Those precious wasted moments...
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in the "zodra" journal:[<< Previous 20 entries]
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05:37 pm
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kasclark.net
For the next generation in time-killing, visit kasclark.net!
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01:09 am
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Ron Paul for President!!!
If ever a Republican, then THIS Republican.
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01:05 am
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Clusty versus Google
The case against Google
We were all so proud of Google when it learned to walk. We were so supportive that this wonder child could so quickly surpass the other dominating search engines like Excite and AltaVista. We even applauded when it made its way in to the dictionary as a word synonymous with searching on the internet. But when all the enemies had been defeated, did Google become the monster it had set out to destroy?
Google is now by far the most popular search engine on the internet and thus is the primary gateway for many people to the knowledge stored on the world wide web. To make us all feel warm and fuzzy, Google has a motto of "Don't be evil". However what should we think of their censorship of search results (china and elsewhere), their recent involvement in government domestic spying, and even their use of email and usage statistics for targeted advertising? I mean, they even removed their help page entry on censorship, for crying out loud!
Should we forgive them for being, after all, simply a business just trying to make a profit or should we boycott their services as a sign of our disapproval?
Here's a tool to help you visualize the impact of google's overt censorship. (hint: search falun gong...)
While you weigh the pros and cons and determine for yourself whether or not this is a case of absolute power corrupting absolutely, I'd just like to mention that there is an alternative. A new, young, bright-eyed search engine with an eagerness to fetch your search results and a solemn promise never to tamper with, filter out or in any way censor the content. This is a search engine that promises to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the true search results.
clusty.com
Make clusty your default search engine. Support the up-and-coming optimist and boycott the profit-before-ethics pessimist at the same time. There's a plug-in for firefox and you can even make your own plug-in for IE.
Maybe we can't change the world, but at least we can try to "Be good" instead of settling for "Not being evil".
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02:02 am
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Myth-Lab (pt.2): Peanut butter
There are certain cute characteristics that we are simply born with, like the need to lie about stealing the proverbial cookie from the cookie jar and the tendency to believe our elementary school teachers. While these characteristics can be cute at age 6, when they still exist by the time we reach adulthood (read: 7), we should bury our heads in thick, gooey shame. Whereas we all learn quite soon enough that lying is wrong, albeit about cookies and cookie jars, we never learn that believing our elementary school teachers (read: books) is just as wrong, if not wrong-er!
A whole list of reasons can be given here for this claim, but I recommend the book "Lies my teacher told me" for a detailed and documented case against believing those deceptive teachers (read: books). Instead, I would like simply to focus on one example of the pitfalls of this tendency. An example that will be the topic of todays class: Peanut butter.
As young American students, we learn at a young age to be proud of our many great historical achievements:
Bravery
1) defeating the English (Empire)
2) defeating the Indian (villages)
Intelligence
1) inventing the cotton-gin (Eli Whitney)
2) and inventing peanut butter (George Washington Carver)
The most important of these is, as you know, the inventor of peanut butter. However warm and patriotic it makes us feel to think that a freed slave named after the father of our nation could invent the cornerstone ingredient of the elementary school lunch box staple, it simply isn't true. Moreover, it's a lie. True, George Washington Carver was a botanist (whatever that is) and liked peanut butter very much. He even found more uses for it, like choking small children and holding two pieces of bread together. I'm sure he was a big promoter of peanut butter and helped make PBJ go platinum, but he wasn't the inventor no matter what our elementary school teachers (read: books) say.
Rudimentary peanut-butter existed in Africa and Asia centuries earlier. Closer to home (read: white people) started making and eating peanut-butter around the end of the 19th century. The sticky stuff was patented, trademarked and neatly packaged before George W. Carver even thought of putting pen to paper (both of which were made out of peanuts!). So, sure he's cool, but really our unhealthy tendency to trust these teachers (read: their books) causes more academic confusion and emotional trauma than even stealing cookies from cookie jars.
So, George Washington Carver did not invent peanut butter, no matter what you learned. But teachers aren't the ones to blame here, but rather that parents that didn't warn their children that gullibility is much more dangerous than a sweet-tooth.
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08:58 pm
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Myth-Lab (pt.1): Thanksgiving
In today's class, we're going to talk about the upcoming holiday known as Thanksgiving.
This is the "all-American" holiday. The holiday that is uniquely American. The holiday that only Americans celebrate. The joyous occasion of stuffing turkeys and mouths and then vegging in front of the TV until there's enough room in your stomach for seconds.
As we all know, Thanksgiving is the annual celebration of the meal where Pilgrims and Indians sat down at one big table and ate all the Indians' food. So, it's an American thing... maybe Canadian as well, but that's it.
Well, as it turns out, the Pilgrims celebrated Thanksgiving long before they landed on Plymouth Rock. They actually picked it up from some of the nice folks they visited on the way to the Americas, namely the Dutch. No really, the Dutch city of Leiden had been celebrating the liberation of the city from a Spanish Siege in which the famed William of Orange broke the dikes and drowned all the dirty Spaniards. After which he stole their food and gave it to the starving Leiden-ians (but not before half of the city had already starved to death). Every year since, Leiden has celebrated this day, by giving thanks to William.
The Pilgrims picked up on this and clearly saw the parallels to the Bible and God saving his people. They joined in the yearly celebration and took the tradition with them when they finally left for the Americas. After surviving the winter and widespread starvation, the spring (and the Indians, of course) brought food and life back to the colony. Thus the Pilgrims carried on their yearly tradition of "thanks-giving" with renewed vigor.
So, there you have it, Thanksgiving is tasty proof of our Dutch cultural heritage. When you're laying on the couch this Thanksgiving wondering if you're up to more pumpkin pie yet, remember to thank William of Orange for saving you from the Spanish!
There's even an American Pilgrim Museum in Leiden lest you doubt my tale! click here
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07:02 am
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the dirty words of war
Has the world changed so much? Did it change overnight? Did it change so slowly that no one noticed?
I just saw a report on CNN about mercenaries in the Iraq war/occupation. I don't remember when, but I'm sure I learned at some point that mercenaries were disreputable, blood-thirsty criminals with a license to kill with impunity. Mercenaries, soldiers of fortune, killers-for-hire, have no loyalty, no honor, only the prospect of killing for money. Remember when we learned about the American Revolutionary War and those dirty, unforgivable Hessian mercenaries in the service of the British crown? We learned that one man fighting for what he believed in was worth a hundred hired guns. When did we change our American mind? When did it become ok and logical for us to employ mercenaries?
Of course, we don't call them mercenaries. No, that word is far too accurate and thus taboo. Rather we call them "private security contractors." As if this euphemism could somehow hide the fact that their loyalty and pride is bound, pressed and stapled to their paycheck. If our war is so just and our intentions so pure and admirable, why do we use troops who would just as likely fight against us if the enemy could offer a bigger Christmas bonus?
Along with the other dirty words of war that have been either accidentally or purposely removed the national discussion, mercenary is a word that is accurate and far too telling of the harsh reality underlying any such brutal undertaking. We call them casualties instead of dead, dismembered, bullet-riddled human-beings, as if death were such a "casual" topic. We call them IED's instead of just land-mines, as if deriding their workmanship would lessen their carnage.
As honest people, we should recognize the misuse of language to hide the dirty things in life, and when possible we should call things by their real names. Call a spade a spade and a war a war. By allowing the dirty words of war to be pruned from the discussion, we only make it easier on ourselves and on those who wish to prolong the killing and suffering. War is dirty, blood is dirty, dismembered bodies are dirty, the feces released during a sudden impact is dirty, infections are dirty, shrapnel is dirty, prison cells are dirty and the language that we use to describe these things is also dirty. A euphemism is a lie and a euphemism which belittles the pain and barbarism of war is an affront to our very humanity.
And that's the word. Hollaaaaaaa!
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08:35 am
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I Dream Meanie
I just had a very vivid dream, in which I got into a violent argument with my professor. There was abusive language and there were improperly used common classroom objects. After the scuffle, he was bleeding in a heap on the floor, sobbing, and I was triumphantly urinating on the lecture notes.
The question is, Dr. Freud, does this imply that I passed the exam?
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01:58 am
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Cram Session 2: more cram for your $0.78
spam spam spam spam wonderful spam lovely spam!!!
spam spam spam spam, spam spam spam spam....
That's right, you guessed it! It's that time of the semester again when we all must choose between long hours of late-night cramming or studying for exams!
Let's see what's you can win today:
a big pile of Theoritical Computer Science,
a tour of Distributed Algorithms,
a weekend in Principles of Programming Languages,
a brand new Network Programming,
a chance to Probability and Statistics
and... a year's supply of Network Security!!!
So, what's it gonna be? Will you spread your chances thin and study a little bit of everything or will you put all your eggs of cognition into one basket of omelettes?
Will you drown in Theoritical Statistics or lose your way through Probable Algorithms? Do you have what it takes to Network your Programming? Or, will you...
spam spam spam spam wonderful spam lovely spam!!!
spam spam spam spam, spam spam spam spam....
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02:15 pm
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419 eater
I finally found a new calling in life! I just came across this website where I learned about the great internet sport of Scambaiting!
http://www.419eater.com/
Scambaiting is:
"Well, put simply, you enter into a dialog with scammers, simply to waste their precious time and resources. Whilst you are doing this, you will be helping to keep the scammers away from real potential victims and screwing around with the minds of deserving thieves."
Check out the audio files section where you can hear phone conversations with scammers... along with crafty methods of confusing them and wasting their time.
Ahh, good times, yes good times...
Current Mood:  mischievous
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12:49 am
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Hesitant Heroes and their small steps for mankind
I recently saw a video clip where a reporter confronted Niel Armstrong with a Bible.
"Let's put the whole thing to rest, once and for all, Mr. Armstrong," the reporter offered, "Just put your hand on the Bible and swear that you walked on the moon."
Armstrong hesitated and started to back away. "How do I know that's a real Bible?" Then he bolted for the door.
I wonder what made that guy so distrustful.
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02:54 pm
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Ah, how I yearn for the grind.
So, my holiday vacation is finally over and classes have started again. The coming three weeks and the following three months will be filled with nothing but stress, deadlines and lots of tax forms. The holiday vacation is over and I couldn't be happier to get back to the daily grind of work and study. How I've yearned for this day. How I've dreamed of this day.
You see, the past two weeks have been spent working for the Foundation for the Study of Micro-Butterflies. This intense two week struggle taught me valuable lessons about the worlds of biology, not-for-profit organizations and old people in general. With this new experience under my belt, I have been able to sketch-out some rules that should help me in future life. These are:
1) biology is really cool, especially at the low, highly-detailed and specialized level,
2) there's nothing wrong with not-for-profit organizations, but there is definitely something very wrong with not-for-profit people and
3) old people should not be allowed to touch anything.
With these observations in mind, I can safely navigate the world of not-for-profit organizations, plying my trade along the way and doing my part to save the world from all sorts of trivial threats.
The first rule was the easiest to formulate. During these two weeks, I made microscopic photographs of micro-butterflies. That is, photographs through a microscope, not to be confused with really, really small photographs, but rather a really, really small object. The detail and subtle variations between butterflies at this level are amazing. Whether a butterfly has a reddish-brown scale or a brownish-red scale can make all the difference in the world, when determining the distribution maps of that particular species. Oh and yes, butterflies have scales, like fish, which proves my theory about god inventing mescaline before getting to work on the insects. In any case, even this narrowly focused aspect of biology is incredible, hence, rule number 1.
The second rule was a child of compromise, with suicide on the one hand and the logical separation of people and organizations on the other. I must keep in mind that this is but one not-for-profit organization and is not necessarily representative of the whole lot. However, I do not believe that this group was an extreme example, but rather a good, average sample of the not-for-profit world, on the small-scale that is. The problem I faced here was more with underlying principles than with the actual practice. In general, I found the pace of work to be unacceptably slow and drawn-out. Each decisions was first discussed and re-discussed and then summarized and then weighed and then balanced and then re-balanced and then mulled over and then hashed and then re-hashed and finally broken into two parts, the first of which was allowed to be carried out and the second of which would be discussed the following day. Each decision was dealt with in this manner, no matter how trivial or important, and so progress was painfully slow.
When I tried to speed up the process, my mistake was trying to change the practice without considering the principle implications. For instance, I suggested one person just make a decision (black or gray background) without the usual debate and bureaucracy. Their reaction would have been the same had I asked to bring back Ivan the Terrible, because the modern court system took too long to execute innocent people. They gasped at the mention of the words haste, efficient, cost, earn, attractive, interesting, user-friendly, hurry, final, best, goal, objective, plan, define, end and finish. Really, when I mentioned that we should make the interface easier to use as to attract a larger audience, they stared at me with mouths agape as if I were trying to enslave the proletariat. But then, I must remember that these people see business terms as a menacing obstacle to the pure pursuit of science. Apparently, they also see an interested audience as a menacing obstacle, so I guess biology is better off without people who are interested in it. In the end, the result will be the same, but with not-for-profit people in the way, it will take much longer to get there.
The third rule is a no-brainer for anyone with grandparents. My senior-citizen supervisors had good ideas, but they should never get behind the driver's seat and force me to ride shotgun. Supervisors should remain perched on your shoulder, where god intended. They should never take your seat, grab the mouse with fake confidence and then ask in a quivering voice, "OK, where do I click?" The same rule applies not just to computers, but really to all things, such as digital cameras, electric saws, hammers, door handles, keys, pencils, tape, light-bulbs and measuring tape. The list goes on but the message is already clear: let the old-folks touch things on their own time or if possible never at all. Even if there's no deadline, suicide is much preferred to watching an old-fogy trying for ten minutes to focus a camera.
In any case, the training in patience is over and the working-vacation is thankfully finished. Now, more than ever, I'm happy to get back to the stressful but rewarding daily grind of processing tax forms and working on my master's degree. Ah, how I've yearned for the grind!
Current Mood: I don't understand the question
Current Music: That's what my life's been missing!
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03:27 am
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late night cramming... just the way you like it!
As I sit here, cramming for exams, I remember why I hated college the first time.
Of course, things have changed since then. Now my time is divided between home-repairs, a 9 to 5 job and an adoring wife; whereas my time back then was divided between self-repairs, 9 to 5 different addictions and an adoring, yet suicidal girl-friend.
So, here I sit, reading, sweating, whispering, memorizing acronyms and trying all the time to keep from panicking. I spend half my energy keeping at bay all the thoughts of failure, disappointment and depression. I can't stop; I just started. I can't focus on one thing for fear of forgetting about the other things. I just have to keep going, fitting things in around the edges, making the best of the constraints I've purposely set and trying my best not to panic.
Why did I go back to school? Why didn't I just keep my life simple and safe? Why am I sweating the exams, again? Why am I purposely making my life more difficult? Why? Why? Why?
Well, I guess we'll never know, because between these exams and the other hundred things I'm putting off until after the exams, I just won't have time to really think about the issue and construct a well-prepared answer. Well, it's all for the best. After all, were I to honestly answer that question right now, I'd probably take the answer as a sign to stop cramming for exams and return to my earlier addictions. Yes, I'm sure it's all for the best.
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01:41 am
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Lies... and the goddamn liars that tell them!
I can handle most human faults. I can understand most crimes and I can appreciate most short-comings, like spelling mistakes and improper use of rear view mirrors. I've learned to deal with stupid jokes and slips of the tongue. I've come to expect that people will forget to chew and never use washcloths in the shower. I'm not shocked at violence or rudeness or hatred. I don't flinch at rape or torture or incest, anymore. All these things, I have come to terms with. I see their place in our human circus and I can deal with them emotionally, without screaming or hitting. However, there is still one thing I really can't handle. I can't handle lies and I can't handle the goddamn liars that tell them. Well, I guess that's two things.
I understand cheaters and sneakers and slimmers and braggers, but I just can't stand liars. I don't see the point of it. I would rather that someone confess to their crimes to escape punishment than lie about it all the way to jail. I would rather politicians were open about their ulterior motives, whatever they may be. I would rather that everyone just confess their short-comings and deal with the disappointment, than to hide it with layers of excuses, hesitation, and bold-faced lies.
The problem with lies and the goddamn liars that tell them is that they go against the very nature of rational disagreement. We can argue about whether you should've done that or not, but when you deny that you ever did it, all my reasoning is worthless. It's so hard to combat and its impossible side-step. The only true disinfectant is having another few eye-witnesses or a video recording of the incident in dispute. Even then, some people just continue to lie.
We have punishment for other crimes, such as stealing or cheating. We have rules to determine if a killer is a murderer or a hero. We even have different levels of rape. Yet, lies are somehow so sneaky, so fleeting, so impossible to nail down, that they mostly go unpunished and unmentioned. Liars learn that lying is good and effective. Liars never quit. Some goddamn liars don't even know they're lying anymore.
What scares me the most isn't when I catch someone lying for profit. I catch them and their plot for getting away with something is foiled. I don't respect them, but I understand them. I mean, as long as you have a reason for lying, then we can still count you among the rational populace. The terror, the true terror comes when I catch someone lying and I can't figure out what they have to gain from it. For instance, you catch someone lying about their middle name. But even when you press them, they just won't budge. And then comes the whole story about how their drivers license is the one that's wrong! Okay... what do you have to gain from that?
Or, take for instance the situation that inspired this entry:
I'm doing business with someone. They tell me they're registered as a company, so I ask them for their Tax ID. All registered companies have one, so just tell me what it is and I can put it on the invoice. Just standard operating procedure. Well, then they tell me they don't have one yet, because they are an "exception" to the rule. Sure, their company is the only company that can be tax exempt without moving to the Caymans. So, then I ask what the name of that rule is that magically exempts them. Instead of just admitting the lie, they go deeper. They tell me it's the xyz rule. It's new they tell me. Very new.
So new, I found out, that not even the Tax Office had heard of it. So I call back. Sorry, your rule doesn't seem to exist. Pause... please admit the lie... nope! Why did I call the Tax Office? Why do you care if I call them? Pause. So, hey, it turns out he suddenly has a Tax ID. So, tell me what it is. Yes I have a pen, I'll write it down. 12345678...9...1...23... wait that's one too many numbers... okay, i'll take off the last one. Pause... give them time to admit. The uncomfortable silence makes them nervous... nope!
Okay, then I play along and call back my friends at the Tax Office. Nope, not a valid Tax ID, okay, thanks. I call the liar back. The liar is fast on her way to becoming a goddamn liar (TM), but she's not quite there yet, still needs two volume points and a second referral. So, the number isn't valid. Yeah, maybe you read it wrong. Okay, I'll wait... while you think of another lie to say... that is. OK, sure I'll call back tomorrow. So I do, and do you have a different number for me today? You do? Yes I have a pen. Yes I'll write it down. 1234567891...3.... you sure?... you are?.... okay. Last chance to admit to the lie. If I catch one more lie, then you're over your limit. Pause... nope. Okay.
So ring ring Tax Office. Yeah, another number for you. Nope, not valid? Figures. Hey, can you tell me if this company is even registered? Really? It is!? Okay, what's her Tax ID. Okay. Yep, pen, write, sure. 99999999999. That's it. Okay, thanks.
Ring ring you goddamn liar. Yeah, your second number was also invalid. Surprise, surprise. So, I did get a valid number for you. 99999999999. So, why didn't you give this to me in the first place? You face fines and penalties if you don't use a valid Tax ID. Why didn't you give me it in the first place? You don't know. You knew it all along? Yes. But you don't know. Okay, you risked fines. You risked getting me fined, but you don't know. Is this the way you normally do things? What do I mean? I mean, lying. Do you normally lie? What do I mean? You lied to me. Yes you did. What do you mean, you didn't? You can't say that, you gave me two bogus numbers and a crazy story about tax exemption. What story? You told me you were tax exempt for crying out loud.... Yes you did. Yes you DID. Listen, you're lying right now. Stop it. Yes you are. Stop it. You goddamn liar, stop it! Stop what? Aaaaahhhhhh! Lies... and the goddamn liars that tell them!
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05:08 pm
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random play
Picture yourself on a boat on a river and you're listening to your MP3-player and you decided in your sun-drenched euphoria to select [random play]. It's a common mistake made by many an MP3-listening, boat-sailing, heineken-sipping fool. You think this will spice things up, like a DJ, to shake up and twist the spectrum of your good taste in music. But then it hits you: your taste in music isn't really that good. A point brought into question when Sinatra is followed by System of a Down, Lo Fidelity Allstars interrupt Beethoven's Pastorale and The Decemberists are beaten to a bloody pulp by Rage Against the Machine. You feel you should offer a comical excuse, shake your head about "kids these days" and quickly skip ahead to the next, appropriate track. Your shame is no less acrid when you realize you're wearing headphones and nobody else knows of your random-play-blunder. You still know. You will always know.
So yes, I have learned the value of play-lists.
Current Music: Rage Against the Machine, then Mirah?
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02:40 pm
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Resident Linux freed the slaves.
Enough said.
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10:59 am
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I am a road-builder.
I caught myself doing it again. Talking calmly as the world spins out of control. Forcing tears, wishing I was afraid. Knowing I should be. It was a swamp and I just wanted to build some roads. Not everyone is born a road-builder. Not everyone has such a clear purpose in life. The only variable was the swamp. It’s never my swamp. It’s always someone else’s mud and confusion. I try my best to make sense of it, to appreciate it, to understand it and preserve its goodness... and then I pave the shit out of it.
The hardest part of road-building in swamps isn’t the paving or even the draining or filling of the deeper, less stable areas. No, the hardest part is choosing direction, choosing connections, choosing the logic that will traverse and connect this backwater filth and disorder. Then I have to justify my choice to the locals and explain to them how road signs work. I have to convince them that rules are good and wet feet are bad. I have to nod understandingly and then disregard their reason. I’m not a politician or a counselor. Who the hell am I to tell them what to do, and which system and rules to use? I’m just a road-builder trying to build some roads.
Maybe I should leave. Maybe I should go back to my own, familiar swamps. The ones I’ve already drained, filled and paved. Then I could be proud of my order, my creation, my reasoning and my rules. But here, way out here, far from logic and respect, here I doubt myself. I doubt my drawings and blueprints. I doubt my choice of building material. And most importantly, I doubt my whole east-west logic. Who says that straight lines are better? Who says that road signs are helpful?
Also, the current road-builders, if that’s what you can call them, are usually quite insulted when I show up with my confident stride and big-city ideas. Action is the only solution I know; action without hesitation or discussion. I listen without truly hearing. I watch without truly seeing. I hear only my own superior thoughts and I see only what my expertly trained imagination designs. I look at the current “roads.” I look at the current “signs.” I listen to their “theories” and their “beliefs.” I try to look interested without making them too confident. Sometimes I’m sincerely interested, but only sometimes and not very often.
I start casually, taking in the lay of the land. I consult, I schmooze at the local pub, and I even feign gratitude and modesty. Then I spring it on them; just like that, completely catching them off-guard. I set up roadblocks overnight and make secret arrests. I bring in bulldozers and loudspeakers. I blast my new rules from every church steeple. I call them to prayer. Their road-builder promises them a new future, free from mud and wet feet. All they have to do is adopt my list of do’s and don’ts. All they have to do is give up their old gods and their old, backwater ways of transport and livelihood. All they have to do is adopt my list of priorities and aspirations. All they have to do is give in and accept the error of their ways. All they have to do is change who they are. And I will lead them through the valley of guilt to the mountains of righteousness. But first we need roads to travel on.
The bulldozers are busy in the distance. They crush homes and gardens and dreams alike. They plow, with unflinching, callow faces, through the mist and mosquitoes these people have come to love. They tear up tracks of land. They level fields, trash piles, cedar trees, reed forests, and canals. They churn the soil of today into the fodder of tomorrow. The grey mist becomes dark with their diesel smoke. Their order is unrecognizable in the confusion of darkness, but they are experts and their plans will become clear as the dawn breaks.
As a road-builder, I do very little actual road-building. After hugging, petting and cooing the barbaric townsfolk, I set them to the actual labor. I send them with shovels and pitchforks to destroy the last remnants of their civilization. I give them each a small piece of the blueprints, but no one can see the whole picture. I set them each to their own small task. I turn them on each other with intentionally mixed messages. Arguments are converted to energy and the wrath is dissipated in meaningless disputes over who gets to dig and who gets to fill.
There are moments, between tasks, when there is silence and my mind drifts. In those moments I hesitate, I second-guess myself and I gag on my breath. What have I done? This isn’t my swamp. These aren’t my people. What am I doing here? Why am I giving them so much, if they don’t even really want it? If they prefer rank and squalor, then so be it. Let them rot in their incest and sin. Let them dine on their own misery and let them bathe in their inability to comprehend their sick depression. Let them rot. Let them swallow and choke and vomit their own feces. Let them drink mud and die! Why am I even here, wasting my breath and life trying to “save” these worthless beggars? I should be home, where my taste and abilities are appreciated and deserved.
I could leave now and just leave everything as it is, half finished, demolished, destroyed. I could vanish into the fog. I could float away on silent wings and leave this hole. I promised them so much and I’m already losing interest. I don’t see the point anymore. Let them rot. Let them wallow in the mire. Leave them to their own affairs and their own version of right and wrong. Let them misspell and mispronounce. Leave them to their incest and barbarism. Vanish, just vanish.
No. I cannot vanish. I am a road-builder and I’m here to build roads.
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10:39 pm
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happy b-day.... sucker!!!
OK, imagine this, it's your birthday and you're sitting around the dinner table with your family. Your tummy is full of cake and it's finally time to open the presents. Now, this isn't just some ordinary birthday. No, this is your 25th birthday. The big two-five... the quarter-mark of your life: car insurance goes down and you can finally afford the rent.
Naturally, you expect a special gift on such a special day, but nothing prepares you for the Rolex. Your siblings have managed to pool enough cash to buy you the Rolls-Royce of watches. This will last you the rest of your life. An Oyster, the only truly waterproof watch in the world, with full automatic, self-winding movement and perpetual calendar (adjusting for leap-year).
The full value of the gift requires no explanation. After gasps and tears, there is only silence as the gravity of the gesture sinks in. These people really love you.
But then, you realize the party isn't yet over. There are still more presents to come! Yep, they also got you facewash! Yahoo! AAAAAnd a fresh pack of chewing gum! Score! AAAAAnd they promised to buy you a half-tank of gasoline next week! Paydirt!
Oh, and they tell you that you're going on vacation next week. Surprise! Yep, they decided you need a week in Cancun. They already called and made reservations. They even called up your long-lost uncle and told him to expect you. Unfortunately, they can't actually pay for the trip, but they did donate a couple of bucks to cover any drinks you might order on the plane. So, you're on your own for the hotel and travel costs, buddy. Enjoy.
Happy b-day... sucker!!!
(based on a true-story, names changed, yada yada)
Question: What's wrong with this scenario?
(Hint: See how the Rolex is tarnished and devalued by all that other half-assed shit?)
Answer: The Rolex is tarnished and devalued by all that other half-assed shit.
Don't worry, I'm not the birthday boy. No, I'm the friend who suggested and financed the Rolex, but tried desperately to talk the others out of the rest.
"Oh yeah, man! My 25th! That's when I got the bitchin' Rolly... and toothpaste and some other shit, and a handful of gas money for a trip I couldn't afford. Oh wait, that sucked!"
Current Mood:  pissed off
Current Music: System von Daunter
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08:57 pm
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is this weird, or is it just we?
So, this is the advert on the comedy central website. "JOIN THE ARMY!"
There are so many ways to look at this. We can say it's a form of humor, or we can say it's sad. We can see it as satire, or we can see it as a last ditch effort to avoid a draft. In any case, this is out of place. What moron in the Army PR department thought it was a good idea to target viewers of the Daily Show with Jon Stewart? ...and does that moron know something we don't?
Current Mood:  worried
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10:32 pm
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the little blog that could
After seeing Ahniwa's blog, I'm a bit ashamed of my own. His blog is so much bigger and longer, and he uses it a lot more, sometimes daily! It's so big, it doesn't fit on just one page. You can scroll down as low as you want, but you'll never see the end of his blog. It's so long, he has to archive sections of it. It's so long, it's visible from (cyber)space.
After seeing Ahniwa's blog, I realize just how little and seldomly used mine truly is. Once a month, if I'm lucky, my blog gets some attention. Sometimes, I can't even get it online. Sometimes, when I am working on my blog, I'm actually thinking about other things, so my entry never has a climax. Then I just fake it and minimize the page quickly.
After seeing Ahniwa's blog, I understand just how mighty a blog can be. I realize just how much dedication it takes to achieve maximum length and appeal. He really knows how to penetrate the audience and satisfy their literary appetites. He can nail a young reader on the edge of their seat until their eyes dry out and start stinging.
After seeing Ahniwa's blog, I finally know what I want my blog to be when it grows up.
After seeing Ahniwa's blog, I finally admit that I should just give up now.
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12:14 am
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lookie, lookie! i wrote something!
So, even empty space can be wasted. It's a blend of quantum mush and philosophical gravy I like to call Alex-matter. The only matter than can be wasted without even having to exist. A space where even the sharp intake of breath before speaking is considered a run-on.
It's amazing how easy it is to waste this space. I mean, it was much harder when we lived together in that bungalow down by "The_Log." There was just so much to be written about with all those lysdexic teeners frolicking in the Autumn-mist. We couldn't be lazy if we tried. Even when I was masturbating, I was using the other hand to type clever quips and retorts to tease and baffle the pimpled-faced hordes.
It was impossible, in that land of mischief and no-goodery, to truly waste space. Each haughty chuckle, each "adsf" was a precious cornerstone to "The_Log", giving it personality and making it research the laws of online-bullying. We provided the pulse of life. The very colors that stained the flag of online freedom were drawn from our poetic blood. Waste? Waste, was a word not yet invented, in that time of endless pestering and ruthless giggling. We were gods, you and I, gods of "The_Log." Each with our own "Log" and then with our communal "Log" that was bigger than the rest, much longer and harder to flush.
In that time, before the era of Alex-matter and upsidedown-existentialism-pineapplecake, there was no time for questioning. We didn't know if it was wrong or right. We didn't know if we would live or die. We bombed "The_Log" every night, my friend. And there was no speak of wasted space. There was none of this madness. None of this crazy-talk of cyberspace collecting cyberdust.
Now, in the twilight of our lives, with our greatest battles and teener-bashing behind us, we sit, doubting our efforts and desperately trying to draw meaning back into our posts. You try photos and short sentences missing background information. I try simply not posting anything. For it is all a far cry from our glory days on the sunny beaches of "The_Log." We can count our scars, and yes we can even attack each other's method of madness, but in the end we are both just trying hard to fill the gap left in our backsides by the passing of "The_Log." Nothing we do now, no photos, no one-liners, and certainly no wasted-empty-space can bring it back.
So, yes, content yourself with your new philo-physics, your mush and gravy. Let me fill your Alex-matter, or not... Let me lick my wounds and let me twitch merrily in my dreams of clever tag-team grammatical assaults and spinning round-house spelling kicks. The sun has set on the beaches of "The_Log" and we're both shivering in the evening chill. My empty live-journal is tattered and threadbare and does little to stop the wind. You snicker, but not even your beard will keep you warm!
Current Mood: determined
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