2005.99

Ugh, a whole month and a half with no posting. I should be fired. I know all of you have read every other blog on the internet and are on the edge of your proverbial seat awaiting the chance to read what I have to say next, and I intend to deliver.

Today I logged a whole two hours at work, of which I worked about one so far, and came home with a sinus headache and head cold. I've been advised to get plenty of rest and drink plenty of fluids, and I should be able to do at least one of those this weekend. I should read the sudafed box to see how much celebrating I need to do, and stay within about twice that amount on Saturday. I missed getting to Breck this weekend, but with 12 feet so far of snow, there should be plenty left even after the auld lang tourists.

CTTOI, I don't know the words to that god-awful song. Here they are, for anyone as morbidly interested as me. Also, there's an even aulder version, which is, IMHO, better. Cheers.

Long Time No Blog

Not too much new to report here. Work is going well, but all I can say about that is they pay me on time. I'm still not cleared enough to know what I'm doing, but as soon as I am, you'll be the last to know.

My sister, who went to Europe to study different cultures and learn about diversity, has reached the highlight of her trip by attending a traditional Spanish performance of los Backstreet Boys. Naturally, she finagled her way backstage, got to eat dinner with our second cousin once removed (practically a brother by Latin and Southern standards), and see the concert from the front row, all while speaking Spanish in a redneck accent.

My other sibling has outfoxed, or at least outdrawn, a deer 50% larger than himself (he's the one smiling, with the gun). His story is more straightforward, involving the deer being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and my brother in the right place at that same time, and pointing a rifle along the right vector at the right time and releasing a projectile at the right velocity at right time, resulting in the termination of the animal's primary functions (assuming that being eaten and mounted are secondary functions; reprioritization of the stag's functionality will of course require a revision of this description).

Anyway, here's the picture.



Anyway, poker is going strong; I won $30 taking third place on Saturday night in a 39-man tournament at Sticks. The game started at 7:30 and went until about 1:15. Basically the first two hours consisted of the suckers exchanging way too many chips with each other, the third hour was spent sorting out the results of that carnage, adn the final two in a dead heat between the last 5 or 6 of us. First place took $100 in tabs, and second $60, but I was happy.

I also won $60 playing online Saturday morning, then lost it on Sunday, but I was up for the weekend. I'm now switching sites, and working on rebuilding a bankroll.

I busted out midway through a tournament on Monday, then had a date Tuesday (a situation that has resolved itself, since the girl in question is now incommunicado), but my luck picked up last night, as I found myself on the good end of several bad beats. (Nothing beats flopping a set of nines when the preflop raiser flops a set of sixes, except flopping tens, jacks, queens, aces, a straight, flush, straight flush, or 4 of a kind, or a royal, or maybe catching any of the above on the river). Anyway, I dominated the final table until we were heads up, at which time my luck ran out. My opponent was playing pretty solid poker, so I was able to bluff a few times, but never had any real hands worth betting. This is of course an excuse, since when you're only against one person, anything worth calling is worth betting. Anyway, he ended up beating me slowly, although a more aggressive player would have been more interesting to be up against. He was tough to read, since he hadn't said a word in the whole time we were playing against him. As a rule, the loudest players tend to be the first ones out, but the most sorely missed. Worth keeping in mind, I guess, if I intend to get any better.

Anyway, it's Thursday again, but not a payday thursday. So I'm at the halfway point or something. I need to check my calendar to see if I get tomorrow off, but I'm thinking not, seeing as I'm not a veteran. Of course, all our money comes from the Pentagon, so you'd think we'd take military holidays off.

In the news, it turns out that Mr. Sulu has been crossing the Neutral Zone for the last 18 years. It's interesting that one of the first leading Asian characters in a major series, and one of the finest helmsmen in the fleet turns out to be a double minority. Maybe it'll be an inspiration for gay Trekkies everywhere, or at least an excuse for those who are technically straight but have never been within phaser range of a human female.





OK, so Tronie != Trekkie, but I couldn't resist. You should thank me for finding a cropped version of this photo; the lower half is not pretty.

The Trouble with Being a Shark

is that it's always feeding time. I'm getting to be pretty deadly at hold 'em, but it remains to be seen who's going to be killed first. Time is already gone, and if anybody's money is next, it won't be mine if I have anything to say about it.

I invested in three books on the subject (as a way of justifying the expenditure, I told myself I'd be staying at home reading instead of hitting the casinos), and they've already paid for themselves. Just a few tweaks here and there have made me 30% more lethal. I trounced 32 people at Sticks on Saturday night, winning another $90 tab, making it $170 from that bar alone over the last two weeks. Then I went to a home game, but was late getting there, on account of one of the people I was carpooling with had to win the second tournament at Sticks. So I played pool with my designated driver for a while, and neither of us earned any bragging rights from those matches. We both see pool as a way to kill time between poker tournaments.

Anyway, it was well into the first tournament when we arrived, and they wouldn't let us buy in, so we had to wait another 90 minutes or so, and by the time the second round got going, everybody was too tired to play well. Several people went all-in way too early, but I wasn't in a position to profit on those hands, leaving me heads up with the guy whose house I was at, with him having a 7 to one chip lead against me. This was about 2:30 AM, and everybody was putting pressure on me to end the game quickly, and that put me on what they call "tilt," which means I lost focus. This was a winner-take-all match (although the first match ended in the first two places splitting the pot), and, not being the winner, I took none. But it was a good time anyway.

Then yesterday I had a huge lead at On the Rocks (almost 8 to 1 against the next highest stack), with 5 of us left in the tournament. Then I started talking to the blonde next to me, and the next thing I knew, I was the short stack. I can't complain, though.

On the ballroom front, I'm getting the hang of Lindy hop, and learning which girls aren't worth the trouble to dance with. Some mean girls hurt my feelings, though.

Things that Aren't Supposed to Happen

After striking out (or maybe just another foul) with an effusive yet evasive Asian Studies and Biology major on Sunday, I drove home to find that the whole "Jack Frost likes to pick on the mountains" stereotype to have some degree of validity to it.

No Pain, No Shane

So I've scaled back on the hold'em front, not because I'm tired or out of money, but because it occurrs to me that there may be more effective avenues for me to increase my unearned income. Such a great concept, that. Money for nothing; the chicks for free must come later, I guess...

Speaking of which, it turns out that Springs is a tricky place to meet women. There's no shortage of single girls, but the problem is that half the population is under the age of 3. The mothers tend to be anywhere from 16-22, so the trick is to find a girl that is both old enough to date me, and young enough not to be already way too involved with somebody else. I have no qualms about eliminating rival suitors through any means necessary, but I'm not such a jaded playa that I'll come between a man and his kid.

What else is new? Oh yeah, my landlord has been promoted to overlord, and is now in control of my eating, drinking, sleeping, and working out. It's good that somebody is up to the challenge; Shane's certainly more qualified than I am. I've had two workouts so far, and I'm usually dead by the end of the warmup. (The Olympic Training Center, mind you, is downhill from us). I'm gonna be so buff that I'll have to be careful not to step on all the dead vampires everywhere I go.

It officially went below freezing this morning. I wasn't happy with that; the least the city could've done was to consult me on it. By the time I was up and ready to go, though, it had risen to 38 or so, so I had no excuse not to come in to work. Next week, though, it looks like I'm going to have strep throat, so that's something to look forward to.


I'm still out of Zoloft, and while working out helps with the endorphin levels, which probably have a positive interaction with various feel-good neurotransmitters, I'm not sure I can get along without it for that much longer. It's a rush that's hard to describe; on the one hand, I feel more alive than I have in a long time, but then again, that's only a good thing if I like being alive to begin with. So I'm kinda breaking even.

Finally a Monopoly Everyone Can Love

I'm starting to regret that I missed out on the Google IPO. I've been a loyal customer of theirs since before it was cool, and am increasingly impressed by the quality of their software and search offerings. It's only going to get better.

It's now becoming obvious that the Big G (no, not that one) has its sights set past the mere cataloging, digestion, and distribution of all of humanity's information. Now they're in position to be a leader in content creation, and I can't wait to see it happen.

I'm in the process of enslaving the half dozen or so email accounts I have to Gmail, which is so vastly superior in terms of usefulness and design elegance that I need not even bother going into it here. I'm waiting for a Google Calendar, which will let me publish (public) appointments from anywhere as well as singly add them from any website dealing with time-sensitive content (that is, everything from court summonses to TV shows). But that's only the half of it. Since it's not MS proprietary, it can be shared with anyone whom I trust to see it, and will probably allow different permissions for different times of day, different people, and common trust levels based on how well they know people I know well.

If this sounds like rambling, it's because I'm overwhelmed by the potential that the new Google/Sun deal brings to the office sphere. Finally, we'll have (for the very reasonable price of free) what MS Office has been trying to do for the better part of a decade: seamless interaction with other users, the internet, etc. Massively distributed editing, immediate publication, and, of course, the ability to search every sentence ever written by anyone from now on.

Now, of course, privacy advocates will whine about how, if they could only go on using typewriters, no one would be able to see what they were up to. Certainly there will be at least as many concerns as there are over the gmail searching (I for one support it as long as it's done in a way that benefits me, rather than overwhelms me with useless information. Google is currently the only entity I trust to limit itself to reasonable profitable usage of my information, and I would much rather see them as a leader in how to do it right than have them cringe under privacy advocates' sensibilities).

I think what the privacy people fear most is that no one cares what they think they know or have to say. Most of history's greatest thinkers were among its most open (and thus vulnerable) people; you almost have to pity the people who hide from this kind of information.

In any event, the infomation age is upon us. While some will say that it's been here for at least ten years, I'm going to mark the launch of google SMS as something of a turning point. Now, any moron with a cell phone, a thumb, and a dime can access any text information they need from the most reliable source of all things reliable. That's not even touching the potential of real-time google map-based navigation devices, or linux-based, $100 laptops running nothing but Firefox with a few choice extensions capable of blowing away office & windows-based systems. We're way past the point where new features in office are of use to most people; every new capability they tack on serves to cover up three that were almost debugged to begin with.

I'm more than a little perturbed by some publishers' reaction to the Google Print project, which aims to scan every book ever published and make exerpts and ISBN information available online. It has the potential to save thousands of out-of-print (such a quaint expression) titles from obscurity, and make billions of dollars for copyright holders of unpopular books. I don't remember which site I read this on, but one publisher, when asked why Google's generous offer to leave out any publisher who wanted to opt out (despite a more than legitamate fair use claim) said something along the lines of, "We have no idea what books we may have published or have a legitimate claim on." So, at present, they stand to make all of no money from those works, whereas, with cheap print-on-demand and ebook readers in every cell phone and PDA (except mine), they stand to be dripping in caviar. People like that need to be expunged from the planet for the good of humanity; if you stand in the way of education, especially when it's on the verge of being universally, freely, globally, and instantaneously available, I have no use for you.

I won't speculate on the future of Google Video, which looks like it may have further to go, but I'd keep an eye on it if I were you. All they need to do is cross-reference scripts with TV shows, put bookmarks corresponding with keypoints in the script (or better yet, allow users to do it for them), and basically all of television and film can be indexed and catagorized as easily as print news is today.

Information wants to be free. I want to be free. I want to be informed. I also want to have as much distance as possible between me and those that don't. Unless they're playing poker.

Don't Ask

On the Effects of Zoloft Withdrawl on Poker, Dancing

I'd forgotten just how much more personality I have when I'm not medicated. Maybe personality isn't the right word, but anyway, those of you who have known me on and off the stuff will catch my drift, or not.

As it turns out, the SSRIs tend to chop both the highs and lows off my experiences, so when I'm on the stuff, I don't feel bad as easily, but I don't have as much fun. (Still bipolar, but with a shorter pole). Anyway, I ran out of it on Friday, but still managed to have an interesting weekend.

Friday night I played (guess...) poker at a the kickoff tournament at Tam O' Shanter (which we decided was Irish for bucket o' chicken wing bones). It wasn't pretty. Not only did I lose in a depressingly unspectacular fashion, I had a dinner/bar tab of like $25 before the tip. At this point I decided that I couldn't afford to play for free anymore.

So, naturally, I went back to the Midnight Rose on Saturday to reclaim the money I lost last week. I bought in for $50, won my way up to $115, lost my way back to $51, and decided it was time to go home. I haven't decided how to spend my dollar yet, but I'm working on it.

It seems like the trick is to leave before I start losing. That's the second week in a row I've doubled my money in five hours and then nosedived (nosedove?). A player sitting next to me said that she'd never seen anyone leave that table with more than $100, which I can believe, although I'm convinced it can be done. All in all, I spent nine hours there earning my dollar, but if I'd left after doubling up (or at least switched tables) I'd be much better off. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday, though.

Then Sunday I lost at On the Rocks, then went to Fat Jack's and won 3rd, for a $10 bar tab. Last night I went back to On the Rocks for another Benchmark tournament, and won second, which is my best so far in that league. That was worth another $15, but that's only because On the Rocks has the lamest prizes. The cool thing was that I got about another 600 points for my trouble, which should take me from 29th to about 19th in the league. The top 132 players make the semifinals, so I'm probably safe for now as far as that league is concerned. It was an awesome game, especially for the winner, who came back from a thousand chips and won all $50,000 of them. I lost on pocket Aces (again) on the hand before I'd have had to go all-in blind. I had about $7000 at stake, and he was sitting behind the other $43000, so he called me with his 7-3 off-suit. The jerk had the nerve to turn that hand into trip 7's, but I can't fault him for that.

I've negotiated a workout regimen with my landlord/roommate/personal trainer/nutritionist, so it looks like I'm gonna be in a world of hurt for a while, but in a good way. That should help with the seratonin and dopamine levels.

In between poker and poker, I had a ball dancing. It seems like the devil's showroom for Faustian bargains over there. Maybe that's just because the pickings are somewhat slim on the poker front; the only way to get one of the pretty girls is to win her off her boyfriend.

I'm feeling unpatriotic having not served even one measly tour in Iraq, and get another pang of guilt every time I take chips from another veteran. It looks like the Iraq alums are readjusting better than the Vietnam vets, although my sample space is of course limited. I got to listen to a heated discussion on whether it was hotter in Falluja or Al-Asad, but in any case, at 120 F +, it's easy to understand why so many of them are eager to come home to Colorado.

On the skirt-chasing front I seem to have moved beyond getting fake numbers; now they're giving names that just don't seem to add up. I've met a girl named Jerica, one named Spider, a Gloriana, and one named Teen (I even had her spell it for me).

Anyway, I'm keeping busy, so that's something. I've gotta go put air in my bicycle tires, but I remembered that my roomie has a compressor, so that should make short work of it.

Nothing Says Tornado Safety Like a Double-wide

It must come as a great relief to the evacuees to know that, after seeing their cities obliterated by a Hurculean hurricane that they're getting an all-expenses-paid ticket to live in the largest trailer park ever conceived. Kinda makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I wonder if it'd be cheaper for the government to simply draft everybody that stays behind. Since they declared martial law in New Orleans, technically the military is in charge. Anyone who thinks he or she is tough enough to stay behind should be put to work immediately cleaning up wreckage on the GI Bill, or shipped off to somewhere where tough people are needed. I'm still waiting to hear about somebody looking back and turning into a pillar of salt.

The best solution I can think of is to let New Orleans flood again, then pour a megaton of cement mix into the water. Presto, instant land reclamation.

I've Discovered How to Fix Social Security.

All you have to do is forbid anyone over 55 from entering a casino.

I guess I should back up a little bit. I took Wednesday off from playing poker, and then made an unspectacular showing on Thursday night at Sticks. On Friday, though, I took third place, which was worth $15 in food and stuff (woohoo), and not a moment too soon, b/c I'd spent all of the $60 I won there two weeks before.

On Saturday, the weather was gorgeous, so I went to check out Garden of the Gods park. There were really big rocks, as promised, and I had a great time driving through there, and even hiked a little bit (maybe a half a mile total; the rocks weren't close enough together to provide any shade). Then, it being so pretty and all, I went for a drive.

You're not going to believe this, but somehow I ended up at a Casino. Ok, so you'll probably believe that part, but the serendipity of the thing was uncanny. I was just cruising along these mountain roads, taking in the sun and wind and big rocks, and enjoying the absense of traffic, when I saw the sign for Cripple Creek (no relation to the crippled tribe of the same name). I recollected that there was an establishment there that claimed to have poker tables, and, seeing as how I'd been a good sixteen hours without playing, thought I'd stop by.

Sure enough, at about 9800 feet, right next to the DalaiLama's summer home, there's a whole mini-vegas thing. Whodathunk?

Anyway, I found the place I was looking for, called the Midnight Rose (not a rose in the place, by the way, especially by Pasadena standards). I was duly shown to the Poker Room, and allowed to purchase chips. This was a new thrill for me, but, what the hey. You've got to speculate in order to accumulate. I put up a sum that was modest by their standards, and played at the cheapest table.

Ten hours later, I had lost 75% of my initial buy-in, won it back and risen to 200%, then lost that, slowly and excrutiatingly. While not strictly profitable, at least I was losing much slower than the other people at the table. The game was limited, as opposed to no-limit, hold 'em, so that was an adjustment. Plus, nobody ever busted out and left, or the few who did were quickly replaced. The blind stayed the same all day, and the food and drinks were free...all in all, it's a setup I could get used to.

Anyway, it turns out I was probably the youngest person at the table, and I haven't felt so much animosity to previous generations since...well since the last time I thought about 20th century history, or any of the history before that. But this was the first time I'd ever thought about punching a guy on a respirator (so smug, making his Darth Vader sounds, with enough chips in front of him to call anything).

It's not that the people were beating me by playing well; they just played every hand without regard to the value of their cards, hoping to catch all kinds of unlikely hands. Granted, I made a couple of stupid calls (usually involving holding two pair and going up against somebody with a flush draw), but I watched old people pay out money faster than an ATM in Times Square.

The trouble with the table was, they were just good enough to know not to beat me, but bad enough to lose to everybody else. I'm good at knowing when to fold, and in fact yesterday I won second place (and a $10 tab) by doing just that (in the whole tournament I didn't pay for one river card without wining the pot, and only invested in two turn cards before having to fold). I'm not as good at bluffing, especially against people whose sensitivity to losing money is nonexistant and in a limit game. I would've gladly left when I was up, but I wasn't in a condition to drive, so I stayed put and watched my luck, and my money, run out.

Anyway, I figure I only lost about six dollars an hour, and was well taken care of the whole time, so it was a good trip. Most people I've talked to said it was a heck of a roll for $60, especially since it was my first (and last, if I know what's good for me) casino venture.

Irreplaceable

I guess it speaks to my misanthropic tendencies to admit that the closest I've come to crying in the (I'm drawing a blank trying to come up with a less over-used word than "wake", "aftermath", or "devastation") of Katrina is in reading about the loss of decades of research data and thousands of laboratory animals. I realize of course that everything they were working on can be restarted, although some of the studies involved covered decades, and that the people lost can't be restarted as easily. Maybe I can appreciate data loss more because I'm closer to information than I am to people, or maybe it's just that the loss is easier for me to wrap my mind around than the human cost.

I've tried to refrain from joining in the pundit-party surrounding this Kat 5 deal, but one more of us isn't going to hurt. I'm getting tired of hearing about how long the response of FEMA took, because frankly it's just a smokescreen preventing people from asking the hard questions. Yes, the federal help could have come faster; yes, red tape prevents numerous obvious things from being done; yes, FEMA is run by people who are even less qualified to lead than the Bush administration itself; naturally the gross incompetence and terrifying inefficiency that characterizes practically everything the Department of Homeland Security stands for was laid naked for even the most obtuse observers to see. However, in my humble (yeah, right) opinion, none of these things are central to the problem at hand.

What I'm angry about is not the timeliness or organization of the reaction; it's the total lack of foresight at all levels of government for what happened to New Orleans. Everyone had access to the obvious information that (1) the city was below sea level and sinking, (2) the levee system was not designed to handle greater than a moderate hurricane-level storm surge, (3) the only evacuation routes from the city were likely to be severely disrupted, and (4) in the best case evacuation scenario, thousands of people would, for a variety of good and dubious reasons, fail to get out of harm's way. The problem was that few people in power (and I use the term loosely here, as the distribution of discretionary authority in this country is one of the Constitutional and bureaucratic quirks we live with) acted proactively on this information.

Granted, before 9/11, the general public was blissfully unaware of the vulnerability of our urban centers and the fragility of our infrastructure. Now, after sacrificing billions of dollars, and priceless Constitutional liberties, we're no better off than we were before. If we can't handle one little storm with 72 hours' advanced notice, imagine what would've happened if some Al Qaeda operative had invested a couple of thousand dollars in pipe bombs and set it off at the bases of one of the levees. It's not a pleasant picture, but after the last couple of weeks, it's one we can at least begin to fathom.

Of course, they wouldn't stop at just one city's worth. It would much more likely be a simultaneous attack in six or eight places, each calculated to cripple the first responders' ability to respond first. It's taken us two weeks to get a handle on this (local) crisis, using every possible response mechanism from all over the country. Imagine if a series of attacks of this (moderate) scale were coupled with explosions on a few critical interstate cloverleaves, knocking out Atlanta, Chicago, Houston, Los Angeles, etc. If you think the Katrina response was a debacle, you'd best think again.

I'm not even going to bother pointing out that if anything even quasi-atomic had gotten loose, we'd have the problem of quarantining a city of half a million people. If everyone is irradiated, there's no herding them into stadiums or sheltering them in other parts of the country. We would've had to station armed guards everywhere to shoot all Cajuns on sight. I'm wondering what the trillions of dollars spent on Cold War preparedness bought us in terms of our ability to clean up a real mess.

Wanted: New Hobby

So I've been pretty negligent on the punditry front for like a week and a half, and there's no excuse for that in my case, as I'm rarely more than a few feet from access to the internet, and you the reader. The main reason for this is a nine-day poker binge, during which I played somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 tournaments. I managed to win a $60 gift certificate at one venue, plus a few other small prizes.

In the Benchmark Gaming league, I'm currently 24th in the city out of 687, although the bottom hundred and fifty or so of those haven't played. It took them forever to update the stats, and I might have had a higher rank earlier in the week if they'd updated it quickly enough. The restaurant and bar trips required for this pursuit would really add up if I weren't already doing that.

Tonight I'm in the finals at On the Rocks' in-house tournament (played without the aid of Benchmark). Should be fun, but I have a feeling I'm going to need help against all of the better betters. Cards are the best way to win, although plenty of players use other techniques half the time. I'm guessing they won't get away with any of that tonight. I'm brushing up on my probability, but I'm still gonna have a tough time coming out on top. Last year my roommate won a t-shirt, so that's something to aspire to.

52 Card Pickup

I wouldn't have thought this to begin with, but there are more single women playing poker than there are swing dancing, it seems like. Maybe it's just that the poker players are easier to talk to, or that women are less comfortable dancing alone. Then again, I haven't been keeping the most accurate statistics.

Speaking of statistics, you can now check my ranking in one of the local poker leagues at benchmarkgaming.com. I won another turbo tournament last night, and might have fared better in the main tournament if I'd had a seat at the start of the round, but I didn't, on account of a clerical mishap, so I had to play as an alternate, entering after the blinds had already been raised twice. That's really just an excuse, though. Anyway, it doesn't look like they've finished updating the stats from last night's games. This season the total prize money for the whole thing is like $2000 (all the tournaments are free; the money comes from the restaurants), and first place takes home $600+ of that.

That reminds me; I need to fill out my 401(k). Not as much fun as Poker, but a more respectable kind of gambling I guess.

Oh, and I also got four of a kind yesterday, which gets you free stuff if you play at On the Rocks, but since I was playing at Hooters, I just got kudos. On yet another side note, one of the waitresses had just moved here from Dothan, Alabama. I didn't even know they had a Hooters down there, but since I left that town at age 7 I probably wouldn't have noticed if they did.

A Lady Doesn't Wander All Over the Room

and then blow on some other guys, er, cards.

By Frankie's definition, I think I've met a lady, insofar as she is Luck incarnate, carnality notwithstanding.

The story goes like this: I'm playing hold 'em, getting no love from the dealer (some might go so far as to call him a flip-flopper, but your faithful chronicler is above such low-brow wordplay). Anyway, I busted out of the main Monday night tournament without even making the top 15, after a series of lackluster hands (or at least some hack-hustler betting). I can't say that I blame Fortune, since she was right there all the time, I just wasn't reading her signals correctly.

Which is understandable, or at least should be. Sending mixed signals is the Fates' stock-in-trade; it's sorting through the noise that makes a gambler (or suitor) successful. The form in which She revealed herself last night was particularly well suited (no, that wasn't a card pun) to such tactics, and not above capitalizing on it. By all accounts she placed the establishment in danger of running out of alcohol altogether, and I'm not sure she paid for her own drinks once.

If you're wondering what this has to do with poker, I'm getting there (poker, I just met her! (ok, that one was)). During the second tournament (called Turbo, since the blinds go up every time you blink), the Lady was in full force. Now, no one said She could aim. Indeed, in the first hand, five players out of eleven went all in before the flop. I guess I'm not the only one easily enamoured. Fortunately for me, I wasn't among them, as the winner had a big slick of diamonds, which took a flush, knocking out a Siegfried & Roy, a Barbara Feldon, another set of Hilton Sisters, and an a Jack-queen or something). I didn't win those chips to begin with, since I didn't play that hand, but I got them in the end.

After waiting patiently all night, Luck came and sat down next to me, and explained that I should buy her a shot. Although in flagrant violation of the beer-before-liquor-never-been-sicker rule, she seemed willing to take her chances along with my money. While she was negotiating with me thus, my cards seemed to be FedExed from Mt. Olympus or something, because I couldn't lose. In the span of five hands, I had gone from fourth place to second, and won it in another two. I wish I could narrate all the ins and outs of how I did it (for the readers' benefit and my own) but I can't for the life of me remember any of it. This Fate might have been part Siren, part Medusa, but more power to her; she got me more face cards in ten minutes than I'd seen in two weeks.

Anyway, I agreed to her proposal, and told her to put whatever she wanted on my tab. (Note: I'm not a sucker in general, but the way I figure it, by being way too single for way too long, I've missed out on buying things for pretty girls, which means I have too much money to spend on junk at places like Old Navy and Del Taco, so really, it was an investment...right).

Who'dathunk you could hold fifteen dollars' worth of suds in a shot glass?

I don't care, I won, and I can always make more money doing things that aren't nearly as enjoyable as playing poker. It doesn't look like dancing is one of them in my case though, as I found yet another way to cause excrutiating pain inadvertantly.

I finally got the cute bartender to dance with me (she was off-duty), and we were doing fairly well, a swing to "Friends in Low Places (hopefully not new orleans)". Anyway, she hits her foot on the leg of a table and just about cries, which doesn't really add up; bartenders tend to have pretty strong feet, it being in the job description. Turns out she had a brand-new tattoo on that foot, and she wasn't even wearing a sock (presumably so she could show it off). Just goes to show ya, there's more than one way to skin a cat.

// Post-Katrina Update
For those of you not lucky enough to be sitting at around 7000 feet, well above the hurricane's level, you're probably thinking that the tone of this article could stand some improvement. Then again, if you're lucky enough to have power to read this, then you could do a whole lot worse. I thought about delaying the publication of this one, but then again, it seems ironically appropriate that I wrote about the fickleness of Luck on the day before she sacked a dozen or more floating casinos.

I was just about to suggest over at HalfBakery that they make the next round of riverboat casinos be aboard submarines, then figured some other nut would've already thought of that, and I was right. Interestingly enough, the Kentucky legislature had an idea in that same vein, but for a different purpose altogether.

Back to the Drawing Board, I Guess

I just noticed that one of what was formerly the top dog of websites online, aol.com, is now sporting a Beta Mode disclaimer on its main page. That's right, the service known for going from version 4.0 to 10.0 without adding any notable features, or, indeed, fixing any flaws, has humbled itself to the point of AOL Beta. Somebody should tell the marketing department that "beta," as it relates to software, is generally Not A Good Thing (with one very notable exception).

I'm back at work now, hacking away at code that's older than I am. I don't think Da Vinci was involved in it, because so far everything has been much more cryptic than the book. I'm walking a fine line of improving things and not hurting the feelings of my predecessor/supervisor, who are one person in my case.

Anyway, I played the most unremarkable three hands of poker last night. I only went because it was at On the Rocks, which is a much nicer place to play than over at Sticks, even if the prizes aren't as big. For one thing, the ventilation is better, and since the tables are so nice, people can't have their cigs over the felt, which means we can all breathe a little easier (sorry, it's early).

I'm liking Verizon so far. I even managed to sweet-talk the lady at tech support to authorizing use of my employee discount at a retail location here to pick up an accessory, out the stock of which they were. Not bad for a faceless megacorporation.

Well, almost faceless.

Upswing Downtown

Thanks to a much-needed tip from my boss, I am now in contact with actual swing dancers in Colorado Springs. Turns out they rent out the dance floor of a VFW (of which it turns out this town has more than most, and of which only one hosts swing dancing). They had a crowd of maybe 50 people, thirty of them women, and the average age was probably 25. Which means I'm going back. I made it through about twenty girls before one of them turned me down for a dance. Of course there was the one jerk couple who wouldn't ever change partners with anyone else, but it's their loss, since they won't learn a fraction as much from each other as from the room at large.

They're actually having an aerial clinic next week, but the ceilings at the VFW are only eight feet high, which doesn't leave much room for showing off. The other really exciting thing was that they had probably the best swing DJ I've ever seen there. All of the tracks but like two were recordings I hadn't heard before, and if there's one complaint I had about Samford, it was the lack of any attempt at musical diversity.

On the poker front, things are pretty consistently underwhelming. I've about determined that game has more to do with dumb luck and ego battles than actual math. When you find out that the strategy has pretty much already been solved, it takes some of the fun out of the game. I won third yesterday, busted out early Saturday night (with a full house - queens over kings - no less), played poorly Friday, but won a free drink as a door prize, did mediocre on Thursday, and got third or fourth on Tuesday. I think that brings us back to Monday night, when I had second, and lost to the bartender. It's kinda fishy when the bartender wins a free tab; what's she gonna do, tip herself?

I'm all settled into my room now, and it looks like I'll just make it to Thursday, which is payday (observed). That probably makes my creditors happier than it makes me, but what the hey. All I've got left to buy is dancing shoes, a card counter, and a TiVo, and I'm home free. I've got all the computers I can stand at work, and buying a PDA wouldn't help much, as I'm not exactly mobile, and when I am, I don't wanna think about work.

Anyway, speaking of not thinking about work, my lunch hour is almost over, so I'd better get back to it. Ciao.

So Productive I'm Practically Useless

Well the saga with the furniture continues unabated. I've got some pictures to upload as soon as I get back to my home computer. The predicament with the couch has to be seen to be believed.

In the meantime, I got some sheets, pillowcases, and a comforter from Target. I ended up going with bright red sheets and a khaki comforter, which, coincidentally, matches my car. All I need now is the Honda logo embroidered onto it.

I slept the last two nights on the mattress, even though it's not installed into my room yet. It looks like roommate #2 is going to have to go to work on the window in my room to create an escape path for the couch. If it were up to me, I'd dismantle (read: obliterate) the thing, but it's not my couch, even if I did rent the space out from under it.

I played some more Holdem last night at Sticks, but only got fourth place out of 20. They gave prizes to the top three, naturally. I might've had more fun if I'd enjoyed the players' personalities, or if they'd had any. Really only one other guy looked like he was enjoying himself, and there were no women this time. At least they have two more games tonight I can choose from.

I'm supposed to be learning Visual Studio 2003 .NET over the weekend, which is not so much hard as it is mind-numbingly complicated. Imagine everything you hate about Windows, double that, and then take out the good parts. Maybe I'm being a little harsh, but I guess I just feel bad for selling out.

Anyway, I've been having fun with several new (for me) Firefox extensions. I've got one now that automatically generates random passwords and remembers form information and passwords for all the sites I go to. I've got it running off a USB stick, and it's secure, as long as I don't release the master password. I won't use it in the classified room, of course, since USB drives are forbidden there. That and the internet itself.

Well, I'd better get back to work. Those missiles aren't going to blow themselves up (I hope).

Texas Fold 'Em Already

Well they say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. I'm working on that step at the moment with regard to playing poker. I've played five games already this week, came in third Sunday afternoon, twelfth Sunday night, then like fifth in a little "turbo" round, then busted out last night at the seven o'clock game (lost 4000 chips with 3 kings; it happens), but finally got second place at 12:30 this morning at a different place.

I'm not playing with actual money, but there are prizes for winning, including free food, beverages, and pool, not to mention all the glory. One kid in particular has been infuriating me, as he beat me twice on Sunday. I played him again last night, but he busted out early on a hand I had folded on, so I didn't get much satisfaction that way. He's up to $300 in free stuff that he's won playing around town, and wants to play in the Denver Poker Tour for $50,000. I'm not at that level yet, but it wouldn't hurt to have that kind of cash at my disposal.

I did a ton of shopping this weekend, and now I'm the owner of a sho-nuff queen-sized bed, dresser, and matching end table. I still have the problem of cajoling my roommate with the pickup truck to help me move it, not to mention actually getting the stuff in the room. I think I'll make getting it home my goal for today, and if I have to take a poker break, so be it.

One thing I have going for me in poker is the fact that very few people can figure out what I'm thinking at any given time, even if I try to explain it to them. Poker is one of the very few avenues where this inability to communicate to people is an asset. I tend to play excellently when there are six or more players, but when it gets down to three or four, I have trouble knowing when to bluff. My thinking is that bluffing is an unreliable strategy if employed more than absolutely necessary, but on the other hand, I now have a reputation for having cards to back up my chips when I put them in, so it goes both ways. I should make a habit of pulling at least one cold bluff a night just to stay unpredictable.

Work is going well. I went to a meeting yesterday that consisted of 98% acronyms, 97% of which I don't know the meaning of. I suspect that half of those were made up on the spot for my benefit, and the other half describe classified activities that I'm not even allowed to know about. There's always something. I now have a candy jar on my desk, which makes it more fun to be at work than at home.

I'm gonna have to find a poker game where the other players don't smoke all night. Half my wardrobe smells like Camels now, and the other half is dirty. There isn't enough air to go aroudn as it is up here, and polluting it just doesn't help matters. I guess I'll have to win quicker in the future.

Last Post as an Ignoramus

This morning I'm supposed to get my Interim Secret Clearance, along with a detailed security briefing, mainly covering what I'm not allowed to see or speak of, which is apparently a good deal. Though no one has mentioned this forum yet, common sense will require an abundance of discretion on my part in commenting about work here. If anyone knows where I can get some of that (discretion; I have work for the moment), let me know.

Apparently the difference in the Interim Secret and Permanent Secret clearances are as follows:

Q: What is the difference between an interim and a full security clearance?

A: Interim clearances are granted in exceptional circumstances where official functions must be performed before completion of the investigative and adjudicative processes associated with the security clearance procedure. There is no difference between an interim and a full security clearance as it relates to access to classified information. However, when such access is granted, the background investigation must be expedited, and, if unfavorable information is developed at anytime, the interim securityclearance may be withdrawn.

That's according to the FBI. Now I'm not sure if it's them, or the OPM, or the DSS that's doing my investigation, but I know that I'm not in a DoE process at the moment.

So that's fun. I'm working now on not being frustrated by institutional red tape, and remembering that some of the people tasked with sticking me with it take their jobs seriously and don't appreciate the inefficiencies and loopholes in the processes pointed out to them, even when they act like they agree. Nothing new on that score, but I have to remember that the company is big enough that not everybody is an engineer.

One side project I want to get good at is recruiting fellow workers. HR has a bounty on exempt new hires that's nothing to sneeze at, although apparently you have to "know" the person you recommend and all that jazz. I'm not much of a judge of people, although I can typically sort out the competent ones.

I think I've found the kind of phone I'm gonna get, although I'm worried that connectivity to the comptuer will require additional investment, and might have to eBay my little bluetooth USB thingie that I used with my T610. As soon as I have a number for that, mark my words, I'm gonna update all the people whose addresses and contact info I have as to my new numbers and stuff. Then I can probably order business cards, although they'll be printed with invisible ink...

Political Dialogue

I'm sitting here, inexplicably, watching a debate between Hulk Hogan and Sean Michaels. I think I've been too hard on professional wrestling. It seems to get a bad rep among people who consider themselves literate, but I'm finding that I really admire it for what it is. I keep thinking back to last year, and wishing that what the debaters had to say was delivered with half as much gusto, or that they had anywhere near the commitment to enlightened discussion that these two gentlemen posess.

Granted, it's slightly surreal, and pretty bizzarre if you think of it as reality, but politics works pretty much the same way. At the end of a wrestling match, at least, there tends to be little debate as to who the winner is.

Hulk should be our ambassador to the UN. If nothing else, you know he'd be heard.

I've Still Got a Little Texan in Me

After trying way too hard to connect my stupid computer to the stupid internet through the stupid ethernet cable, it turns out I was the stupidest elemnet in the bunch. Fortunately, there was a trivial solution, so now I'm online and in my room. The solution to the clothing storage problem is slightly less trivial, but will become more so soon, or at least I hope so.

I won second prize today in a Texas Hold 'Em tournament at On the Rocks. I got $15 worth of free food and drinks, most of which I had spent in the course of the game. It turns out that patrons of that establishment are almost as bad at poker as they are a karaoke, to the point that a novice like your humble narrator can clean up. If it weren't for the altitude, or the fact that I'm such a nice guy, I probably would have won handily. The trouble is I wasn't used to playing with increasing blinds and increasing minimum bets, so I didn't understand the advantage in winning early.

There some really good hands, and some really sad ones, but for the most part lady luck and I got along all right. She and lady skill were pretty good to me today, but both of them are notorious for being fickle girlfriends, so I don't think I'll pursue a courtship with either one.

Anyway, I finally caved in and bought lotion for my dry hands. I was a little metrophobic of the idea, but I guess I never realized how dry my skin was until I tried it. I got the Target brand, which is probably just as good as whatever it's knocking off, and better for me if I ever get cornered by a real man demanding to know what brand of lotion I use. This way I can still act like I don't care. On a side note, Target's razor blades for the Sensor and Sensor Excell are of a higher quality than Gillette's, for half the price. Woohoo!

My only other accomplishment was to find a desk for my room for $14.99 at Goodwill. Usually I find their prices to be a little high compared to the quality of the merchandise, but then I remembered that I can claim this desk twice on my tax return: once for buying it, and again for donating it back to them when I find a better one. I'm pretty sure that's how it works...

Not much else to say now, and I don't feel like going to the car to get my camera for some new pictures, so here's an old one from the late Nalla, Fleming House Cat from 2002-03. She was a great little kitty, much loved by all.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

I'm writing this at a whopping 1600 x 1200 resolution on a 23" monitor that was sitting gathering dust in the room next door. Turns out it was for an Itanium workstation that has fallen into disuse, as Microsoft gave up developing a version of Windows for that architecture.

But all is not lost. Not only do I get a new toy for my temporary workstation (which is, coincidentally, the fastest computer I've ever had assigned to me alone), but I got to help my new boss put together a $5000 Pentium Extreme box. It should fly, although we're not sure how stable XP 64 is yet. Apparently getting a comparable system from Dell would set us back like 18 grand.


I'm going to a picnic tonight at the Flying W Ranch, which is apparently mandatory for tourists and strongly encouraged for employees. Should be some good food, although I'm still stuffed from the "lunch meeting" we had earlier. At the rate they're throwing hardware and food at me, it should be a pleasure to work unpaid overtime.

As an added bonus, I just scored a 30-foot ethernet cable, which means I can finally hook up my home computer in my room. Not sure yet how I'm gonna get the monitor above ground level; it might have to go on top of the TV to start with...

In other news, I had to send home my Dad's GPS unit so he can find his way up a river. Now I'll be lucky if I can manage to miss Nevada on my way home.

Given Me a Number and Taken 'Way My Name

Hi.

I'm...somewhere, doing...something, for an Uncle we'll just call...Sam...

D'oh!

This secrecy thing is new to me, so I'm gonna have to be careful. I guess I'm still free to make stuff up, and if it confuses the bad guys (although they won't tell me who those are), so much the better.

I found my place of business, on the right day no less, and got off to a great start Monday. Naturally every system connected in any way with processing me crashed at least once, from the key to my door, to the badge picture that wouldn't take, to the 401(k) that's actually a 403(b), to the new on-line security clearance request form that I won't write about for fear of offending the very people I submitted it to.

It turns out that you have to sign in in ALL CAPS on odd-numbered days and in all lowercase on even-numbered days. I think everything is right, although it wants to call me the 1Vth instead of IVth, but ya can't win 'em all.

So I got to look at the code base that I'll be working with. When he said it was sixty thousand lines, I had assumed it would be broken down into a nice hierarchy of modules spread across dozens of source files and grouped into sensible libraries, but of course it's all in one huge file.

The change history in the comments is dated in Roman numerals, I swear. All the documentation is in hieroglyphics, since the project started in MCMLXXI. I'm fighting the temptation to suggest rewriting it in a modern language, but as long as they keep throwing more hardware at the problem, maybe it will solve itself.

What else...my cell phone, which has a camera included, is banned from the facility, as it could be a leak. So I guess I can't show you all pictures of the inside of the place. To sum it up: these things are always more exciting in the movies.

I'll be sending out change-of-address letters to everybody I know as soon as I know what my new cell number will be.

Happy Belated 100th Post

So this is post number 102 for my humble blog. During that time, my readership has grown by leaps and bounds, or maybe just hops and skips and jumps, or maybe not at all. There's nowhere to go but up.

My major accomplishment for this week was getting all of my packages to my new place unscathed. Plus, I've elevated the TV to a good foot off the ground with a very professional-looking TV stand. Not that exciting.

What else...I sang karaoke the other day, but that was hopefully pretty forgettable. Just good enough not to be so bad I was good, ya know?

I got to see where I'll be working, or at least where I'll be while I'm getting paid. It turns out that I'm getting my own office, with my own name on my own door, and my own brand-new PC. Of course, the computer in my office won't be secure enough for actual work; we've got a stand-alone network behind locked doors for that. Basically, your office is where you go to avoid doing work; all the really productive stuff happens in the lab, which I'll share with two doctors.

The code I'll be working with is 30 years old, but still export controlled. I wonder how much farther it would have gotten if it were open, but then you've got to take into account getting bombed into the stone age if Charlie gets his hands on it.

So now my physical self is here, but there's still the small matter of sending out change of address notices to everyone I've corresponded with over the last year. I'll refrain from putting my address here, but just shoot me an email if you want to know it.

I'll be putting more pictures up on my flickr account. I won't annotate all of them here, because that would be double-blogging.

We have a sign!

We have a sign!
Originally uploaded by ojcit.

Isn't that special?

Kitchen

Kitchen
Originally uploaded by ojcit.

Well isn't this clever? Now I can blog from my phlog on flickr without even bothering with the Blogger logger.

Yet Another Use of Quantum Mechanics in Packing

Just to show off my mad Excel skills, I'm posting a static-html version of the pivot table I used to keep up with my packages. [Note: this was A Bad Idea, as the spreadsheet not only doesn't show up in Firefox, it doesn't get along with Blogger either. I gave up on it.] It looks like I have too much stuff coming, seeing as how the room is already full and none of the nine boxes has arrived yet. I know I've been spoiled living with unlimited space at G-diddy's, but if there's one thing I learned at Tech, it's how to fit way too much stuff into way too little space.

If there're two things I learned at Tech, the second one is how to fit way too many activities into way too little time.

And if there are three things I learned at Tech, the third one is that space and time are inextricably intertwined in the first place.

They ain't kiddin' about that mile-high business.

Here I am in sunny, pointy Colorado. It's everything you could ever want in a place to live, except of course for an oxygen-rich atmosphere. I have to take a nap every thirty minutes or so, and can't carry a letter to the mailbox without panting. That's gonna be an adjustment, I think.

I'm told that my packages (the first batch of them at least) are now safely in my office. I take this to mean that I now have an office. So that's one less thing to worry about. An office is a good sign; I've always had less work to do when I had one of those, and most people I know with offices seem to have a better time at work than those without them.

Lest you cube-dwellers should wax envious of the space, I'm going to post some pictures of my new domicile. It turns out that the room I rented has less space than my Accord. Basically all the stuff that came out of my car has rendered the floor more of an ideal than an integral part of the room. I'm about to go take pictures of everything, since I didn't have much light to work with yesterday. There's rain and stuff here, which is less than ideal, as far as I can tell.

Anyway, I'm living with a personal trainer and a window and siding guy, who both seem pretty cool so far. They're both older than I am, so they shouldn't get me into too much trouble. Unfortunately the Frietnamese lady didn't work out; we had irreconcilable differences in our concepts of square footage. But she's still awesome.

I would've gotten my Colorado driver license today, but I'm out of the kind of money they take. I've got little short-term liquidity, but slightly more plasticity to my name. The generous folks at Visa were kind enough to increase my spending limit fivefold, but something tells me that might have been a mixed blessing.

More stuff is forthcoming; I'm gonna run take pictures now.

I didn't know Daewoo even made monitors...

This is as close to roughing it as I'm equipped to be, blog-wise. Well, no, I suppose I could update from my cell, but that's not the best use of my thumbs.

Anyway, I'm in Elk City, OK, for the evening. They said there wasn't anything of note between here and Amarillo, and, given where they were when they said that, that's saying something. The plan, according to my sister-to-be-in-law's fiance, is to hang a right at Amarillo and head northwards to colorado springs. Apparently I get to see more cows that way than by going through St. Louis.

I used to think Alabama was the most backwards state in the country. I'm not recanting that, now, but I have come to realize that threre are some contenders for the title. Take, for instance, the city of Florala, which lies, conveniently enough, on the Alabama-Florida border. I used to think that was a pretty stupid name for a municipality, but after passing through Arklahoma on my way to Texarkana, it doesn't sound so bad.

The scenery hasn't changed since Memphis, although I'm seeing a sharp increase in the number of American cars on the road. Most of the drivers are nice enough, except for people in maroon minivans. I don't have time to go into the reasoning behind this, but soccer moms are constantly trying to drive me off the road.

I'll take some pictures of the car loaded like it is, but it's seen worse. I hope the TV and monitor in the trunk don't get their pixels shaken loose by all the bumps in the roads, but the former is under warranty and the latter is obsolete, so I'm not too worried.

On the roommate front, I haven't made any progress since about thursday. I guess I'll go ahead and pay the greedy people at roommates.com for more access. I'll be paying for it if I don't, that's for sure.

I could probably afford a decent place on my own, but if I'm gonna be working with computers all during the day, it'd be nice to have another vertibrate life form at home to make some noise. I've only had one roommate, and he was pretty easy to get along with, being more like me than I am, but in a good way. I've never been the smart one in the room before, though.

Well, I'd write more, but the table upon which this lobby computer sits is about to break, and it shakes whenever I hit a key. That and my arms are sticking to it, which is sub-optimal.

If you're new to the blog, check out some older posts, many of which have actual content of interest to more people than just me, and a few of which I actually put some thought into.

The Trick to Moving

is to realize that you are not just a person. You are a hundred different people in a thousand different databases, and moving all of them at the same time is next to impossible. This is before even bothering with actual cargo. Despite doing everything I can conceive of doing ahead of time, it's still gonna be a major headache.

For instance, I'm required to get a Colorado driver's license immediately upon becoming a resident. I'm pretty sure I need to present a valid DL on my first day at ITT as well. The only problem is, when I get a Colorado license, they will force me to surrender my Alabama one and issue me a fake-looking temporary ID, which will in turn delay everything from a new bank account to a security check to a car tag & smog check to a rent-ability check.

Then there's the medical stuff. Just to continue allergy shots, even with a note from my current allergist, I have to see another doctor out there. Apparently allergists from rival states don't trust one another, or maybe it's just a scam to get more business. Anyway, even though the allergins and Tabasco sauce or whatever they put in the needles will come from my allergist back home, I have to make an appointment to see the new overlord of the dominatrices who call themselves allergy technicians (or maybe I call them that, whatever).

I decided to go with FedEx, since they told me I could just ship my stuff to a FedEx/Kinko's in Co Springs and pick it up there. Then they told me I could only do that if I were sending the package "express," which, incidentally, isn't what the Ex stands for in the first place. I wanted to ship ground, and they said that they can't hold boxes when they ship them on the ground, because they'd have no way to keep track of it. It turns out that, while they can track millions of packages all over the world that are moving at varying speeds via land, sea, and air, if a box stops for some reason, it ceases to exist. Sorta like how photons can have a momentum but no mass. (How many people do you know who can't move an apartment's worth of stuff without using quantum mechanics?) Anyway, I shipped the first batch of boxes to my employer (I love having one of those), whose warehouse will have fun trying to decide what to do with them, since I probably don't exist over there yet.

Now my navigator has gone AWOL on me, so I'm gonna have to use mapquest, yahoo! maps(!), and google maps, and figure the best consensus of the three of them. I figure whatever I lack in direction I can make up in speed; if I drive fast enough at random for a long enough time, I'm sure to hit colorado eventually. They say it's a mile high up there, so all I should have to do is keep driving uphill.

Oh, and my car got new shoes. Apparently when I did my budgeting for the machine I didn't reckon on its preference for V-rated (the V is for expensiVe) tires. They're apparently the Air Jordans of roadware, if Mike played basketball in the mud, rain, and/or snow. This comparison got me to thinking why Nike hasn't come out with a line of tires yet, but I think I'll let somebody else make a million dollars off that idea, since branding isn't really my style. (BTW, I want to start a Hooters spin-off company selling coffee and magazines. I think I'll call it Moe Juggs).

It turns out Colorado is a whole state to the west of where I thought it was; it looks like Kansas swapped places with it or something since I checked the map last.

I'm sorry for not updating during my downtime, but my uplink is down in the dumps. I'm not sure if packets travel faster in the thinner air in the mountains, but we'll see. If anything, the letters should go faster when I'm uploading them downhill.

I thought I'd be on the road by now, but my mother said something about "deep cleaning" after I left, which means I've got to batton down some more hatches if I want any of my stuff to be where I left it. The more irreplacible something is, the more likely she is to throw it away. Plus I still need to back up all my files in case of, I don't know, something bad happening, even though the computer will be riding with me.

Head 'Em Up, & Move 'Em Out

Now it's officially official; I'm a Hydrocode Analyst, headed for Colorado, where, I'm told, I have a job. I'm kinda taking it on faith that there is a company out there and that they have a job for me. Maybe it's all an elaborate hoax, but then again, I can't prove that the rest of the world isn't, so what the heck.

I've decided to pass on U-Haul in favor of just shipping my stuff. It should be cheaper and less of a hassle. The only big obstacle now is finding a driving buddy, since it's like 23 hours' worth, and my siblings are both indisposed, or at least not at my disposal.

I've started posting some of thel pictures from the beach at my brand-new flickr account. I'm thinking it's a little higher-class free picture hosting than photobucket, at least for visitors. Check it out.

I'm looking for roommates now, preferably ones with rooms already since the logistics of co-shopping with stranger for a new place involve too many degrees of freedom. I've met a Frietnamese woman who's renting out a posh room on top of a mountain or something. The only catch is, all the furniture I bring has to be attractive enough to match her decor. She's a little ahead of me in that regard, but maybe we can work something out. Since I'm a Taurus/Aires hybrid, and she's a Gemini, we "click," or so I'm told. I won't say more, since she could be reading this... Hi, if that's you. It may be a little more highfalutin than I had planned on, but the price is good for the accomodations.

I still have ahead of me the arduous task of deactivating my resumes, agents, profiles, and recruiters on a couple dozen web sites. I think I'll make a spreadsheet to list which ones are where and what the passwords and login names are. It's pretty ridiculous, but you know how much I like listing thins.

Speaking of that, moving is a great time to assess the total replacement cost of my worldly posessions. As I pack, I'm gonna be listing contents and retail replacement amounts to figure out how much insurance to put on each box.

If there's one lesson I learned the last time I tried this trick, it's to carry your GameCube memory card separate from the cube. One of the final traumas I experienced at Pacific Tech was when UPS lost my cube shipping it home, and when, paying out the insured amount, all the proceeds went directly to the Bursar's office toward my balance. In other words, I was denintoed, and had to start over on all my games when I did get around to buying them back.

So I'm doing an ambitious backupping project. Basically I'll assume that my computer is obliterated, my car stolen, and everything else is lost. I don't know if that will be enough precautions, but we'll see.

Today was Monday, and I have exactly 13 days until I report for work at wherever it is I go to do whatever it is I do.

I'll write more later (Charter is coming tomorrow between 8 & 5), when I'm further along updating my resume sites. I hope to get an apartment soon so I can start sending stuff ahead of me there, although if I room with the Vietnamench girl, who's only 97 lbs, I might have to pack in smaller boxes, or hurry and beat the truck up there.

Hydrocode Analysis

If you're confused by the title, join the club. I've officially landed a position as a hydrocode analyst at ITT Industries Advanced Industries and Sciences in Colorado Springs, Co. The only trouble is, I have no idea what a hydrocode might be or how to analyze one.

It's been a big weekend, but most of it was devoted to reading Harry Potter. I won't spoil it, but I'm going to have to hurt these people who keep putting it off. Kind of hypocritical on my part, since i didn't read any of them until 2003.

Bleh, I have pictures, but still no internet connection at home. I've set up a temporary headquarters at my sister's place, but I expect to be kicked out any minute now.

Not much to say really, until I get the pictures from the beach and the Harry Potter party. Most of the costumes were underwhelming, although it was funny to see a 35-year-old man come dressed up as a wizard with a seven-year-old kid who wasn't. I'll write more when I get my Zoloft refilled. I've been having a headache since I ran out, and it's contagious, from what I can tell. Better quit while I'm still ahead, I guess.

I Put the Ass in Associate

So I'm calling yesterday my last day at the Sharper Image, mainly because the boss started back today, and it wouldn't do for me to be in her company a minute longer than absolutely necessary. Once I found out that, by giving them the courtesy of a 2-week notice I was cutting myself out of commission for the period, I stopped worrying about courtesy and got more pragmatic in a hurry.

I started giving away my sales again, and managed to hook up some of my cow-orkers with some pretty sweet deals, including several RSGs. It gets tricky deciding whom to give which sale to, since you don't want to screw up anybody's RSG percentage or units/transaction average, or any of the other asinine ways they rate us.

Anyway, at one point some poor sucker decided he had to have a $10 HugOO pillow. It was originally $30, so I couldn't talk him out of it, but I had to decide who the benefactor of the commission ($0.04) would be. I logged in the register as me (which I'm required to do by the policy), and when the register presented me with a list of employees to choose whose sale it was, I got a singularly evil idea. It was the closest thing to a little devil on my shoulder that I've had in a long time. I think they call him the Imp of the Perverse, but I'm not sure.

It turns out that the first name on the list is the full-time stock boy, who isn't officially a Sales Associate. One might ask, "If he isn't a sales associate, then why was his number listed under the heading Sales Associates?" If one had asked my manager that, she would've probably gone off on a tirade about how short-staffed we are, and how our IT people can't be bothered with little details like that. Probably the same reason she makes me sort through a clipboard with 200 pages of emailed pieces of time-sensitive data instead of allowing me to take 400 milliseconds to search in the computer. But back to my story...

The stock boy is pretty cool, despite being an old friend of the PHB. He gets to use tape, box cutters, stickers, and ladders all day, which makes me jealous, since I'm already bored with all our products, and tape never gets old. Since he's a full-time stocker, he didn't go through the sales training, and isn't elligible for commission, and (according to my boss) can't sell anything.

So I figured, "If he's not a sales associate, what happens if I credit him with this $10 sale? It's about time he sold something anyway, always hiding in the back room watching DVDs and sucking up to the boss." Plus, since I was tired of trying to explain the virtues of well-designed (or at least half-debugged) software to my boss, I figured she deserved an example. She's always quick to throw the book at me, so my thinking was, if it's paperwork she likes, I'll give her some.

I typed in the stock boy's number (only one digit different to an actual sales associate, so if anybody asks, my finger slipped). The transaction went on as usual, and at the end of the day, the computer listed him among the sales associates. This was on Sunday, and nobody said anything about it when we closed.

So far, you're thinking, this is a pretty lame story. You may have to have worked in a similarly braindead beuracracy to understand how much trouble one mistyped digit can cause. In this case, Adam was instantaneously semi-promoted to sales associate, now has a customer history, and will probably get a commission report and RSG lesson (since he's at 0%, having only sold one item). I bet he also gets a letter telling him his sales productivity isn't high enough in a few weeks, although by that time he'll be using a different number to log in.

The reason he needs a new number is because now my boss has to terminate him as a stocker, re-hire him as a sales associate, then terminate him and re-re-hire him as a stocker. I wouldn't be surprised if he gets three W-2s in January from TSI, having now been spliced into more than one person. So, in the fraction of a second it took me to type one digit out of place, I've created probably dozens of pages of paperwork for the higher-ups who were so keen to keep me down. The district manager noticed, naturally, but the official story was that it was an accident. I'll take the fifth on that one, although I should probably start watching what I type here, seeing as how I'm gonna be investigated by Uncle Sam and all.

The moral of the story is, people living in glass libraries shouldn't throw books. That, and don't try to bury me in a loophole, if you're still close enough to the ground to fall into one yourself.

Technical and Non-technical Difficulties

I've been hoping to report that I'm employed gainfully in Colorado Springs. The trick is to wait for them all to be at the office on the same day, find all the rubber stamps, and the extra-long roll of red tape required to get me hired. I understand that my low GPA means that they have to fill out "due diligence" paperwork, but that shouldn't slow them down much. I have an unofficial verbal offer from them, for what that's worth.

I'm also interviewing with Goldman Sachs in New York, for the position of Mortgage Analyst. This is yet another subject I may be qualified to be an analyst for that I know next to nothing about. Just goes to show you, I guess. These blue chip Wall Street guys like to have a room full of well-paid eggheads to tell them when they should buy and sell what. I can sound convincing, and that seems to be the most important thing. Sure, there are spreadsheets involved, and some occasional legitimate math, but for the most part I'd be a professional gambler. It's interesting that they ask for a background in "stochastic calculus," which sounded hard until I realized I'd already taken it under the heading "random variable calculus." That's the best display of mathematical marketing I've seen since they started calling imaginary numbers complex numbers, to try to dispel the growing belief that imaginary mathematicians were using actual money to do imaginary work. It's sad that the least sophisticated mathematicians are the best paid, but, at this point, I'll take it.

Just to keep my options open, I interviewed for a programmer/analyst position for a concrete manufacturer. That's right, you need a computer to mix concrete now. Apparently it's a pretty technical company, with 80% of the staff being involved with the programming. Naturally they use one of those sissy business/web-based/4GL languages, but at least it's local.

So basically, by this time next year, I could either be a Wall Street (ok, technically Broad Street) bond expert, a missile defense/hydrocode secret-cleared engineer/scientist/analyst guy, or a concrete-mixotronic engineer. The only people who like my resume are the ones who can't write a job description for what they need; they enjoy finding a candidate as confused as they are.

I'm still waiting on Charter to get their wires uncrossed. They gave me a new, cuter-than-cute cable modem yesterday, but the little lights on the front aren't blinking right, so they're coming out to fix it. That and the cable TV is out as well, but since we still got the All-star game, G-diddy hasn't suffered any permanent damage yet.

More pictures are forthcoming, including a few I plan to take at the Harry Pottery Convention Friday night. If you're not a Potter fan, what's wrong with you?

C-ya Later, Gator Tater

I'm still chuggin' away at the Secret Clearance application, and I hate to think what hoops I'm gonna have to go through to get my license to kill. Since it was getting tedious, I resorted to my usual method of wasting time when I want to feel a sense of accomplishment without expending any energy or thought: giving blood.

Actually, I got bored with regular blood and switched to giving platelets and RBCs, via a process called aphoresis. I don't know how it works, and I'm not sure the nurses do either, but they have a cute little machine that sorts out which cells go where and what gets put back in. All they have to do is run through the 50-part medical questionnaire in under 45 seconds and stab me with whatever sharp objects they have handy.

I get an even bigger kick out of it because my blood type, like just about every other parameter you might use to describe me, is rare in more ways than one. I'm O+, CMV-, which means my blood cells can go to premature babies, cancer patients, and people suffering from immune disorders like HIV. If nothing else, that's my contribution to humanity (well, that and the prestigious publication that you, dear reader, are now enjoying).

Since it's Friday, and since the men at Samford are afraid of cooties, and since the girls know I have nothing better to do, I was summoned to go swing dancing at Roman's. I figured I'd take it easy, seeing as how I'm sort about 40 million platelets, but I had to revise that figure to keep the ladies happy. (Keeping women happy, I've found, if possible at all, involves, among other things, the ability to revise, rework, remove, and refuse all kinds of logic).

Anyway, the one who requested my services was of course not interested in dancing more than a half a song once I got to the place, but that was fine, since the crowd contained better dancers anyway. Granted, pulling me off my couch when I'm studying valuable educational programming and then refusing to dance with me when I ask her to dance, citing a disinclination to dance to the current song, then dancing with some old geezer 8 bars later is enough to make me want to break her ankle all over again. But I was in a good mood, and still feeling the effects of the missing brain cells that I suspect the people at the donation center helped themselves to while I was distracted squeezing the hand exerciser, so I let her off with a few choice comments. Not that they're comments anyone else would've chosen, but I guess I must've chose them on some level, because they came out of my mouth.

The alert reader will have noticed by now that my narrative, to this point, has nothing to do with my title. For the rest of you, notice that my narrative, to this point, has nothing to do with my title. This is the point at which the one matches up with the other, thus resolving the suspense I've been building up until now.

At some point, two couples of young people (gasp!) showed up. They were all interested in dancing and relatively inexperienced, so I took the liberty of teaching them everything they needed to know. The first thing the men learned under my tutelage was that, just as in chess, if you take your finger off your girl, it's my move.

Anyway, both of the ladies proved excellent followers and a joy to lead, and as an added bonus, one of 'em is a radio personality, interning for none other than Rick and Bubba. For those of you outside of the sphere of influence of the Southern Trump, Rick & Bubba are to redneck radio what Ben & Jerry are to quantum electrodynamics. (All four of them eat inordinate orders of ice cream). So that was kinda exciting, and she told me her name--voted on by the listening public--was none other than the legendary Gator tater, a reference to her alma mater and her favorite flick. She took a picture with me on her camera, but tells me that they can't put it on the Rick & Bubba website on account of the absence of the two sexy fat men, the event not being sanctioned by the Birmingham Buddhas. Luckily, since my editorial staff consists largely of my imaginary friends (and I use the term loosely, as many of them aren't speaking with me anymore), nothing prevents me from posting her picture here. If you haven't gotten anything out of the reading material in this article (and I can't blame you, as I certainly haven't put much into it), here's some eye candy.



She'll probably remember me, because she managed to slip and land on her butt at the end of the fourth dance. I caught her head, though, and she was no worse for the wear. Naturally her smart-ass date chose that moment to tell me she had a torn ACL, but I can't take credit for dropping a girl if she was standing on her own feet at the time. Unless I put you in the air, you're generally responsible to handle any unfavorable gravitational situations that arise.

Coup Data

So I'm in "the final stages of the application process" with the blower-upper-designer people in Colorado, and they've got me filling out an app.

Now I get the thrill of tracking down payroll records for jobs I worked at 16 and 17, figuring out if I have an alibi that I was self-employed as a tutor in high school, and trying to sort out how to list the five or so different gigs I held at Tech while I was busy doing everything else.

My favorite question, which is a simple yes/no, actually comes at the end of the form, but it would have made more sense at the beginning methinks:

Have you ever been an officer or a member or made a contribution to an organization dedicated to the violent overthrow of the United States Government and which engages in illegal activities to that end, knowing that the organization engages in such activities with the specific intent to further such activities?

It gets better:

If you answered "Yes", explain in the space below.

And, yes, they provide a total of one line for the explanation. I feel safer already.

What bugs me about it is the hyprocracy of the thing. I mean, here we are, the week of Independence Day (or Good Riddance Day as the British call it), patriotically celebrating the anniversary of an act of high treason. We're a nation founded on the notion that there are times when a government simply has to go. I'm not engaged in the violent overthrow of the United States Government, nor do I belong to any organizations that are (although the Society of Women Engineers always seemed a bit sneaky...). However, I wouldn't be a Patriot if I put my love of my country ahead of my commitment to what it stands for in the first place. Government is a tool to protect freedom, and freedom should not be sacrificed to protect it.

Of course, it gets interesting determining what constitutes "illegal activities" in this context. I mean, a coup d'etat is only illegal if it fails. Revolutions are righteous, but rebellions are punishable by death. Kinda an all or nothing game.

Anyway, if there are any G-men reading this, don't get your g-strings in a wad. I've invested too many tax dollars in Uncle Sam to want to topple him by force. Naturally there are some things I would change if I had my 'druthers, but I'm really not charismatic enough to lead a coup.

On a more serious note, I wrote the above sections yesterday, before the attacks in London, and no connection to those tragic events should be inferred. All references to hypothetical future revolutions are abstract musings and should not be construed as threats.

I Left My Skin in Sandestin.

While there are innumerable stories I could post about the members of my traveling party over the last week, I've about decided that this is not the place for it. On the one hand, it's too easy to poke fun at one's own family, and on the other, it's too easy for them to read what I write. I'll let things cool off for a spell and then go about my venting in less obvious ways when I've recovered from my R&R.

Among the throngs of people vying for the coveted position of first against the wall when the revolution comes we now have the Coppertone R&D department. It seems somebody thought it would be a good idea to make sunblock that goes on like spray-on deodorant. They did, and it wasn't. You end up with a cloud of sticky, useless stuff that seems to call out to the UV gods, "Hey, look, I'm over here!" Anyway, when I get around to posting pictures you'll be able to see how unfairly the tanning genes were distributed in my clan.

Creditors don't seem to understand the concept of vacation. They just went ahead and sent bills last week anyway, when I was quite clearly not at home to pay them. I figure those shouldn't count, since they weren't considerate enough to bill me at my own convenience. I'm gonna be lucky if I can avoid an overdraft fee; it gets confusing when we switch months like that. I hate how they divide the calendar into such unmanageable chunks. What we need is an 8-day week, where you work two days on and two days off on average, and half the population alternates with the other half. Then put 32 days in the month, with 256 to the year; much better all around. The astronomers can sort out how it affects the rest of the cosmos. Maybe I'm just saying this because the sun and I aren't on particularly good terms right now, but whatever.

What I don't get is why monkeys never get sunburned, and who decided it was a good idea to develop fair skin in the first place. In the future you'll just take a pill at breakfast to determine what color your skin is for the day, unless you opt for the modular body package, where you mix & match limbs and features much like Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head. It's not just a game anymore; our grandchildren will be crawling on the floor trying to find their noses half the time, while generation Y is still fiddling with contact lenses.

The next big thing after that will be artificial beaches. I foresee Japan mastering the concept first, creating a comb-like island where 98% of the surface area is within 200 meters of the shoreline, and all the properties are perforce beachfront. The more dangerous the weather, it seems, the more valuable the property is these days, so the whole Ring of Fire could be a major attraction.

It'd be cool if supermodels could shed their skin all at once like snakes. There might be a market for a Heidi Klum shell somewhere. If nothing else, I'd buy a set of skin just to wear on the beach. Combine that with temporary freckles and you'd be set for life. Maybe the halfbakers should hear of these breakthroughs...

I'm actually working today, which means they didn't find a way to fire me while I was gone. I had hoped to hear an offer last Friday so I could've used last week as one of my 2 notice-weeks, but it looks like I'm stuck for a while. I didn't sell anything while I was out, but some people brought some things back, so it all evens out.

If Anybody Needs Me...

tough.

I'm going to the beach with my hyper-extended family for a week. Zoloft, don't fail me now.

My Legacy

I am contacting you on behalf of the Office of Student Life at Caltech because you are currently storing boxes in the Caltech SAC trunkroom. Due to the renovations to the South Houses that will be going on in the next year, the trunkroom is going to be completely emptied of its contents by June 26, 2005. If you are able, please remove your belongings by Friday June 24th at noon. If you are unable to do this, the Office of Student Life can move and store your belongings until October 8th, 2005 (end of the second week of classes) for a fee of $7 per box. If you would like the Office of Student Life to provide you with more information about what you have stored, please email cleanout@thebasement.pacifictech.edu.

Thank you.

Elizabeth
Communications Coordinator
Pactech Alumni Association

Hi,

I didn't realize I had something still down there. Could you please tell me what it is? You have my permission to open any boxes with my name on them.

Thank you,

Oscar

You have a blanket, throw pillow, some solaris 8 manuals, a box of plastic
easter eggs, some student health extension forms, what looks to be a 5x
board, a Technics CD player, a 15" monitor, a HP Deskjet 5000, and 2
plastic drawer units with assorted computer junk.

-Curtis Smith

Curtis,

Is there any candy in the Easter Eggs?

I think I can live without most of that stuff. You have my permission to donate the blanket, throw the pillow, recycle the manuals, eat the candy from the Easter Eggs (or hide them somewhere), shred and recycle the health forms, dump the 52 board somewhere (preferably the La Brea Tar Pits), donate the CD player to the nearest museum of natural history, and deposit whatever you can't identify in the Blacker or Dabney courtyard, whichever isn't full at the moment.

Thanks,

Oscar