we continue to grow, and we look forward to discussing future opportunities at Google with you.

Best regards,

^^^
Google Staffing

To: ^^^@google.com
From: xyz

Thanks once again for taking the time to speak with me. I certainly appreciate it and it was a great personal milestone for me to even be considered.

Sincerely,

xyz

Mega disaster

2006-03-20T07:51:00.000-08:00

I love those mega disaster pseudo documentaries that show on National Geographic or Discovery Channel. Saturday I watched a rehashed, boiler-plate, worry-wart, pollyanna National Geographic special on (said in loud celestial tones, with echo and booms)

Mega Quake

It was regarding the four possible "unavoidable" dangers threatening Seattle during a megathrust earthquake. They are, for the record,

Ground shake
Liquefaction
Landslide
Tsunami

As each one was printed on the screen and stock footage of each was shown, I was in heaven. The endorphins were ripping through my brain and I was high as a kite. I was dancing with glee at how bad Seattle was going to get it. I've seen the stock footage a million times. The graphics depicting the city shaking were horrible. The narration was ominous and pretentious. But I was absolutely thrilled.

I always love to watch this destructive shit on TV. Some of my recent favourites:

Tsunami: don't call this a tidal wave. Make it large and destructive. Nothing less than 30 metres, please. I'm not interested in anything smaller.

Hurricane: level 5, please. Lots of damage and levee breaking.

Tornado: same as Hurricanes. Level 3 and 4 need not apply. Give me footage that is in the middle of the debris zone, not something shot from 4 miles away on a zoom. I watched a special on some idiot building a mini-tank in which he would drive into a tornado and film an IMAX movie. I say, good on you, mate. I'll watch you get a house dropped on you like they did to that cunny in the Wizard of Oz.

Super Volcano: not just a regular, ordinary volcano. I want a super volcano that is the size of Yellowstone park, that could potentially wipe us out like it did to some of the dinosaurs. I'd love nothing more than to sit on top of that caldera floor and feel the bad boy rumble for the few seconds before I disintigrate. That'd be hot.

Megathrust earthquake: No regular 5, 6 or 7 quakes, please. And no shallow, grinding shit. I want massive, peta-ton explosion sizes. Minimum entry for my excitement level is 8.5 and hopefully 9. Shake for minutes, not seconds, please. I love it!

Lhar: just the name evokes wonderful tingly sensation. "Lhar." "Lhar." It just rolls off the toungue, tasting delicious and scary. Lhar is not just a landslide. It's a fluid river of earth. It moves buildings, forests, bridges and it floats concrete. Rush on, old lhar. I love ye like ye were my own.

Pyroclastic cloud: hotter than the earth's core, as fast as the speed of sound. More deadly and destructive than lava and faster, too. What's not to love?

Comet, Asteroid or other Large Celestial Object: let's get something the size of California or Texas, and just go chuck that at the earth. None of this small size objects, like the size of a car or bus. Even something that's 7 miles by 1 mile by 1 mile isn't going to get my blood pumping. Give me a goddamned state in the black void of space hurtling at my head at 1 mega-metre per hour. That's some excellent stuff.

I'm so hot and bothered right now I need to go shake something off and smoke a tobacco stick.

Google second interview

2006-03-15T09:20:00.000-08:00

The interview was totally brutal. It was worse than brutal, it was horrendous. It was absolutely horrible. But not the worst that I've experienced. The guy from Google starts out with:

Google: "How are you? Do you have some time to do the interview? It will take about 30 to 45 minutes."

Me: "I'm fine, I'm ready. Let's go."

Google: "Explain to me how path mtu discovery works."

I talked about DF (don't fragment) bits and the rest. I screw up and say the router will drop the packet silently. He grills me on it. I say I don't recall the correct sequence, but something like that. [I looked it up again. The router sends an ICMP 'can't fragment' packet.]

Google: "But why even have an MTU in the first place? Why can't we just send packets as large as we want?"

I talked about packet switching, router buffers, retransmission, routers getting tied up. I can tell I'm not getting anywhere on this one and he gives up.

Google: "What do you know about the 3-way handshake?"

I talked about syn, syn-ack, ack.

Google: "Why send the final ack packet?"

I talk about "that's how the RFC is written" :-P

Google: "Why can't the client just start sending data after receiving the syn-ack?"

I don't know. [I should have talked about the TCP state machine]

Google: "What are the file permission bits on a file that you know?"

I talked about read, write, execute, SUID.

Google: "How does SUID work?"

I talk about SUID.

Google: "What other flags are there?"

I remember vaguely the "t" bit on a directory and describe it.

Google: "What about the 't' flag applied to an executable?"

I don't know. [I did some research -- it's unused, but means 'text file' or something like that. I think the answer is that an executable file won't execute. I haven't tested it. I've never seen the 't' bit set on any file in 15 or 20 years.]

Google: "You mentioned inodes. What are those?"

I talk about inodes.

Google: "They're pointing to parts of the disk. What kind of information is stored on them?"

I talk about mod/access/create times. I talk about file permissions. I even remember reference counts for hard links.

Google: "Anything else?"

I can't think of anything. [I should look it up.]

Google: "If you are administering a system, and you think an intruder has broken into the system, what checks do you do?"

I talk about the file system integrity. A trusted 'ps' command to look for hidden processes. 'netstat' to show the network ports. Etc.

Google: "If you were an intruder and you knew that someone like yourself would check these things, how would you work around it?"

I talk about trying to name my executable 'bash' or even better 'httpd' to disguise my activities. I fail pretty miserably on this one. I never used a root kit.

I think I screwed the pooch really badly. Imagine what kind of people they hire if I can't get this position? I don't agree that these kinds of interviews work well and hire the correct people. But that could be sour grapes. :)

Cats and Evolution, part 2

2006-03-13T08:58:00.000-08:00

In reference to my question on cats and fish, I have always wondered why cats enjoy seafood so much. How, pray tell, did they develop this taste?

In the 365 cats calendar, there is the following blurb on 3/9/2006.

Something's Fishy

Since fish is rarely part of a cat's diet in the wild, how did it become such a common ingredient in today's cat food? A possible reason is that during World War II meat was rationed, so manufacturers looked for a substitutde protein -- and the rest is history.

This is total and complete bullshit.

First, "a possible reason" is not a valid scientific point. I need facts, evidence, and proof. Do not supply possible reasons.

Second, how does the cat actually enjoy the taste of fish and crave it at all? That is the more pressing issue.

Third, this argument might, might, explain why cats in the US and its allies have fish and seafood elements in cat food. But how do you explain cats in other countries, like the japs and nazis, who have the same ingredients in cat food?

This question needs solving.

Lesbian "Wedding"

2006-03-10T08:14:00.000-08:00

I got a fake-wedding invitation from one of my friends "who happens to be lesbian". It's not really a wedding, you understand, because that's not legal. I'm not particularly worried about gay and lesbian rights -- I don't give a fuck. But my good friend is worth a lot to me, so I have to be involved and become a pseudo activist. It's tiring to work up a sweat over the whole thing. We've been friends since at least 1988, so there's a lot of history there.

I'm conflicted because on the one hand I feel that two gay men going at it Brokeback style makes me sick to the bottom of my being. On the other hand, I love to watch a couple'a hottie fake lesbos start eatin' dessert and fingerin' and fistin' and rubbin' and lickin' all day. And to this day, I object to gay marriage on the grounds that Rosie O'Donnell is fucking ugly as shit, both from outside appearance and inside appearance and she should not be allowed to walk freely on this planet. Her girlfriend is kinda hot in that ugly real-lesbo butch way.

However, my two friends are the best people on the planet to me and I love both of them very much as if they were sisters. Or brothers. Or whatever the goddamned motherfuck. I love my two married gay friends!

So, yeah, I guess I have to allow that my two friends are wonderful and they mean the world to me, so that I want them to be just as happy as I am and have all the opportunities that I do. But goddamn it, just them! That's the line I'll draw.

It'll be a nice vacation anyway to get out of the house and stay at a resort for a weekend. See the sights, watch my friends stand up and pretend to get married. Relax, then go back home. Not bad for a weekend's work.

Google first interview

2006-03-08T08:03:00.000-08:00

I did the phone interview and they asked three questions:

Google: What is the default signal for the kill command?
Me: 15, it's called TERM

Google: What is the number of hosts that can be addressed with a /17 network?
Me: Um, 32 minus 17 is uh... 19
Google: 15
Me: I meant 15, so it's 2^15
Google: Minus?
Me: Minus one. I mean two! 2^15-2
Google: What are the two you subtract?
Me: Network and broadcast.

Google: What are the three default data types in Perl?
Me: Scalar, array and um...
Me: um... I can't remember...
Me: um... I can picture it. You use curly braces. I forget the name...
Google: Do you want the answer?
Me: Yes.
Google: Hash.
Me: Of course. I knew that. I swear.
Google: Well, you got two out of three, so you can go to the next step which is a 45 minute technical phone interview.

Sinking rats

2006-03-07T09:13:00.000-08:00

Yet another person here turned in their two week's notice. I need to get that started. I waited until March so that I could get an extra month's health insurance. I believe the company pays for the whole month so that if I quit today by the time they submit paperwork to the insurance company, and I sign up for Cobra, it would already be April. I have a phone interview with Google by applying for a position on Hotjobs so we'll see how that goes.

I had a phone interview with a company not far from home and I aced it. The guy on the phone basically said I was his top pick. It's no wonder, though, because the pay is slightly too low and would be a step back for me. It's the equivalent of going back to flip burgers. But hey -- I only need a stop-gap at this moment.

I am in between that point where I am going to jump off the cliff or be pushed. Either way, I've got my parachute on. But I'd rather jump at my own timing.

The Oscar™'s

2006-03-06T14:27:00.000-08:00

I watched the Academy Awards® with some unfounded trepidation. The Academy Awards® are like some kind of asymptotic curve in which the show gets better and better each year that I have watched it, but even after all this continuous improvement, it still pretty much sucks really really badly.

It was a "clean" show (as in, "a clean fight") with no particularly long speeches and no particularly long, horrific dance numbers or memorial montages. But even in its relatively efficient form, it still runs a lengthy 3,5 hours. Clearly, we can do without the musical numbers. There is no sense in performing the soundtrack items. And the "film noir" sequence was the kind that makes you say, "huh?" Even more "huh?"-able was the inclusion of a clip from The Day After Tomorrow in the "memorable moments of impactful films" sequence. That movie was the absolute worst movie I've ever seen on cable, second only to, say, Independence Day.

Anyway, I got to bed at a decent hour (20:30) and didn't throw anything at the television all night. So I think it was "The Best Awards® Ever", at least until next year.

Good idea for Google

2006-02-28T11:59:00.000-08:00

I've given some thought over the years, going back to (probably) 1988 about massively parralel systems. I won't go into that here. But I do have an idea that came about when pondering prime numbers recently. I was pondering the complexity of factoring and finally realised a simple thing:

Factoring is search

Google does search

Google should do factoring

Not clear enough? OK, here's how a web search goes, at least according to my short-sighted mind: A search string is entered on Google, and that search string is sent out to hundreds of thousands of servers. Each server does a search based on its narrow list of web pages it has indexed. All hundred-thousand-or-so servers run a search and return the results, instead of one server performing one hundred thousand searches at a time.

Now, just have all the google individual servers store a narrow set of prime numbers (which can find all the other factors) and the search "string" would be some large number. You would have to "re-search" any multiples of the primes for the rest of the factors. That might be hard to do with the current search algorithm.

I'm not sure what number we could get to for fast factoring, but the biggest number would be the square of the highest prime number in the system. If each of the one hundred thousand servers had, say, 1000 primes stored, that would include the first million primes. Square that, and you could easily factor any number under it.

If you like my idea, you can steal it. And by the way, I need a job, Google.

Job Interview

2006-02-27T14:44:00.000-08:00

Friday I met with two headhunters. One of the positions sounds really good; it's close by and well within my abilities. The pay is similar to what I'm making, and so I think I can really turn on the charm and breeze through the interview with the "clients". The other headhunter just wanted to get some "face time" so there's no position attached as yet.

I can generally ace any interview that I've been in. But I would like to share the experience of my first professional job interview ever. It was also The Worst Job Interview in the World.

As a student fresh out of college, I had submitted my resume around town. I had actual work experience as a freelance consultant, and also from working in the college administrative offices. I had an actual resume, even if it only showed 2 to 3 years of experience.

I got a call one day, asking about a job I had applied for from the LA Times classifieds (no Monster, or HotJobs, or whatnot back then). The interview went something similar to this (warning, technical jargon):

Interview Guy: What does the 'ls' command do in Unix?

Me: Good question. The 'ls' command is a fundamental Unix command which allows you to view the 'listing' of files in a directory. In fact, the 'ls' comes from the word 'list', although you wouldn't be able to guess that. The history of Unix is full of these odd commands and shortcuts that are sometimes mysterious.

Long silence over the phone, with some kind of buzzing or fan whirring noise as if on speaker phone

Me: Hello?

Interview Guy: I'm here. What are all the command-line options for 'ls'?

Me: All of them? I only know about ten. There's '-l' for long format. And '-a' lower case which will show all files, including hidden files. '-A' with a capital letter is for listing All files except '.' and '..'. There's, um, '-C' with a capital for columnar format and similarly '-F' with a capital that 'formats' the output with special characters that denote regular files and directories, etc. There's, um, um, '-r' for a reverse of the sort, and um, um, '-R' with a capital for recursive directories and um... um... um... lots more. I could go through this with a simple 'man' command if you like.

Even longer silence over the phone, with buzzing and fan noises. Creaking chair sounds, some footsteps. A clock ticks.

Me: Hello?

Interview Guy: I'm here. What is the 'tar' command?

....And so on. He would ask a basic question, "what is the X command" and I would answer. There'd be thirty to sixty seconds of uncomfortable fan and speaker-phone noises and then he would follow up with "what are all the command-line options for X". I would stumble through thirty to sixty seconds trying to list each option. Then, there'd be another long, extremely uncomfortable pause with the fans whirring. He seemed to only respond when I asked "Hello?" or "Are you there?"

Finally, after asking about 10 such idiotic questions (with long pauses in between), he asked me to come in for a face-to-face interview. I didn't have a car at the time, so I had to beg a roommate for a car ride. I had an address on Sepulveda near the airport. If you're familiar with Los Angeles and Sepulveda, then you know that this is the longest street in the city, county, probably the state, and ranks high up there on lists of World's Longest Paved Roads.

The address turned out to be non-existant. Naturally, my roommate had dropped me off and then sped off so that I couldn't get a ride to the correct address, or even just to get home again. So I used some spare change I had to get a pay phone (no cell phones back then) and call. I informed the Interview Guy that I was at the address provided and I was staring at an empty lot. He said something like, "Oh, I forgot to mention that's 12000 NORTH, not 12000 South." OK, thanks asshole. You clearly said South, and that's what I wrote down. Asshole. I was polite, obviously and these were only thoughts, not quotes that I verbalised. I was seriously beginning to think this was a tragic joke.

So I made some excuse about needing to go somewhere else first, and could I reschedule for later in the afternoon. I began the trek up Sepulveda, and knew I was in for about a 10 mile walk, or so. It was 10am and starting to get hot. I tried not to sweat-stain my pathetic excuse for fancy interview clothing. Fortunately, there was a mall along the way, so I stopped inside, cooled down and bought an cold drink with a few more spare change monies I had.

Finally, I made it down to the correct address and stared at a three story building with three dozen offices inside. I couldn't find the guy's name and I didn't know the company name. So I went across the street to a pay phone (no cell phones back then) and asked him which suite number he was in. He said something like, "Oh, sorry I gave you the wrong address. That's our old address. We're next door at ..." something like that. What a motherfucking asshole shitbag wipeup motherfucker.

So I went inside and found an empty reception room with a couch. I sat and waited (no bell or obvious way to attract attention) for at least 15 minutes. Finally a door opened, and someone walked past me hurriedly and out the door. I didn't have time to get their attention, not that I could have anyway. I waited for a few more minutes and another person walked past. Luckily, I was ready and flagged them down, asking for assistance. She said something like "Go through that door and sit at the table with the power supply on it."

Power supply? Are you kidding me? As I approached the room through the door, I found out the source of the whirring and noises. The interview room was a cluttered office, full of spare PC parts and a wooden desk with a speaker phone sitting next to a AT 180 Watt power supply that was loudly buzzing. I don't remember if it was actually powering anything. I just know that it was buzzing for the entire time I was there.

So I sat down and a few minutes later, the Interview Guy showed up and acted surprised I was there. I introduced myself and asked to talk about the position. To tell you the truth, he looked annoyed; I am pretty certain this was some kind of joke, but to this day, I don't know what kind.

He asked me some duplicate questions from the interview over the phone: "What is the command X" and "What are all the command line options for it?" In between, yes, he just sat there and stared into space for a very long, uncomfortable 60-90 seconds.

Finally, he turned to a computer and said something like, "Write me a program that takes three inputs from a command-line and outputs some information." Something vague, which I started to do. I typed out a rough outline in C and got about four lines down the page when he started shouting, "You've got four lines and four mistakes. Now get out of here. Get out. You don't have the job. You're gone."

Stunned, I barely managed to make my exit. As I walked out into the hot summer afternoon, I started to get really mad and upset. I sat down on the nearest bus station to begin my long ride home. I barely had enough money for the bus ride and transfers. I was getting ready to start begging passersby for spare change. As I sat there, upset and bent, a truck pulled up to the stop light and three kids in the back of the truck stood up and used their Super Soakers™ to wet me down. The light turned green, and the truck sped off up the street.

This is not a made up story. This really happened to me in real life. You know what I did? I laughed and cried (but I still think that was just the water from the Super Soakers™) and went home.

Eating cat

2006-02-24T13:41:00.000-08:00

Let's be frank, here boys and girls. It's time to come clean and discuss some here adult topics. Get your kiddies out of the room and let's a have a one-on-one palaver about some sexual topics.

I have had a long-standing aversion to eating out a pussy. There, I said it. In my idealistic youth, lo these many years ago, I used to think this was the ultimate pleasure -- to nestle my face deep into that intimate area and start to enjoy the delicacy therein.

However, practical experience has shown that at best the pussy is a tasteless, odourless squishy mess and at worst it is a foul, putrid, rotten swamp. I have experienced some pussy that would make a garlic and onion eating, unshowered, cologne-reeking Frenchman recoil in horror, with his eyes watering and stomach dry retching. And this pussy that smelled so bad and horrid was smelled from a distance of 1 to 1,5 metres.

The female vulva, clitoris, labia and vagina are wonderful, god-created objects of art. They appeal to two of the five senses: sight and feeling. The other three are horrible features of some kind of horror movie nightmare. Taste and smell are not strong suits for this. The last sense, hearing, is one that I will never ever mention again in this context for obvious reasons.

What is the resolution of this fine mess; if I am attracted to pussy (who isn't, quite frankly) but am unable to bury my face in it? I have finally settled on a technique that should work -- and it has worked for me with medium success. I define "medium success" as being able to perform the cunnilingus for a few minutes so that I can move on to other objects like toys and fingers.

First, the amount of hair should be reduced as much as possible. Listen gals, we don't need to show off how manly we are. Cut back and shave that growth to a narrow landing strip, or even better, just get rid of the whole lot. I can't take the pubic hairs up the nostils for long without wanting to rear back and start slashing with a Lady Bic. Once again, shave it back so there's a little bit on top, or just go bald.

Second, you need plenty of access. The legs have to be spread W I D E open. Bend your knees, and grab your ankles and pull as hard as possible. No head-in-a-vice-I-can't-breathe-and-my-ears-are-going-to-explode syndrome here. You start squeezing my head or even my shoulders and I'm likely to get a little claustrophobic. I might freak out and start thrashing.

Third, I have learned the secret is to breathe through the mouth. Imagine dunking your head into a vat of raw sewage and taking a few deep nostril breaths. The way to get around this is to just keep your mouth open and breathe through the mouth. Stick our your tounge and start doing the business.

Fourth, tilt your head or angle her body so that you don't bury your nose in tickle fibres. See Section 1 for details.

Fifth, you will notice as you start wagging your tounge around wantonly with your mouth wide open and breathing through your mouth like a scuba diver, you will notice that you will start drooling and dripping. Well, if you are pretending to do your job right, she will be drooling and dripping as well, but from a different mouth with different lips. So the drool will run freely, disguised as femlube. Use the femlube as much as possible with your free hand and fingers. That will add further pleasures and stimulations which will help make this process as short as possible.

Hopefully by this time, you have done enough to move on to other business. I hope that I can spread some knowledge that will empower and enlighten the human race.

Change, change, change

2006-02-22T09:30:00.000-08:00

Time to get a new job. Yesterday, my boss was forced to "mutually agreed to resign." The feeling around here is not very positive. I started looking for a new job about three weeks ago in mid-January. It took a couple weeks, but finally the tension snapped and he was gone. The CEO called an all-hands meeting and made some mouth movements about how much we liked him and how it was "unfortunate" that my boss had to leave.

In an embarassing moment, the CEO made a magnanimous gesture of offering a going-away luncheon on 2/28. My boss said, "I'll think about it."

I thought we were fighting only the enemies at this company. It turns out that our internal guys in the foxhole with us were supplying the enemy with our positions and movements and, worse, shooting at us from inside the foxhole.

I don't have any regrets or nostalgia. It's just time to move on. Start dialing for dollars and scouring the internet for jobs. If needed, I could take a few months off without pay. But then it's harder to dig out of the debt hole, not to mention that nobody wants to hire someone who is unemployed for long periods of time.

We'll see what happens.

Supramarginal Gyrus

2006-02-16T13:00:00.000-08:00

I noticed at some point that I have a fairly common problem (among women) that I have difficulty distinguishing correctly between right and left. I will say "left" but point "right". I cannot accurately tell you which direction right and left are, without careful consideration.

For example, if you hold up a hand and ask me which one you are holidng up, I will have to consciously say, "Let's see. My right hand is the one I use to pick up a pen. That is... this hand. Yes, I can move my hand to pretend it holds a pen, and it feels natural. Now, that is my right hand as I say. This hand is on the opposite side from someone who is facing me. Or is it the same side if they are facing away? I can't remember. Let me turn around to face the same direction they are facing and try to mimic what this person is doing. OK. Now, that is my hand that holds pens, and it is not the same side that the other person is holding up, so the answer is... I think left? Because left is the opposite of my writing hand. I think. I'm not sure."

I learned about this defect in a college cognitive course, and was embarassed and ashamed to admit that I am, essentially, "functionaly directionally challenged". I can correctly give instructions by drawing a map. I can correctly read maps. I can correctly point out which way to turn if asked where something is. But I cannot, for example, tell you to "Turn right" or "The map says to turn east if we are heading south". I can only articulate, "Turn this way [pointing]", or "If I turn the map upside down so that south is forward, then you turn this way [pointing]." I have no idea which way turns go.

As a child, this manifested itself by being unable to give correct instructions. For example, I would confidently give directions home using "right", "left" and anyone who followed would be hopelessly lost. I was unable to tell you directly which hand I wrote with (although I could raise it quickly). I did not realise that there was even a distinguishing feature called "right" or "left" "handedness". I could throw a ball with the same hand a hundred times, but never could tell you that I was "right handed".

To this day, I am still ashamed and hide my deficit by pointing and not venturing into the words or concepts right, left, east, or west.

BaNa^2

2006-02-15T09:09:00.000-08:00

For some reason I was remembering my youth where I had visited a local fair and won a plush yellow banana. I loved that goddamned banana and I couldn't be separated from it, even after it turned strange mottled colours of spilled food, drool, and hand and foot prints. I don't know what ever happened to it, but I'm sure it eventually ripped open at the seams and spilled the precious blood of styrofoam peanuts or whatever it was packed with. I'm sure my parents unceremoniously tossed it in the trash one day while I was at school and had to deal with hours of uncontrolled hysterics while I tried to deal with and grieve the loss of my closest family member.

I remember about six years ago, I watched Mark Harmon in The Deliberate Stranger and saw a five-second scene in which a little boy is being towed along by an adult, barely clutching in his free hand that very same plush yellow banana I knew and loved from my youth. Tears welled up and my face turned bright red. The pain was a real and immediate as if I were three years old again.

I loved that goddamned plush yellow banana from 1973.

Chateau de Cul

2006-02-14T15:05:00.000-08:00

Penn and Teller had a wonderful Bullshit episode where they fooled some punk-ass "fine dining expert" into drinking some $1000 per bottle "Chateau de Cul" wine. Only, it wasn't $1000 wine, it was $1.99 wine. And "Cul" means "Ass" in French, in case you didn't know (I did).

But as I sat on the toilet straining a little bit this morning, I realised that if you skip even one day of Cul-itude in the toilet, you can get a bit stuck. I try to make it to the toilet to shit every day. But sometimes I forget and things get stiff and hard in there. I think the turds get dry or something and they lose their lube. A good turd should be soft and moist, but yet gently firm and hold together. A stiff, dry turd hurts on the way out and it is most definitely not worth the effort.

That's my opinion, but I'm not a doctor.

Olympic update

2006-02-14T09:35:00.000-08:00

I've been paying attention to the winter Olympics more than any reasonable person should. Here are some of my favourite highlights:

Opening ceremony. The opening ceremony was a disorganised, horrific, and unwatchable mess. Worse yet, it was more boring than the Academy Awards®. I watched it via satellite on east-coast time. I went to bed at a reasonable time, 21:30. I then discussed the opening ceremony with some friends. They complained about not being able to stay up until midnight! Most of the people I know fell asleep and never saw the lighting of the Olympic flame.

Lighting of the Olympic flame. Speaking of which, the lighting was unspectacular and completely fake. Yes, I know, the archer who shot a flaming arrow at Salt Lake didn't actually ignite the actual flame. But it was damned cool. Torino's lighing was "I'll pretned to light this piece of metal, and then some 5¢ sparklers will ignite. That looks really cool."

Fuck the Italians. Enough said. I hate these bitches, but not as much as the French.

Bode Miller and hype. Bode Miller is the essence of ugly Americanism. So cool that we can spout of our mouths and brag, but unable to lay down actual tracks when the time comes. Big talk, big swagger, no results -- worse, utter failure. Sounds like W. Bush, in a way.

Skating and Michelle Kwan the Cunt. Biatch, I wrote about you earlier. Your sorry ass shouldn't have been on the plane to Italy in the first place. Shut your pie hole and stop those crocodile tears and go back to your fucking mama. You can't win shit and never did. So shut the fucking hell up already.

Pair's ice skating. Few things are more boring and shitty than the pair's skating. There are too many things to watch with two people on the ice. I can't see both jumps, and I don't appreciate "death spiral" (oooooo, scary) or "grab my leg, I'll grab yours". I love watching the skaters fall, but not if they get hurt terribly. I'm not a sadist, after all. So when the chinese woman fell on her knee, I knew that hurt but she seemed fine. I wasn't too impressed. I've hit my knee where your whole leg goes numb and you can't move. It wears off in about 60 seconds, so just walk it off. Keep going. But you're not some super human or some kind of hero.

Girl's Snowboarding. First, the snowboarding outfits look absolutely ridiculous and laughable. But, I thought the girls did a good job. They still have that "frat girl" attitude, and I'm sure they might be somewhat enjoyable (though disposable) in bed. But I still think it promotes the ugliness and ego-centricity of the Americans.

Fuck the Americans. Enough said. But I hate France even more.

Grammy's 2006

2006-02-09T13:29:00.000-08:00

I watched the Grammy's this year and was disappointed. The commercials had hyped some kind of "twist" or "memorable moment". I don't think that Eminem singing with Gay Boy is some kind of spectacular moment. I still think the song was better with Dido's voice. I have the Eminem's recent "Best Of" album and vastly prefer the studio version of Stan's Song to the live Grammy version.

But back to the introduction. The show looked great and sounded great in HD. I don't seem to recall so many shows in HD all of a sudden.

I've always thought the Gorillaz group is offensively named (being that they are full of those jungle monkey darkies who sing bad music). I do like the cartoonz [sic] they play though. Somehow Madonna got into the act and I have something to say about that, too. Women who are 50 shouldn't be showing their flat legs straining against the leg tights and bumpy chests in a one-piece bathing suit on television. It was revolting and pathetic. And that didn't include the music, which was also revolting and pathetic.

The other musical performances were spectacularly weak. Coldplay usually has something I like to listen to, but as a live act, the music is fairly dull. I like the studio version of their first album. After that, I'm pretty much done with these retards.

U2 performed their ancient stuff, including a strange version of One. I remember liking One on the Actung Baby album from, like, 1992 or something. That was their last mediocre album in my memory, and it's been quite a while since then. How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb is a perfectly disposable and unmemorable album but it seems to have won album of the year. Didn't that piece of shit come out last year? I think I bought it on impulse, hated it, and then "regifted" it to someone for Christmas. I can remember listening to Actung Baby with more clarity, and like I said, that must be 15 years ago.

Paul McCartney played some bad music, until he came back on with a different jungle Gorilla group and sang a passable version of Helter Skelter, a real Beatles song. None of this Wings shit, asshole. The Beatles are all dead except for McCartney (Ringo doesn't count), so he has a job to keep us going for a few more years. After that, it's over. Make the most of it while we can.

Other than that, I pretty much erased all the rest from my memory before it was even over.

Passing quietly

2006-02-06T09:02:00.000-08:00

I have always had an inclination toward the morbid; even as a youth I had thoughts that would be considered suicidal. So as not to alarm and shock you, allow me to explain the finer points of this and you can then pass judgement.

Essentially, my thoughts of suicide would go like this: "As long as I died quickly and didn't end up a quadriplegic on a hospital bed, I wouldn't mind getting 'accidentally' hit by a bus." My basic philosophy has always been that when my time is up, I hope to go quickly and quietly. I certainly don't want to wail and cry or fight it if I have to go. There's nothing more pathetic to me than some dying creature fighting to live and struggling against the inevitable.

Let me put it to you this way: if I'm a gazelle, and a lion is chasing me, I'll run away. It is great fun and excitement to run away from danger and it can actually enhance your sense of "life" and "living". If the lion is able to claw my leg but I can still run, I'll run away. I'll have a nice scar and badge of honour among the gazelles. If, however, the lion bites my hump so I can no longer run, and he's now got his mouth on my throat; then basically, I would then admit that death was imminent and that I should go gracefully.

I propose a flat, singular transactional life; one in which you are always in balance, except for maybe the odd unclosed transaction which, if you died and never got to it, would not matter much. Someone gives you a gift, you say thankyou immediately. One transaction. Suppose you give a gift to someone, and they don't say thank you. You don't care because you've already said thank you to yourself on their behalf and you have no hanging transactions. If someone says "Fuck you asshole motherfucker", you smile knowingly and wave politely. No hanging transactions or recursive opening of transactions ("recursion" in this case is known more popularly as "escalation").

Basically, take care of your shit now. Right now. You might die.

I despise any idiot who lies on the road as their arteries have been severed by a bullet or knife or bus front-end, spending fruitless energy whining and crying "Why me? I have so much to live for. Let me live. Save me." Shut your mouth and just die, already. You should have been ready to die at any moment. It's your own fault you left hanging threads and don't keep your life in order.

In my view, I might be one (or hopefully at most, two) transactions away from being a fully closed ledger. Lately, I've been noticing all these brown spots all over my body. Some are full-fledged moles, most are just freckles. But I secretly hope that they are some sort of cancer that can eat me up. I only hope that I don't deteriorate over too long a time. I can struggle through the pain and keep myself going for a while, I figure. But I worry that if I were to start fainting, falling over, coughing blood, or vomiting uncontrollably; then some fuck-ass interloper like my loved ones or some idiot doctor or 911 technician is going to try to save my dying shit.

As long as I can walk upright and smile, I figure I can let this thing get to me until there's no hope of getting well. Not that I want to anyway. I've got no transactions. Everytime someone tries to open one, I close it as soon as possible. If I ever heard the famous line from a doctor, "You've got six months left to live", I'd be excited with joy.

Sadly, this mental sickness is something I won't share with anyone out loud. I also don't have any skin cancer or other problem that can kill me. The best I can hope for is a car accident. But I am ready to check out when the time comes. I'm sweeping the floor in front of the door that is labeled "exit", waiting for it to open.

Professional Bus Thrower-Underer

2006-02-02T09:31:00.000-08:00

I have become a professional Bus Thrower-Underer. What is a PBTUer? The job duties entail the following:

First, if you are not throwing others under the bus, then you are the target for being thrown under the bus. You either throw, or be thrown. This is the law of the bus jungle.
- If you see a bus coming down the street, or know of a bus route, then you must always be on your guard.
- If you ever feel hands grabbing your neck or lapels or belt buckle, or feel hands pushing you in the upper or lower back, you must fight, scream, kick, and grab the person who is throwing you under a bus. It is acceptable to be thrown under a bus if you can draw the throwee in with you.
Find out bus schedules and stops. Memorise these.
Look for people you work with who walk on the sidewalk. These are the easy prey.
- Sneak up on these coworkers and simply push them into the oncoming bus.
Look also for other coworkers who walk on the sidewalk but are paranoid, constantly looking over their shoulders, or using newspaper or memos to cover their rear ends as they try to walk forward. These are the difficult prey.
- Try throwing an easy prey under the bus as described above, then when the difficult prey comes over to examine what happened, push as hard as possible on them from behind so they too go under the bus.
- Find a way to distract them, perhaps by using a partner or a team. Have your partner yell or create a commotion on the other side of the street. As the difficult prey cowers behind the bus stop or looks across the street, grab them by the collar and belt, and heave, throw, shove, push, and strain to throw them into an oncoming bus.
Now that you have mastered the difficult prey, it is time to turn on your partners and teams.
- Tell your coworker you are hunting a particularly difficult prey who walks most paranoidly and is looking in all directions. Their ass is covered to the maximum and they will not fall for the distraction techniques mentioned above. Concoct a difficult and cunning strategy for your teammate to follow. At some point in the plan, push those gullible motherfuckers under the fucking biggest, fastest moving bus you can find.
Now there are some prey who do not go on the sidewalk. They never go near a door or exit. They run to their cars through the parking structure and never venture near bus routes. These are extremely cowardly and rotten people. You must commandeer or steal a bus and drive it to these cowards. Run them over, get out of the bus, pick them up, then throw them under it again.

If you follow these simple steps, you can gain mastery in Bus Throwing-Under-hood-ed-ness.

Speech to the Nation

2006-02-01T08:04:00.000-08:00

"And so, in my State of the -- my State of the Union -- or state -- my speech to the nation, whatever you want to call it, speech to the nation --"

George W. Bush, Bridgeport, Connecticut; April 9 2002

As memorable as that quote is, this past "state -- speech to the nation -- whatever you want to call it" was too smooth and benign to be very memorable. There was the usual glee with which I watched one half of the floor standing, clapping, sitting, and standing, clapping, and sitting again like some kind of cult church. I love watching only half the auditorium standing. It's great. When everyone stands and claps, that's boring.

Another scene that was a lot of fun was watching Hillary "Grotesque" Clinton's facial twiches and reactions. Seeing that hideous face in crisp, clear, High Definition made me wish for the days of watching for a tiny glimpse of that sad, sagging, brown-and-black Jackson titty from the Superbowl. I also enjoyed the moment when W. tried to chastise the group for NOT passing his Social Security reform, and the left half of the auditorium stood up and clapped in reverse support. So they were clapping at themselves (not him) for their job in stopping some legislation. It was a classic and enjoyable Zen moment (aren't they all?)

Speaking of High Definition, my satellite feed for CBS west had some kind of horrible echo on it. CBS seemed to be the only station that was broadcasting the "pre-show" in HD, but once the "Speech to the Nation" started, the echo drove me away. NBC was in HD for the speech, but it had some horrible top and bottom banners that were distracting. Don't put a banner at the top AND the bottom saying "Live..." and "Speech to the Nation" (or whatever you want to call it). I finally settled on ABC's feed which had only a small transparent ABC logo in the lower right. I don't like those horrible banners; they take up too much of the screen. Fox, to my extreme disappointment, was in SD with pillar bars. Usually, they are in the forefront of HD (even broadcasting such schlock and nonsense as Cops in HD); but on the other hand, they are not really credible in the news or important events like "Speech to the Nation" department.

It was a very boring, fairly uneventful State of the Union, and that was a fair bit of disappointment.

Flavour flav!

2006-01-31T07:28:00.000-08:00

I must admit that television is a horrible wasteland of vile and filthy denizens. At times, however, there is something so repulsive and sickening that one must watch it at all costs. I am referring to the Flavour Flav character on VH1. If you haven't seen what I'm talking about, then you will just have to count yourself as lucky and proceed onward. Do not peer into the murky depths provided here. It will not benefit yourself or anyone you know.

I watched two episodes of this disgusting mess and I admit it was "flavourful". The show is repulsive and offensive. The man himself is a vile beast worse than some golem creature from Lord of the Rings. The ho's and bitches are ugly, purile, juvenile, and borderline nut cases. But the show commands your attention like no other bewitching drug. I actually fear that I may purposefully turn to this show and watch it to the season climax. I fear that I may actually start to have withdrawal pains when the season ends.

I am seriously considering turning to heroin or methamphetamines to distract me. I think that these substitutes will be less harmful to me in the long run. That is, if I am hooked on some drugs I might become a life-long addict and die in a gutter somewhere. However, that would be preferable to being hooked on this TV show because when it ends, I will still be alive and wandering the channels in the middle of the cold, long nights in search of the next fix, muttering "I'm sick... you got any hits? No, it's only Friends. *click* Hey man, you got any score... no that's the news. *click* Help me out, bro, I'm scroungin' here. No, that's only Access Hollywood."

Oh, the humanity.

Change is constant

2006-01-31T01:08:00.000-08:00

I wrote recently about my fight against the evil empire.

To be sure, we defeated them. The conference call then was the kind where you go into battle with all your armour and weapons, bristling for action. You present your case and then you just hear the chirp of proverbial crickets as the enemy acquiesces. But they don't fully acquiesce, do they? They never do. The enemy was feigning defeat, which necessarily implies strength.

The best enemies are surprisingly intelligent and crafty. If you gird yourself for battle, they will not stand against you. If you guard to the left, they will disappear and reform on the right. If you form lines during the day then surely, they will sprang into action after you have let down your armour and weapons, and will instead ambush you in the night.

They fought back craftily and in deadly secret. They turned allies against us and undermined our foundations. They whispered defeat into the loyal soldiers, who shuffled their feet uneasily and decided to defect.

Time to get a new fucking job. Goddamn, this shit is hard. I've got to get on Dice and Monster again. Wish me luck.

Michelle Kwunt

2006-01-30T10:20:00.000-08:00

I heard that Michelle Kwan got a spot on the US Olympic skating team. That is bullshit of the highest, stinkiest order. She got a widdle boo-boo on her leggy and she wants the judges to kiss it and make it better. "Pweeese wet me gwo to olimpic. I wanna gwo to olimpic. Waaaaaah." Shut your ass and retire, you old hag.

Wizard of Computer Oz

2006-01-30T09:58:00.000-08:00

Saw a funny bumper sticker when I was down in San Diego over the weekend. Warning, this is highly technical humour. I will provide a translation at the end.

Bumper sticker:

There's no place like 127.0.0.1

Translation:

There's no place like localhost

Adam Carrola sucks

2006-01-24T08:33:00.000-08:00

I've been listening to Adam Carolla on the radio on and off for about two weeks now. I would say I've listened to 45 minutes or an hour cumulatively. Basically, he's boring and unfunny 85% of the time. His guests are horrible interviews. I don't like the "sports guy"; I don't even know his name.

I can listen to the Adam Carolla show without having a stroke or driving myself off a bridge. But that's about the best comment I can make. Unfortunately, there are few alternatives. I could buy a Sirius radio (but I prefer XM) for Howard Stern or I could try to find some music. I could switch to AM for some of the other talk, but it's basically a wasteland in the mornings.

The summary is that I can sort-of tolerate Adam Carolla (as opposed to, say, Kevin and Bean, or Mark and Brian), and I don't have any choices that excite me (for example, AM radio's Bill Handel or classical music). I don't want to buy into Sirius, and so after 15 years of laughing my ass off to Howard Stern, I now just sit in silence and wonder about what to type on my blog everyday.

Movie rant #46

2006-01-23T08:48:00.000-08:00

I watched part of Clerks on Comedy Central (of all places) and I didn't particularly like it any more. Sure, I was shocked that Comedy Central was broadcasting FUCK and SHIT and COCKSUCKER and DICK, but I was more shocked by how stilted and talky the script was. It's like Pulp Fiction -- way too long and incredibly talky. I could easily chop out at least 45 minutes from each movie without altering either substantially.

Sure, there are one or two laugh-out-loud funny parts from Clerks, including the Olaf Berzerker scene I keep forgetting about:

My love for you is like a rental truck -- BERZERKER!
Would you like some making fuck -- BERZERKER!!

Girl thinks sexy. Did he just say "making fuck"?

But that's about the end of the laughs. Most movies just don't stand the test of time.

Completely unrelated, I also had a surreal experience at a local fancy restaurant. As I was sitting at our table, a fellow who looked exactly like Rob Reiner showed up and sat in the table perpendicular to ours. He was eating dinner with another guy I vaguely recall as some minor independant actor, like from an episode of Greg the Bunny or something. Rob had his back facing me, literraly about two feet away. I swear this guy was Rob Reiner. It looked exactly like him with the bald head, puffy side hairs, huge, fat ass. Basically, your Santa-in-summer prototype.

But it was obvious when he talked and the way nobody reacted to him that it wasn't him. I firmly believe that my facial pattern recognition software is completely defective.

Olympic skating

2006-01-19T14:53:00.000-08:00

I don't personally watch any fancy-schmancy, yawn-inducing skating. If you were to ask me, I would say that a triple-axle lutz shit my pants isn't exciting. It might have been exciting ten years ago when Nancy Kerrigan had her stupid boyfriend's idiotic thugs bash her competition's leg. That was fun for a while. But there are only so many times you can revel in delight to the poor girl sitting on the ice, whining, "Why me? My leg.... Why me?"

I don't find it interesting any more now that I'm twenty years older, than I was when I used to think there was something to it. Now, I flip past it and immediately block it out as if I had accidentally looked out the car window and saw a dog hunched over trying to take a piss or a shit on the grass. I did see part of the American competition on NBC in high definition, and I really like to watch actual high definition shows on high definition channels (they are very few and very far between).

So it brought back some of the early wonder and joy when I saw these anorexic, overworked teenaged girls lining up a jump, twirling, and -BOOM!- falling on their skinny asses. I actually whoop-whooped and clapped when I saw that. Unfortunately, they don't fall often enough. I'm definitely NOT going to enjoy any winter olympic events this year.

The Larry David Show Season Two

2006-01-13T07:48:00.000-08:00

Started watching the second season of Larry David Show, I mean, Curb Your Enthusiasm on DVD. That is the funniest shit that man or beast has ever produced. The episode "Trick or Treat" involving Halloween is absolutely howlingly funny. Here's the scene:

Two teenage girls say, "Trick or Treat" and press the doorbell. Larry David comes out and says, "You don't have a costume, you can't have any candy. And aren't you guys a little old to be trick or treating?"

I have personally been in this situation. I have personally felt the same rage and anger that people will not even make the merest effort to earn their Halloween candy. If two year old can get dressed up in a costume, you can get off your fucking ass and do it too.

Larry refuses to give them candy and the teenage girls go away, shouting "Fuck you. Asshole." The next day, Larry's house is toilet papered and vandalised. He calls the police. They act suspicious of his claim about two girls.

"What were they wearing?" the police quiz.

"I dunno, she looked kind of like El Vira," Larry answers.

"So she did in fact have a costume?" the police ask suspiciously.

"No, it's just a short cut. It's a description. They had no costumes. There were not costumes. She wasn't dressed like El Vira," Larry flusters.

"Are you sure?" the cop asks. "Sometimes the costumes are subtle."

"Yes, I'm sure. There was no subtlety, it was not a costume," Larry stammers.

"Did they threaten you?" the cop quizzes.

"Well, yes. There was the 'Trick' threat," Larry answers.

"What trick threat?" the cop asks.

"Well, 'Trick or Treat'. It's like 'No treat? Aha, Trick!'"

"When a citizen says, 'Trick or Treat' and you open your door, you have a kind of social contract to give them the candy. Next time, I suggest you give them the candy," says the cop.

"Well, look at my house. I didn't know it was going to be 'Felony or Treat'. I thought it was 'Trick or Treat'. And what is the cutoff? Can I go around at 40 and ask for candy? I'm 40, give me some candy! I want free candy. I want free candy! That shouldn't be allowed," Larry rants.

The police are taking notes, looking at him, concerned, curious, but also very very suspicious at the same time.

"Look at my door," Larry continues, "It says 'BALD ASSHOLE'." And sure, enough, the door is spray painted bright yellow with the words, "BALD ASSHOLE" in all-caps. "That's offensive to me, and my people. We're bald people. We're a set. We're a group. It says 'Fuck you asshole bald people.' That's a hate crime."

The black, shaven head cop speaks up, "It doesn't say 'fuck you'. It just says 'Bald Asshole'. I'm bald, and I'm personally not offended." The cop waves at his head with a hand motion.

"No offense," says Larry, "You're not bald. You CHOOSE to shave your head. That's completely different. We don't accept you into our group. It's very exclusive. With all due respect, officer."

------

You must see it many times in your life. Thank god for this funny-ass shit.

The Fall of the Evil Empire

2006-01-12T10:09:00.000-08:00

I just got out of the meeting with the Russians. Nine months (or more) of Cold War ended in a few seconds. Nothing was heard but the hushed silence of mist disappearing.

It started with us saying, "We have a project plan. What do you think?"

They said, "We do not like the plan. We will shoot you with a bullet if you continue with this plan."

We said, "We have improved the plan, and we have a missile that can destroy you."

They said, "We have three missiles and we can destroy you and your sister at will."

We said, "The plan has been reorganised and analysed. We also have eight missiles that we are pointing at you."

They said, "We have twenty four missiles we are pointing at you, and we will launch them premptively if we must."

We said, "We have made a lot of changes to the plan. We have considered every angle you have brought up. We have spent four months retooling all our efforts to adjust. We also have eighty missiles we have assembled and tested. They are ready to fire."

They said, "Always cowboy American, running around saying 'Whooo hooo Yiippeee Gid Dee Up Mother Fawker.' We are not impressed. We will destroy you. We can fire 1000 missiles at a moment's notice. You will die."

We said, "We have now spent one year desiging and spec'ing the plan. We have tested it twenty times. We have one million missiles built and deployed at decentralised locations. We can destroy you one million times over. Here is four samples of our missiles. Please test them and see if they meet or exceed your specifications for your missiles."

They said, "Yah, you have missiles. We have no missiles. Just kidding. We do have some cardboard tubes and an aluminum cone, stuffed with pillows and ripped newspapers. We soaked it in Vodka in order to set it on fire. Your plan look good to us. All our base are belong to you."

That's it.

Cold War and Oooops, I Broke It

2006-01-12T07:08:00.000-08:00

I have been in a cold war with the Russian outsource firm we use for the last year. At some point, we will be able to win this war. I feel like Ronald Reagan recently. That is, I feel old, senile, and avuncular. I will go ahead and describe the Russians, but please note that I am not racist or anything bad like that. I like anyone who will approach me personally or professionally, who will treat me in a friendly and cooperative manner. If you act like my enemy, at some point I will treat you like my enemy.

The first clash with Russians is their diabolical, maniacal technical fastidiousness. Now, I will admit that I (and we Americans) can be somewhat prone to "shortcut-itis". We try things, they fail. We try again, they work a little. We try again, and the results are sufficient but not perfect. We tend to move on at that point. The Russians cannot tolerate this. They will research each and every possibility of all outcomes before deciding on a particularly torturous and tedious path. The will demand that it be done this way and this way only, and no other way that results in similar or exact endpoints will be tolerated.

The only problem with the Russian approach is that they can often be wrong. Research in texts and manuals or on paper does not yield workable results in the lab. I (and we Americans) like to work in the lab. We like to experiment. "Oooops, I broke it" is a wonderful phrase to our ears. I can send out an email that says, "Ooops, I broke it" and I will have ten engineers in my office eagerly peering over my shoulder to watch. However, as long as we experiment enough, we come to a workable solution. In the real world I inhabit, a workable solution is the "right" solution. A theoretical dissertation on how a procedure "should" be accomplished is not guarenteed to give you a good workable, "right" solution. In my experience, almost all theories and plans are flawed and the execution of said plans are usually different if not drastically different than the original theoretical discussions.

Another issue I have with the Russians is that they over-engineer. I don't mean that they work too hard. I mean that if one-sixteenth inch of aluminum will exceed twenty times the engineering specs, the Russians will demand we use four inches of stainless steel and two inches of copper jacket. The whole thing is to be dipped in titanium before being certified. This is untenable. While the solution might work in some cases, the cost, complexity and sheer weight will make it unusable. As if over-engineering in terms of materials weren't enough, they would make unusual demands on the order of "The steel must be mined from Hamster, Pennsylvania, shipped to Konshyu, Japan to be smelted, and pressed into shape in Honzhchou, China and assembled in Jackson Hole, WY. You will move your headquarters to Iowa to finish the product." Are they nuts? We can pound the aluminum into shape in five minutes, and even polish it too. We don't actually build any physical items as I am describing. I am trying to give you a description that the lay person can understand. I hope the idea is beginning to make it through.

The biggest fallacy of all this is that the Russians are all stone cold drunken alcoholic manic depressive unethical slothenly lying schlubs. They lie, cheat, steal, rob, con, twist, murder, rape, pillage, defecate and smile. And then they present these drunken ramblings and designs to us mostly-sober, cheerful, mostly-honest, hard working, experimental, entrepenuerial Americans and we're flabbergasted at the waste, and absurdity and sheer gall of these idiots who tell us how things should be done. We pay them for this honour.

I am old and senile by this point. But Reagan won the cold war, and so will we.

I hope.

World Hunger

2006-01-11T11:50:00.000-08:00

I was struck just now that I am feeling hungry. In the normal course of a day, I do not feel this sensation that I have now. Usually, I am eating lunch because that is what the clock tells me to do. I am not hungry, but I do eat until I am somewhat full. I would not say, for example, that I eat until I am stuffed.

So, the oridinary course of a day involves going from very mildly interested in food (not necessarily hungry) to very mildly disinterested in food (not necessarily full). I also keep my calories low by only eating two meals per day with virtually no snacking. I may eat a couple M&M™s if someone has them on their desk. I may eat a half (radially) of a half (obliquely) of a bagel, very rarely. Occasionally I eat a power bar or similar for breakfast. Usually not, because I'm not hungry for breakfast.

Dinner is my main course, but again, I am not considerably hungry when I get home. I do not particularly eat huge platters of food.

I have read that a low-calorie diet might increase your life expectancy. Low-calorie-fed mice live a lot longer than their normal-fed or gluttonous brethren. On the other hand, based on how I feel today before lunch -- I ain't gonna go the low-calorie route. I'm going to eat if I get hungry.

Screw you and your longevity studies. I'm here to die, motherfuckers. Bring it on.

So is everyone else, but I don't know if everyone knows that.

Ungodly hours for God's creatures

2006-01-05T09:35:00.000-08:00

I drove home from work around 3:20 am last night. I am constantly amazed at the sheer volume of people up and about at this outrageous hour. There is no time period these days where you can go out and not see someone, somewhere, doing something. And I'm not talking about Vegas or Manhatten. I'm talking about sleepy, go-to-bed-early Los Angeles (pronounced "loss ang-hell-eez").

Another observation about ungodly hours and God's creatures involves Señor Boosh, Jr. The quote for today's Bushisms is a classic that can be passed down through the generations:

"Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we."

Washington D.C.; August 5, 2004, as quoted by "Bushisms"

Um, Señor Boosh? Are you talking about the suiciders?

"That's right. They want to bomb us? I'll bomb us first! For every American they kill, I'll kill 10!"

Disclaimer: The above quote is not factual and has no basis in reality.

And some more thoughts on the poker quote from my previous post:

Some people commented that as a Zennist, there should be detachment, removal from a "game" so that the feeling of "death" or suffering would not be present. That is not precisely what I meant, although I do not say that I stated it clearly. Allow me to elabourate:

When playing poker, there are decisions that must be made with imperfect knowledge. To some, the decisions are fluff; mere puffs of smoke that disappear. If I am hungry, I eat, if I decide to cut grass with my sword, I cut grass with my sword. Any passing fancy or action is meaningless and slides by without thought. Poker decisions, while fleeting and fluff, cause you to leave the table at some point. When I am done playing poker, I get up and leave. When I sit down, I play. When you get up again, do you carry a bunch of chips with you or not?

Sitting under the lights pondering the correct poker decision is pure, raw existentialism combined with Zen no-mind. You can sit for an hour or a second. You must rely on your own decisions. There is no crying to mommy or daddy, or honey, or bro. You must stand on your own square foot of space with no crutches or support and make a decision.

Standing on that square foot of space (borrowed from Dostoyevsky) is not better or worse than death in my experience. It is death to me. When that bus or train comes rushing at me and takes me from this place, I will feel like I am standing on that square foot of space as I flinch, bracing for the impact. I hope that in the moment of death I won't panic or cry like a baby. I should like to go in a calm, graceful manner. Who am I kidding?

Poker, Death, and T.V.

2006-01-04T22:08:00.000-08:00

Some stupid shit I saw on TV: CSI New York. A man is found sitting at a park bench, with a ring of blood around his neck. As the rookie photographs the scene, the grizzled veteran says, "Now don't quote me on this, but... Not everything's connected." He then dramatically lifts the head off the shoulders.

Now, is that a violation of procedures? I thought only the ME could touch the body? And the rookie isn't done photographing the scene? Oh yeah, by the way, how could someone cut off a head and then pose the body and balance the head back on the neck?

Also, I got out of a meeting (aka yelling match) at work. I had screwed some minor shit up but others had jacked themselves worse. A coworker commented to me that I acted pretty cool in the meeting during the yelling. I was able to talk calmly and easily.

"I play poker," I said. "When you play poker, you feel like you're going to die. This? This is playing with fake chips."

In Which the Author Discusses Real Estate

2006-01-04T07:34:00.000-08:00

What do we think this real estate market is doing? I have personally benefitted from the boom, having purchased a house several years ago and cashing out by selling. I was motivated by job-change so I did not do this purely out of financial gain. But to give you an example, I sold my two-story on-the-golf-course house for $420,000 (double my purchase price) and about 8 months later, I drove by and saw a for-sale sign on it for $495,000. That's nearly $10,000 per month. Why even bother to work at a boring old "job" at this pace?

Now I rent, with the intention of taking the cash and run, run, running away. Was this wise, and is it favourable for others? I think so. If you are living in a home currently, then the wise thing is not to sell and move. If you need stability for your family and kids, then continue to own. But if you are on the cusp of moving or looking for a new job, for example, then you should definitely sell and consider renting if property values are way out of whack.

There are some benefits to owning. Mortgage interest is one of the few remaining deductions against income (as long as you aren't hit by the Alerternative Minimum Government Handgrab Tax). However, unless you own the proverbial "new home in new development on the golf course", you are probably suffering from a creaking and leaking roof, no central air/heat, old fixtures, small kitchen, single bath, bad foundation and other assorted horrific human living conditions. On the down side, renting has no deduction, thus costing about 33% more (by using post-tax dollars), and also not producing any capital growth.

I personally prefer only to own financial instruments that grow through reinvestment of generated earnings. Real Estate is a depreciation-full, capital intensive investment. You can create earnings by managing real estate (say, by being a landlord), or as a REIT, but for this slothenly author, having someone else do my earnings is always preferable. So I am buying stocks with my Real Estate windfall and I am loving every minute of it.

On a slightly different subject, I also got notice that our landlord is raising our rent by $110 per month. So woe unto renters who follow the scourge of my advice. But I have a simple answer. This is a market economy. If I don't like the rent, I can move. And I will. I have been renting apartments and homes for over 20 years, and I have never, ever, once, accepted a rent increase. I may have moved into a bigger apartment or nicer area and paid more rent. But I will not accept a landlord's increased rent on an existing property.

If you were to, say, knock out a wall and extend my living room or bedroom, then I will pay more rent. If you move your house into a nicer neighborhood, then I will pay more rent. If you build a new extra bathroom for me, then I will pay more rent. Otherwise, if you hand me a rent increase notice, I treat it as an eviction. It makes no sense to me to raise rent when you haven't offered any benefit or increase in value.

Consider this: Landlord calculates that she can gain $1320 per year by raising rent $110 per month. Rent is currently (let's say) $1600 per month. If the tenant moves out instead of paying increased rent, and the apartment sits idle for 3 weeks (which it almost certainly will - one week to clean, one week to show, one week to move in), then the benefit of the $1320 per year is gone. If the apartment is idle for longer than that, you're screwed. Not including management overhead and other fees, this is not wise for a landlord. What a stupid, bone headed, moronic move that is.

To all you landlords and real estate barons I say as I have always said, "Bye bye, bitches." You lost a lot of income.

Happy New Year!

2006-01-03T09:00:00.000-08:00

I could barely watch Dick Clark and his pathetic cripple show on New Year's eve. I don't know which is worse, though: Ryan Seacrest, Mariah Carey, or Dick "Dead or Dying" Clark. I only saw about 95 seconds worth. It was pretty awful. I've been to Times Square in person and I always wonder how they fit that many people in there. When I was there, it was fairly crowded on a weekend, and it couldn't have been more than 10 or 20 thousand people there. How do they fit hundred(s) of thousands in there? I suppose they stand in the street. I wouldn't do that in a million years.

Speaking of million years, some people just hang around too long. Dick should be dead and gone. My philosophy is, if I'm looking like fuck or sounding like shit on a stick, then just bury me. Put me out of my misery. Don't put me on TV and slur and stutter through the whole thing. "Aw woer reary rawk ta tank awl ta piple who ssssow up ta sellerabwate ta nyu yuh..." Shut the hell up, dead donkey. And take Ryan Seacrest with you to hell.

Speaking of years, the crystal set with the year in lights looked really funky bad to me. I swear it looked like "2004". The "6" did not look like a six at all. Everyone was annoyed at me saying, "Shut the fuck up. It's a six!" "It's not a six! It's a four! They fucked up big time." "It's not a four. It looks like a four. It's actually a six." "You're wrong. It's a four!!!"

It looked like a four to me.

Cats and evolution

2005-12-30T08:52:00.000-08:00

Consider the cat: his philosophy is simple and easy to execute. Sleep, eat, play with some string or a ball, rub against a leg or chair, repeat. He has no attachments to physical or animate objects. When you stare into the eyes of a cat, you see the souless gazing of a zen master.

Student: Master, what is enlightenment?

Master Cat: Feed me.

Student: Here is your food. What is the meaning of existence?

Master Cat: Rub my back.

Student: Good boy, you like a good rub?

Master Cat: If you rub me wrong again, student, I will kill you and eat your corpse. I will invite all of my friends over to feast on your dead body. Then I will seek and kill any of your descendants. And when I'm done with them, I will seek and kill all your ancestors. And when I'm done with that, I will go horizontally on your inheritance chain and kill all of your cousins, neices, uncles, aunts and so forth; basically anyone who shares at least 10 alleles in common with you.

Student: Why did you bite me? Do you like when I pet you like this?

Master Cat: Ah, that feels good.

Student: What is the cause of suffering in the world?

Master Cat: Leave me alone now. I am sleepy.

So my question is this, and it should be a simple one: Why do cats like seafood, like crab and shrimp?

How, exactly, does a cat in the wild get a hold of some shrimp? How does he catch a crab and then eat the moist, succulent meat? There is no possible way that a cat would have any notion of seafood, much less love and enjoy eating it. How is this possible? The domestic cat has no chance of this, surely. Perhaps it could catch the odd goldfish. But crab? How does the wild african lion eat a nice crab? A bear might eat salmon, but a cat? What is the cat family and where is this cat that can eat a shrimp or a crab in the wild?

I love how the intelligent design lunatics lost their battle in court. Perhaps they can clear up this cat/seafood problem for us. I would like to defeat the right-wing Pat Bush followers thus:

The universe is complex.
Anything this compelx must have been designed.
Anything that is designed must have a Designer.
The Designer must not just design, he must also create by bringing designs into existence.
So the Designer is the Creator.
The Creator of everything must be God.
Therefore, Intelligent Design is a theistic belief and must be decimated and destroyed.

QED

Portfolio update

2005-12-29T09:10:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season, so I am posting my stock holdings here. I am bullish on Checkpoint technologies, so I am considering adding more now that it's down. The rest are doing pleasantly, although the return this year was pretty abysmal. As you can see, I am pretty fully invested at this point, which is completely different from the last four or even five years. Questions/concerns/comments? Let me know.

Symbol	Description	Quantity	Price	Current Value	Cost	Change $	Change %
FCASH	Cash	33094.89	$1.00	$33,094.89	NA	NA	NA
CHKP	CHECK POINT SOFTWARETECH LTD	960	$20.26	$19,449.60	$20,479.70	($1,030.10)	-5.03%
FSMKX	SPARTAN 500 INDEX	482.985	$86.70	$41,874.79	$40,556.24	$1,318.55	3.25%
HD	HOME DEPOT INC	499	$40.82	$20,369.18	$20,057.00	$312.18	1.56%
T	AT&T INC	825	$24.83	$20,484.75	$19,758.65	$726.10	3.67%
FSTMX	SPRTN TOTAL MKT	2296.2	$34.92	$80,183.30	$75,062.65	$5,120.65	6.82%

	Total			$215,456.51	$209,009.13	$6,447.38	2.99%

Celbrity Sighting #34

2005-12-29T08:06:00.000-08:00

Eating at the local pizza joint, I happened to notice Mario Van Peebles sitting at the next table with his family. Four kids, I think, two boys two girls. All four wearing the most extremely big, 1974, huge, mo'fo' afros. His wife is some kind of exotic darkie, like Indian, or something. Not American Injun, India Injun. Nice people. I don't personally know the dude, in fact, I don't know him from Adam, but I sort of, kind of, recognise him a little. Someone else had to clue me in.

After he signed his credit card receipt and left, the waitress looked inside the leather folding receipt holder and a look of panic crossed her face. She immediately ran around to the front and out the door. I wondered what happened, so later I casually asked my waitress what happened with Mario. She stated that Mario had signed his credit card reciept but then he had mistakenly taken both copies. So, while he would be charged, the waitress wouldn't get a big tip. So naturally, she was concerned.

At the risk of starting off into Reservoir Dogs territory, I don't think the words "small fucking tip" should be in a waitress' vocabulary. You take what I give you and you'll be happy. You're lucky to be serving a celebrity, and my autograph is extremely valuable. So I can't just leave it sitting around on some greasy table on a credit card receipt. Plus, I'm a black character actor nobody recognises and I'm sensitive about my tipping habbits. So there.

At least, that's what I would say if I were Van Peebles.

On a slightly different note, I have started watching disk 1 of season 1 of the Larry David Show. I mean, Curb Your Enthusiasm. This is some positively funny shit. I am averse to all forms of television, including some of the really good high quality stuff, like CNN or Fox News. But I somehow finally caved recently and started watching the end of season 4. I especially liked the season finale where Larry goes to heaven and argues with the angel, Dustin Hoffman. I was literally crying, in tears.

I asked four of my friends and was able to successfully finagle all four seasons on DVD as Christmas gifts (unfortunatley, a fifth friend tried to be helpful and got me a duplicate season 3; I'll have to return that one, asshole).

I always sort of "liked", mildly, the Seinfeld show. I never watched it much, except for some semi-regular visits during the "Seinfeld parties" that people would have. Remember those? You go to someone's house and watch their TV? As if I wanted to watch it myself, I couldn't. Wait, I didn't have any TV reception, so I couldn't. But that's not the point. I came over to socialise, not watch TV!

Anyway, I used to mildly enjoy and maybe slightly guffaw at the Seinfeld shows. But it weren't really all that great. But then, the heavens opened and I saw the Larry David show, and now I realise how truly awful and horrible Seinfeld was. Not the sitcom, the man. Larry David is an awesome comic and Jerry Seinfeld is a worthless pile of useless shit. Jerrry Seinfeld is to stand-up comics as David Copperfield is to magicians. In fact, now I have thrown away all my semi-fond memories of the Seinfeld show and I have replaced them with the happy goodness of the Larry David show. Highly recommended.

Updated: Deal or No Deal

2005-12-28T08:46:00.000-08:00

There is an update after the last time I watched Howie Mandel (AKA Son of Mr. Clean™ -- get it, he's a bald, gay pirate and also a germ freak?). This updates all you need to know about the show and gives you every reason to stop watching (which I have, I promise).

At some points when the contestants get down to two cases, Son of Mr. Clean™ will offer a "switch". That is, you can switch the case you have for the case that you don't have. Now, if you were paying attention in maths classes and also reading my previous posting, you would realise by now that there is no benefit nor any deficit to perform a switch. The cases are random. And, in fact, the whole basis of the show is a crock of shit by "pretending" that you have "chosen" a case. In fact, the game would be exactly the same if all the cases remained on stage and you played as usual. Having the case in front of you is a mental shenanigan that has no bearing on the outcome of the game.

Switching the case is completely neutral to your position. In any case, you would never open the case you had, unless both cases are above your target amount, and the bank's offer was lower than a fair offer.

Strategy: Don't switch cases. Better yet, don't take ownership of the case. Leave it on stage. It doesn't matter if the case is in front of you or on stage, or if you selected it or not.

Deal or No Deal

2005-12-23T11:12:00.000-08:00

As much fun as it is to consider the implications of this game show, it is not much fun actually watching it. I must admit with some shame to having viewed a few episodes recently. (Please see Wikipidia for details.)

I can recall the blissful days of youth when I did not own a television. I can recall the somewhat blissful days of slightly older youth when I did own a television - but I did not have a cable, satellite, or antenna connection. I would only use the TV to watch movies on the old VHS format, which in my day was a magnetic media stored in a plastic case about the size of a large paperback. You kids now-a-days probably don't even know what I'm talking about.

Now in my later years of life I watch TV a few hours per day, and not just "good" stuff like movies, but the really bad, depraved stuff, like NBC or ABC. Can your mind contain the horror of thinking back to the days when there were three networks and the mindless drooling zombies that fill this wasteland we call America were tuned in night-after-night-day-after-day to one of these three channels?

Whenever I hear the theme song for "Friends", sometimes I want to run and hide in a closet curled up in the fetal position. Other times I hear the theme and I want to find a weapon and destroy the television. More than ever, you can find reruns of "Friends" and "Everybody Loves Raymond" or "Will and Grace" running virtually 24x7. Is it any wonder we are the infidels to be destroyed by radical Islam? Watch a few episodes of prime-time television and sit throuugh the commercials and then tell me you don't want to fly a plane into a building and kill a few of the miserable assholes who put this shit on TV, or the so-called "innocents" who merely watch it.

But I digress.

Deal or No Deal is quite Zen, when you really get down to it. Do you have a deal? Or do you have a no-deal? I will take the no-deal almost everytime. And most of these gamblers, I mean, game show contestants do as well. I've come up with some strategies that would work and would immediately render the show worthless. I mean to say, more worthless than it already is. To wit:

I have a devious little, tiny, secret that most average, run-of-the-mill idiots don't seem to get. The cases are assigned randomly, so it doesn't matter which case you choose. You can choose "number 8" because that's your birthday or choose "number 22!" because that's how old you were when you first realised you had a lot of years left on this miserable planet, and you decided then that you probably would rather shoot your brains onto the wall and put an end to this nonsense and suffering we call life. But none of those numbers mean anything to your selection of the cases "filled with money" (really just placards with numbers and symbols).

Strategy: Pick cases in numeric order.
Another secret of the game is that the "mysterious" banker will generally make a mathematically fair offer. Naturally, if the first offer is $7,000 or something small like that and you don't need that kind of money anyway, you don't take the deal. Or rather, you do take the no-deal. But hey, $7,000 is a good number and that's roughly $3,500 more than you had previously (after taxes, naturally!) So at any moment, it is not generally a mistake to take the deal. In general, the deal will increase as the levels progress (to a certain point), so there is some future expectation that is not counted. Close enough.

Strategy: Take the deal whenever the dollar figure is big enough that you are happy with it.

Sub-strategy: Assign a dollar figure you will be happy with before you get on stage and announce, "When the deal gets above $100,000, I will almost certainly take the deal. And I will pick cases in numerical order until I get there."
The game works by increasing the deal amount until the value of the deal proposition is such that you decide to take it. In general, you can continue to take the no-deal as long as you have enough cases with values above your target amount, and the number of these cases above your target amount is less than or equal to the number of cases you have to pick. With the exception of one single case and one single dollar amount remaining. In that case, you take the deal. Here are some examples:
Cases to pick Cases above target amount Deal or No-Deal
2 3 No-deal
2 2 No-deal*
1 3 No-deal
4 2 DEAL!!!
1 1 DEAL!!!
2 1 DEAL!!!

*You can take the deal if it is above your target amount and also if you have very few below-target case amounts

Strategy: Continue to take no-deal as long as the offer is below your target amount and you have more or equal target cases above your target amount than you have cases to pick. The exception is one single case above your taget amount, in which case you should take the deal even if the offer is below your target amount.
Final cases. There are only a few cases where you would actually choose to open your case! In 99% of the cases, I doubt any fool would do it. But there are a lot of fools out there, and there are many of them reproducing as we speak. The only time you would open the case is if a) both dollar amounts remaining are above your target (big money!) and b) the bank's offer is below the mathematically fair offer (it is usually). If the bank's offer is above the fair number (which would simply be the average of the two at this point -- it's even money), then you take the bank's offer. They are not going to do that, but it's possible. As I say, you only open the case if both remaining dollar amounts are above your target and the bank's offer is not above the fair value. IN ALL OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES, YOU STEADFASTLY REFUSE TO OPEN YOUR CASE AND YOU TAKE THE MOTHERFUCKING DEAL.

Strategy: Do not open your case unless you are down to the two options, $1,000,000 and $750,000. The bank's offer will be slightly below the mean, say, $870,000. Do not open your case, under all circumstances other than the one I have posed.

Cases to pick	Cases above target amount	Deal or No-Deal
2	3	No-deal
2	2	No-deal*
1	3	No-deal
4	2	DEAL!!!
1	1	DEAL!!!
2	1	DEAL!!!

Summary: Set a target amount you would like to win. Pick cases in numeric order and take no-deal as long as the offer is below your target. If you have less cases above the target than cases you must pick (and thus, eliminate), take the deal. If you have only one case above the target amount, take the deal. Take no-deal at the end only if you have both the $1M and $750K left. Otherwise, take the deal.

I do so hate TV. But I like to watch.

Rookie mistakes and how to make them

2005-12-22T12:55:00.000-08:00

We've all been there, I think. You do something that is totally stupid and braindead and everyone is looking at you like, "What the f.....?" And you say, "You know, I meant to do that." If you know what NIS+ is, congratulations. If not, just think "Solaris login account database".

Scene 1: interior, work office, worker typing at computer keyboard.

Type type type. Subtitle: "Setting up NIS+ server on a development server for new Solaris cluster."

Type type type. Ring, ring.

Worker: "Hello? You need help with that now? OK, I'll be down."

Exuent.

Scene 2: interior, work office, twenty minutes later.

Entrance stage right, worker.

Worker: "Ah, where were we?"

Worker sits down.

Type type. Type? Type type type. Type? Type?!

Worker: "Who the f?&%&$ set this piece of s&%*#)$ up? Whoever did this has no f*&$&#@)@) idea how to set up NIS+."

Type. Type. Delete. Delete. Delete.

Worker: "Much better. Now, start from scratch."

Type. Type. Ring ring.

Worker: "Who's calling now? I'm busy."

Type. Ring. Ring. Type....

Type....

Worker: "I got kicked out. That's strange. Why can't I log in to the main system any more?"

Ring. Ring.

Worker: "Why is my phone ringing?"

Worker (stage whisper to audience): "I can't answer that now, I've already stopped this project once to help someone else. If I leave in the middle of a project, I might forget where I am and make a mistake."

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

Worker: "I wonder why both of my lines are ringing now? Why won't they leave me alone?"

Type... Type? Type?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Worker: "Why is the text pager system alerting me to NIS+ problems on the live server?"

Type... Backspacebackspacebackspace. Typetypetypetype...

Worker: "ooooooooooops...."

Ring. Ring RING RINGBEEPRINGRINGBEEPRINGRING....

Fade to silence, freeze. Rod Sirling approaches from stage rear into a spotlight.

Sirling takes a long, sweet drag on silky, smooth tobacco smoke.

Sirling: "As you have just seen, you should always pay attention to the stop signs and warning lights that flash as you drive through life. Always practise mindfullness and be immersed in the present moment. Whether you are an experienced professional or rank amateur, your next step could be into that dark dank dungeon we call... the You Fucked Up and You Better Have Some Backup Tapes Handy Zone."

Fade to black.

Bush Dubya goin' down

2005-12-21T13:17:00.000-08:00

There is a favourite song of mine by the Zen Blues Masters Led Zeppelin called "When the Levee Breaks". Of course, they were not the first to sing it, nor the first to write the words. But there are several lines that are appropriate for our fearless leader, George Dubya Boosh.

Let me start by giving the short of it: Basically, this "Wire Tap Gate" is going to be big. I think it could turn into a Lewinsky. No, not a big, fat, ungainly, stupid whore. It could turn into a huge deal with potential impeachment implications. I honestly believe that we're going to be sitting here a year or 18 months from now watching congress count votes on TV.

I don't think it has to do with abuse of power (which it does), nor denial of wrong-doing (which he does deny -- not that he didn't do it, but that he did it legally), nor with the hunting down of leakers (leaker-s, n. one who leaks). I think it has more to do with the fact that Boosh uses terms like "evildoers" and "suiciders". I think the use of the term "suicider" is punishable by impeachment. Imagine the trial transcript:

Justice: Do you understand the charges brought before you, Mr. President?

GW Boosh: Do I understand the charges? Of course I do. When I spoke to the speech to the union... er... nation... I mean, the speech to the nation... or whatever you want to call it...

Justice: Can you please just say something clearly so the court can understand it?

GWB: Well, hell, we are on the right side. I mean, not on the left side. You can't take the left and do the right thing. That's what we say around here in Texas. Maybe Tennessee, but usually in Texas. Um... Fool me once?

Anyway, I'll stop with that. But honestly, how do you stand on one foot, tell us that the Weapons of Mass Destruction do not exist, wave your hands, tell us that our intelligence was wrong, and then scream but we MUST PERFORM WIRE TAPS TO FIGHT THE WAR ON TERROR. In the mind of the religious right and their leader, Pat Robertson (backspace backspace) Dubya Boosh, all that is required is religious fervour and belief.

Well, I am a goddamned hyphenated American. And I say, Fuck Belief. Show me the facts. Let me decide, asshole. This is not the Evil Empire nor the Doers of Evil, Inc., nor Suiciders Anonymous. I do not blindly follow an intellectually inferior creationist former alcoholic's blind charge into the gloom. We're in this mess (read: Iraq) and we'll fix it. That's shame on me. Wire taps and continued WAR on TERROR which necessarily begets terror at home? That's um... well... you can't get fooled again.

And that brings us back to Led Zeppelin:

Cryin' won't help ya, praying won't do ya no good.
When the levee breaks, mama you got to move.

Goin' down, goin' down. Goin' down, down, down, dowwwwwwwwn...

Fresh Face

2005-12-20T22:45:00.000-08:00

This will be my blog. This blog will include, but not be limited to the following topics:

Stocks
HoldEm Poker
Politics
Zen
Not Zen
Movies
Maths
Scientific Scepticism
Jokes
Motherfucking Shit Language

What distinguishes this blog from millions of others? Not very much at all, unfortunately.