Missing Link
I caught a glimpse of my posture today in the window of Anthropology (How fitting), and discovered that I don't walk to my full evolutionary potential. My neck cranes out from my shoulders. I've know about this, and I don't think I can fix it. It's just the way my neck works. However, today my shoulders were hunched forward, and my neck was craned out to the limit. My walking posture is straight out of the Mesolithic era.
I don't know was the cause is. Self esteem? Lack of exercise? Am I Cro-Magnon? I'm good with computers and my brow ridge is only slightly pronounced, so I'm guessing it's a combination of choices 1 and 2. Ugh.
Friday, July 23, 2004
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Go See It
I just went to see Control Room. It's a documentary following people from Al Jazeera from March to May (or thereabouts) at CentCom during the Iraq War. (Or at least during the part before we declared victory.)
Until hearing about the movie I didn't really have any way to rebut the notion that Al Jazeera is a mouthpiece for Osama Bin Laden. After seeing the movie I gained a huge respect for the people that work there and for their point of view. You really see that they are just journalists with a point of view, not really an agenda.
Whether you were for or against the war, it's a good movie to see. It really brings out a different perspective. Go see it.
I just went to see Control Room. It's a documentary following people from Al Jazeera from March to May (or thereabouts) at CentCom during the Iraq War. (Or at least during the part before we declared victory.)
Until hearing about the movie I didn't really have any way to rebut the notion that Al Jazeera is a mouthpiece for Osama Bin Laden. After seeing the movie I gained a huge respect for the people that work there and for their point of view. You really see that they are just journalists with a point of view, not really an agenda.
Whether you were for or against the war, it's a good movie to see. It really brings out a different perspective. Go see it.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Baby Wipes are Awesome
I've had this disgusting tar stuff on the front of my car since I went to LA two or so months ago. I tried to clean it off with several different things including a car wash, soap and water, and my fingernail. Today, before going to Kragen to ask what I could get tar off with, I decided to try the ever present in my trunk baby wipes. They worked great. They aren't even the fancy ones, the wipes I used were Safeway Select. So rock on baby wipes, rock on.
I've had this disgusting tar stuff on the front of my car since I went to LA two or so months ago. I tried to clean it off with several different things including a car wash, soap and water, and my fingernail. Today, before going to Kragen to ask what I could get tar off with, I decided to try the ever present in my trunk baby wipes. They worked great. They aren't even the fancy ones, the wipes I used were Safeway Select. So rock on baby wipes, rock on.
Profiles and Interviews
I like these profile things that people seem to have on their blogs. I didn't want to change the format on mine, because I didn't want to figure out how to put comments and tracking back in. So I just stuck a link to my profile in the corner there under my picture. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.
I've changed my mind on the interviewing thing. It's actually more like being interviewed by the phone company. They give you a big window during which you have to wait at home, and then they don't call. I sent an email and I guess I'm getting called today. We'll see.
I also did a little IT work today. I was referred to a transmission repair shop by a pervious client. So I popped down there, ran an antivirus program and an anti-spyware program, and went home. It's nice to make money by sitting around watching programs run. I didn't fix a thing, but since the virus scan didn't find any viruses, the transmission guy was a happy camper.
If my phone interview goes well, assuming it goes at all, I'll consider today an overall success.
I like these profile things that people seem to have on their blogs. I didn't want to change the format on mine, because I didn't want to figure out how to put comments and tracking back in. So I just stuck a link to my profile in the corner there under my picture. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.
I've changed my mind on the interviewing thing. It's actually more like being interviewed by the phone company. They give you a big window during which you have to wait at home, and then they don't call. I sent an email and I guess I'm getting called today. We'll see.
I also did a little IT work today. I was referred to a transmission repair shop by a pervious client. So I popped down there, ran an antivirus program and an anti-spyware program, and went home. It's nice to make money by sitting around watching programs run. I didn't fix a thing, but since the virus scan didn't find any viruses, the transmission guy was a happy camper.
If my phone interview goes well, assuming it goes at all, I'll consider today an overall success.
Monday, July 19, 2004
Three Sheets to the Wind
I finally changed my sheets tonight. That sounds kind of gross, which is accurate. I don't wash my sheets very often. However, tonight I mean that I swapped my flannel sheets for some regular cotton ones.
It was hot here today, and remains both hot and smoky in my room. (The smoke is from Piranha Man, his open window, and the fact that the wind blows from his apartment into mine.) Being as hot as it was, I decided that since I was washing my sheets anyway, maybe I should try the cotton ones on my bed. I guess I survived 4 years at Davis with flannel sheets, and people there regularly burst into flame in the summer time. Then again, why just survive when there's the option of luxuriating in the cool crisp cotton sheets of summer. And that is what I'm going to do. So there. Try and stop me.
(Some reading this may know that I suck something fierce at spelling. To those, it is interesting to note that I managed to spell luxuriating correctly without the aid of my trusty spell check. However my flannel sheets contained just one N.)
I finally changed my sheets tonight. That sounds kind of gross, which is accurate. I don't wash my sheets very often. However, tonight I mean that I swapped my flannel sheets for some regular cotton ones.
It was hot here today, and remains both hot and smoky in my room. (The smoke is from Piranha Man, his open window, and the fact that the wind blows from his apartment into mine.) Being as hot as it was, I decided that since I was washing my sheets anyway, maybe I should try the cotton ones on my bed. I guess I survived 4 years at Davis with flannel sheets, and people there regularly burst into flame in the summer time. Then again, why just survive when there's the option of luxuriating in the cool crisp cotton sheets of summer. And that is what I'm going to do. So there. Try and stop me.
(Some reading this may know that I suck something fierce at spelling. To those, it is interesting to note that I managed to spell luxuriating correctly without the aid of my trusty spell check. However my flannel sheets contained just one N.)
Saturday, July 17, 2004
Awake
It's Saturday, and I've been awake since 9am. To a lot of people that's normal, but I've been known to sleep until noon and beyond. And It's not like I went to bed early. I went to sleep at around 3am.
The problem is that I keep having Kristin related dreams. Some with her in them, some with someone like her. Some are good, some are bad. Either way I wake up feeling depressed about it.
Sometimes it's hard to tell what my subconscious is telling me. I've had dreams where Puddy from Seinfeld tells me that "these guns are fuzzy like underwear. If these are the only weapons we have to work with, we're in for trouble." Who knows what that means? I think in this case it's pretty straight forward: I miss her.
It's Saturday, and I've been awake since 9am. To a lot of people that's normal, but I've been known to sleep until noon and beyond. And It's not like I went to bed early. I went to sleep at around 3am.
The problem is that I keep having Kristin related dreams. Some with her in them, some with someone like her. Some are good, some are bad. Either way I wake up feeling depressed about it.
Sometimes it's hard to tell what my subconscious is telling me. I've had dreams where Puddy from Seinfeld tells me that "these guns are fuzzy like underwear. If these are the only weapons we have to work with, we're in for trouble." Who knows what that means? I think in this case it's pretty straight forward: I miss her.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Driving a Van
I remember saying a while back, when I had just lost my first (and best) metalworking job, that perhaps one can't have a job, band, and girlfriend all at the same time. I went along not having a job but having a girlfriend from January until this month. And now all of a sudden, no girlfriend and the jobs start rolling in. I had a phone interview today, and I should have a real interview by the end of the week, or perhaps by the beginning of next. So I'll either get this job, or start dating someone. I'm always up for a date, but the job will give me insurance. So if I get a choice, I'll choose the job.
The job is driving medical equipment around the Bay Area. I guess I get various equipment, put it in the van, and hang out until they want some of it someplace. So I drive there, tell them how to use it, and then hang out some more until someone wants something else, or until someone wants me to pick something up. If I get low on equipment or full of used equipment, I drive back to the office and swap stuff out. I think it will work out well. I like driving, I don't mind traffic, and I want both money and benefits. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
I remember saying a while back, when I had just lost my first (and best) metalworking job, that perhaps one can't have a job, band, and girlfriend all at the same time. I went along not having a job but having a girlfriend from January until this month. And now all of a sudden, no girlfriend and the jobs start rolling in. I had a phone interview today, and I should have a real interview by the end of the week, or perhaps by the beginning of next. So I'll either get this job, or start dating someone. I'm always up for a date, but the job will give me insurance. So if I get a choice, I'll choose the job.
The job is driving medical equipment around the Bay Area. I guess I get various equipment, put it in the van, and hang out until they want some of it someplace. So I drive there, tell them how to use it, and then hang out some more until someone wants something else, or until someone wants me to pick something up. If I get low on equipment or full of used equipment, I drive back to the office and swap stuff out. I think it will work out well. I like driving, I don't mind traffic, and I want both money and benefits. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Bike of Death
Today I decided I would try to take my bike for a ride. I was sort of surprised I was able to get the locks off, since I hadn't unlocked the thing for probably 2 years.
I think it needs some repairs. Both the front and rear wheels aren't very true. I know what happened to the front wheel: I ran head-on into an idiot who wasn't looking where he was going and swerved in front of me. We ran into each other front wheel to front wheel. Being roughly the same mass and traveling and roughly the same speed, we both went over our handlebars, and collided helmet to helmet in the air, then crashed down into a big heap on our bikes. I was late for a math test, so I wobbled off toward class and the other guy wobbled off toward the dorms. Ever since then, my front wheel has a noticeable side-to-side wobble.
So the front wheel was maimed in 1999. I have no idea what happened to the back wheel, but it doesn't ago around well either. It's as if it's partially flat on one side, and then has the side-to-side wobble as well. Front and back wobbles make stopping exciting, because when the wobbly bit gets to the brake pads, the brakes grab extra hard. In addition, the back wheel is made of steel, and is therefore all rusty and makes a terrible honking noise when I try to stop. With the front wobble, the back wobble, and the rust-on-brake pad noise, it sounds like I'm tying to ride a tortured, but oddly rhythmic, dying goose.
I also don't have a helmet. I wonder how much it would cost for a helmet and goose-to-bike conversion.
Today I decided I would try to take my bike for a ride. I was sort of surprised I was able to get the locks off, since I hadn't unlocked the thing for probably 2 years.
I think it needs some repairs. Both the front and rear wheels aren't very true. I know what happened to the front wheel: I ran head-on into an idiot who wasn't looking where he was going and swerved in front of me. We ran into each other front wheel to front wheel. Being roughly the same mass and traveling and roughly the same speed, we both went over our handlebars, and collided helmet to helmet in the air, then crashed down into a big heap on our bikes. I was late for a math test, so I wobbled off toward class and the other guy wobbled off toward the dorms. Ever since then, my front wheel has a noticeable side-to-side wobble.
So the front wheel was maimed in 1999. I have no idea what happened to the back wheel, but it doesn't ago around well either. It's as if it's partially flat on one side, and then has the side-to-side wobble as well. Front and back wobbles make stopping exciting, because when the wobbly bit gets to the brake pads, the brakes grab extra hard. In addition, the back wheel is made of steel, and is therefore all rusty and makes a terrible honking noise when I try to stop. With the front wobble, the back wobble, and the rust-on-brake pad noise, it sounds like I'm tying to ride a tortured, but oddly rhythmic, dying goose.
I also don't have a helmet. I wonder how much it would cost for a helmet and goose-to-bike conversion.
Friday, July 09, 2004
Better Days
Today was a much better day. I didn't have to deal with work. (Apart from a sparse 10 minutes where I just pointed out the locations of the various software CDs.) I also had band practice, which is always fun. (We are sounding much better, and our new drummer is learning the songs well. Maybe one day we'll have a show.) And the coup de gras, I found a beagle in my garage.
I went down to the garage to see if my bike was a huge pile of rust, and if spraying WD-40 over everything but the brakes would fix it, and I heard howling. I opened the door and a little beagle came trotting over to me howling away in her harness, sans leash. I hadn't previously seen a beagle in my building, so I took her up to my apartment and fashioned a leash out of a belt and carabineer so I could walk her up the street and see if anyone recognized her. No one did. So then I asked around in my building. Also no luck. At this point I did what I should have done in the first place, which is look at her collar and call the chip-tag phone number. I did, and the owner promptly came and got her. She was fun while she lasted.
I do enjoy fuzzy things in my apartment. I miss having a pet. I miss Babe the Beagle.
Today was a much better day. I didn't have to deal with work. (Apart from a sparse 10 minutes where I just pointed out the locations of the various software CDs.) I also had band practice, which is always fun. (We are sounding much better, and our new drummer is learning the songs well. Maybe one day we'll have a show.) And the coup de gras, I found a beagle in my garage.
I went down to the garage to see if my bike was a huge pile of rust, and if spraying WD-40 over everything but the brakes would fix it, and I heard howling. I opened the door and a little beagle came trotting over to me howling away in her harness, sans leash. I hadn't previously seen a beagle in my building, so I took her up to my apartment and fashioned a leash out of a belt and carabineer so I could walk her up the street and see if anyone recognized her. No one did. So then I asked around in my building. Also no luck. At this point I did what I should have done in the first place, which is look at her collar and call the chip-tag phone number. I did, and the owner promptly came and got her. She was fun while she lasted.
I do enjoy fuzzy things in my apartment. I miss having a pet. I miss Babe the Beagle.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Totally Week You Guys
What a terrible week. There's the relationship thing, and then there's the work thing. Since I already explained the relationship thing, in this post I'll explain how and why I started and ended a job this week.
My first issue was with some computers I built. I feel comfortable saying that I'm pretty good with computers. I guess the four computers I was working with weren't comfortable with me saying that. They hated me and refused to cooperate. When I finally got them to (mostly) cooperate, I had to move each computer to several different locations, set it up, shut it down, and move it again. I wonder if I was on candid camera.
My next issue was the boss-employee relations. The boss is aggressive, intimidating, and very matter of fact. He makes me feel uncomfortable, unintelligent, and his constant indoor smoking gives me a headache. He likes to give job assignments like cleaning up the desk when the desk is covered with his personal paperwork. I don't know where any of that stuff goes.
Then there was the lamp. I hate this lamp. It's cursed, or maybe I'm cursed. It's this fluorescent desk lamp with a magnifying glass in the middle. It didn't turn on when he set me to fixing it, and it doesn't turn on now that it's my last day. There are only so many pieces in a lamp, and I replaced and/or tested all of them. It just refuses to function. But apparently it's not going in trash because the boss once pulled a steel splinter out of somebody's eye with it. He’s sentimental.
The final straw was the alarm. Today I went to lunch, and when I got back I was to continue painting my desk white. On my way to lunch, boss man said that we would be out getting some stuff, and that I was to unlock the door and turn off the alarm with the code: 45 45 45. So when I came back from lunch, I opened the door, and typed in 45 45 45. Keeps beeping. 45 45 45. Still beeping. Why isn't it stopping? 45! 45! 45! Now the siren is going off. Sirens are LOUD. PAINFULLY LOUD! 45454545454545!!!! Cancel. Motion off. None of these buttons do anything! So I sat in my car, outside and away from the siren, until the landlord came by, and tried to turn off the alarm. He couldn't do it either. So I sat in my car some more, until the boss came back, and told me the code was 45 45. He punches in the code. Nothing happens. Again, nothing happens. So he rips the siren off the wall. Ah, why did I think of that? Why wouldn't it turn off when he typed in the right code? Why did he tell me an extra 45?
Most importantly, why did all this happen this week? I wonder if my arm will fall off or my car will explode tomorrow. I think this week needs a capper. Maybe I'll get a steel splinter in my eye.
What a terrible week. There's the relationship thing, and then there's the work thing. Since I already explained the relationship thing, in this post I'll explain how and why I started and ended a job this week.
My first issue was with some computers I built. I feel comfortable saying that I'm pretty good with computers. I guess the four computers I was working with weren't comfortable with me saying that. They hated me and refused to cooperate. When I finally got them to (mostly) cooperate, I had to move each computer to several different locations, set it up, shut it down, and move it again. I wonder if I was on candid camera.
My next issue was the boss-employee relations. The boss is aggressive, intimidating, and very matter of fact. He makes me feel uncomfortable, unintelligent, and his constant indoor smoking gives me a headache. He likes to give job assignments like cleaning up the desk when the desk is covered with his personal paperwork. I don't know where any of that stuff goes.
Then there was the lamp. I hate this lamp. It's cursed, or maybe I'm cursed. It's this fluorescent desk lamp with a magnifying glass in the middle. It didn't turn on when he set me to fixing it, and it doesn't turn on now that it's my last day. There are only so many pieces in a lamp, and I replaced and/or tested all of them. It just refuses to function. But apparently it's not going in trash because the boss once pulled a steel splinter out of somebody's eye with it. He’s sentimental.
The final straw was the alarm. Today I went to lunch, and when I got back I was to continue painting my desk white. On my way to lunch, boss man said that we would be out getting some stuff, and that I was to unlock the door and turn off the alarm with the code: 45 45 45. So when I came back from lunch, I opened the door, and typed in 45 45 45. Keeps beeping. 45 45 45. Still beeping. Why isn't it stopping? 45! 45! 45! Now the siren is going off. Sirens are LOUD. PAINFULLY LOUD! 45454545454545!!!! Cancel. Motion off. None of these buttons do anything! So I sat in my car, outside and away from the siren, until the landlord came by, and tried to turn off the alarm. He couldn't do it either. So I sat in my car some more, until the boss came back, and told me the code was 45 45. He punches in the code. Nothing happens. Again, nothing happens. So he rips the siren off the wall. Ah, why did I think of that? Why wouldn't it turn off when he typed in the right code? Why did he tell me an extra 45?
Most importantly, why did all this happen this week? I wonder if my arm will fall off or my car will explode tomorrow. I think this week needs a capper. Maybe I'll get a steel splinter in my eye.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
No Sleep. Bum. 'Till Breakfast. Bum Bum.
I hate getting broken up with. Not that I’ve had that much experience. Ok, this is the first time it's ever happened. But with my new found experience I can safely say that I hate being broken up with.
The first stage is worrying that something is wrong. Why isn't she being affectionate? Why does she say that she wants to be "alone" but still hangs out with her friends? Where did the I-love-you's go?
Stage two is worrying that something is up. “I think she may break up with me. That would explain the weirdness. I think I won't sleep for two days.”
Stage three sucks. Stage three is when I get an email that says the relationship is being reassessed, and I get it at work so I have to just think about it for 8 hours: no escape or outlet for my worries. The email ends with an "I want to talk to you when you get off work." - never a good sign.
Stage four sucks worse than stage three. It's waiting for the call. It's calling to see what happened to the call. It’s being called back because she's too busy to break up with me right now, she's hanging out with friends.
Two hours later stage 5 hits. It's pretty simple: a phone call break up.
Stage 6: Move all x-girlfriend related paraphernalia into a box in the closet.
Stage 7: More not sleeping. Being sad. Lots of sad insomnia.
I hate being broken up with.
I hate getting broken up with. Not that I’ve had that much experience. Ok, this is the first time it's ever happened. But with my new found experience I can safely say that I hate being broken up with.
The first stage is worrying that something is wrong. Why isn't she being affectionate? Why does she say that she wants to be "alone" but still hangs out with her friends? Where did the I-love-you's go?
Stage two is worrying that something is up. “I think she may break up with me. That would explain the weirdness. I think I won't sleep for two days.”
Stage three sucks. Stage three is when I get an email that says the relationship is being reassessed, and I get it at work so I have to just think about it for 8 hours: no escape or outlet for my worries. The email ends with an "I want to talk to you when you get off work." - never a good sign.
Stage four sucks worse than stage three. It's waiting for the call. It's calling to see what happened to the call. It’s being called back because she's too busy to break up with me right now, she's hanging out with friends.
Two hours later stage 5 hits. It's pretty simple: a phone call break up.
Stage 6: Move all x-girlfriend related paraphernalia into a box in the closet.
Stage 7: More not sleeping. Being sad. Lots of sad insomnia.
I hate being broken up with.
Monday, July 05, 2004
Boom!
Yesterday was a cold, cloudy, and windy 4th of July. This is not to say that it wasn't fun, it's just to say that it was cold and not very fireworky.
A bunch of us went down to the Marina to sit on the grass and watch the fireworks, which were to be launched about a mile down the shore. Our first problem was that we got there at 7:30ish, and the fireworks started at 9ish. We had food, drink, and things to talk about, but it was a tad cloudy and the wind was picking up. So by the time 9ish came, we were all pretty cold.
When the fireworks did start, it actually took 5 or so minutes of discussion to figure out if they had actually started. It had gotten so cloudy, that the fireworks would shoot up into the air and disappear. Then sparks would come down from the clouds a few seconds later. So while I imagine people right near the launch site saw up, boom, and down, we only saw up and down. Although sometimes a big one would go up and the clouds would glow various colors.
We were not, however, totally without the boom portion of festivities. People brought some really nice high-flying big-booming fireworks from home, which they let off over the field. So those were nice, if not a little sparse. I don’t know where people got such nice fireworks, and why the 9,000,000 cops didn’t do anything about the people lighting them off.
The quote of the evening was as follows:
"Hey look! It's a pregnant guy."
"No, I think he's just Indian."
[The first part was commenting on the otherwise fairly skinny man's very protruding potbelly. The second part was someone thinking the first part was about the man's native garb, which did look slightly like maternity wear when combined with the belly.]
Yesterday was a cold, cloudy, and windy 4th of July. This is not to say that it wasn't fun, it's just to say that it was cold and not very fireworky.
A bunch of us went down to the Marina to sit on the grass and watch the fireworks, which were to be launched about a mile down the shore. Our first problem was that we got there at 7:30ish, and the fireworks started at 9ish. We had food, drink, and things to talk about, but it was a tad cloudy and the wind was picking up. So by the time 9ish came, we were all pretty cold.
When the fireworks did start, it actually took 5 or so minutes of discussion to figure out if they had actually started. It had gotten so cloudy, that the fireworks would shoot up into the air and disappear. Then sparks would come down from the clouds a few seconds later. So while I imagine people right near the launch site saw up, boom, and down, we only saw up and down. Although sometimes a big one would go up and the clouds would glow various colors.
We were not, however, totally without the boom portion of festivities. People brought some really nice high-flying big-booming fireworks from home, which they let off over the field. So those were nice, if not a little sparse. I don’t know where people got such nice fireworks, and why the 9,000,000 cops didn’t do anything about the people lighting them off.
The quote of the evening was as follows:
"Hey look! It's a pregnant guy."
"No, I think he's just Indian."
[The first part was commenting on the otherwise fairly skinny man's very protruding potbelly. The second part was someone thinking the first part was about the man's native garb, which did look slightly like maternity wear when combined with the belly.]
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Job?
I may have gotten a job. It may be in a metal shop, and I may be the only employee.
I met this guy via the Mom Network - "the most aggressive job hunting network in the history of the world." Kristin's Mom was talking to this guy on a plane who had a metal shop in San Francisco. She said she knew me, and that I was looking for work and used to work in a metal shop. So on Tuesday I'm going to start a 2 week trial period employment thinger. It's just the owner working there now, so I will be the only employee. We have to see if we like each other, and if we do, then I will have more permanent employment.
If it works out, I will probably go to New York with him to install this door. That would be really cool, as I've never been there. However, I did get very used to reading and watching TV while the government paid me to lackadaisically look for work. I guess in the back of my mind, I knew it had to end some time. Oh well.
I may have gotten a job. It may be in a metal shop, and I may be the only employee.
I met this guy via the Mom Network - "the most aggressive job hunting network in the history of the world." Kristin's Mom was talking to this guy on a plane who had a metal shop in San Francisco. She said she knew me, and that I was looking for work and used to work in a metal shop. So on Tuesday I'm going to start a 2 week trial period employment thinger. It's just the owner working there now, so I will be the only employee. We have to see if we like each other, and if we do, then I will have more permanent employment.
If it works out, I will probably go to New York with him to install this door. That would be really cool, as I've never been there. However, I did get very used to reading and watching TV while the government paid me to lackadaisically look for work. I guess in the back of my mind, I knew it had to end some time. Oh well.
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