A Terrible Idea
It has finally happened. I have migrated from blogger to my very own website: terribleidea.net. It is currently very sparse, due to a lack of time in which to make it less sparse. Hopefully in the next few days I will get all of my blogger archives over there, as well as a more personalized theme, and then I shall begin posting again.
Not Dead
Having nothing to talk about, I have not posted for a while. My 8th grade teacher said that people who are bored are boring, so extending that logic I suppose it might be my own fault that I've had nothing to post. But in any case, I may begin posting again soon, because interesting things have started to happen again. I also may have a new site soon. Negotiations commence tonight. We'll see.
Mihi Dico...
In my brief stint in Kansas City last week, I was farther west than I've ever been in my life. Realizing this also makes me realize how little I get out. I mean, I'm not saying that you haven't lived unless you've seen the west coast (though I have been told such and similar). But I have travelled very little, and I very rarely leave the bubble of friends which I have set up for myself. This affords me comfort, but occasionally I wonder if there might be more out there.
I thought about going on a solo road trip, where I would meet new people, and I would be free to act however I wanted, to be whoever I wanted. But I don't really have the money to do something like that until after college. Or the balls. I would just choose a highway and drive on down it. Not an interstate, but something like U.S. 41, which goes from Copper Harbor, MI down to Miami, FL. Two lanes, with speed limits never exceeding 55mph, and stoplights and stop signs. Easy to travel, and easy to find people who aren't quite so affected by the mobile culture that you find everywhere within 5 miles of an interstate - fast food and supermarkets, etc. Places where people actually talk to you, and you can really try different things. Different ways to express yourself, different ways of carrying yourself.
I've always like accents, and I practice them to myself when driving solo. Sometimes I develop entire personalities around a voice. Of course, it never sticks well enough in mind to be kept beyond the drive where I develop it, but on this dreamed-of adventure, it would be no big deal - cook something up before the next town, try it out, then forget about it as I drive toward the next town and the next person to be.
As you might be able to tell, I've thought a lot about this.
Of course, what is so liberating about acting like a different person? If it really is such a good thing, and something that I dream about, do I have find something wrong with the person I am now? And if so, why do I need a new audience to change myself? Don't I have the balls to change what I don't like about myself in front of everyone I already know? Why do I need to run away to do it. Yeah, that's it. I'm actually being more ballsy by staying here and facing the problems I have with myself head on, without flinching for the sake of all of the people watching and wondering. I'm not a chicken for deciding to avoid such a trip.
Of course, this all falls apart in light of the fact that I'm actually quite happy with who I am right now - I just want a breath of fresh air, and experiment, an adventure. And such a trip, acting as different people, affords a cheap and easy escape. Just me, my voice, and my wits. And my wallet. And my phone, just in case.
So why haven't I done it? Why don't I do it? Well, I suppose, once again, that I didn't think it through all that carefully. And I have real trouble with spontaneity. But if I plan it now, it won't really be spontaneous, will it? So, here we go: this coming spring break, I will go on a solo road trip. There, now it's planned. I suppose that the only real danger is that I start being spontaneous before next spring.
I thought about going on a solo road trip, where I would meet new people, and I would be free to act however I wanted, to be whoever I wanted. But I don't really have the money to do something like that until after college. Or the balls. I would just choose a highway and drive on down it. Not an interstate, but something like U.S. 41, which goes from Copper Harbor, MI down to Miami, FL. Two lanes, with speed limits never exceeding 55mph, and stoplights and stop signs. Easy to travel, and easy to find people who aren't quite so affected by the mobile culture that you find everywhere within 5 miles of an interstate - fast food and supermarkets, etc. Places where people actually talk to you, and you can really try different things. Different ways to express yourself, different ways of carrying yourself.
I've always like accents, and I practice them to myself when driving solo. Sometimes I develop entire personalities around a voice. Of course, it never sticks well enough in mind to be kept beyond the drive where I develop it, but on this dreamed-of adventure, it would be no big deal - cook something up before the next town, try it out, then forget about it as I drive toward the next town and the next person to be.
As you might be able to tell, I've thought a lot about this.
Of course, what is so liberating about acting like a different person? If it really is such a good thing, and something that I dream about, do I have find something wrong with the person I am now? And if so, why do I need a new audience to change myself? Don't I have the balls to change what I don't like about myself in front of everyone I already know? Why do I need to run away to do it. Yeah, that's it. I'm actually being more ballsy by staying here and facing the problems I have with myself head on, without flinching for the sake of all of the people watching and wondering. I'm not a chicken for deciding to avoid such a trip.
Of course, this all falls apart in light of the fact that I'm actually quite happy with who I am right now - I just want a breath of fresh air, and experiment, an adventure. And such a trip, acting as different people, affords a cheap and easy escape. Just me, my voice, and my wits. And my wallet. And my phone, just in case.
So why haven't I done it? Why don't I do it? Well, I suppose, once again, that I didn't think it through all that carefully. And I have real trouble with spontaneity. But if I plan it now, it won't really be spontaneous, will it? So, here we go: this coming spring break, I will go on a solo road trip. There, now it's planned. I suppose that the only real danger is that I start being spontaneous before next spring.
Whew
Nine days, 1442 miles, and a hell of a good time later, I'm back. And I'm going to bed. Perhaps a post tomorrow night...
Vacation, etc.
Blogging is/will be light due to vacation, and trying to switch the whole blog to a regular host rather than blogspot. No offence to the lovely work that the fellows at blogger do, but I want more control. Anyway, until next week...
The Return of the Phone
I haven't had a mobile phone for two years. Back then, I was the guy with the phone - I always had it, I always let people borrow it, and I was getting a new one every few months because I sold them for a living. It was a slight shock, going from "the guy with the phone" in highschool, where having a phone elevated you to slightly mystical status, to being "the guy without the phone" in college, where everyone has a phone, and not having one leaves people feeling vaguely uncomfortable around you, as though you have some sort of semi-contagious disease.
On a whim (well, slightly more than a whim, more of a sudden urge that made so much sense it hurt), I purchased one today. I gave it careful consideration, because I needed to sign a two-year contract. But in the end, it's the best choice. The fact that I'll be driving solo down to Kansas City in a couple of days and the aforementioned social necessity swung the vote. It's just under $1000 that I've committed for the next two years, but the marginal utility outweighs the marginal cost.
That's the logical reason behind it. The emotional one is that phones are so damned cool. I can start a conversation sittin at home feeling hungry, drive to McDonald's, get a cheeseburger, and end the conversation sitting at home in the same spot, no longer hungry. My phone used to be an extension of me. It was my ears and my mouth that could listen and talk with people hundreds of miles away. It was like being cut off from the world without it. I think that's why I took to instant messaging so well - it was the closest I could come to being integrated so easily and so constantly into my social circle. Now it has returned.
I walk out of store where I used to work with the phone in my left pocket, just like old times. Its weight counters the weight of my wallet and keys. Once again I have balance in my pants. Once again I have balance in my life. It comforts me. I've become re-acquainted with an old friend who had been gone so long I hadn't even realized I missed him. Am I addicted?
On a whim (well, slightly more than a whim, more of a sudden urge that made so much sense it hurt), I purchased one today. I gave it careful consideration, because I needed to sign a two-year contract. But in the end, it's the best choice. The fact that I'll be driving solo down to Kansas City in a couple of days and the aforementioned social necessity swung the vote. It's just under $1000 that I've committed for the next two years, but the marginal utility outweighs the marginal cost.
That's the logical reason behind it. The emotional one is that phones are so damned cool. I can start a conversation sittin at home feeling hungry, drive to McDonald's, get a cheeseburger, and end the conversation sitting at home in the same spot, no longer hungry. My phone used to be an extension of me. It was my ears and my mouth that could listen and talk with people hundreds of miles away. It was like being cut off from the world without it. I think that's why I took to instant messaging so well - it was the closest I could come to being integrated so easily and so constantly into my social circle. Now it has returned.
I walk out of store where I used to work with the phone in my left pocket, just like old times. Its weight counters the weight of my wallet and keys. Once again I have balance in my pants. Once again I have balance in my life. It comforts me. I've become re-acquainted with an old friend who had been gone so long I hadn't even realized I missed him. Am I addicted?
I Hope I Die Before I Get Old
The immortal words of The Who that grace the title of this post are a bit of an exaggeration, but I had a minor taste of old age last Wednesday, and the old saying that "youth is wasted on the young" suddenly seem less like the jealous mutterings of old people but perhaps heart-felt sighs from the same.
I was so incredibly sore (from a combination of running more than I should have, jetskiing, and having a nasty cold) that walking was a chore. I was shuffling along like an old man, wincing every step. I called off of work and went in to the store to equip myself for the misery that is being sick and sore.
Supermarkets are designed to require as little thought as possible. I'm sure that most people don't think twice about a shopping trip to Wal-mart or Meijer - you realize you need something, then there's a brief gap in your life of maybe half an hour, then you have what you needed. It's automatic, and so easy and efficient that you might as well forget it ever happened, except for the fact that you have a little less money and a little more of whatever product you needed.
Not so with those for whom walking itself is painful. I shuffled in, and tried leaning on the cart, but that just transferred the pain to my back and arm muscles, which were more sore than the legs because of the strengthening the legs have gone through due to my recent running regimen. I wandered about the pharmacy department, and found vitamins, Dayquil, and Advil. Then I found a few cartons of bottled water in the aisle. It was painful to lift them into the cart, but possible.
Then I started looking for the tissues. I looked up and down the pharmacy aisles. Nothing. Perhaps a little further down? Past the pet supplies? Nothing. I decide to swallow my pride (which had already been dealt a body blow by the fact that I looked completely ridiculous shuffling along with my cart) and ask an attendant for directions. Now, to find one...
Finding one, it turns out, is easy. They're all over the place. But the problem is that they are constantly moving. This is where I started getting really frustrated, and started to feel real sympathy for the elderly. They were walking too fast for me. I could have yelled out to one, but I couldn't toss away the last scap of pride that I had. I might as well stand outside and start panhandling. I followed one, hoping she would stop to arrange something, but she disappeared down an aisle, and when I caught up, she was gone. I tried to catch another one, but he was in a hurry and I quite seriously could not keep up with him.
I started thinking more and more about the plight of the elderly. Those "I've fallen and I can't get up!" scenarios seem less like a joke and more like hell on earth. I wasn't so sore that I couldn't have gotten up from the ground, but I understood just how frustrating - and dangerous - such a situation could be. I suddenly had a better appreciation for just how much a physical handicap can limit one's ability to do tasks that, to me, are so mundane as to be forgettable.
Eventually, I found an attendant who was standing still, and she informed me that the tissues were in the other corner of the store. I grimaced a bit, and prepared for the long shuffle.
Epilogue
It took me two trips to get everything from my car to my room, mainly because the water was heavy. I sat and did nothing all day, except to eat every now and then, and to drink lots of water. The vitamins and Advil helped immensely with the soreness, and as of tomorrow, I'll be well enough to start running again. This week has changed me. No longer am I a cocky young 'un, tooting my horn at the girls and listening to my "rock and roll" music. I've learned why old people are grumpy all of the time, and that knowledge has sobered me. I suppose if any lessons can be taken from this, they are, "don't catch a cold," and, "don't get old."
I was so incredibly sore (from a combination of running more than I should have, jetskiing, and having a nasty cold) that walking was a chore. I was shuffling along like an old man, wincing every step. I called off of work and went in to the store to equip myself for the misery that is being sick and sore.
Supermarkets are designed to require as little thought as possible. I'm sure that most people don't think twice about a shopping trip to Wal-mart or Meijer - you realize you need something, then there's a brief gap in your life of maybe half an hour, then you have what you needed. It's automatic, and so easy and efficient that you might as well forget it ever happened, except for the fact that you have a little less money and a little more of whatever product you needed.
Not so with those for whom walking itself is painful. I shuffled in, and tried leaning on the cart, but that just transferred the pain to my back and arm muscles, which were more sore than the legs because of the strengthening the legs have gone through due to my recent running regimen. I wandered about the pharmacy department, and found vitamins, Dayquil, and Advil. Then I found a few cartons of bottled water in the aisle. It was painful to lift them into the cart, but possible.
Then I started looking for the tissues. I looked up and down the pharmacy aisles. Nothing. Perhaps a little further down? Past the pet supplies? Nothing. I decide to swallow my pride (which had already been dealt a body blow by the fact that I looked completely ridiculous shuffling along with my cart) and ask an attendant for directions. Now, to find one...
Finding one, it turns out, is easy. They're all over the place. But the problem is that they are constantly moving. This is where I started getting really frustrated, and started to feel real sympathy for the elderly. They were walking too fast for me. I could have yelled out to one, but I couldn't toss away the last scap of pride that I had. I might as well stand outside and start panhandling. I followed one, hoping she would stop to arrange something, but she disappeared down an aisle, and when I caught up, she was gone. I tried to catch another one, but he was in a hurry and I quite seriously could not keep up with him.
I started thinking more and more about the plight of the elderly. Those "I've fallen and I can't get up!" scenarios seem less like a joke and more like hell on earth. I wasn't so sore that I couldn't have gotten up from the ground, but I understood just how frustrating - and dangerous - such a situation could be. I suddenly had a better appreciation for just how much a physical handicap can limit one's ability to do tasks that, to me, are so mundane as to be forgettable.
Eventually, I found an attendant who was standing still, and she informed me that the tissues were in the other corner of the store. I grimaced a bit, and prepared for the long shuffle.
Epilogue
It took me two trips to get everything from my car to my room, mainly because the water was heavy. I sat and did nothing all day, except to eat every now and then, and to drink lots of water. The vitamins and Advil helped immensely with the soreness, and as of tomorrow, I'll be well enough to start running again. This week has changed me. No longer am I a cocky young 'un, tooting my horn at the girls and listening to my "rock and roll" music. I've learned why old people are grumpy all of the time, and that knowledge has sobered me. I suppose if any lessons can be taken from this, they are, "don't catch a cold," and, "don't get old."
Irony
A few days ago, I was driving out to a friend's lake cottage for jet-skiing and drinking. Not too far from my house, I slammed on the brakes as a chipmunk ran out into the road, crossing to the woods on the other side. I managed to slow down enough that it passed unscathed.
Accelerating again, the thought of chipmunks brought back all sorts of childhood memories... Chip and Dale from the Rescue Rangers, Alvin and the Chipmunks... I felt pretty good for myself, having spared the life of the poor little guy. After all, it was no trouble for me to slow down a bit for a fellow mammal. Yeah, I had done the right thing.
There was no one with me to confirm, but I'm sure I got that far-away look in my eye as I contemplated my good deed. I didn't literally pat myself on my back, but I sure was thinking it. A slight smile on my face, I nodded a bit and look to the road ahead.
...and on it was another chipmunk, of which I only had a glimpse before it disappeared under my right tire.
Accelerating again, the thought of chipmunks brought back all sorts of childhood memories... Chip and Dale from the Rescue Rangers, Alvin and the Chipmunks... I felt pretty good for myself, having spared the life of the poor little guy. After all, it was no trouble for me to slow down a bit for a fellow mammal. Yeah, I had done the right thing.
There was no one with me to confirm, but I'm sure I got that far-away look in my eye as I contemplated my good deed. I didn't literally pat myself on my back, but I sure was thinking it. A slight smile on my face, I nodded a bit and look to the road ahead.
...and on it was another chipmunk, of which I only had a glimpse before it disappeared under my right tire.
The Benefits of Open-Source Software
A friend wrote this a few days ago, directly inspired by a conversation we had a few years ago. Nominally, it was written about someone else, but it is just as easily applicable to me. I suppose all of us Linux crazies are all alike...
The hot, dry Texas wind rolled lazily through the window of his high perch. Sweat was pouring down his face in torrents now, but he no longer cared. Quickly he chambered another round into his M50 sniper rifle, and taking only a moment to pull back his mullet, lined up his next shot in the scope. The radio crackled as one song ended and the next one began: a track by Lynyrd Skynyrd. The sweet strains of Freebird filled the clock tower - how very appropriate. Overhead the new helicopters whumped and filmed, while below a motley detachment from the university police department tried to break into tower. [He] chuckled to himself and took another pull from his bottle of Southern Comfort. Amateurs. He would show them, he would show all of them. In a bold move he tossed the rifle aside and stood up to taunt the circling helicopters. “YOU CLOSED-SOURCE COCKSUCKERS!” He bellowed. “OPEN SOURCE IS THE WAVE OF THE FUCKING FUTURE! EMBRACE IT OR DIE, MOTHERFUCKERS!” With that he let loose with a wild rebel yell, flipped the helicopters the bird and shouldered an AGM-114 Hellfire anti-air missile with a Linux penguin crudely drawn on the nose cone. As he sighted it on the now wildly evading helicopters, he couldn’t help but laugh. They would learn. One way or another they would learn the benefits of open source software.In case any of you were wondering, there is no way that this fictional account will ever happen... I hate mullets.