So while I was on vacation some entity (and I use the term loosely) created a fake facebook account with my name and photo.  Some friends reported it, and facebook emailed me:

"We reviewed the profile your friend reported and found that it isn't pretending to be you and doesn't go against our Community Standards."

Now, it was my photo with a frame around it.  And there isn't more than one Thomas Cornwell who looks exactly like me, in my car, wearing my glasses and the UNC themed cloth mask my wife made for me.  In short, a drunk, one-eyed, chimpanzee could tell it was a fake account. 

I'm not going to jump through hoops so I can continue to generate content for an organization that's either incompetent or just doesn't give a damn.  

So when I feel the need to share/vent with the internet people of the world, I'll do it from here.  Fewer folks will see it, but that's probably a good thing.

Here's the beach:

Hey Cool!

I remembered I have a blog.

I want The Wave

I try to be a nice guy.  Really I do.  Ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you that yes, I am a nice guy.  I hold open doors for people.  I tip well.  I don't litter.  I'm dumb to kind animals.  I even go so far as to let people in ahead of me if traffic is heavy and they're obviously in the wrong lane.

I realize that often people take advantage of my consideration, especially jackwagons that zoom ahead and merge at the last second instead of getting in line like civilized folks.  Still, for every ten or twelve jerks who do that, there is one poor soul who is genuinely lost, or timid, or who just made a mistake and could use a little courtesy.

For these lost lambs I'll toot my horn, flash my lights, or otherwise wave them in ahead of me.  Maybe I've made someone's day a little better.  Maybe I've done unto others as I'd have them do unto me.  I don't know. 

What I do know is this:  I want The Wave. The Wave can take many forms.  A hand out the window.  A smile.  A nod. A glance in the rear view mirror and a hand raised briefly in recognition that someone has done something nice for you.  It's not that hard to do.

Since I started paying attention who Waves and who doesn't, I've been Waved by young and old, men and women, teenagers, older folks, cops, thugs, pizza guys, people driving SUVs, hybrids, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, buses, tractor trailer trucks, hoopties, jacked up El Caminos, Mercedes, a Bently once, pretty much the whole automotive spectrum across this great land of ours.

Except The BMW 300 series.

BMW 500 and up?  No problem.  They rank way above average on the Wave scale.  2002's?  Beautiful people all.  Even Z3 and Z4 roadsters.  But there's something about a BMW 300 series driver that refuses to realize there are other people on the road.  I swear, you have to fail a personality test before they'll sell you one those cars.  A few weeks ago I was cut off by three different BMW 300's in a span of ten minutes on my way to work.  You'd think if someone was going to shell out a few grand more for the leather package and moon roof they'd toss in an extra twenty bucks for a pair of turn signals.  Maybe there's a recall I haven't heard about, but I've never seen a turn signal in action on a BMW 300.

So, if you find yourself unexpectedly in the Left Turn Only lane, and you glance desperately over your shoulder, hoping against hope that someone will bail you out of the mess you find yourself in, take heart.  I'm not the only one who's willing to take a little longer to get where I'm going if it means helping a stranger in need.  As long as you're not driving a 300 Beemer.

Ogreboro, NC

Huge autonomous cyber-tanks have been reported rolling east out of Carrboro.  Chapel Hill has surrendered, and Durham is understandably anxious.

It would be neat if SJG added a suburban terrain type to Ogre.  Though in the context of BCP armor and tac-nukes, most small towns and neighborhoods would be considered clear terrain anyway, but it would make the maps look cooler.  Like if an Ogrethulhu claimed Ipswitch, for instance:

Thanks to the guy on the SJG forums who did the original map of Ipswitch, I just recolored it here.  But there will be an Ogrethulhu tile set for OgreMap2.0, which is very much a work in progress and the source of the top image. 

Nobody Younger than Me Knows Squat

When one reaches a certain "temporal seniority", one comes to realize some fundamental truths. That is to say, nobody younger than me knows squat.

Some of the teachers in my daughter's school were born after I graduated high school. How can I entrust my child's education to people who are barely old enough to cross the street alone?

Kids today have no appreciation of history. To whit: A few days ago I purchased a terabyte external hard drive for just over a hundred bucks. 20-plus years ago I installed a 20 megabyte hard drive that cost just over four hundred bucks. Today's drive is roughly two hundred thousand times the capacity per dollar. It's way faster too.

My first modem was 300 baud. It stunk.  So I took it back to Radio Shack and shelled out an extra hundred bucks for the 1200 baud version. And it was fast. Now I've got 0.43Mb/s upstream and 6.42Mb/s downstream, but it doesn't feel as fast.

I was the youngest kid in my family, which meant I had the honor/duty of being the remote control for the TV.  I was the one who got up and changed the channel. Yes, that clicky dial on the side of the 19" (if you were lucky) TV screen. I also knew how to point the rabbit ears so we could watch Wally Gator on Channel 7 out of Roanoke.  That's why cartoons were only 4 or 5 minutes back then.  So kids wouldn't pass out trying to balance on one foot while holding the antenna out one way and sticking one leg out the other.

And keep your internets off my grass.

Sweet Ink

I now sport a Zombie on my arm.  Not only a Zombie, but a Pirate-Zombie.  With a skull.  And an eyeball in the skull so he can see your face melt into helpless terror before he does all sorts of mean Pirate-Zombie things to you.  He's even got a red bandanna because if he had any sweat glands or hair, it would keep them out of his eye. Those might even be ninja swords nailed to the ship's wheel.

"How cool is that", you ask?

"So cool Jungle Beasts howl my name at the rising moon" I reply.

It doesn't photograph very well, though.  I think the awesomeness interferes will the camera's CCD element.

If it was a traditional sub-dermal tattoo it wouldn't be so shiny.  Instead I got a super-dermal tattoo.  Everybody knows super is better than sub.

Plus it'll come off with a little lava soap before my wife comes back to town.  The importance of this cannot be over stressed.

If I Ran the Fair

When I was a little tyke, one of my favorite books was Dr. Seuss' "If I Ran the Circus". I always liked the great big lemonade tank and the huge stack of cups. Mr. Sneelock seemed like a really cool guy. Kinda laid back, and a jack of all trades. He's semi-retired, running his store and smoking his pipe, secure in the knowledge that he can still wrestle a Grizzly-Ghastly if called upon.

Flash forward to 2011. One of my favorite things about the state fair is the way the vendor's signs reach out and grab you by the optic nerve. And they won't let go until they've extracted the designated bit of cash. There's something magical about the promise of the most delicious, decadent, deep-fried, and (usually) downright disgusting snacks ever conceived by Western Man.

I've never had deep-fried snickers bars, deep fried Coca-Cola, or a double cheese burger with extra bacon and two Krispy Kreme donuts in place of the bun, but I do enjoy thinking about them.

Toast! The Noble Breakfast

Is it not wonderful to live in a time and place where toast is available 24/7, without regard to color, creed, or regional football affiliation?

You see, back in the middle ages toast was not the fare of the common man (those peasants sure had it crumby), but reserved for the landed gentry, the upper crust if you will*.

Tremendous resources were expended in the production of Toast for themsuch what could afford it. It took a lot of bread to make Toast. Massive Leyden Jars, Lightning Catchers, and the ancient Egyptian Lens of Ra, are but a few of the artifacts of the Master Toaster's craft without which no breakfast museum would be complete.

Toast provides interesting nutrients. In addition to Thrombic Acid and Polysulfamenahydrozine, Toast has been shown to augment one's Powers of Command. This revelation goes a long way toward explaining why Toast was always found among the preserves of the aristocracy.




* If you won't? Fine. I'm moving on.

SPUD 0.1

I 'umbly present my new Sensor Platform Universal Device, better known by the tortured acronym of SPUD. This little guy has an Arduino Mini for a brain, uses an L297D motor controller chip from Solarbotics to power the motors, and has a detachable USB interface for programming. It can go forward, backward, turn right and left, and spin in place right and left, using only four digital outputs from the Arduino to the motor controller. This leaves eight digital and eight analog lines open for sensor input and/or other gadgets.


Glee!

You can put your arms down when you get back to NC

Another Christmas in New England. Another reminder that my once hardy mountain blood has thinned to water. It was all the way up to 14F, and I couldn't go outside to play without bundling up in the equivalent of two sheep and a yak.

When I started college, transplanting myself from West Virginia to Chapel Hill, NC, fifty five degrees was T Shirt weather. I openly scoffed at the pathetic weaklings who wore hats, jackets, and (giggle) gloves in an environment wherein water remained liquid. I never put on a jacket before going out to play, no matter how many times Mom told me to. (This was back when colds and flu were thought to be caused by low body temperature, before germs were discovered.) Now I'm the one telling my daughter to wear her heavy coat and not blame me if her fingers freeze to the swings. Truly, my hypocrisy knows no bounds*.

The answer, of course, is that kids are exothermic. They generate so much heat with their scurrying, fidgeting, and metabolizing that they light up the infrared frequencies like the Fourth of July. As we mature, our bodies settle down and focus on nourishing and nurturing our brains, magnifying our wisdom. With deep thoughts come certain endothermic tendencies. Yes. I'm sure that's it. My Giant Brain (tm) requires more energy than my body can provide on it's own so I must draw molecular kinetic energy from my environment. I'm not getting colder. I'm getting smarter.



*First Tombstone quote of the year!

2010

A few years ago I found myself with enough time on my hands to start painting Warhammer 40K miniatures. I bought a bunch of these cool little plastic guys and started painting. Now, I didn't have the time or ambition to outfit a whole army. I just wanted a half dozen futuristic pieces for a game of 3D Frag.

They looked pretty cool, but what really inspired me were their hyperbolic names. Instead of being called "Infantry" they had names like "Blood Angel Angst Vindicator Squadron". Seriously. Would you rather be shot by an "Armored Soldier w/Jet Pack and Laser Blaster" or have your quarks blown to kingdom come by a "Chaos Space Marine Khorne Berzerker Skull Champion"? I know which I'd rather have on my tombstone.

I hold this up as a shining example of Trying Harder, and I resolve to also Try Harder in 2010 and beyond. I no longer drive a "Car". I now drive a "Quad Wheel Combustotron Interstate Vindicator". I don't pet the "Cat". I feed the "Feline Hellion Rodent Retribution Reaver". Here's hoping we don't run out of Science Diet...

Places where I'd rather not live

In New York, this serves as hospitality...

Places where I'd rather not sit

Ya know, I had a whole five paragraph missive on the aesthetic shortcomings of this poor chair in my office. In the interest of brevity, I can summarize it thusly:

Dang.

Places where I'd rather not eat

Uhm... I'll just have a salad, thanks.

Day 16,238

Today is the 16,238th day that I have graced the surface of Planet Earth. I know this because I put my birthday into Wolfram|Alpha, the new knowledge engine from Mathematica-Guy Stephen Wolfram. (I'll forgive A New Kind of Science.) It's not a search engine. Instead of returning web links, it creates a page of information about the topic you typed in. Give it 'The meaning of life" and it returns "42", so it's on the right track, but when I asked about Dec 12th, 1964, it returned:

Notable events for December 12, 1964:



Obviously there are still some kinks in the system.

So if I had a 9 oz. yoo-hoo for every day I've been alive, I'd have 1,141 gallons of cold, chocolaty refreshment. That's equivalent to the amount of pure olive oil produced in California in 1889. The digestive implications of 1,141 gallons of either would strike fear into the lower GI tract of even a young man, let alone a geezer of 16,238.

Ode to Spring

Oh Butterfly, Oh Butterfly
How you flit, and how you fly
From far away so pleasing to the eye
But
When I get up in your face
You're
Ugly

Overheard today

"I don't have to work tomorrow. I'm just going to sit on the couch with the wiener dogs and just be happy."

Now, there's a guy who's got it figured out.

Paradise by the Dashboard Light

Today I face the fact that all of my motivations are external. I'm sitting in the auto dealership having my car "serviced", though I suspect I'm the one being "serviced" in a metaphorically awkward way, if ya know what I mean. (Don't worry if you can't quite parse that last bit, that's why RobotsandEggs is a family blog.) I'm here watching the tumbleweeds blow through the showroom because my dashboard showed me a yellow wrench icon to tell me it was time for an oil change, transmission filter, and other crap I could probably do myself if I invested in the right tools and had the time and a paved driveway. Turns out I'd rather sign over my credit card so I can drink a Coke* and give You People something to read. So it's a win-win situation.

So back to my motivations. My car told me it wanted a diaper change, so here I am. My laptop wanted an anti-virus update, so that's downloading as we speak, as is a windows update. Since that doesn't totally choke the dealership's courtesy wi-fi, my browser told me it's feeling old and wants to be replaced by a younger version, so Firefox 3.something is downloading as well. Like a a Watcher from the Highlander TV series, I am here to "observe and record, but never interfere". Maybe I'll get a cool tattoo on the inside of my wrist. A temporary tattoo, needles make me yincy.

Firefox wants to restart and install itself. I hear and obey. Depending on how it goes, I may or may not be back. Wish me luck.

...and back. Nice and smooth, just like an automatic update should be.

So back to my motivations. My email is another powerful source of impetus. Not the spam (shudder), but I get plenty of new ideas, suggestion, requests, and assigned tasks for work through email. I should be using Thunderbird instead of Outlook, but Mozilla hasn't told me to switch, and when I asked Microsoft, they said to hold off until Bill finishes wiping out malaria, so I'll drop that into 2010's tickler file and move on.

I lie awake some nights wondering what would happen to me if I didn't have a job, a car, and a computer to guide me through my day. Realize, of course, that the influence of these pale in comparison to my wife, daughter, and cat, but life without the latter three would be too grim to contemplate for long. I suppose I would revert to satisfying the primal needs all humans have, but I just can't see being wrapped in a bearskin, hunched over a fire at the mouth of a cave gnawing on the roasted haunch of a beast I slew with a big stick or a rock. All but the roasted haunch part kind of clash with my sense of self. Besides, if you try any outdoor burning in The People's Republic of Carrboro, they'll haul you in for Environmental Assault before the match hits the ground.

So back to my motivations. How long could I go without initiating any action on my own? Would anyone notice? Heck, would *I* notice? If I took just one day, and did nothing but what I was told, suggested, or asked to do, what would be the result? Now here's a thought that frightens me: Would my life be better or worse? In the interests of science, I've gotta try it. It's too good an idea not to.

*First Coke in two weeks. I gave it up in interest of my calorie defecit**, but the vending machine was out of water so I took it as a message from The Almighty that I could have a pass for being good to my car.

** My next blog post will be about consumption, coming soon to an interweb near you.

Queens are good people

So last December I sent a Christmas card to Queen Elizabeth II. She's still working hard at 82, and I thought she'd like to know that those of us on this side of the pond were thinking of her. Yesterday I received a nice little note from Sandringham House, where Her Majesty spends the holidays. Royal Post, Air Mail no less, with her own initials on the post mark.

I guess when you're (deep breath now) "Her Majesty Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of Great Britain, Ireland and the British Dominions beyond the Seas Queen, Defender of the Faith, Duchess of Edinburgh, Countess of Merioneth, Baroness Greenwich, Duke of Lancaster, Lord of Mann, Duke of Normandy, Sovereign of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, Sovereign of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Sovereign of the Most Illustrious Order of Saint Patrick, Sovereign of the Most Distinguished Order of Saint Michael and Saint George, Sovereign of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, Sovereign of the Distinguished Service Order, Sovereign of the Imperial Service Order, Sovereign of the Most Exalted Order of the Star of India, Sovereign of the Most Eminent Order of the Indian Empire, Sovereign of the Order of British India, Sovereign of the Indian Order of Merit, Sovereign of the Order of Burma, Sovereign of the Royal Order of Victoria and Albert, Sovereign of the Royal Family Order of King Edward VII, Sovereign of the Order of Mercy, Sovereign of the Order of Merit, Sovereign of the Order of the Companions of Honour, Sovereign of the Royal Victorian Order, Sovereign of the Most Venerable Order of the Hospital of St John of Jerusalem." you get to have your own post mark. How cool is that?

Celebrity Status

Have you noticed that celebrities just don't try any more? Time was, a celebrity felt some responsibility to maintain an image and give us regular schlubs someone to look up to. The true stars of old would revel in their fame and the reflect the spotlight back to their adoring fans a hundred times more brightly.

Now they hop in and out of black SUVs wearing baseball hats and sunglasses. Unshaven guys (and girls), no makeup, no haircut, they don't even tuck their shirts in for Pete's sake! They get paid umpteen bajillion dollars to pretend to be somebody else, and when they finally get a chance to be themselves they dress down to the Headin-out-to-Walmart-for-a-six-pack-and-some-Pringles level. I mean, Natalie Portman could walk through that door right now, and she'd be just another skank-ass bitch in sweat pants.* I want more from my celebrities.

Heck, if I was famous, you'd never hear the end of it. If I was Viggo Mortenson I'd never take the freakin' sword off. Lord Aragorn, Elindel's Heir and King of Gondor, always gets a table, bro.

Can you imagine how much fun James Earl Jones must have with his answering machine? He can make Darth Vader say anything he wants. "It is as I have forseen. Leave a message after the tone. I will return your call. The circle will be complete."

Liberace had it right. Live the dream.

I guess we can add celebrity glamor to the list of things the internet has killed, just after the ability to get away with lying about trivia (damn Wikipedia!).


*Nat, babe. You know I'm kidding.