Would Admiral Ackbar Take One?

So, last night, as promised, I threw together a batch of brownies. This was in part as a special treat because mommy is still out of town, and in part because I wanted to continue experimenting with the recipe (mwaa hah hah). I forgot that we cut the ingredients in half typically, however, so I ended up with an epic pan of brownies and decided to take the extras into work.

So I come in, put the plate in the usual food location (I suspect every office has one of these) and send out an email telling the team that they are there and contain walnuts (that way if someone eats one and goes all puffy I'm pretty sure I can't be sued). As expected, the plate has been nearly cleared by now, with only a couple of brownies remaining. My question is this: what is it about baked goods that causes us to lower our defenses completely?

Seriously, think about it. These people don't really know me that well outside of my work. Sure I'm a fine programmer, but I could be a lousy cook. I'm not, but I could be. I could also be one of those guys who goes to the bathroom and doesn't wash his hands, not even after a major transaction. Seriously, they don't know. Well, okay some of them might, but not the girls. I also could be cooking these brownies in the same kitchen where I mix up my meth. Again, I don't (make meth, that is), but how would they know that?

Those are just the items that fall under negligence, too. What about intentional shenanigans with the offered foodstuffs? After all, two considerations come to mind immediately when dealing with brownies. The first is the famed "magic brownie", which would probably be pricey for an office gag (I've been out of the market for a decade or so, so this is just a guess). The other is the obvious ExLax chocolate chunks, which, for someone with my juvenile sense of humor would be far more tempting, especially given the fact that the restrooms here carry sound like there were microphones in the toilet paper dispensers. Of course either one would most likely lead to some form of litigation, but I'm not exactly a criminal mastermind either. All I'm saying is that it's possible.

Now obviously, I tend towards the sanitary, especially in cooking situations, and I did not put forth any practical jokes here either. I'm just wondering why cookies, cakes and brownies will be devoured in these settings without question, even without being explicitly offered. If I were to walk by the area where the cookies are set and there was a bowl of potato salad there, I would not immediately assume that some benevolent salad maker had put it there for me to sample, but if it's cookies, I'm in, and that seems to be the norm.

Either way the brownies were good and didn't make anyone sick that I'm aware of. I'm just afraid that we as a country have a weakness here, a weakness that our enemies could exploit. So be careful out there people, and don't eat it if you don't know where it came from. It may look like a delicious cookie or a moist brownie, but for all you know, there could be unsifted terror inside. Or, you know, the ExLax thing.

Well No Wonder He's Big, Look What You Feed Him

Last night we delivered my lovely wife to the airport that she may go cavort with other specialists in her field. Unfortunately, airport security cut short our plans of a nice dinner together while we waited for her boarding call (I forgot that only ticketed passengers are allowed into the actual airport). I asked the princess what she wanted to do for dinner in an effort to convince her that we should not wait the next hour and half to see mommy take off, and with a terrifying gleam in her eye, she looked at me and declared, "Big Boy! Big Boy! I want Big Boy!".

Of course, I'm a complete pushover for the tots, so I committed as soon as the words were spoken and we were off, but in my gut there grew a feeling of dread. See, a few years ago this would have been perfect for me. Places like Big Boy spoke to me in a way that both satisfied me, and made me ashamed of myself (which paves the way for a dirty joke that I will omit to keep my PG-13 rating, but call on you to fill in for my should you be so inclined). See, I used to eat at the lowest common denominator every chance I got. I was every cliche of American food habits you've ever heard of, the kind of guy who could take out half of a pepperoni stuffed crust pizza in one sitting, and still want dessert. So the burgers, deep fried appetizers and sticky sweet pies for dessert were my definition of fine dining.

Since becoming a vegetarian, however, these restaurants are now a dearth for me. The Princess had made her request based on a plate of pancakes covered in strawberry sauce and whipped cream, which I allowed in the name of distracting her from missing mommy but was out of the question for myself. Like every other time I end up at Big Boy, somehow I convince myself on the way that they will have joined the bandwagon of other chain dining establishments such as Bennigan's, Applebee's and Fuddruckers (which I've never eaten at but I like to type because it sounds more like a strip club than a burger joint) and added a veggie burger to the menu. Hell, Burger King has a veggie burger, and a good one at that. The Big Boy, however, pays it old school, and instead I face an image of the Big Boy Burger, a burger whose visage alone makes my cholesterol levels spike.



As usual, I order a vegetarian omelet and a plate of onion rings, me being a sucker for a good onion ring (hey, I said I'm a veggie, not a health nut). Also as usual, I ate my food and went home feeling, shall we say, unwell. I don't fault Big Boy - at one time, they were my kind of place, and looking around at my fellow diners I can tell for quite a few people that still holds true. It's a strange thing, because to me the place seems so foreign, but all that's happened is that Big Boy holds its course. While others modify their menus to appeal to the widest demographic, they maintain their strict policy of deep frying it, putting it on a bun, and serving it with a milkshake. Frankly, I don't know whether to admire them or be disgusted. Whichever I choose, I'm pretty sure I'll try to do it from afar from now on.

My $.02: Book Review - Wittgenstein's Mistress

So a little while ago I was lamenting my inability to delve beyond a basic story line lately, and determined that the best thing to do would be to read some books that would force the matter, citing House of Leaves as an example of a book that cannot be simply read. Well, I did some Googling and came up with the Library Thing Book Suggester. It takes a book you liked, and then tells you other books you might like based on, well, frankly I don't know what. Either way, out of this came Wittgenstein's Mistress.

The first thing I'm going to say about this book is that I should have read it twice, and that at some point in the future I will, and I'll get a lot more out of it the second time. It's not dense or convoluted like House of Leaves was (I've read that three times, and I would say I only fully understood it the last time). Rather, it's difficult to get into because of the way it's written. The book is purportedly the writings of a woman who believes herself to be the last living creature on Earth. It doesn't follow a plot, but rather reads like a stream of consciousness, where she just types anything that comes into her head. This makes it difficult for me to get into because, as I mentioned, lately I'm all about the plot line - tell me what happens and then let's all move one with our day. This simply wasn't possible with this book, because the protagonist would veer from her story of wandering the world looking for other people to postulating what Rembrandt's cat might have been named and how others would react to the possible names he might choose. The plot itself as far as a "here's what happened" story could probably have been covered in ten pages. Maybe less.

The plot itself, however, was clearly not the point of the book. The woman's ramblings center around a few groups - famous characters from Greek literature, writers, and painters. The common thread was that everyone she talked about was famous. She spent far more time discussing Wittgenstein (who she didn't talk about all that much) that she did discussing her husband, her lovers, or her deceased son. This, rather, would seem to be the point of the narrative. The woman ceaselessly discusses those that one would consider famous in a world where fame is now a meaningless concept. What is it to be famous when your the only person left?

The other pervasive question throughout is if the protagonist is, as I like to say, bat#$*& insane. She herself claims that at various times in her journeys looking for others, she would go mad for a time. In her writings, though, she makes a lot of weird mistakes, even going so far as to forget her son's name, then give his name much later, and then near the end swap the given name for the name of a lover she had discussed earlier. Oddly, her mistakes don't actually make what little plot line there is harder to follow, but it does bring about the question of whether she is truly intended by the author to be the last living creature on Earth, or simply bonkers.

Now, I learned a hard lesson here - read the afterword first. Had I done so, I would have approached the book with some knowledge of the themes contained therein ahead of time, and I would have been able to appreciate the humor and philosophy presented a bit more. Instead, I spent most of the book interested but not entirely engaged. It was the prose version of watching a news ticker - she was constantly changing the subject and then only gave enough information to tease a topic. Each paragraph in the book was only a sentence or two long, and seriously, that's how often the topic changed. I'm a firm believer in using Cliff notes for what they claim they are created for, to help the reader identify themes, references and whatnot when they might otherwise be missed. I could have used some of those here.

So, would I recommend Wittgenstein's Mistress? I think it depends on the reader. The style of the text definitely won't appeal to everyone (I would go so far as to suggest it might annoy some people), and like I said, it takes a while to get into it. At the same time, it was interesting, often funny, and had I approached it differently, I think I would have gotten a lot more out of it. In the end, I would say that I liked it, and will definitely go back and give it another run through.

Professor Mario

So, further evidence has come out that, depite rumors, video games have moved firmly into the realm of adult consideration. According to Wired, the United States is now using custom video games to train spies how to think. They have contracted a company to put together a set of simulators to put new agents into scenarios and teach them how to figure out what's actually going on.

To be perfectly honest, I don't know how I feel about this. I mean, from one point of view it makes sense. The games are written to be educational. I'm sure there's some entertainment value as well, but that's not really the point. On top of that, a video game can be pretty intensely immersive, so it seems like a great way to learn something, especially for people whose learning styles don't favor the tradition "sit and read about it in a book and then listen to an expert drone on about it", which I suspect is most people.

I think that there's real potential here if people would make some attempt to overcome their stereotypical views about games. Here's an example: a study done a couple of years ago found that 59% of teachers asked in the UK would consider using off-the-shelf games in the classroom as a teaching aid. (I know - the article used the word "fortnight". Try to get past it.) Of course the study was done by video games makers and required being taken with a grain of salt the size of a Buick, but still. A few paragraphs in, though, you get this gem:

More than 70% of the surveyed teachers felt that playing games could lead to anti-social behaviour while 30% of students believed that playing games could lead to increased violence and aggression.

And that right there is the problem. At least as of 2006, and I suspect that the same is true today, a lot of Americans (this was, as I said, in the UK, but I'm guessing the transfer rate is a high) really think of all video games this way. Every single title is about killing things. Every single game is about one person, sitting in front of a machine, blocking the rest of the world out, and shooting stuff. Forget about the fact that multi-player support is now one of the most important features a game can possess. Forget about all of the simulators, sports games, party games, dance games, music games, puzzle games, adventure games (my personal fave) and the like that don't actually involve violence in any way. Sheesh.

Of course others see things differently (hence the article that started this post). At least one professor believes that epistemic games can help children learn how to think instead of just drilling facts into their heads. I concur. One of my favorite parts of a game is looking at a situation and figuring out the best way to handle it. All the best games these days punish heavily for the old school run-in-with-guns-blazing mentality, and so long as Duke Nukem Forever remains vaporware (ten years and running, baby), I think they will continue to do so.

The trepidation I have is that the anti-video game freaks will look at this as evidence that playing a game is effectively training people to be killers. Frankly, I'm not sure how to argue with that anymore. The fact is, if I play a violent video game, nine times out of ten it's hardcore science fiction or fantasy. I got uncomfortable playing Batman Begins, and he just beats people up. I'm sure not everybody becomes as immersed into their games as I do, but I can't be the only one. So, for me at least, the simulator thing doesn't apply. On the other hand, should I become an irradiated behemoth with incredible strength or, far more likely, the zombie apocalypse finally comes to pass, line up behind me. I've been preparing for years.

Anyway, I think that we need to start looking at the potentially good uses of games in the classroom. Not for everything - basic math and reading skills still need to be taught through drills (although I'm sure someone could come up with a way to spice those drills up). If games could help people learn how to really think about a situation, examining things for themselves and making decisions based on real information, not just what some teacher told them and expects regurgitated on the latest exam, then I think we may be able to make some real changes for some people.

Debugging the *&$% Out Of Me

Well, my body is now officially working against me. My weird heartbeats kept me from sleeping last night until near midnight. When I woke this morning I was a whole world of cranky (sorry to my family). Ironically, the solution to this problem for me is typically coffee, but because of the aforementioned heart issues, I cannot have but a cup before leaving the house. Ugh.

To make matters worse, today is another debugging day. Technically, yesterday was the last day any of us were supposed to be changing code. Of course, yesterday also seems to be when the testing started, because that's when everything broke. So after dinner, I ran to the hospital to return their heart monitor, and then returned to work, where I tried my best to fix everything. At ten thirty one of my cohorts was kind enough to bring our build machine to a halt, so I called off for the evening.

Returning this morning, I have discovered a whole new set of bugs have been unearthed. Ordinarily, I actually enjoy debugging software. It's like puzzle solving. Unfortunately this is only true when I have however much time I need to solve the puzzle. Once the deadline has come and gone, it's nothing but unmitigated stress for me (I'm someone who takes deadlines very seriously).

Now things are getting under control (relatively), and I'm sure tomorrow I'll be my happy, relaxed, non-palpitating self. That's what I'm going to keep telling myself anyway.

In the meantime, here is a dinosaur comic to replace the funny that I failed to bring today. Enjoy!

Great, Now I Have a Don Johnson Song Stuck in My Head

As you all probably know by now, I am invincible. That's right, I'm completely impervious to illness, injury and the like. Of course I don't go around flaunting my invincibility (how rude), but it's there.

So naturally, when I started having what I considered to be an irregular heartbeat last week, I ignored it, figuring it to be a fluke of some sort, probably related to not getting enough sleep. It wasn't like there was any pain or anything. Every once in a while, my heart would feel like it was beating really hard. I could feel it up in my throat, like my heart had moved up there for a minute, yelled something, and then went back to whatever it's usually doing. Whole thing would last less than a second.

A few days go by, and I'm still getting these. What's more, they seemed to be getting more frequent. So yesterday I called up my doctor for an appointment. I figure he'll listen, nod wisely, tell me what's going on, and send me on my merry way. Instead when we get to the part of making a doctor appointment where they ask what the problem is, I get launched from the receptionist to the doctor's assistant, who asks me a few questions, puts me on hold, and then comes back and tells me that I have to go to the emergency room. I had already assured her that I was in no pain, there was no difficulty breathing, no tightening of the chest. I probably should have brought up the invincibility thing.

Anyway, after assuring the assistant that I would in fact go to the emergency room right then, I hung up and tried to decide if I would go to the emergency room. See, I'm not real fond of emergency rooms. They smell funny, and frequently make me remove my pants for reasons I don't entirely understand (like those guys at the bus station). Plus they cost money, and while I enjoy spending money on myself, this is not the way I like to do it. Basically, I felt like this was getting blown out of proportions. Still, the irregular heartbeats were happening more often now, so it seemed like something I should get checked out.

So an hour later I'm laying on a table with a needle in my arm, little sticky squares monitoring my heart, and no pants on, regretting the decision. They looked at everything and tell me I'm not going to die (duh - invincible). I have premature atrial contractions, or PACs, which is a fancy way of saying that sometimes, one of my atria decides to beat too soon. Just to be sure though, they make me wait around for all the tests they wanted to run on my blood (all fine except for the thyroid, which I'm still waiting on). Then, fours hours later, they make me wear a little version of the heart monitor home.

So as I type this, I have a little heart monitor on my belt, and eight little squares stuck to various parts of my torso. When my heart skips a beat, I push a button and (usually) record it in my log. At the end of the day I turn it in. Then in a couple of days they send the result to my doctor, who will look it over, nod wisely, tell me what's going on (or more likely a variant on "beats me"), and send me on my merry way.

On the bright side, I'm pretty sure I can figure out what's going on now. See, recording each time it happens has caused me to notice that the regularity of it depends on how stressful the conversation I'm in is. Typing this up while waiting for a build, it's hardly happening at all. Discussing the misunderstood requirements that require major changes by the end of the day, which is the absolute cutoff date, I got them every couple of minutes. So I'm going to go with stress on this one.

So there you go. I'm not sure what the moral of this story is. I'm not even sure there is a moral. I suppose it should be something like "Better safe than sorry", but that feels really weak. I'm pretty sure I can do better than that.

If you're paying someone, and they tell you that you have to take your pants off, make sure they are a doctor first.

There. Words to live by if I ever heard them.

Wait, Earth Day Is Today?

Okay, I know it's Earth Day, and I forgot to get you something again. Before you go all quakey on me, in my defense I've been fairly busy. Plus, you totally forgot my birthday again, so what say we call it even. Cool?

So, Earth Day, huh? When you talk about it, do you refer to it as "Me Day"? That would rock.

Okay, fine. I'm beating around the bush here. No I haven't signed up for the recycling service at the new house. I keep meaning to, but again, busy. I promise I'll get to it by the end of Summer. New Years at the latest. I know that it's important, but there's a lot going on right now. It's not easy taking care of a family, and remember, we both have new job and all that.

No, I get it. I do. It's important that we reuse what we can. I promise, I'll take care of it. I've just got this other stuff that I have to get to first.

Light bulbs? Um, I actually haven't bought any light bulbs yet. Yeah, I have a couple burned out, I just haven't replaced them. Why?

Oh, fluorescents huh? Aren't they kind of expensive? I mean, I have a lot of lights in this place. Seems like that could add up pretty quick, right?

No, no of course your worth it. That's not what I meant at all. It's just, you know, I'm on a budget, but I'll totally look into those. I mean 50-80% less power to run them, and they last ten times as long. Sure, that seems like a good idea.

Hey, did you see we got a wagon for Christmas? Now that it's warming up, I've started walking the kids to the store instead of driving. Cool huh? I mean, we still drive if it's raining, or cold out, or, you know, if we're in a hurry or something, but still, every little bit, right?

Look, I know things haven't been right between us for a while now. I've been letting a lot of other stuff come first, things that seem really important but could probably wait. It doesn't mean I don't care about you, it's just that it's easy to take for granted that you'll always be there for me when I need you, easy to forget that you need me too.

From now on, I'll try to keep you in my thoughts when I'm taking care of all the other stuff I need to do. I'll try to remember what's important to you when I need to make decisions, and make choices that are good for both of us. Okay?

I feel kind of awkward bringing this up now, but as long as we're talking out our "inconvenient truths" I feel like I should. Is there anything you can do about some of the volcanic activity that been going on at night? Seriously, sometimes the smoke is so thick I can barely breathe.

Baby? Where you going? Was it something I said?

My $.02: Book Review - The Glass Castle

Memoirs are funny things. Being a purportedly true tale of one's life, there isn't room for interpretation unless you accept that the writer is embellishing the tale for the sake of the book, which (in my opinion anyway) defeats the purpose of a memoir. As such, I read them as a straightforward account of what happened to a person, with only minor consideration of symbolism and whatnot.

So, The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls. The oddest thing about this book for me was the parallels between Mary Karr's The Liars Club. We have the tale of a child growing up in a household with irresponsible, partially insane parents. There's a lot of drinking involved. There's sexual abuse. They even both featured artist mothers. Frankly, the similarities became a little distracting as I went on.

The tone of The Glass Castle was far more uplifting though. The first thing I notices was Walls' ability to put things in terms of a child. As someone who simply doesn't remember what it was to be a child, it was fascinating to read. She really expresses what it was to live this wild life of hers from the point of view of her age at the time. It actually made a lot of the frankly terrible things she faced seem a lot less, well, terrible. It kind of stands as a testament to children's resilience to adversity.

The other thing that made them seem less terrible were her parents. While completely irresponsible, at times to the point of being abusive, her parents particular brand of insanity worked well to both protect her from the hardships that they faced (for a time anyway) and impart some important lessons about life, although many of those frankly get lost in some of their more ridiculous attempts at lessons.

Both of her parents are what I affectionately refer to as "tree-hugging hippies" (with apologies to Eric Cartman, who I believe coined the phrase). Both frequently spout off about how they should life off of the land and commune with nature and whatnot. It's unclear how much of this they actually mean and how much serves as an excuse for their living out in the desert instead of in a house at times. The father genuinely seems to mean it at times, growing visibly upset by a news story of a woman killing a wild animal in her back yard. At the same time, they live in houses and enjoy whatever luxuries they can.

Eventually the author grows up, realizes just how irresponsible these people are, and joins with her sister in a plan to escape to New York, a plan which, unlike all of her parents plans, actually works. It's a little sad to see the parents lose their family one by one this way, but at least it's not a miserable ending.

It's strange, because I spent most of the book not knowing how to feel about the parents. At a glance, they should have undoubtedly have had their children taken away. At the same time, they managed to keep at least the author happy for a lot of her life at times when she really shouldn't have been, which is admirable. I went back and forth between being furious at these people for their lack of responsibility, not even being able to take care of themselves properly, and being impressed with their positive spirits and ingenuity at facing (or more appropriately avoiding) their families troubles.

Overall, it was an interesting book, and this is coming from someone who mostly dislikes reading memoirs. Walls has an impressive way of expressing her thoughts as a young person. By painting these events as she saw them, without the benefit of the analysis an adult automatically applies to such things, she manages to tell a heartbreaking story that somehow isn't.

Extreme Culinary Concern

Okay, we've had a couple of days of fun and fluffy writings, but today I have to discuss what I consider to be a very serious matter. Can someone, anyone, tell me when Doritos became their own food group? I love a good snack chip as much as the next guy, and while, like all good code monkeys, I do enjoy Fritos, I will often take up a bag of their unnaturally colored cousins and partake heartily of the greasy goodness contained therein. But I think maybe the people who come up with new flavors have been allowed unrestrained creativity for a bit too long, and might do well with a little bit of reigning in.

Actually, before I even get to the overwhelming growth of gustatory sensations that the good people at Frito Lay have imparted upon us, let's discuss some misleading marketing on their part. For the last few years, marketing folk have been trying to convince us all that Doritos are "extreme". Part of this is that someone is under the impression that putting the word "extreme", or even better a semi-retarded spelling of it such as "Xtreme", on a product will make it appealing to, well, honestly I don't know who. They really believe that this label will make people choose one product over another, apparently in an effort to absorb some measure of extremeness themselves, which is ironic when you realize that in common English, "Extremist" is often a term used when someone is trying to politely avoid using "fanatical douche".

Anyway, we've been told that Doritos are, in fact, not just extreme, but an "intense experience" (warning: both links are Penny Arcade, which means very salty language - funny and worth it, but very salty). I can't add much that Tycho didn't already cover in the links on that front, but I will point out one flaw in this logic. The usage of "extreme" this way started out with sports. So called "extreme sports" were more dangerous than other sports - and were thus extreme. Well, about the time that Doritos began marketing themselves this way, they changed the shape of the chip from the classic sharp-pointed orange triangle of death to the currently found fluffy, rounded edge Dorito. So the kids today, while thinking themselves "extreme" will never know the joy of prematurely swallowing a Dorito only to experience the sensation of that chip slowly dragging itself down their esophageal path, leaving a wake of destruction behind it. That, my friends, is &$%*ing extreme.

Extremety aside, Doritos have now branched out into so many flavors that I'm not sure how to approach them anymore. Undoubtably this is another symptom of the fact that I'm getting old. When I was but a wee lad, Doritos had one flavor. I don't think they even had a name for the flavor - it was Dorito flavor. This eventually became Nacho Cheese flavor when the first new flavor was introduced, namely Cool Ranch. That's right - my life as a young man was so enthralling that I actually noted the release of a new Dorito flavor as an event worth remembering. Sheesh.

Okay, so a couple of flavors of Doritos. That was fine - choice is a good thing. But they didn't stop. Every couple of months it seems, we get a new flavor of Doritos now. A quick check on Wikipedia shows that there are currently sixteen flavors of Doritos available in the US. This excludes the international Dorito flavors such as Pure Paprika, Honey BBQ (both found in the Netherlands and Sweden) and Incognito(Mexico - apparently salsa with lemon flavor). This also excludes their limited-release flavors which they trot out like collector's editions. One wonders if somewhere there is a Dorito connoisseur admiring a glass case containing hundreds of pristine Big Grab® bags of each variety that has been released. "Ah, here we have the original limited release Black Pepper Jack bag, before the popularity caused them to be added to the permanent Dorito family. Now, if you'll step over here I'll show you the extremely rare Doritos 3D's in Monster Colorz." This would undoubtedly be interrupted by his mother calling down into the basement to see if he and his guest would like some lemonade.

In all fairness, this has led to some good things. The Spicy Habanero variety simultaneously brings me terrific joy and terrific suffering - it's like puberty in a bag. The problem is that there is only so much shelf space, so each new flavor they roll out has to replace something. So my delicious Spicy Habanero has been replaces at the local gas station with Sweet and Spicy Chile which I have found tastes vaguely of unclean sweat socks (or at least what I imagine unclean sweat socks would taste like). So until they settle down a bit, I will have to avoid trying things that I may enjoy only to find them vanish when they come out with Beer and Cheeseburger flavored Super Xtreme Doritos.

Ah, who am I kidding? I would totally try Beer and Cheeseburger flavored Doritos.

Of Course the Coffee Machine Remains Ever Neutral

In the little kitchen are where I work, three machines stand side by side, a Pepsi machine, a food machine, and a Coke machine. Each machine is constantly running a message to whomever may be standing around waiting for their lunch to be heated by one of the microwaves. The contrast between these messages is fascinating to me.

Let's start with the Pepsi machine. Whilst standing about waiting for the insertion of change, the machine presents three messages, the first of which is:

Hello! Welcome!
Ice Cold Beverages

Progress! Witness the joy, the unbridled enthusiasm with which the Pepsi machine greets me and states its reason for being. This message is promptly replaced with:

Press A Selection...
To Show Price

So now we've been greeted and informed that, should one of the prices be missing on a product contained therein, you can find out the missing price by following the instructions. That's a nice feature to know about, eh? Finally, we get this bit:

Refrigeration...
Temperature 39° F

Well how about that? While trying to decide upon a beverage, I've been greeted, given bonus instructions, and even know how cold the drink will be. I would call that a very user-friendly experience.

Now, step three feet to the right and you get the snack vending machine. The snack vending machine is not as friendly or informative. Don't get me wrong, it's not unfriendly necessarily, it just isn't going to go out of its way to impress you. While waiting for some action on your part, all you get is the following scrolled message:

HAVE A NICE DAY

Well okay then. I appreciate the sentiment, although I'm not sure why it feels the need to yell it. Still, at least it's friendly.

The Coke machine, on the other hand, does not seem as interested in my well being. The Coke machine simply scrolls:

ENJOY A REFRESHING DRINK NOW

Again with the yelling, but instead of instructing me to enjoy the next 24 hours to the best of my ability, I am instructed, nay commanded, to not only purchase but enjoy a refreshing drink, not in a minute, not when I feel like it, but right #$%*ing now god-dammit. It doesn't care if I am currently not in a parched state. I'm actually surprised they didn't just complete the thought:

ENJOY A REFRESHING DRINK NOW, BEEYOTCH

So there you have it. Three machines, each displaying a distinct personality. It's kind of a strange thing to say, but it's still accurate. As we surround ourselves with machines, we will naturally anthropomorphise them to some extent, especially when they convey information as described above. Either way, when faced with these machines, my choice is clear.

I'm going to the gas station to get a gallon drum of fountain soda pop and bag of Doritos.

Plus, They're the Only Ones Who Look Good in a Fez

As promised, I present here a simple treatise on why, of all the fascinating species of animal on this here planet, the monkey is easily the second coolest.

1. Monkeys were the first astronauts.

That's right people, way back on June 11, 1948, the good old US of A sent one Albert, a rhesus monkey, into space. Of course, Albert most likely did not volunteer for this job, but still, he got to go into space first. How cool is that?



2. Monkeys look like little, hairy people.

They're like Greek midgets, but cuter.



3. Jonathon Coulton has written not one, but TWO monkey songs.

Yep, the Contributing Troubadour at Popular Science and overall amazing talent Jonathan Coulton, during his Thing A Week campaign in which he released one new song each week for a full year, produced both My Monkey and the sublime Code Monkey, the latter of which speaks to my people like few other songs.



4. Monkeys will fling their poo at you.

I know what you're saying. "Roger, how can a monkey flinging poo at people possible be a good thing?" Well, as far as I can tell they do it defensively, which means they're throwing their poo at people who most likely have it coming. Poo getting thrown at people who have it coming is inherently funny. Besides, if people starting doing something similar to express their displeasure, I bet the long lines and harsh return policies at most big box stores would disappear in a fortnight. Two fortnights tops.



Finally, you may be asking yourself "Well, given the phenomenal evidence presented here, how is it that monkeys are only the second coolest animals on the planet?". That's easy.

Monkey's can't play video games.

Until a monkey can pwn me at Unreal Tournament or Halo, they remain firmly in second place. Sorry. Them's the rules.



***ADDENDUM***
If didn't catch it the first time, you can hover over the images for additional commentary, or right-click and select properties if the hover text isn't long enough. I would imagine this is a habit I'll probably get into. Fair warning.

Getting Burned on the Sunny Side

Lately, a lot of reading and research have turned me on to the fact that I am an overly controlling parent. Actually, I'm not just an overly controlling parent, I'm a bit of a grump to boot. As usual, this comes as somewhat of a surprise to me, as I actually think of myself as a fairly laid back, somewhat upbeat individual. Obviously, I'm mistaken.

This is a huge issue, because the fact is that since realizing this, I've concluded that I am, in essence, a terrible parent. It's not like I go around berating the kids for everything they do, but I'm also not as supportive as I'm supposed to be. What's worse, apparently even when I think I'm being agreeable and supportive, my tone or body language is indicating otherwise. So all this time that I'm thinking of myself as a decent parent I'm actually wearing my kids down, making them think that they are less than what they are, even if that's not what I'm saying, or what I'm thinking for that matter.

It's kind of ironic. I'm reading this memoir, and like most bestselling memoirs I read, it seems to revolve around the fact that the author's parents were/are bat$#*@ insane (memo to self - write a memoir). Anyway, I'm reading about these parents who let their kids do whatever they want and constantly seem to be putting them in near-death situations, and yet the kids, or at least the author, seems to be empowered by it. Of course denial is a powerful thing, but still, here's a set of parent who, during a midnight move to avoid some measure of billing throw four kids, including an infant, into the unlit back of a moving van in the middle of the night (forgetting to properly secure the doors in the process), and I'm still comparing their parenting skills favorably against my own.

It's no secret to those that know me that I have, in the past, had issues with controlling my emotions. I have been diagnosed with depression and all that, but all it really means is that, if allowed to wander, my mind will focus on things that bum me out. This is, of course, a downward spiral. I get depressed/stressed, which leads to me not being the upbeat, supportive guy I think of myself as, the realization of which leads to me getting depressed/stressed out. Add the usual deadlines, home maintenance projects, and family illnesses, and the idea of trying to be that upbeat guy becomes a little overwhelming.

Still, I'm doing my best to try and break this cycle again. I'm letting the Princess make a lot more decisions, even allowing my schedule to slip in the name of her getting all five barrettes that she selected into her quaff today. More challenging is that I'm trying to get back to recognizing that moment when a reaction is being decided, that split second where I can step in before I get frustrated or angry or depressed at something that just occurred and decide that this time, I'm not going to allow myself to react that way. It's always harder than I think it's going to be to not just allow myself to react the way I've been trained to over the years, but I can't keep letting these reactions affect the people that I love.

In this effort, I promise that I'll make an effort find something funnier to write about tomorrow. Maybe monkeys. Monkeys or kumquats. Either one is pretty much comedy gold.

Wow, Mixed Blessings and All That

At home with sick baby, so again I'll be brief. We're in the midst of a tornado watch. I'm glad I have a basement for the Moose and I to hang out in. I'm not thrilled to be using it for this purpose.

Hopefully, this is all we'll have to discuss on this topic. On the bright side, at least it's not snowing, right?

They Even Had a Cute Little Hospital Gown

Today began much like one would expect a normal day to begin. The gentle wail of a sick child. The frantic breathing treatment administration. Waking and directing the sibling to get dressed whilst throwing together what is needed, and then a quick jaunt to the emergency room. Ah, good times.

Apparently, the powers that be heard me make the statement, "Now that Spring is here, the kids won't get sick as often". Me and my big mouth. The Moose is down with a fever (103.9° when he woke up) and trouble breathing. What's worse is that he's visibly unhappy. This may sound like a dumb statement in light of the proceeding comments, but he's generally a happy kid, even when ill. Not today though. Today is cry-if-you-put-me-down Moose. This is a harder Moose to deal with.

Of course, nothing else slows down for the sick baby. Both Management and I are facing looming deadlines and the pressure that goes along with it, as well as being in the midst of the reworking of the fireplace. So once done with the hospital, we rushed through the McDonold's drive through for breakfast so we could be home in time for the 8:00 AM appointment to get the fireplace repaired and doors installed. Doors and breakfast put into their right places, there was just enough time for the Princess and I to dress, brush our teeth, and get to school.

This probably sounds like complaining (when have I ever?), but the fact is this morning was awesome. Don't get me wrong - I want the baby to feel better and we all could have used some more sleep. The way we worked this morning though was amazing. I'm seriously the weakest link here. Management took care of the Moose while I grabbed shoes and diaper bag, then handed him off so she could dress. The Princess was up and dressed faster than I ever would have guessed, and for a kid who had to sit around in an emergency room for an hour, she was surprisingly uncomplaining. We worked together, got the boy in and treated, and got home in time to see everything else that had to be done get done. We were magnificent.

I often wish that things would quiet down for a time. It seems that there's always some looming crisis, or some kind of hugely important decision to be made. Often, I just want it to stop, to have us enter a routine where we could just glide for a while. If everything goes well, I think I can accomplish this sometime in my mid-fifties. In the meantime, I'm pretty lucky to have a family that works well as a team when faced with a challenge.

Today On This New House

When we bought this house, we knew there were three major repairs that needed to be done - the patio needs to be replaced, the basement wall has a crack in it, and the fireplace needed a total overhaul. Well, we've embarked on the first of the three repairs, namely getting the fireplace in working order. I can not express how unnerving it is for me to be getting work like this done.

First, I want it done right, but I simply can't do it myself. Heck, the reason it needs to be done in the first place is that someone who owned the house before us failed to recognize that same failing in themselves and put their own gas log insert in, not quite correctly. Far be it from me to criticize the work of others, but I don't feel entirely safe having this around, especially since this is one of the few fireplaces I saw without doors or an emergency shutoff valve. So this means that I have to pay someone to come out and do this for me.

This is awkward for me because I am traditionally a push over, so I'm always afraid that I'm going to get hosed on these things. I have an inherent distrust of anyone who wants money for services. I try not to, as this is a pretty cynical view of people and their intentions, but at the same time I don't want to be taken advantage of. Besides, it really is up to the people doing the work to see that it gets done both efficiently and correctly. All I can do is hover about, making sure I'm not paying for nose picking and whatnot.

So today one group of people come out and finish removing the logs, stubbing out the new line to correctly re-install the logs, and put in the emergency shutoff. Tomorrow another group of people come out to fix the hole the previous owners put into the fireplace box and put a set of doors on. Then the first group returns to re-install the gas log insert. After that, I find someone to redo the tiles and fix the new holes in the basement ceiling that were required to get to the gas lines in the first place.

Ironically, the worst part of the whole mess is the inability to use my computer at home until it's all done. I had to move the desk to make room for the aforementioned holes, and the computer is out of commission until it's done. I don't even really need the computer for anything, it's just the idea that I can't use it even if I wanted to that's driving me nuts.

Do they run a twelve step program for this kind of thing?

My $.02: Book Review - The Thornbirds

I've just completed The Thornbirds, and I liked it a lot more than I expected to. Not that I expected to dislike it, it just doesn't fit into my typical reading list, as it didn't involve any spaceships, ghoulies, or other such otherworldly nonsense that I usually seek out. No, this is a book about family, or a family anyway. To be quite honest, I'm not sure what it was a book about.

Try not to think of me as dense based on that last sentence (if you must, think of me as dense because I still occasionally have to look at my hands to figure out my right from my left). At the surface, it's a book about Meggie, the lone girl in a family of boys growing up on a tremendous sheep farm in Australia. The book follows Meggie's life as she grows up, helps raise brothers, falls in love with a priest, has kids, yadda yadda yadda.

Except that it's not just about Meggie. She ties everything together, but the book is as much about her mother Fee, a woman who is emotionally detached from her daughter in an effort to avoid the disappointment of watching Meggie make the same mistakes she has and suffering all over again. It's about the brothers, lumped together for the most part as men who have dedicated their lives to their professions as sheepherders, seemingly happy but somewhat oblivious of the world that has passed them by. It about Ralph, a priest who, like the brothers, gives up most everything in pursuit of his vocation, despite the fact that he knows he can never be the priest that he wants to be.

The point is, there is a lot going on, which makes sense, because I don't know many people who could honestly say that not much was going on in their lives. None of it feels forced either - it just feels like things that happen to people. In the end, you feel like you've truly shared a large part of someone's experience in the world.

One of the things I enjoyed so much about this is that it's not just a story about the people, it also a bit of history. Now I know that there are those who argue against "historical fiction", people who will say that you should just read a history book if you want to know something about a time period. The problem is that I don't want a list of facts about a time period. That isn't interesting to me. I want to know how people live during that time, and how their world affected their lives. I would rather read a well researched fiction, even if it does take liberties with some facts, that gives me a glimpse of what actual day-to-day life was like. Besides, history is based on what people remember and how they decide to share that information. Unless I'm watching an actual tape of something that happened, I view all history as historical fiction.

Anyway, I really enjoyed this book despite the lack of the fantastical. I'll have to hunt down the miniseries on dvd now, and see how it holds up. I'm not sure I'll be able to accept Richard Chamberlain as Father Ralph, but I'll do my best.

Damned Dirty Bloggers

As someone who tries to occasionally cover current events, I suppose I would be remiss to not discuss the passing of Charlton Heston last weekend. The problem is that I wasn't a huge fan of his work. Maybe I watched the wrong stuff, or maybe his work on film was eclipsed by his work with guns (I'm neither for or against gun nuts so long as they're not shooting at me). Either way, I don't recall being particularly impressed by anything.

In his defense, I can only think of three of his movies off of the top of my head right now, so we'll talk about those, the first being A Touch of Evil. This was good movie, and Heston was okay in it, with the exception of the fact that he was playing a ^#%$ing Mexican! Okay sure, in 1958 there wasn't a big population of Mexicans in Hollywood, or at least they weren't acting, but a spray on tan does not a Mexican make, and try as I might, I really couldn't get past that. I will give him props for not faking a Mexican accent though, as that would have just made awkward into unbearable.

Next was Soylent Green. Frankly I wasn't sure how to feel about this one - the movie wasn't all that interesting to me as I already knew that Soylent Green was people (sorry if I spoiled it for you). As such, I basically spent the movie wondering at what point he was going to discover this and make the famous declaration. The fact that it didn't happen until the end was a major bummer, as I thought the movie would be about the ramifications of such a discovery. I thought he was okay in it, but again, I don't feel like he stood out as brilliant or anything, especially when compared to Edward G. Robinson's performance.

Which brings me to the ultimate example, The Ten Commandments. This was one of the Easter favorites when I was a kid and, for some reason, Bible movies were watched around my house (we were not a religious bunch - thus the oddity). Anyway, all I can ever think of from The Ten Commandments is a bearded Charlton Heston standing with his arms in the air while a trio of women look on in awe as he parts the Red Sea. Again, he just didn't stand out to me as an awesome actor. Of course, who could hope to outshadow Yul Brynner, but still, I felt he was a bit hammy, and he was clearly the star (unless you count the guy in the bush - don't remember who played him).

Now, there are obviously quite a few movies I've missed. Perhaps those would shed some light on this. I've never seen any iteration of Planet of the Apes, another movie full of culturally iconic moments. I've never seen the Omega Man, which is an earlier iteration of the recent I Am Legend, neither of which will be watched until I've read the book. I think I saw Ben Hur when I was really young, but I don't recall anything about it except that it makes for a good punchline about transvestites (not that there's anything wrong with being a transvestite, although I don't think the leather skirts they wore in gladiator movies count as cross dressing).

I'm sure I'll eventually look one of these up (I can almost hear Jasen typing furiously in response to my not having seen Planet of the Apes now) and my opinion of Heston's work will change. Until then, I'm sure he was a nice guy and all, and there will be much applause during next years dead reel at the Academy Awards. Really, what more can an actor hope for?

OMG WTF BBQ

Today, I would like to take a few minutes to discuss certain netiquette issues with all of you. At times, I forget that not every human being spends up to ten hours a day sitting in front of their computers, so I promise to only discuss those issues that I see as general enough to apply to most of you. I'll same my commentary on bad
page layouts and indecent code writing for another venue.

So, I will assume that, because you're reading this, you are literate. Furthermore, I will assume that, this being the 21st century, you have access to email. If these assumptions are false, then something has gone horribly wrong with the space-time continuum, and somehow an illiterate is looking at this post in the past. I suppose if it's an illiterate, then there's really no chance of my horribly altering the future a la Back to the Future, so on we go.

There seems to be a misconception in the world that an email, due to its near-instant nature of delivery, is somehow less deserving of attention than its pen-and-paper counterpart. As such, I have seen emails come through with no punctuation, or emails that are written either entirely in capital or lower case letters. I think this comes from our fast-food mentality - if it's fast, we expect that the quality doesn't need to be as good.

Wrong. The fact is that an email is like any other form of correspondence, and deserves the full attention of its creator to ensure grammatical correctness. While I partially enjoy the gradual dumbing down of society, if for no reason other than it makes me look smarter by comparison, this one drives me nuts. I don't know if the advent of email has merely served to display the fact that Americans have forgotten all of the rules of English that they learned in school or if we are truly treating email differently. As an optimist, I will assume the latter, as the former is kind of depressing.

While I'm ranting about email conventions, let's talk about instant messenger speak. I know that when you're tapping away on your mobile phone, or trying to respond to a flame on a message board, you don't want to spend a lot of time typing. Fair enough. That does not mean that it is now acceptable to use these contractions of expression in an email. Put plainly, I don't want to see LOL, TTFN, ROFL, LMFAO, etc. I love LOL cats as much as anybody, but in an email, I want to see actual, English words, all written out.

I am not so staunch in my opinions here that I consider all internet memes off limits. For example, I believe that the typographic smiley has a place in email to indicate that a proceeding statement was meant in jest. I would request, however, that we keep it down to a smiley, :-), a frown, :-(, or a wink, ;-). I think the point where we start adding bow ties, beards, buck teeth and party hats, we have crossed a line.

So there's my little rant for the day. Hopefully I didn't offend anyone. I just don't want to see the English language disappear in a blur of smileys and contractions, and I really don't want my kids growing up thinking that this is how people communicate. I do not want to see "Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow." replaced with "BNF". Just doesn't have the same ring.

Can I Please Just Be Better Now?

I loathe being sick. Fortunately it doesn't happen very often, but I caught something at the beginning of March that's clinging to my immune system like a former playmate clings to a geriatric millionaire. I almost shook it for a while there, just suffering from the inability to take a deep breath without my inhaler, but last weekend's relapse is dragging on.

Today, I decided that I was well enough to work out again. I tromped down to the gym and sat on my bike for a half hour, but I couldn't follow up with weight lifting like I was supposed to. Instead I found myself sitting at my desk light headed, glad that I didn't have a couple of dumbbells over my head right that second.

This is better than last weekend, when I got up to take what had to be the longest morning wee ever and immediately felt like I was going to pass out. Unfortunately, once I opened the fire hose, there was no way to close it until the fire was out. This left me with the uncomfortable thought that if I did pass out, there was a significant chance that I would fall backwards, the fire would be put out without any guidance on my part, and my in-laws would find me unconscious in a pool of my own urine. I considered this the worst case scenario until Management pointed out that I could have fallen with my head in the bowl - similar, but involving the urine of others and resulting in death. That, my friends, is why she's Management.

What's driving me nuts is that the sinus infection is messing with my ability to think clearly. I'm currently taking Sudafed (the good stuff that you have to ask the pharmacist for), which spins me a little, but even when I don't take it I feel a bit disconnected. It's funny, when I was younger all I did was seek out substances that did that for me. Now, it's just bothersome. Of course in my defense, illness and Sudafed almost never raise listening to Pink Floyd to the level of a spiritual experience like some of the other things did.

Of course I'm not going to die from this, so I'm not going to the doctor. As long as I'm able to work and take care of the family, I'm fine. I just wish it would move on. I'll be glad when I can take a deep breath again.

And I Thought It Was Just a Whale

At some point, I lost my ability to think about entertainment in terms of symbolism unless directed to do so. This is interesting to me, as I used to be into that stuff pretty heavily in high school, and actually got the point where I often felt that symbolism that others described as subtle seemed heavy handed to me. Nowadays, I only think about things I watch, read, or play in terms of surface elements.

This came up for me while reading what struck me as a brilliant deconstruction of a video game, Silent Hill 2. I haven't played the game myself, and there were spoilers aplenty, but what really got to me was that if I had played the game before reading this, I would have totally missed all of it. Now not only do I want to play the game, I want to do so from a point of view that's being lost to me.

I think what's bothering me is that frequently, the best stories use symbolism to tell the reader a lot more about the characters that they are going to get fom the story. The game discussed in the article above could be played as nothing more than another game, full of monsters and characters that drive a basic survival horror story. Having read the author's ideas, however, it seems that the creators of the game had a bit more in mind than that, and I would have missed out on that.

Another example is the book I'm reading, The Thornbirds. At one point Management asked me about some symbolism in it, and I had once again totally missed it. It was a mjor part of the book, repeatedly coming up, and yet I missed it. Bothersome.

All I can think to do is seek out entertainment that defies the ability to ingest the meaning at a surface level. The best example of this I can think of is a book called House of Leaves. On it's surface, it's a variety of haunted house story, but to say that barely skims the surface. I read this book three times before I really figured out what it was about, and even then I had to use the online message boards that are dedicated to nothing but conversations on this book. I imagine that I could read it again and come away with more, a lot more, but the fact is that the book has a density and complexity that requires a break between readings. It's the only book I can think of that I wish people I knew would read just so they could help me figure out the parts that I'm missing. Seriously, look it up.

In that vein, I look to you, dear readers, to put forth movies, games and books that defy a simple view-it-and-forget-it experience. I need content that I will think about for days, trying to piece together what happened there, not because it's poorly put together (I'm still trying to figure out what the &$%# Romy and Michele's High School Reunion was - I couldn't make it past an hour but it gets a 72% at Rotten Tomatoes? WTF?), but because it's dense and complex. Any ideas, either posted in comments or submitted directly will be most appreciated.

And again, please one of you read House of Leaves. I'll buy it and lend it to you if I have to.

Wait, What Did You Mean By That?

**WARNING**
The following post contains gross generalizations about particular groups of people. That doesn't mean that these generalizations are inaccurate, but it's not politically correct to say so. So if you agree with anything here, you might want to do so privately so as to not offend someone. Of course if you do so, I will judge you, but I'll do it quietly.
**END WARNING**

A good friend of mine in high school used to tell me that the only thing you need to know about relationships is that women are evil and men are stupid. While that has proven to be somewhat accurate over the years, I think that in order to remain with another person of the opposite sex, one must strive to understand and appreciate the differences between the two genders beyond "curves good". While I could focus on the obvious stuff (such as my conviction that women, after performing a major transaction in the restroom, never feel the need to find someone to come bear witness to the greatness that they have produced regardless of size or how much it may look like a
pretzel), instead I'm going to attempt to help my fellow men by translating certain things that we, as a species, often misunderstand.

Let's start with a simple question:

Are you hungry?

Now, if one man said this to another man, it would be taken as an interrogative statement meant to determine if the askee felt the need to pursue some variety of comestible sustenance. As such, when asked this question by a woman, a man will often assess whether or not he feels the need to eat, and answer in the positive or negative based on this assessment. Now, let us expand the actual thought behind the original question to find what was intended in the asking:

Are you hungry, because I am and I would like us to find something to eat now?

For the fellas, it may seem like a gross omission to ask a question while leaving out the actual intention behind the question. I think this is because, for the most part, men don't expect others to look for the meaning behind what they say beyond, you know, what they actually say. Women, on the other hand, actually consider things that are said with a greater breadth, and expect us to do so as well.

Taking this information into account, let's look at another statement:

My car is due for an oil change.

Once again, at face value this is a simple informative statement about automotive maintanence. When this statement comes from a woman however, you should learn to immediately ask yourself the following question: Why is she telling me this? Oh sure, there's a chance that she's just sharing an observation with you, but it's unlikely. So you have to step back and start thinking about why something like this would be introduced. After a little experience, you'll learn to hear the previous statement as:

My car is due for an oil change, and I would appreciate you getting it done for me.

Again, this is a totally foreign concept for us men who, as a rule, tend to approach conversation with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. If we need a favor, we go right out on a limb and ask. I don't claim to understand why the request is being hidden behind what seems like a simple statement, but I'd be willing to bet I'm right.

As a final thought, let us consider a scenario. You and your good lady wife are going to bed for the evening. As you both settle under the covers, she says the following words:

I could really use a massage.

Now, given the previous statements, you may see this as an invitation to engage in those things married couples do that I don't talk about here, as I like to maintain a nice PG-13.

Well it isn't. Regardless of the preceding examples, I assure you that she wants a back rub, Romeo. Nothing more.

Nothing.

When you get right down to it, my friend's original statement isn't far off, it's just a bit of hyperbole. While not technically evil, these odd turns of phrase can strike men as somewhat deceptive, traps meant to see if you can guess exactly what is required of you at the moment in place of simple, meaningful requests. In the same vein, I'm sure that to women, who seem used to taking such cues from each other, men might seem dense and uncaring by taking what is said at face value instead of searching for the motivation behind each statement. Either way, if we should like the species to continue, we need to try and communicate in a useful manner, and hopefully this will aid in that.