[debate #1: utter tripe]

moderator: mr. bush, what is your favorite color?

george bush: let me preface my answer in this way: I'm the best man for the job of president of the united states. in four years I've spectacularly done blah blah blah blah blah pin-a-rose-on-my-nose and look at how shiny and new the world is now.

moderator: mr. kerry, your response, please.

john kerry: you incompetent clod, you're the least best man for the job. in four years you've tried to blah blah blah blah blah but you've bollocksed it up and now look at the world! the world sucks! kim jong il is going to kill us all and it's your fault!

bush: nuh-uh!

kerry: yes-huh!

bush: nuh-uh, you snobby elitist billionaire yale frat-boy!

kerry: I know you are but what am I?

and on and on and on and on and

neither candidate answered the questions; they answered the questions they wished the moderator had asked. and where were the third-party candidates? not invited. and you ridiculous politicians dare to call this a democracy. come on.

my favorite part was when the moderator asked each candidate to 'say something mean and bad about the other guy.' each tried oh-so-hard not to, tried oh-so-hard to come off as a compassionate sensible human being, and only after that formality had been done away with would they launch into what they really, really wanted: blatant partisan negativity! it's like when your mum says you have to eat your broccoli before you can have dessert.

if a streaker had squeaked past security and had gotten onto the debate floor, I would have voted for him (her, it, whatever) instead.

seriously, though. I didn't learn anything about either man, other than they must have practiced a long long long time for tonight's little charade. nothing else.

[another needless distraction]

whew! almost slipped back into the v. bad habit of not updating for a week! but disaster has been diverted. I have some news. some v. important news, though I'm certain not everyone will think so. I do, anyway. the point is:

antimatt has successfully installed and implemented linux. repeat, I AM RUNNING LINUX.

for the intrigued: redhat 9.0, but beyond that I don't know any important details. my nerdy friend got me hooked up and now I AM RUNNING LINUX. on the prodigal ex-stolen laptop, no less.

man. and I thought having a gmail account made me a nerd. oh no no no no no. I am now part of that great rarified air of self-important self-proclaimed techno-literati, the members of which (on the whole) are failed IT/tech support jerkos. this is one of the silliest, grandest nights of my silly little life. [aside: it's very likely that I need to find something to do with my time.]

as usual, you lot, my imaginary friends, are the first to know. my wife is annoyed because tonight I spent more time with my computer than usual. I explained to her the importance of the open-source movement, a brief history of linus torvalds and the gang, the subtleties of all those layers of computational abstraction and blah blah blah. she wasn't impressed.

but I know you will be.

now if only I knew exactly just what in the hell I was doing, and exactly just what in the hell /dev/null (and the like) means, and exactly just how in the hell I can copy and paste more intuitively, I might be able to do something useful. as it is, I can only use linux to shout-type I AM RUNNING LINUX over and over on the internet, and while admirably nerd-like, that's not exactly something to be proud of. but at least I AM RUNNING LINUX ... I'll take what I can get.


why does my wife find her way into almost every post?

[from bad to still bad]

phone call, circa noon:

bugger, didn't get the dream job. the one that was tailor-made for me. the one that had my name on it, the one for which I gave a smashing interview, the one into which I poured an exhorbitant amount of emotion. which means that the future is still hovering in a state of quantum indecision above my head, waiting to fall. [aside: apparently I don't have enough 'experience in an office environment.' listen, boss, it's not that hard to learn to use a stapler. seriously. I'm a very capable intelligent boy.]

I suppose this means I'm sad. ... am I? ... no, not really. my subconscious (but effective) way of dealing with things is to expect the best but prepare for the worst, which keeps me optimistic whilst waiting and keeps my spirits up when I fail. it cushions the blow, anyway; I take what I can get.

there are approximately 15 humans in my email queue. communication is not my strong point. very many things are not my strong point.

oh, I have decided that douglas adams died too soon.

so sad.



unrelated post script: if I weren't so married I'd be a quirkyalone. perhaps you are too.

[self-reference gets me every time]

I'll offer to buy you a beer, but only if you refuse the terms of this offer.

(and, apparently, only if you live in the general vicinity of london. pooh.)

[sometimes I can't help myself]

it's not just you. we all (at one point or another) desire peanut residue- covered- salt- covered- chocolate- covered raisins.

[the best day of my day ... so far]

got a strange, heavily-stickered and -written upon package via post today:

containing:

1. a wireless network adapter for a laptop computer, and
2. a laptop computer.

not just any wireless network adapter for a laptop computer and laptop computer. a very, very special wireless network adapter for a laptop computer and laptop computer.

specifically the laptop computer I had sent to a right bastard somewhere across the atlantic* after I had sold it to him on ebay for the agreed-upon price of US$750.

he wanted me to use an escrow service (escrowtm.com**, though they no longer exist so don't bother looking) that would, so he said, hold his money until he verified receipt of the computer, at which point they would send me the money. so I cheerfully sent the package off that morning. hatelife died that afternoon. I had friends over for my birthday party that evening. it was a very significant day in my life.

soon after, the guy wanted to know where his laptop was, hurry it up, give me the tracking number again, etc. fearing negative ebay feedback, I did my best to help him out.

I went about my business with only an occasional passing thought about the computer. I didn't have the money yet, but no big deal, I have bigger things to worry about. in the meantime I graduated. I said some vows in front of some people. I designed and implemented a honeymoon.

then I came back from the honeymoon. still no money, and the communication had stopped. I was flummoxed. 'hmmm,' I said. I went to the escrow site again, and lo! no website. very fishy, I concluded. I googled the website and much to my dismay discovered that it was quite fraudulent and gosh what an idiot I am. I kicked myself and wailed and gnashed teeth and carried on and thought of a way to lightly drop the news on my lawfully wedded wife. tears and sighs ensued.

I reported it to everyone I could think of (ifcc, fbi, mi6, kgb), but didn't tell anyone else. for example, you people are learning of this before my mother is. I blame embarassment. it's not every day you throw away a significant amount of value and hope to be reimbursed based on a promise and a website. seriously: two minutes' research could have prevented the whole thing.

and when nothing turned up and the usps website said the package had been delivered, I resigned myself to the whole stupid situation. if I were calvin, my dad would probably say 'losing money builds character.' and if that were the case then I've built a whole lot of character lately.

so when the postman rang the doorbell this afternoon, you might be able to better understand my happiness.

now my wife is saying that the pears in the kitchen are ripe and we must eat them immediately.

what a day.



p.s. through the magic of the internet I saw you squinting to try and see my address. foiled again, villain.

*GIORDANO BRUNO, of
93 WADDINGTON STREET
STRATFORD
LONDON
E15 1PJ (UNITED KINGDOM), YOU ARE A RIGHT BASTARD

**escrowtm.com, YOU ARE A BUNCH OF RIGHT BASTARDS

[and I approved this message]

if I could do it all over again, I would have fallen asleep three hours ago. insomnia is its own worst symptom and also the dumbest pseudo-disease imaginable. not even melatonin helps anymore. if not for the internet I'd still be just lying there, so I suppose I do have some small things to be thankful for.

fun bodily fact that I discovered in bed about one point five hours ago whilst vainly vainfully trying in vain to fall asleep: I have a bump near the middle of my back, and if I scratch at it there's another spot on my back that twinges with a curious itch/tickle/pain sensation. nerves are strange. I intend to figure them out, someday.

found today in the junk pile: assorted memorabilia (train ticket stubs, tube ticket stubs, london tower ticket stubs, plane ticket stubs, stubby stub stubbing stubs) from march 2003 london trip.

computer is now named cromulent. how amusingly self-referential.

segue into

amusement: my twentysomething friend who has the chicken pox. that was, like, so second grade.
abusement: the last day of summer. the days are shortening at the greatest possible velocity. (the analogy follows easily.)
unenthuse-ment: political ads on every channel, station, and column of every news and entertainment medium in existence.

unemployment is not the answer. unemployment is the question; NO is the answer. (and bollocks to waiting to hear the answer. there is no need to interview another applicant; it is clear that I'm the man for the job, quit stalling and hire me.)

how wonderful it is when the words write themselves.

that's enough for now. insomnia wanes (I'll needlessly keep you updated).

[blame society]

well, that ridiculous posting problem is gone now. space characters in links are Bad Things. the capital letters mean it's true.

watching american football (a Good Thing) on sunday (a Good Thing) with a wife (a Good Wife) whose team (a Good Team) loses a challenged play is also a Bad Thing.

[i capitalise I]

..and not much else. explore:

the question was/is 'what is there about being married that suprises you?'

the answer was/is

I do more dishes than I ever have in my life. when you cook real food (instead of bachelor food, which consists of cereal, ramen noodles, sandwiches, and macaroni & cheese), you suddenly have to use more real dishes. not just one bowl one spoon one cup per week rinse-after-each-use. those days are gone. the days of collandars and garlic presses and goblets and food processors and 12-piece dining sets are here. we have seating enough for four and place settings enough for a major holiday family get-together, and somehow this is all supposed to make sense.

also gone are the days of thinking in terms of 'I.' there is no 'I' anymore, except when I need to answer the question of who will do the dishes. (hint: the answer is always 'I will, sweetie.') everything is 'we.' this is certainly the hardest part for me, because very often the focus of my life, intended or not, is 'I.'

there's all the adjusting in the world to be done when living with another person for the first time. for example, I can't simply plan to sleep in on a random weekend morning. like, say, tomorrow. I enjoy the weekends for the sleep I can afford to have. she enjoys the weekends for the time we can spend doing things. it follows that this is a big problem for us. (see also 'in defense of the night life.') we're simply polar sleep-schedule opposites. among other sorts of opposites.

I am absolutely phlegmatic. she is absolutely not. I am an istj (things should be done well, and order is king). she is an intp. (things should be done with efficiency, and efficiency is king. she would copy edit that last sentence because the word 'efficiency' is in there too many times--it's not efficient.) I am eeyore. she is [fictional character who is completely unlike eeyore in every way and who would likely berate eeyore for taking too long to get over his depression]. you get the picture.


[aside: I am, of course, very curious to know what all you imaginary internet people are as far as meyers-briggs can tell. I would, of course, expect you to respond with your results. I do, of course, demand that you do.]


things get tense occasionally. for example. she likes to plan, plan, plan. currently neither of us has a real job. I'm looking and she temps as a secretary at a local university. she hates it; she's overqualified and the work is absolutely menial. (file this, collate that, staple these, deliver those, change the font on all our corporate documents to 13-point comic sans, ...) the current understanding is that our situation could reverse completely within a week's time, incidentally dropping us off in any one of x-teen major cities in the region. planning in an atmosphere like this is tricky and short-term at best. oh how she hates it. and it's hard on me because it doesn't really bother me all that much. I'm just waiting to see, and she's not a wait-and-see kind of girl. I don't know how to deal with crying (not to insinuate it's something to 'be dealt with,' you understand) because it's not something I do every day, but I'm learning. slowly. it's all very taxing. it taxes me.

you think you know a person well enough to marry her (him, it, etc.), but you really don't know her at all. it's like this: think of a relationship as getting an education. so far for me it's been like graduating from grade school, giving eight years a miss and going straight to graduate work, and my professors don't bother to have any sympathy. they assign papers and homework and projects and it's just assumed that I'll keep up. I don't even know what all the words mean, and I'm supposed to have read and analyzed the book by now and I have a presentation due in five minutes and sparknotes can't help me WHAT DO I DO?

she loves coffee. I don't. I ride a scooter when I need to make short trips down to the store or to the post office or wherever and she hates my scooter and threatens to throw it out. I play time-intensive games like axis & allies; she plays easily-digestible games like rook and poker and threatens to throw my games out. I wear silly impractical shirts and she threatens to throw them out. she listens to tim mcgraw; I listen to led zeppelin and she threatens to throw them out. I very frequently threaten to throw her out.

and through all this retarded drama, somehow, miraculously, we're making it. we're not perfect but nothing is. so we do the best we can. she makes her coffee, I make my ramen noodles. we compromise. we're special naked friends. we're happy.

[the big comedown]

it turns out I haven't written in about a week. I really am sorry for avoiding you, you ridiculous imaginary people. it's just you see I've had bigger things on my mind. there is indeed a reason for this, as indeed there is for everything (possibly).

the interview (wednesday) I was dreading went far far far better than I had hoped/feared. the only problem now is that we have to wait for two weeks to find out the results. so what do I do now? keep jobbin'. booorrring. more on this later.

in related events wednesday night was the first night in months that I fell asleep before my wife did. ... more on the wife later, as I promised a select few of you.


$4.50 for a bottle of wine is winning. once at a restaurant I spent $8 for one glass for a girl I know, and of course the price was not advertised up front. oh no. I had to wait for the check. fascists. WINE thank you for being so yummy and pink, you raelly hit thhe spost.


newly added to my wishlist: this. oh the things I could do with that much screen real estate. size is matter, friends. size is matter.


viral meme from the oxford dictionary of quotations (5th ed.), p.234#21: 'the terrorist and the policeman both come from the same basket.' (joseph conrad, the secret agent)

if you know the definition of a viral meme you're a winner and a loser. sometimes that's the best a person can hope for.

[in defense of the night life]

oh, suuure.

sure you can get up earlier than I prefer to (read: earlier than I can).

sure you can wake up and be cheery when even the alarm clock's still asleep.

sure you can hit the ground running and lovingly prepare your mochaccino frappalatte (using the coffee maker's loudest settings, of course) and spin like a tasmanian devil around the kitchen and call out to the world and sing your morning songs and generally annoy even the rocks with it all.

you can do all these things. but tell me, truly, can you finish a good book in a single sitting if it means staying up past sunset? have you ever lain in the grass some summer night, all night, to watch a meteor shower? can you get in the car and just drive for the pure and absolute thrill of driving on an empty highway with the headlights off?

here's how I see it. you can get to your desk in the morning as early as you'd like. you can outperform me for the first four hours of the day. but after your jet fuel explosion has burned itself out, when you're taking your mid-afternoon nap from which even an intravenous coffee drip cannot rouse you, I'll still be burning diesel. when you collapse on the couch after work and float on auto-pilot through dinner and everything after, there I'll be, solid as a rock and energized enough to do all those things I described earlier. energized enough to write about it on the interweb.


... okay, you got me, the truth is I'm just out of college and don't have a job yet so really there's no motivation for me to go to bed and even less for me to wake up so YES FINE you're superior to me especially in the morning but I swear as soon as I'm employed I'll be sure to start burning diesel again.

until then I don't have an excuse. other than doom 3 won't play itself.

plus you kick me all night and always sleep in the middle of the bed.




edit:

why do I keep taking these things?




that probably-copyright'd picture means that I am a redhat. (incidentally, I know what redhat is all about.)

I'm too much of a geek to be a genuine hat of any sort. I was hoping my result would be something simple like 'white hat' or 'black hat,' or something impressive like 'wizard hat,' and am frankly disappointed that those results weren't even available. I think the cupholder story is funny. (I also know what the cupholder story is.) I meticulously copy edited this automatically generated result.

what sort of hat are you? ... you know, if you care about silly things like this. which personally for the record I of course do not.

[I am the code poet]

wonder how long it will last.

most of my free time today/tonight has been spent messing around with the fascinating code surrounding this page. binary is on my 'languages to master' list. [aside: why is it that historically the things I really care about are the things that don't really matter?]

more, why do I continue to use the pseudo-code of that once and future site? I've said it before; I'll say it again. moving on is not my strong point.

DIDO thank you for living inside my computer, somehow even though I never feed you your voice is beautiful as ever. keep it up and I'll let you out long enough to make another record deal somewhere.

hours until potentially life-shaping interview: 297.83_ but does the fact that I counted those hours mean that it's now a different number of hours? or is it this: because I know the velocity of time, now the position of the date on my calendar has changed? it's true I passed modern physics. but it's also true that I passed the bakery today in my car but that doesn't mean that I retained all the bread that was inside. if you know what I mean.

in my next life, assuming, I certainly deserve to be something simpler.

[why I'm a whig]

for the last few days, I've had npr's coverage of the republican national convention playing in the background. every time the audience starts chanting 'four more years! four more years!' I chant along with them, 'we are sheep! we are sheep!' and it gives me such a great sense of oh-I-hope-no-one-heard-that.

the republican national convention reminds me a lot of the democratic national convention. 'everything the other party does is wrong, they're lying about us, and if you have any sense at all you'll vote for us' seems to be a major, repeated theme.

rudy giuliani made quite a big show of john kerry's flip-flopping, quoting kerry: 'I actually voted for the $87 billion [iraq spending bill] before I voted against it.' it was, the diligent reader will note, the eighty-seven billionth time a republican has used that particular john kerry quote against john kerry.

segue into:

recently I heard the idea presented of a 'kerry v. kerry' debate, where on one side would be john kerry before he thought about running for president and he was voting for the war, saying how good an idea it was and such; on the other side would be john kerry the presidential candidate, who voted against the war, saying how bad an idea it was. it would be equally possible to create a 'bush v. bush' debate, with the bushes before and after the war in iraq. on one side would be george bush saying saddam hussein has weapons of mass destruction and he's going to use them any time so FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WE HAVE TO STOP HIM, and dick cheney/donald rumsfeld/colin powell would be there to back up his story; on the other side would be george bush saying 'well gosh, I mean, we never really knew he had weapons of mass destruction, that's just the media's liberal bias talking,' and dick cheney/donald rumsfeld/colin powell would be there to back up his story. if done properly, both could be works of art.

10 ON
20 AND
30 GOTO 10


drew sez: 'every night before i go to sleep i pray that ralph nader will find and capture osama bin laden by himself, right before the election, just because it would make every single politician extremely angry' (and I am forced to agree.)


it's a well-known fact that the great problem with power is that those who would really be good with it are precisely those who don't want it. I don't want it, so vote for me.

I'm not voting for george bush, neither am I voting for john kerry. why? as closely as I can tell, their platforms are (respectively) as follows:

• september 11 and iraq [wait for applause], so vote for george w. bush.
• john kerry is not george w. bush [wait for applause], so vote for john kerry.

it follows, as you might expect, that I'm voting for voldemort.