The Frigid Northeast

Today's random thoughts brought to you by the letter Beer.

Why is there snow on the ground in April? I'm cold.

Computer viruses

Why do people (and I use that term loosely) write viruses? What thrill can it possibly give them knowing they were responsible for completely wrecking some unknown person's PC? Are their lives that boring and incomplete?

Being a novice computer-user, my friend Stasek feel victim to a virus. Actually, it was not even his fault (I'm blaming the brother-in-law). Somehow (even with a firewall, pop-up block and anti-virus software) he managed to download something that completely mangled his computer.

I am a developer (not a very good one either) and am definitely no veteran computer-virus exterminator. However, assuming I had a better chance of solving the issue than Stasek did, I went to his house last night in an attempt to his rid his machine of the infection.

However much I hated the virus, I have to applaud it's ingenuity. It completely disabled the anti-virus software, re-configured the start menu, and prevented installation of any new software. I could not even run most programs.

After a few hours and feeling completely helpless, I decided to use the system restore functionality of the Hewlitt-Packard PC. As it turns out, no data was lost and he just has to do a lot of reinstallation. However, I have never felt so defeated, humiliated, and downright stupid having to resort to such measures. To make matters worse, I cannot help but think that most of those way-cool PEG guys could have solved the problem in 5 minutes with their eyes closed.

So.. congratulations to you Mr. Virus-Maker! Not only did you cause enormous grief and copious amounts of wasted time, you managed to knock my self-esteem down a few more notches.

Move Those Bowels, Baby!

Last night, I came under fire from my friends because of my "frequent" visits to "the office" (specifically Lori). After a little research this morning, I found this:

Have you had your bowel movement today?

Specifically...

"You must have a minimum of one bowel movement a day---actually, we recommend two a day."

It looks like my perfect, Andonis-like body is operating at peak performance. And, that's the bottom line!

Jaclyn loves Phil

We all turn 28. But how many of us turn 28 in the presence of Phil Shane?

How lucky can one girl be?

The Eye

Do you remember in The Lord of the Rings how Frodo always felt the "eye of Sauron" watching him when he put the Ring on? Well, I have my own "eye" but I do not have to put a ring on to feel it's glare. I simply have to walk into my kitchen.

Several months ago, my neighbor (whom I've never met) started working from home. He set up shop in his guest bedroom and planted his desk in front of the window. This window looks directly into my kitchen and dining room.

Like many do when they start working from home, he puts in too many hours. At no time of day can I freely walk through my house without feeling his gaze. I wash my dishes.. he's there. I wipe the counter.. he's there. I enjoy my morning glass of juice.. he's there. Sometimes I find myself crawling on all fours down the hallway and peeking around the corner before finally mustering the strength to enter the area.

How many times has he seen me naked? Does he invite his wife in to enjoy the show? Jaclyn and I saw them dancing around in there one evening. What has he seen us doing?

Perhaps one day I'll cross the street, climb the stairs, and throw his computer into the fiery cracks of Mt. Doom. Or, maybe I'll just install those blinds in the kitchen that Jaclyn likes.

Losing my mind..

Writing code is hard.. being creative is hard.. staying focused can be hard. All of these are REALLY hard when you work in an open office environment (i.e. all the desks are in one big room!).

For those of you who do not design software, try to imagine writing an essay with five coversations and ringing telephones all around you. Try to imagine coming home day after day feeling like you are no closer to finishing that essay than you were when you started.

God help me.

Not only are we brain-washed..

.. but according to Howard "I have a scream" Dean, we Republicans (actually I consider myself a Republ-ertarian) are "brain-dead" as well. Whew! See what happens when you disagree with a liberal? The party of peace and love sure does hate everyone who dare step out of their ideological line. I would think that one in the medical profession would not throw around terms like "brain-dead" but Mr. Dean does it with reckless abandon.

I cannot say that I am disappointed that he is the new DNC chairmen. With fools like him running that party, we do not have to worry about a Democrat majority for a long time.

Interesting article..

Hey.. it looks like more people are finally coming around to my way of thinking.

WHO'S BRAINWASHED IN AMERICA? - Dennis Prager - Benador Associates

I've been preaching this for years. It warms my heart that others are finally catching up. :-)

St. Petersburg 5-year-old cuffed after school outburst

Funny quote at the end..

St. Petersburg 5-year-old cuffed after school outburst

Yup.. she's on to them. It was a huge plot just to get her 5 year-old.

Obviously they went overboard. But when a teacher is not allowed to use corporal punishment, what do you expect them to do? Hell, my elementary school teachers would have laid the smackdown on us if we acted like that.

More funny stuff..

According to the latest CNN web site poll, 81% of participants believe that Congress should NOT get involved in the legal battle over the intended killing of Terry Schiavo:

Was it appropriate for Congress to get involved in the legal battle over a brain-damaged Florida woman?

Yes 19% 11411 votes
No 81% 47379 votes
Total: 58790 votes

I wonder if you poll this same group, would they also agree that Congress and/or the Federal Government have no business being involved in education, welfare, and healthcare? Somehow I think not.

It seems that many liberals are opposed to war and the killing of "innocent Iraqis", but when it comes to unborn children or brain-dead Americans, they are the first in line to endorse the blood-bath.

Hypocritcal and illogical... just like all of their positions.

Satan, Your Kingdom Must Come Down

.. I heard the voice of Jesus say "Satan, your kingdom must come down".

Airport Security

I dropped Jaclyn off at the airport this afternoon (Aren't I sweet? It's not even the beginning of the relationship and I am taking her to the airport). She called me a few moments later asking me to turn around and rescue her Swiss Army knife keychain to prevent it from being confiscated. On previous flights, she had forgotten to remove it from her purse and ended up having to surrender the deadly weapon to the airport screener (twice). This time she remembered before she got in line, so I happily turned my little Mazda3 around to swing by and grab it.

Let's think about this though.. this is a KEYCHAIN! It's 1.5 inches long with an even smaller blade. I think it's intended purpose is for cleaning your finger nails or knifing your way through a tablespoon of half-melted butter.

In the meantime, illegal Mexicans (and God knows who else) are pouring over the border in droves and we (Cow-wee-fornians) want to award them with a driver's license. But at the airport, those fools want to take my sweet, little girlfriend's keychain. What do they do with all this 'stuff' anyway? You can't get it back.. do they take it home to their children? Give them as gifts?

Like many things in this country, it's a crock. Unfortunately, there's not a damn thing we can do about it. We're all criminals here. You gotta love it.

Too much to write..

I could write about about a dozen different things but poor brain is on multi-tasking overload.. I can't focus.

Reform

Have you ever noticed how the Democrats want to reform everything except social security? It's their sacred cow that cannot be touched.

Quotas at the Expense of Public Safety

Quotas are bad. There, I said it. The latest tragedy from the great American quota system can be found in Atlanta Georgia with the story of Brian Nichols. Now, I am assuming everyone is familiar with the courthouse shooting in Atlanta. If not, Google it and you'll easily find it.

I have heard the news heads classify this tragedy as another case of "gun violence" while completely (albeit not suprisingly) ignore the real issues here.

#1. Brian Nichols was not shackled at his feet while being taken to the courthouse. Although he had been found with homemade knives in his cell the previous day, and the judge requested the prisoner be shackled, he was not. Why you ask? Easy answer.. the shackles are "dehumanizing" and can "sway a jury". Keep in mind he was in jail on a rape charge. I'll let you draw your own conclusions here.

#2. He was being led to court by a 51-year-old FEMALE guard. A GRANDMOTHER mind you. Other than trying to meet some quota system, what business does a 51-year-old woman have being a prisoner guard?

Before you accuse me of being anti-woman, allow me to clear it up for you: yes, I am anti-woman when it comes to placing them in roles such as these. The problem is the lowering of standards to meet these quotas. Women are allowed access to these positions based on the fact they are women. When they do not meet the physical strength requirements that it takes to be an officer, a new set of rules are invented (reminds me of our dumbed-down educational system).

For example, I've read that the LAPD has a goal of a 40% female officer population. Will these 40% be just as capable and strong as the 60% male staff? If they are, then God bless them. Sadly however, they won't be. They will be there only to meet some illogical goal dreamed up by the liberal nutcases in charge of the department.

Who will pay the price? The citizens. The citzens who cannot carry a weapon to defend themselves will now have to depend on a police officer who probably cannot defend herself any better.

More from the Karaoke King..

Ok.. I should provide better detail on Friday night's festivities for those who were not lucky enough to attend.

Jaclyn and I joined Shannon, her "friend" Sean, and Chi for a night of fish-n-chips, adult-beverages, and karaoke at Durty Nelly's. Shannon had gotten there early enough to grab premium seats so we were in good spirits knowing we would be that close to the top-notch karaoke action we have come to expect from this local Irish watering-hole.

As we finished off dinner, "Kevin, the 70's Guy" rolled up into the parking and began unloading his equipment. The excitement was palpable as we began to flip through the songbooks, each nervously seeking out the one number that would showcase his or her individual vocal talent in all it's glory. Adding to our heightened anticipation was the fact that we were there early and would get our song picks in near the top of the order. The bottom-line is this: Durty Nelly's would know immediately that karaoke is our business and business is indeed good.

For my opening number, I choose "Play That Funky Music" to be followed by "Kiss You All Over" later in the evening. Shannon chose "Let 'er Rip" (?) by the Dixie Chicks. A little bit of a deviation from Shannon's ususal style but we all knew that she would deliver.

Kevin (the 70's guy) got the evening started with a funny little song... maybe it was a Weird Al tune as Kevin (the 70's guy) looks a lot like the witty artist. After the first four performers nearly put us to sleep, my name was called. I confidently took the microphone, walked to the stage and gazed upon the masses who were there to hear the finest karaoke talent the southland had to offer. I was in my element. I was the Karaoke King and, by God, I was determined to deliver.

As the song started and that familar guitar riff flowed from the speakers, the patrons of this two-star dining establishment came out of the karaoke induced coma that were forced into by the first few contestants and turned towards the stage to pay homage to the booty-slapping, toe-tapping royalty now gracing the stage. I was in an element in which I had never been. I could do no wrong. Even the geriatric crowd simply out for a night of innoncent fun were awe-struck by the sight of this country-boy from Mississippi giving them all he had plus a little more.

When the song finished, the crowd rose to it's feet in appreciation. The roar was deafening. If the world had ended at that moment, they wouldn't care. However incomplete their lives may have been up to this point no longer mattered. My fellow citizens had come there to be entertained and yes, entertained they were.

Stay tuned...

Karaoke King!

I still hold the title. If anyone feels he or she is worthy, I welcome all challengers!

In a future age..

Yes, yours truly has lept into the 21 century with my condo under my arm. My home is now gloriously adorned with whisper-white, smooooooth ceilings. No more dirty-looking popcorn/cottage-cheese/whatever-you-want-to-call-them ceilings. Chang (of Chang's Ceilings) and crew did quite an amazing job. This is one of those jobs that one should NEVER consider doing on their own. I've seen what it takes to do the job properly and I don't think it belongs on any man's 'honey-do' list.

Of course, I must mention one very stupid thing I did. To help alleviate the smell of the fresh paint, I decided to turn my ceiling fan on. I flicked the swich and nothing happened... I pulled the chain and nothing happened. At this point, I figured that Chang had taken down the ceiling fan to make working around it easier and had done a bad job with the reinstallation. So I swear for 5 minutes or so, and then get out my ladder and screwdriver. I disconnect the ceiling fan, check all the wiring and put it back in place. Still, it does not work. Damn, damn, damn. WHAT DID HE DO TO MY CEILING FAN?! I was soooo angry... like an old man trying to send back soup at a deli. And then I noticed it. You know the little switch on the side that controls the direction of the spin? It was neither up nor down but somewhere in between. I move the switch and like magic, the ceiling fan works again. :-)

Afterwards Jaclyn came over and we enjoyed pizza, cheap wine and two episodes of 'Sluts' in the City. All the while feeling the comfort and protection of my new ceiling hovering over us like a guardian angel.

Hotel, motel.. make me wanna cry

Well, here I am in the "business center" at the world-famous Best Western Newport-Mesa Inn. Ok, maybe not world famous. However, they are affording me a place to spend two evenings while my condo gets it's ceiling scraped. Don't you just hate the "popcorn" ceilings? Well, I certainly do. As of today, the ugly, off-white stuff has been sucked and scraped off on it's journey to becoming a smooth, white, respectable ceiling. I stopped by my place tonight to check on the progress and I was so impressed. It's hard to believe that three guys got so much done in one day. What was even more amazing was the masking job they did. The entire place is one big plastic bubble. EVERYTHING is sealed. I felt like the bubble-boy walking through there. How many bubble-boys have there been? I remember the original bubble-boy.. John Travolta. Does anyone remember that movie? Classic.

I thought I might get a work-out in here at the hotel gym. Usually hotel gyms are much less than desriable, but slightly acceptable. The one here has sunk to new lows. Even Mr. Mandlebaum could not find a way to break a sweat in this thing. I'd never seen such old, yet strangely modern equipment. I didn't bother trying to use any of it.

Today was a horribly unproductive day at work. I don't want to go into details here, but I'm close to the edge (".. don't push me 'cause I'm close to the edge, I'm about to lose my head"). I can understand handling a personal issue at the office from time to time, but on a consistent and disruptive basis is counter-productive to everyone else working in the "effecient, open-office environment". Ugh.

Over the weekend, I got to introduce two friends to one of the greatest movies ever made: Bubba Ho-Tep. If you have not seen it, I must insist you rent it. Or, you can come to my house and we'll enjoy a big bowl of popcorn and the adult-beverage of your choice. This film is good on so many levels. Two thumbs up. By the way, if you are curious as to what the greatest movie of all time is, I'll go ahead and let the secret out: Waiting for Guffman. You don't believe me? Rent it.

Over and out... 10-4.

The Salt Creek Grille

Last evening, Jaclyn and I joined our friends Lori, Doug, Chi and Daniel at The Salt Creek Grille to celebrate Chi's birthday. A good time was had by all, but as usualy there a few noteworthy items to point out.

1. The group at the table next to us brought an infant with them. Usually, I would not expect to see an infant at a restaurant like this at 9:00pm on a Saturday night, but I can live with it (I guess). To keep the infant "entertained" the parents had brought a portable DVD player and had it sitting on the table blasting some kind of Sesame Street/Elmo movie. Lovely. Just what I want to see and hear while I am sucking down my $6 dollar (that's the cheapest they had) scotch. From now on, I'll call a laptop with me so I can blog at the dinner table.

2. The "up-charge". Jaclyn did not want the fries with her burger. Instead, she wanted a small side salad. They were happy to oblige as long as we paid the $4 "up-charge" for the salad. I don't mind the price as much as the fact they called it an "up-charge". How about calling it the "we-are-an-overpriced-restaurant-so-kiss-my-ass" charge? At least I'd get an laugh out of that. A $4 laugh? Probably not. But a laugh nonetheless.

3. Complimentary valet. Why have a valet service when the parking lot is RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE RESTAURANT!? As we were leaving, Lori waited patiently for the valet to retrieve her car... which was parked in the very first spot... five feet from where she stood.

Ok, I'm done griping. I apologize for the boring post. My creative jucies just aren't flowing and I am hungry and hot.

What is wrong with humans?

In Florida, they have crews working around the clock to save some beached dolphins.

In another part of the state, they want to starve a woman to death because her medical condition is inconvienient for some.

The Barney Fife Syndrome

I don't know everything.

Yep, that's right.

No environment drives that fact home more than the world of software design and engineering. Technology changes, new technology emerges and some disappears altogether. Trying to keep up with it all will make your head explode.

How does one stay successful in an ever changing field? How can a business keep existing customers happy yet still stay on the cutting edge, moving forward day-by-day?

In 2000, we embarked on a re-architecture of our application. Luckily, we had a proven version of application in the market and kept it up to date using "outdated technology" while continually developing and moving forward with our new release. If anyone knows the Netscape story, you know that starting over from the ground up is not always a good idea.

Netscape once dominated the web browser market. In the late 90's, they decided to throw away all their code and re-engineer from the ground up. This led to a few years of stagnation while Microsoft was busy developing a superior, up-to-date browser. After several missed deadlines and horrible betas, users moved to Internet Explorer leaving Netscape to play catch up. We all now know who currently dominates the web browser market.

Luckily, we averted such a disaster and in 2003 released our next-generation software. Was it light-years ahead of where we were? No. But it did give us a new (and hopefully better) base on which to build.

After years of blood, sweat and tears we are now faced with a new challenge. A challenge that makes us re-think and re-examine our architecture once again. Hopefully the base we have built will be strong enough to stand up to what lies ahead. In the mean time, I'll try to learn a few new things (hopefully I'll pick the right ones to learn) and painfully resign myself to the fact that noone knows everything (except Randall.. and maybe John.. ok, Jurgen too).

The Sky is Falling

Here in California, we live in a perpetual state of bad news. Nothing is ever good and we should not dare for a minute think that it is. The weather is a prime example.

It has been raining a lot here the past month (this is the Earth, things like rain happen). Even though this is the most rain we've have in a long time, we are told "Whoa.. wait a second. By no means does this mean that the drought is over. You must still conserve. Don't let me catch you breathing a sigh of relief".

Last summer, there were plenty of fires. We were told it was because of the "severe drought conditions plaguing southern California brought on by the onset of global warming and other bad things caused by the Repulican administration of your choice". Isn't rain the common cure for a drought?

This morning, the radio was telling me that all this rain was going to create the "worst fire conditions in years" because of all the lush, thick growth. This is the same lush, thick growth that stablizes hillsides, creates the oxygen we breathe, and helps to clean the air. So now the rain is bad? What about the "severe drought conditions"?

The bottom line is this: liberals generally do not want you to be happy. When you are unhappy, you are much easier to be controlled and have your opinion swayed. You are much more willing to fork over your hard-earned money in the form of higher taxes. From the weather to the economy, don't ever expect to hear good news from the mainstream media.

More gym stories..

I was doing time on the cross-trainer yesterday next to two pears. One was yapping loudly about how dumb it was that their friend worked out twice daily (this coming from a woman with a tire around her waist and an ass like a frying pan). Talking extra loudly because she insisted on keeping her headphones jammed in her ears, she droned on and on about how unfair she was treated at work, she'd been there for 15 years, blah blah. Her friend complained about having to walk too far from the back parking lot since construction is being done.

Is it just me, or does it it always seem that fat, lazy people feel they have been dealt a bad hand in the game of life? This begs the question.. which came first, the fatness and laziness or the 'unfair' treatment?

Fallout shelter

I didn't write this. This article appeared in the Memphis Flyer a few years back. I saved it because it spoke to me . It spoke of home. It spoke of something that I cannot find in California. It's funny how those 'boring nights' in Memphis have now become precious memories. Given all that, I thought I would share it. I promise to return to original programming tommorrow.

Terry was a regular in the bar where I slung beers and burgers throughout college. Day after day he would come in before lunch, five minutes before the bar even opened, take the same yellow, bar-grime-covered stool and sit for hours. He even called in one day to tell us that he was running late. Every day he came in with The New York Times tucked under one arm, spending afternoons expertly solving the crossword puzzles and occasionally speaking with me and the other waitresses. But mostly he'd just sit there quietly smoking a cigar and drinking a Coca-Cola. Terry had sworn off alcohol years before. He didn't come to the bar for the drinks or even the conversation, he just came for the bar.

I love bars. I have since high school and college when my close friends nicknamed me "Fletch" for the tall stack of fake IDs I always had on hand. Many of my fondest memories are loosely arranged around bars.

In the year and some change that Memphis has been my home I've discovered and rediscovered some of this city's finer and grungier oases. Living first in East Memphis, the Bottom Line was only a sometimes chilly walk away, and many a Sunday evening took my neighbors and me to T.J. Mulligan's on Quince for a drippy, sweet shooter known as a Banana Popsicle. A friend in Cordova introduced me to the Fox & the Hound and, admittedly, sometimes the Logan's Roadhouse at Wolfchase. Late afternoons at the Belmont Grill, wine and oysters at the Half Shell, late nights at the Tap House, and sporadic ventures into the Sports Pub -- contrary to some naysayers, there is fun to be had on the eastern edge of the loop.

Last fall, Robert Earl Keen's show at Newby's found me dancing with a Clint Black look-alike while my friends teased me over the cowboy's shoulder. And when I promised him I'd be waiting out front, I think I meant it, but instead found myself minutes later piled into a Pathfinder with a crowd of others, laughing and howling all the way into Mississippi. At 3 a.m. a gambling jaunt made all the sense in the world, and Tunica -- an entire county that awoke one dewy morning to discover that its shimmery lakes and sleepy pastures had morphed into a garishly lit giant of a bar -- was too close to ignore.

Bars are magnetic. We flock to them for what they are and for what they are not. Automatic Slim's on a Saturday night requires red lipstick and a push-up bra. Young Avenue Deli on a hot summer afternoon means a sundress and sandals -- at most. A burger at Alex's late at night calls for whatever you stagger in wearing.

But for every Friday night at Alfred's or Earnestine & Hazel's celebrating that the alarm clock will not erupt with dawn's early light, there's a quiet Tuesday when a Guinness Stout and some greasy bar food sound better than the network television sitcom lineup.

I love the oily sheen that glides across a martini, the icy crust that frames a perfectly shaken gimlet, and the sweaty condensation that trickles off a glass of Chardonnay in the summertime. Moving into an old Midtown apartment in the early summer's already blanching heat, I learned to love bars for their high-powered air conditioners. The Bayou, Memphis Pizza Café, and the Blue Monkey became places to lower my body's core temperature.

Bars permit you to linger. Restaurants have imaginary time limits -- order, eat, pay, leave. Greet 'em, feed 'em, and street 'em, I used to say when my livelihood relied on the number of times the tables under my watch would turn. But bars invite dawdling. One more round, one more conversation.

I met my first Bluff City friend at the P&H Café. He swaggered over, the personification of bravado in a wife-beater shirt and old jeans. I told him that I'd just made it to Memphis and wanted to go to a real blues joint, not some Beale Street, Disneyfied, commercial wallet-sucker. He bragged that he knew of such a place. Checking my good sense at Miss Wanda's door, I took off with the deep-voiced, intriguing stranger and we danced the night away at Wild Bill's.

Even Beale Street, despite my early prejudices against it, has provided me with many raucous evenings, often ending in the bathroom line at Raiford's. A friend's band playing at Murphy's and Kudzu's introduced me to those bars. Wine tastings at the Palm Court, wine drinking at Le Chardonnay, and cold beer at the new Boscos in Overton Square -- I'm sometimes amazed that my liver can keep up.

Huge margaritas at El Porton, bizarre nights at R.P. Tracks, all of the city's Huey's, Sleep Out Louie's, Highpoint in the Pinch, Sidestreet (where, despite a well-meaning bartender, I learned that hair spray will not get a red wine stain out of white pants). Backstreet and the truly misunderstood J. Wag's, these are the places that can make or break a city. Late one night, a good friend introduced me to the sullen hermit that is the Buccaneer. And then there's Zinnie's and its neighbor, the not-so-imaginatively-named Zinnie's East. Sushi and sake at Sekisui, cans of beer at the Lamplighter, Cosmopolitans at The Peabody -- don't let me hear you complaining that there's nothing to do in Memphis.

The point of all my drivel is simple: I love bars and they love me. The cool comfort of a drink, be it leaded or unleaded, in the company of friends or strangers, is sometimes entertainment enough. Toasts and cheers, shooters and shots, bellyaches, headaches, and morning-after regrets -- all are as much a part of bars as olive picks and beer caps.

And if years from now I'm sliding onto a grungy bar stool as predictably as Terry, then so be it. I'll order my gimlet, wine, or beer and talk to a new or old friend. Someone I may know for a lifetime or forget in seconds. Regardless, I'll be getting exactly what I want from that nicked stretch of wood and that short, sweaty glass: a few moments to enter humanity as a silent spectator or as an active participant. And most of the time, that's all I'm looking for anyway.

A Night at the Knots Berry, Conclusion

Facing the disappointment that one of the newer coasters was not going to open this particular evening, we were ready to complain on our way out. Luckily for us, the Silver Bullet opened up around 9:00pm. To me, it looked completely intimidating. On the newer coasters you do not sit in a car on the track. You hang from a row of seats looking down at the world below. I had my doubts if I should even get on this one. Looking around at the younger crowd happily boarding, I figured I had to suck it up and take a chance. You know what? I am glad I did. The Silver Bullet was great! I kept my eyes open the whole time and even rode it twice (I should have purchased the $11 pics to prove it).

Sometimes the ride that looks the scariest, turns out to be the best choice. Just like life.