Save the Zero!

I've made a personal lifestyle choice. I've decided to see if I can go the rest of my life without using the zero button on the microwave. Now, it would be ironic if I were struck down by a rogue meteor before tomorrow morning's Pop-Tart. Ironic and painful. But wait, isn't irony only for the unexpected? Since I'm sending this out to the world, one can hardly now consider the rogue meteor "unexpected", which would make it cliched, rather than ironic. So I must be safe, as I avoid cliches like the plague. Ooh, you say, a sudden plague would be more than a little ironic, wouldn't it? Dang. I'm not gonna sleep tonight.

Anyhow, back to the microwave. I've recently started to notice that the zero is always the most worn button on any microwave control pad. It gets more use than "Popcorn", and for no good reason. It gives one a useless illusion of precision, nothing more. Who's to say you should nukulate that slice of pizza for 60 seconds, rather than 55 or 66? If you forswear the naught button, you'll be off by no more than 10%, and it's a 50/50 chance that it'll be an improvement. So stop kidding yourself. Try 53 seconds sometime. 11 seconds is almost 10, plus you save the time you would have spent finding zero with your finger. In that split second you just might be struck with the inspiration of what to say to that fetching, raven haired beauty who's presence overwhelms your basic motor skills and who's absence haunts your sleepless nights. Hint: "Hey" has always worked for me.

By "worked" I mean elicited no reaction whatsoever.

I don't expect you to follow my path unless you feel it in the depth of your being. Don't do it for me. Do it for yourself.

Office Pets

My office sea monkeys have produced a second generation. I wonder what sort of mutations we got this time. Code monkeys perhaps? Hmmm... I wonder if they know sea sharp? Probably not; I expect they'd stay away from dot net.

Meanwhile, the hexbot I solared-up continues to revel in the morning sunshine.

This One's Too Easy

No Nada No More

Too many projects, too little time. Here's a list of the cool things I'd rather be doing than sitting on the couch, plotzed after a long day. Or should I say after the 45 min commute after a long day. Maybe it's the getting up at 6:15 that's doing it. At least it's not age. I know it's not age. Just like I know it's not crappy diet, lack of exercise, lack of gumption, and absolutely, positively, without a doubt Mr. Congressmen I can say unequivocally that the problem lies far outside the realm of sleep deprivation.

Remember all those times when you were a kid, and you'd whine around the house that you were bored? BORED? Hell, I haven't been bored since January 7th, 2001. (Right before my wife told me we were expecting.) If I could go back in time I'd slap my freakin' face off. Nowadays I *dream* of being bored. Sometimes I sneak out of work just to sit in the Dentist's office. They ask me when my appointment is, and I say, "Oh, not for another few months, but don't worry about me, I'm fine just sitting here." They look at me like I'm wearing a fish for a hat, because they don't appreciate the sublime joy of being bone idle. Disengaged. Off line. Non tasked. I'm talking as unoccupied as the Bates Hotel after Norman took his state-sponsored sabbatical.

Part of the problem is that new problems are more attractive than old ones. If the world would just slow the (Sweet Molly O'Grady! I almost dropped the F Bomb) down, maybe I could catch up.

Anyhow, one day I'd like to teach my PC to play a decent game of GEV. Then I'd have something to do when I'm bored.

Workin' for The Man

It's a bit of a tradition for me to not work on ACC Tournament Friday, but this year I've got both a real job and way too much on my plate to justify taking even a half day off to watch basketball on TV. Even if I could take a half day off I'd drive down to my Dad's and wish him Happy Birthday instead. (Happy Birthday Dad! Einstein didn't get all the March 14th Brains.)

As it is, I'll just post this rough composite photo from last December in the Dean Dome. Though the game was a partial sellout, there was a pretty good crowd. We just like to show up early and nosh the sumptuous grindage we call Dean Cuisine.

The long and winding road

My opponent's vicious mudslinging attacks aside, I do have a life even when I'm not writing about it. Here are some of the places I've been in the past few months. By "few" I mean five or six.

Robots and Eggs endorses McCain

People get the government they deserve.

Pick the issues you care about, do some real research, and vote.

Hold the Mayo!

Heaven only knows what they're putting in mayonnaise these days.

I'm just sayin'.

Time Changes Everything

Maybe it's just me, but Halloween Jack-O-Lanterns are scarier on Thanksgiving.

Another One Bites the Dust

I checked off another of the ten things I want to finish by the end of the year. A friend of mine had an old circuit board he wanted framed as a keepsake. I volunteered (last March) and though it really didn't take that much total time, there were long intervals where I was doing other things. Today I am pleased to announce it's completion.

There is a row of green LEDs along the top inside the frame that give it a cool greenish glow at night. But it doesn't photograph well with my punky camera and even punkier photographic skills.

Still, I am pleased. Phone is hacked. Circuit board mounted and ready for delivery. Bathroom tile in the hands of a professional. Three down, seven to go.

RAZR HAXOR REX

So I had to flip a few bits and edit a config file to transfer MY photos from MY phone to MY computer. I dream of world where people don't intentionally cripple their products to exploit bogus revenue streams. I dream of worlds with free ice cream too. And sprinkles. Lots of sprinkles.

this is a spiffy test document to post to my blog

I like it!

I can post directly from google docs to my blog. Bichin!

(The above image brought to you by Tom's UltraCorps combat simulator, which may just be out in time for the holidays! By "holidays" I mean Elvis's birthday.

Halleluja! Thank You Jesus! Praise the Lord! I'm Still Here!

So, how was your summer?

Good. Mine was good too. Moved into the new office. Went to the beach. Harvested the crops. Got a Hybrid (avg 48 mpg without ac, 45 with). Saw Paul Thorn in Charlotte. Grilled foodstuffs. A friend loaned me the Firefly DVD set. Hawsome. If TV was that good more often, I'd watch it.

Why did I not blog for five months? Mostly because I don't have it together enough to keep a camera with me for those all important illustrations. I've been too busy/lame to hack my cell phone so I can get MY pictures off of MY phone without paying extra for THEIR BS data service. It's not the money that bothers me, it's the principle that I own the content that I create, and I own the phone that I created with it. I didn't buy a license to use their phone to take pictures that they can sell back to me. I bought the damn phone. It's mine. Period.

So until I violate some firmware you'll just have to close your eyes and imagine a pleasing juxtaposition of items from my odd, but mostly benign existence. Or check out the spiffy NANOWRIMO icon, as I'm giving it another shot this year. Be patient if you click it for their servers walk not the path of the Jedi.

You can stop sending those petitions

North Carolina can rest easy now; because, finally, Fried Balogna has come back to Burlington!

Everybody knows hot food is better and more nutritious than cold food. So it stands to reason that a traditionally cold food (bologna, which lives way way down at the bottom of the cold-cut food chain) is better, and better for you, when it's hot. And what better way to heat something than to fry it? For it's the patented frying process that allows all those savory bologna juices to emerge and claim their rightful place in the Alamance County Pantheon of Foods. Meat, and uh... stuff, deemed substandard by the hot dog industry (holy crap!), is reground to a finer paste, then extruded as big rubbery cylinder that rises above it's humble, no... meager? no... wretched? Yes, Wretched! beginnings upon contact with the frying pan and earns a spot in the biscuits of discriminating epicureans of the North Carolina highways.

Now that they accept credit cards, one can even finance fried bologna. Hmm, how would you list that in the monthly budget?

There's Something Out There

I'm one of those people who often falls into a rut and doesn't realize it for a long time. When things don't change, my perceptions get lazy and I am less likely to notice what little there is going on around me, which makes the my rut deeper and harder to snap out of.

It's a self-reinforcing cycle.

The upside is that when I do finally drag myself out of it the world is made all the more glorious for its sometimes tiny swirls of order and chaos.

You don't see what I see.

Rain Maker 3000

Expect unprecedented rain and clouds over central North Carolina for the next few months. I've just completed my new solar oven, a more durable version of this guy . Made of plywood and acrylic mirrors, the Rain Maker 3000 is sure to bring down soggy gloom on all your outdoor cooking efforts. The fact that I was able to set it up for a few minutes this afternoon only shows how nature loves to taunt us.

I still need to insulate the oven box, and find a good seal for the glass top, so all those precious BTUs I've worked so hard to collect will stay in the oven and actually cook something. Further updates as events warrant.

To go boldly where no man has gone before...

They'll split my infinitive when they pry it from my cold dead larynx.

Back when the solar system was young, there was life in my back yard. That was thousands of dollars ago. Now that the trees are gone and the long, dark, brutal North Carolina winter is coming to an end, it's time to grow grass.

Yeah, right.

I could step out there right now, put a shovel in the ground, and come up with a big scoop of clay that you could throw, fire, glaze, and would last a thousand years. There are no organic components to that "soil", unless you count the two crickets and 40-odd ants that have freakin' starved to death trying to cross that vast, barren, unforgiving wasteland.

Back in Auburn all I needed was a few bags of composted cow manure.

This time I'll need a cow. Maybe a bison.

Sweet Success

Back when I was a young single guy living under a rock, Feb 15th was Half Price Valentine's Day Candy Day, and I'd reward my restraint by snarfing down double rations of the chocolate covered goodness. I thought it was pretty clever to get twice the goodies just by waiting one extra day.

Now that I'm, uh, wiser, I've come to realize the benefits that come with marriage and family. Specifically, that one can score seriously more sucrose-based nodules by being the only guy in a house full of chicks. All you have to do is establish the tradition that everyone gives everyone else Valentine's Day Candy, and the box count increases exponentially with the size of the family. As the only male in the household, it's my right, nay, my solemn duty, to save them from eating too much chocolate. I expect the violent involuntary shaking of my hands and limbs is burning off most of the calories anyway.

Old Mexico never tasted like this

Maybe really, really Old Mexico...

Just a reminder that anything still in your refrigerator from before Christmas, Kwanza and definately Channukah is now officially OLD. Even if you're Agnostic, Pagan, Believin' Atheist, or just too freakin' lazy to comptemplate your place in the world, contemplate this: Gazillions of those hairy, squishy, greenish grey bacterial buggers have been camping out for more than a month on what used to be your food. Eating, growing, multiplying, expanding in such a way as to... Well, you know what happens to food *after* it's been eaten, right? Right.

Now the more frugal of you may be tempted to scarf down the borderline items right before they cross the finish line. This can lead to Dangerous Combinations of things that, individually, may be food, but when combined undergo a nauseous metamorphosis that transcends culinary description and ventures into That Which Man Was Not Meant To Taste. Please, act responsibly. You only have one set of tastebuds, and they have to last your whole life.

Art is where you find it

...and sometimes art finds you. I could have taken a better picture, but I was too busy Rocking Out. Maybe one day, if you're really good, eat your Wheaties, and say your prayers, Paul Thorn will come to your town.