Crankin'

Wow. I haven't cracked a book in nearly a month. This is only my second blog entry for March. Robots and Eggs has even fallen from grace with the Egg Waxing Savage Monkeys who used to hang out here. Ok, I did do laundry once and mow the grass, now green thanks to days in the 70's and some rain. Where have I been and what have I been doing?

Generally I've been absorbed in writing software again. Something I have not done much of since last June, when my last big project wrapped up. I wanted write some more code before the seven month hiatus turned into a year and my brain got stale. So I'm writing a small utility for a Semi-Addictive Turn Based Online Game - Strategy that I've been playing, called UltraCorps instead of SATBOGS. SATBOGS? This is why I write code instead of wearing dark socks and doing marketing. The UltraCorps link is on the right.

Programming for me is like falling down a deep well full of Krispey Kremes, and eating my way to back to the top, only without the bloated feeling, listlessness, hyperactivity, and short term coma that come after. It's nice to have large blocks of uninterrupted time to get fully immersed in what you're doing (think about the doughnut analogy again), enjoy the process (warm with sprinkles) and really have accomplished something when you're done (yummm).

It's important to pick a project where you're not fully in charge of the requirements. If you define the problem yourself, there's the temptation to avoid things that are tedious, very complicated, or are otherwise unappealing. (Unlike doughnuts.) That takes away from the challenge, and you don't learn much by doing things you already understand. It's also nice to be in control of all phases of the project from start to finish.

First you pick a project, define generally what you want it to do, and set some vague goals for the other phases. Then you figure out how you're going to solve the main problems and model your solution. Next you write some code, refine your model, and if you're lucky expand your initial goals to include lots of cool things that didn't occur to you when the project was new. Then you refine the code, clean up the once-in-a-blue-moon bugs, and add all the stuff that seperates the good software from the marginally useful. Things like GUI usability testing, tool tips, elegant error handling, and open file formats can all help the software be more of a tool than an obstacle.

It's reassuring to know that I've still got it, and that I still like it. We're moving back to Chapel Hill in the fall, and I'll be fully participating in our economy once more.

I like my tools. My desk, my old swivel chair from the Mind Tools days, my 19" ViewSonic LCD, my big white board (another Mind Tools artifact) are all things I rely on without having to think about. Office supplies keep getting better. I especially like the low-oder, funky colored white board markers they sell now. It's popular to bash MS Windows, but my homemade PC with the skull-and-crossbones covered vent in the top has been up for (checks systeminfo) 18 days, 17 hours, 3 minutes, 8 seconds. I think that's the last time the power went out, and the UPS beeping was driving me nuts. The wired and wireless network works. I can use my handmedown laptop into the back yard for the 45 mins or so it takes to drain the battery. I can even plug it into the home theater amp reciever downstairs and blast Jimmy Buffett , A Prairie Home Companion , or just shuffle all of my ripped CDs (accessed through simple file sharing, no streaming required) and see what comes out.

Life is good.

Never Have So Many Given So Much...

... so that so few can have so little.

Dude, the grass is dead. It will come back when it's been warm for awhile and it rains a little bit. But for right now, it's dead. It will be green again. But it's not green now. Now it is dead.

Green = alive, Brown = dead.

What you have is brown grass, the dead kind.

Mowing it will not make it grow faster. Mowing is what cuts the top ends off of live grass and makes it dead grass. Your grass is already dead grass. All the way down to the ground. Dead.

Dead Grass + Lawn Mower = Dead Grass Clippings (NOT, I repeat, NOT, living grass).

I know you miss mowing your lawn. Everyone needs a passion in their life, but this is not the time for yours. This is the time for the grass to be brown (brown = dead, remember?) and for people to do other things. Things besides mowing dead grass.

Don't lose heart, for Spring will come again. Life will be renewed, and the roar of Briggs and Stratton will once more rumble 'cross these verdant plains of East-Central Alabama. Once more shall you cheerily trace your grid, decapitating any shoot so bold as to reach more than 1/16th of an inch above its neighbors.

Then, my brother, I shall rejoice with you. I shall drink deeply of Ice Tea and Lemonade, and from my reclining lawn chair heap praise upon your noble effort to sieze the rudder of nature's destiny, and, God-like, bend it to your will. In the glow of success, when missed spots have been pointed out and shorn, weeds eradicated, small engine maintenance tips exchanged, at the apex of your triumph, I might let you mow my grass too.

But not until it's green.

Mis Huevos Estan Lustrosos

As if being the top google site for "Savage Monkeys" wasn't enough, MSN has jumped on the bandwagon and proclaimed my not so humble blog as tops for "Waxing Eggs". I expect Microsoft is just jockeying for market share, but they're gonna have to come up with the big bucks just like everyone else.

Click here to see for yourself:

Fruit d'Loom Man

Men don't shop; we buy. We take all the time we could have wasted trying on clothes and comparing things and agonizing over brand labels, and we watch televised sports instead. Today is my triannual cotton undergarment replacement day. Thirty pairs of socks, thirty pairs of bloomers: 15 minutes - max. Actually, since each bag had a bonus pair, I wound up with 35 pair of briefs, instead of 30. See? I didn't "shop", but I saved 16.7% without trying. Had the self-service register taken Susan B. Anthony dollars it would have been the best trip ever.

Yeah, but jeeze-louise Tom, thirty pair of underwear, isn't that a bit, well... No, it's not, and I'll tell you why. On the long list of necessary but mundane things I don't like to think about, underwear ranks pretty near the top, above pencil sharpeners, but below lawn care (don't get me started). So, in an effort to streamline such things and free my mind for deeper and more rewarding pursuits, I adopted Tom's Monthly Laundry System. [Don't abbreviate that or the National Board of Realtors will swoop down and "Cease and Desist" your ears off, just after they try to convince you that their SUVs somehow get better mileage than everyone else's, Big Gold is still in fashion, and that "Perception is Reality"*, especially if you have a corner lot.]

It's all about effeciency and economy of scale. If you have thirty pairs of underwear, you only have to do laundry once a month. If you never turn your socks inside out, you never have to turn them rightside out. If all your socks match, you never have to sort them. Just reach into the drawer and grab two, any two, and you're set. Dress socks in a different drawer and only for dressy occasions please. Plus, if you do you shopping right before laundry day, just toss out the dirty whites, and you save at least one load of laundry every three years. Over the course of my adult life that's a savings of over 20 loads. Less wasted water, less detergent in our water system, and less electricity used. I expect Mother Nature to ring my doorbell any minute and give me a big ol' sloppy kiss. And I thought new socks were good for my self-esteem.

Life's a jungle. If you're going to get through it, you have to have a plan.



*This belief is at the foundation of why Realtors act they way they do. To quote J.R. "Bob" Dobbs, "Pull the Wool Over Your Own Eyes!"

The Twin Peaks of Kilimanjaro

Well, not really. It's carpeted and climate controlled, and there's only one of them, but when you're a strictly indoor kitty (due to feline leukemia), it'll do. I wanted to give the cat something to climb on that wasn't already covered in books, so I had to construct something new. She can sleep in the afternoon sun, watch the birds and squirrels, or snooze in her basket way up in Micheal Jordan territory.

The World's #1 Resource for Savage Monkeys

As of this writing, Yours Truly's blog, this very one you are reading now, is Google's top website for "savage monkeys". Selected by highly sophisticated algorithms from more than 1.3 Million lesser sites, Robots and Eggs stands alone as the primary electronic resource for savage monkeys and those who google them.

If that's not making your mark on the world, I don't know what is.

Try it for yourself!

In the Dark Everything Looks Clean

A man looks out of his window at the neighbor's driveway, across the street:

"Mable! Com'ere an' take look at this! That crazy neighbor of ours is out in his driveway, washin' his car!"

"Yeah, I cain't hardly see for all the fog, but I think that's his four year old spraying the hose all over creation."

"No, I think she's the one throwing the soapy sponges all over creation. It's her daddy that's got the hose, but he ain't spraying it, it's just rainin' harder now."

"Well, If he don't have the sense to come in out of the rain, I guess he's not smart enough to know you can't wash a car right if you can't see the dirt."

"Lord ham mercy, it makes me cold just to look at 'em out there. It's gotta be 45 dee-grees by now."

"Should we go see if they're all right? I mean, you know, why would anybody be out there in this weather, washing their car?"

***

Tom's house, 10 minutes earlier:

"Come on Daddy, it'll be fun! Or, I guess we could watch The Lion King again."

"Sigh... I'll get the hose."

Game called on account of Giant Cat

The BattleBall finals were indefinately suspended today when a giant cat entered the field of play and fell asleep across the Iron Wolve's 20 yard line. Fans and players alike were more than disgruntled at the unscheduled break in hostilities. Unkthor (#24) , Heavy Tackle for the red-clad Black Harts, shown here in a futile attempt to pummel the offending feline [click picture to enlarge], was quoted as saying, "Unghh!". I think he speaks for all of us.

Real Fusion Cuisine

Microwaves? Feh. My oven has the most powerful heat source in the solar system. So powerful, in fact, that I can stand about 93,000,000 million miles away, and still cook lunch.

Granted, after four and a half hours the pasta was more like tapioca (195 degrees in the cooking jar), but the chicken came out nicely (189 degrees though, I expect the lower albedo of the tomato sauce accounts for the difference), even if the brown rice was slightly soggy. At least it's an uppper bound; which isn't bad for late January at 32.6 North Latitude. Next time I'll do a series of Pastas, removed at regular intervals until I find the al dente sweet spot. I expect the way to go is to start the sauce first, then add the plain pasta and water later, so they're both done at the same time.

Absolute Power corrupts absolutely?

We'll see. I finally made time to finish it.

The Heels won tonight.

I am a happy man.

On becoming more powerful

A decent bench power supply runs well into 3 digits, but good ones are all over, hiding in old PCs. I've been trying for two weeks to find time to convert mine.
{I was going to post a link here, but the url is longer than a blogspot line, so it just barfs, which is no great loss because any website silly enough to use the *entire* title of an article as part of the URL deserves as few incoming links as they can get. Ruff.}
[Reminder-because-now-I'm-a-grownup-and-worry-about-other-people: PC Power Supplies are Plug-Into-The-Wall items, so don't open them up unless you *know* what you're doing, and then you still have to be careful. Discharge those caps. And for the love of Pete, don't plug it in while the case is open. Also, like anything that has "wiki" in it, you've got to take responsibility for the consequences of believing what it says.]

Wow. Does that last paragraph make me sound old or what? I guess survival is hereditary.

Due to this and that (mainly an obsession with UltraCorps - see "Playing" links, a new cat, and now a munchkin with a stay-at-home cold) I haven't gotten much further than popping the top and cutting lots of wires. And I need some new drillbits. But then, everyone who has used drillbits needs new ones, so I'm not complaining.

Sigh. I've still got to clean up so I can organize my robot spooge, and find those firk-ding-blasted drill bits.

F is for Feline

We adopted a cat today, Gertrude, from the Humane Society. They listed her as an adult, but she's still got some kitten in her. She's fascinated with water, and almost jumped into a full bathtub earlier. She's settled in nicely for her first day, and seems to have decided that we're worthy subjects.

She's asleep on my lap as I write this. Maybe she'll allow me to stand when I'm finished. Then again, maybe I'll just sleep in my chair. There are few soporifics more potent than a sleeping lap cat.

Cookies for My Feet

Good haul this year, mostly books and DVDs. (Watch the "Reading" and "Finished" sidebars as I work through them.) Books on robot programming, games, Sci Fi, etc. Monty Python and the Holy Grail and The Incredibles, as well as The Cadfael Collection, on DVD should keep me motivated on the treadmill well into Febuary.

I'm setting a reminder in Outlook for July 1st, to remind me to do my Christmas Shopping early next year. That would be so cool, wouldn't it? To have your shopping all wrapped up before going to watch the fireworks. It would also help smooth out our holiday-driven retail economy.

Christmas in New Hampster

Christmas in the Frozen North with my in-laws has become our tradition. So has snow. When I was little a White Christmas was a rare and wonderful thing. Then we moved to the mountains and for four or five years it was almost a given. After a dozen years without, it was nice to spend Christmas in a place where I can see snow through the window behind the Christmas tree. It just feels right.

It feels even better with the shopping done, presents wrapped, a fire in the fireplace, and a smug grin.

Merry Christmas 2000 and something

Finally got around to sending Christmas cards. Last year's, this year's, some from the previous melineum... They're all good. People should get more credit for sending a late Christmas card than for sending one on time. It's harder to bite the bullet and call attention to one's own slackness by actually sending the card late, than it is to stand meekly by and let the calendar roll on. If you want to wait until July or so to send me a Christmas card, that's cool. It can be for 2005 and 2006.

Ahhhhh

Some guys cheat on their wives. Some guys gamble. Some guys embezzle their company's retirement funds. Me? I drink Coke.

Sorry.

41 is a Prime Number

It's been a good 41 years. There are some things I would be tempted to do differently, but I probably wouldn't, for fear of risking my current outcome. Now, I've always been risk averse. The best thing that can happen while skydiving is that I won't wind up as street pizza, and I can accomplish that right here, thanks.

There are a few "educators" I wish I'd told to stick it, and a few "teachers" I wish I could thank again for actually teaching me something.

The older I get, the harder it is to remember to have fun. Energy and irresponsibility are the twin hallmarks of youth, the catalysts of fun, and are in increasingly short supply as life gets more complicated. Back before the Post Office started pushing Sacajawea one dollar coins we had the Susan B Anthony coins, minted in 1979, but nobody ever used them. I could go to the bank, get a roll for $20, and have all kinds of fun for free. The blankest look I've ever seen was on the face of the girl at Burger King when I paid for my whopper and large drink with 3 or 4 Susies. At first she thought they were quarters and was waiting for me to put down the rest of the money. Then she looked more closely and thought they were Canadian. Meanwhile, I'm struggling to keep a straight face and acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Then she reads "United States" and "One Dollar", and goes back to ask the manager if she can accept those coins. The poor, harried manager was older, and had obviously seen them before. So now she's managed to ring me up, give me my change, and I leave her to figure out where to put the Susies, since the register doesn't have a coin slot for them.

Maybe tomorrow I'll go to the bank.

Waxing Nostalgic

Last night I came across my treasured collection of The Space Gamer magazines from the ‘70s and ‘80s (issues 8-72). I flipped through the pages, waxing nostalgic about all the fun I had playing games with friends and all the new friends I met through the games. Each page brought back its own set of memories. Issue #34, my first, I bought at Fred's Hobby and Cycle shop only because I had an extra three bucks burning a hole in my pocket. "Hey, these games are *cool*" I said to myself. (I grew up with Avalon Hill games (thanks Mark!) but by high school they were either trivial or just too dry.) "This is the guy that did OGRE!" There was also a good piece of short fiction by an unknown writer named Timothy Zahn. Double-sweet, and I was hooked.

Back in the day TSG was my once a month connection to the gaming world. During the summer I'd hang out on the front porch, listening to tapes and reading, but really I was waiting for the mail man. He'd drive to the end of my block with a half dozen of the neighborhood dogs in tow. They loved to chase that white Jeep with the steering wheel on the wrong side, and then follow the mailman as he went from house to house, wagging and sniffing. This grand procession went from house to house down the other side of the street then back up mine. Most days, Glenn, as I came know him, would hand me a stack of bills, circulars, and things marked Resident or Occupant, two very popular folks. It’s strange that I never met them, since we lived at the same address. Maybe they were out all the time handing out business cards. Once in awhile though, I'd see that tell-tale white mailing cover with the bold black print and Glenn would flash a great big smile under his big bushy mustache and ask, "Is this what you're looking for?" as he handed me my forty or so pages of adventure, imagination and *fun*. Eventually he'd skip ahead and do my house first if it was Space Gamer Day. Small town mailmen are great.

I think I became a professional programmer in large part because well written game rules are fundamentally human-executed computer programs. Simulations, modeling the real world in simpler, well defined terms, are fun to create. Modeling an unreal world, a game world, is even more fun. When is comes to sociability though, computers and software can't compete with board games, RPGs and the like. We'd cook out, pig out, and play Illuminati until 3:00 am. The International Communist Conspiracy gets destroyed by the Boy Sprouts. There was the time a new “assassin” made his grenades with a double handful of flour, instead of the recommended two teaspoons. Once I got killed with a banana because my mom forgot we were playing "that game" and let Brian just waltz into our house with his lunch sack, point the banana at me and “Bang” I was a goner. Twenty years later when we all get together, these stories keep coming up.

Now I'm mostly grown up with a nuclear family of my own. I don't have much time for games these days, but I still play with my nephews when my extended family gets together at the beach. They always bring along a copy of whatever flavor of Munchkin they're into, and it’s a good way to connect as they grow older. It also solves the problem of what to give when holidays and birthdays come around.

To me, games are tools for having fun. New designs and game mechanics have raised the bar considerably over the last 25 or 30 years, but like any other tool, it’s all in how you use it. So I’d like to say “Thanks” to SJ and the SJG staff for many of the great games I’ve played over the years. You keep making them and I’ll keep playing them.

Crank Mode

^- my current desktop (click it for a larger image)

Wrap some presents, make some pizza dough, and get back to work. Of course, in order to work efficiently I'll need to clean my office. Which means stuffing 16 unpacked boxes into the closet. That leads to rearranging the closet. And in order to do that I've got to move some things into the bedroom; the prerequisite being that I clean off the shelves on the big white bookcase there. I can do that, but then I'll need to box that stuff up, and where to put the boxes? I know! I'll just stuff them in my office!

A Jar of Pop, A Hunk of Meat, and Thou

After another round trip to NC, barbequed pork shoulder on my new big honkin' grill, Thanks giving dinner (turkey, not pork) , and 25 huge bags of leaves, it's good to be back in the home-groove for awhile.

Here's a good recipie for bean relish. Let it sit in the fridge overnight and it will provide a cool, slightly sweet and tangy counterpoint to many fish and poultry dishes, especially grilled ones.

1 can pintos (14 oz)
1 can black beans (14 oz)
1 medium onion (chopped or minced)
1 large diced tomato
1 diced green bell pepper
1 can corn (14 oz)
1 tablespoon vinegar (more or less, to taste)
1 teaspoon brown sugar (or honey or molasses)
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 sprinkle freshly ground black pepper

Stir all of the ingredients together and store covered in a glass or plastic bowl overnight in the fridge.

No progress on super secret projects to report. Nanowrimo word count is a depressing 5,665. But I'm not going to let the deadline, which is supposed to be a motivator, turn into a reason for not finishing. Besides, I was out of town for a week. Maybe I can finish it by my birthday.

Speaking of which I'd better stop writing here so I can write there.