I hate browsers

Note: I wrote this last night, but blogger's site was down so all instances of "today" really mean yesterday.

I just wrote a long and inspired blog. Then my browser crashed. Damn. I will attempt to reconstruct it as well as I can, but I fear that my muse has fled. Scared off, no doubt, by my fit of rage after seeing my work vanish. So, as you read please pretend that each sentence is either hilarious or insightful, and that each word is masterfully chosen and impeccably placed.

The poison ivy is still tormenting my arm and various other body parts. I feel like a leper. My skin is discolored and sickly looking. Unclean. Applying anti-itch cream merely makes it sticky as well as bumpy. What a stupid plant. What does poison ivy have to gain by my suffering? Since the painful effects don't take hold immediately dumb animals would have no way of knowing which leaves to avoid. And intelligent ones like myself are merely infused with desire to destroy the vile plant. It's as if the plant were only meant to harm out of spite.

I went running today. I hope to make a regular habbit of this. I've been growing increasingly annoyed at being out of shape. Perhaps I should have ended the previous sentence after the first four words. Anyway, it's time to trim up a bit. About two thirds of the way through today's run I passed a young boy, maybe 11 or 12 years of age. He was wearing running pants and an fatigued expression. As I passed the boy he glanced up at me and sprinted forward. This only took him a short distance ahead of me before he slowed again to a walk. As my pace brought me near the boy he struggled forward in short bursts of sprinting, looking back in between. When I eventually reached him seemed to give up and slowed down. He fell well behind me as I jogged onward. I was surprised to hear his rapid footsteps behind me a couple minutes later. What a determined young man, I thought. The sound of sprinting was a fair distance behind me but growing closer. As he drew near I could hear his steps growing uneven and labored. He was struggling to keep up the pace, very slowly closing the gap. Arriving beside me out of breath he spoke up saying, "excuse me, is this your key?" Since my running shorts don't have pockets I take my spare key with me, hanging around my neck on a string. Without my key I would have been locked out of my car, carrying nothing but a piece broken string. I was amazed the kid had chased me down to return the key. I found myself wishing I had a few bucks on me to show how much I appreciated his effort. Would I help someone if it required as much energy? I hope so, and I'll try to remember the example set by this kid.

Jonathan Gold is a restaurant reviewer for the LA Weekly. Today, he disturbed me, greatly. His review for Pie 'N Burder (which is a fine place) explaining why the burgers are good contained the the following:

the slice of American cheese, if you have ordered a cheeseburger, does not melt into the patty, but stands glossily aloof.

Why is this man trying to sound poetic while describing American cheese? And why does he seem to appreciate cheese's failure to melt as any real cheese would? I suggest that the line be changed to read,

the slice of American cheese, being a petroleum byproduct, has a high enough melting point that it merely becomes slick with the greese instead of softening up.

Aloof, my ass.

Ohio

I arrived in Ohio on the 10th in order to attend by brother's baccalaureate the following day. It was the first time since 9/11 that I made it through the airport unharrassed. Normally I'm pulled out of line by a big hairy guy whose idea of a fun evening is probably giving anal probes to anyone who doesn't want one. Last time I was even required to undo my belt, pants button and zipper. I was then forced (I kid you not) to stand there and expose my boxers to anyone walking by while the big hairy guy groped by legs. I tried to do up my pants after he finished staring at my crotch, but he instisted I continue to hold my pants open until instructed otherwise. Anyway, this time was much better. Things seemed to be going well enough that I even dared to hope that someone interesting might sit next to me. However, my only companion for the flight looked like a child molester. He had an Ed Rooney look, combed back hair, outdated clothes. His skin looked vaguely unhealthy and oily. He sported a creepy moustache and long finger nails. I even thought about saying to him, "look, you could be one of the nicest guys on the plane, but you really need to change your appearance if you ever hang around kids." I spent most of the flight staring out the window listening to the molester snoring.

On the night of my arrival in Ohio I was chatting with my brother when a bat flew past us. We puzzled over how a bat might have entered the house while following it from room to room. Eventually, the bat flew downstairs and we found it hanging from a door frame. After taking some photos of the sleeping bat we had the idea of one of us prodding the bat while the waited to snap a live action shot. It was both disappointing and amusing to find that the bat could not be persuaded to fly away from the door frame with any reasonable amount of poking or noise making. Fine, I thought, if it wont move, I'll pick it up. I'm still surprised a wild bat allowed me to hold and carry it in my hands. I even have a picture to prove it. Dan carried the bat outside and we waited, expecting it to fly away to freedom. But, it just sat in Dan's hands. We became worried that despite our best attempts at gentleness the bat had been injured. We even discussed the idea of calling an emergency vet, or looking up bat care online. Then, silently and without warning, the bat fluttered away leaving Dan with empty cupped hands. Seeing and feeling a bat up close was amazing. Soft fur, elastic wings, tiny claws, cute ears. They are masters of technology, experts of flight, and weigh less than a slice of bread. I even felt it's heart beating as I held it. We spent the rest of the evening in a daze of awe.

The highlight of the trip was, of course, seeing my brothers graduate. The first weekend I saw Alex graduate from Wooster followed by Dan's graduation from Carnegie Mellon the next weekend. Wooster's commencement speaker was fantastic. She was the real author of a speech often mislabeled as Kurt Vonnegut's speech at MIT. CMU, sadly, had to listen to John Kerry's wife give one of the most boring speeches in human history. She is also on the board of directors for CMU, why can't a university with that much money be a bit more creative? On the last Sunday of my visit we gathered with friends and family for a big celebration. Wow, both my younger brothers now have degrees, unlike me. I suppose I should look into getting one too, it seems like the thing to do these days.

Even now I'm suffering from a scathing rash of poison ivy. Ohio is covered with the vile plant and I regretably agreed to help with yard work at my uncle's place. Three weeks of itching and oozing for the sake of clearing undergrowth. All of the yard work and the celebration preparations resulted in a significant build up of trash. When it became clear that the dumpsters at my uncle's place would not survive till the next trash pick-up my brothers and I were coerced into helping dispose of the trash in a less legitimate way. Thus, I found myself clinging to the edge of a rusty pick-up bed trying to ignore the smell creeping out of the bins and bags next to me. We were driving down small Ohio roads at night in search of a school or other public building which might contain a dumpster but no security guards. The chilly evening air gave the experience a rather unique quality of being simultaneously cold and stinky. It must have been quite a site, three shivering guys in the bed of the truck surrounded by overflowing trash bins. I'm amazed that we weren't pulled over by the police car we passed.

My return from Ohio was also smooth and uneventful. I think some of the hysteria has faded and airport security has become slightly less unreasonable. TSA now allows you to take safety razors, nail clippers and other reasonable items on board. Maybe now I'll get to see terrorists try to take over a plane with tweezers. "Don't move or I'll pluck his nose hairs." The TSA website provides a list of items each marked with a yes or no. You can learn to avoid such items as gasoline and hand grenades. It also requests that you check such items as power saws and cattle prods.

Just a few days after my return I made an interesting discovery about my flight to Ohio last Chistmas. Before bording the flight to Cleveland I noticed a gorgeous girl in the waiting area. Hoping to strike up a conversation I sat near her and introduced myself. She gave me her name and I learned that she was returning home for the holidays after doing a photo shoot with playboy. Since the flight was nearly empty I invited her to join me in my row, but no dice. This weekend a poster on fark linked to a picture which I recognized as the girl on my flight. It turns out she was the playmate of the month for April of this year. So, that's my new claim to fame, I tried to chat up Miss April.

This blog entry is pieced together from various brief attempts to write. It's late, it's jumbled, oh well.

I am torn and distraught over my utter failure to blog for a so long. But, through the tears and gnashing of teeth I have managed to pull myself together for a short blog entry. Let's see, what have I been up to lately? Killing myself, mostly. Over the last two weeks I have spent enough time in front of my monitor that I probably glow at night. But, being the geek I am, this self-inflicted torture is kind of fun. Last wednesday my new computer arrived. New toys are always fun. This was also a chance to play with a new version of linux, a new video card and an excess of new software. But, amid the excitement were problems like open GL not working with RedHat 9 or my mp3 playing freezing up constantly. Pleasure and pain. I think it takes a mildly perverse mind to be a geek. Anyway, this has consumed most of my waking hours and eliminated most of my sleeping hours. To make things more difficult this has been one of the most busy times ever at my job.

But, it has at least kept me busy. The extra burden helps to drive back the avalanche of laziness which normally buries my life day by day. This makes for a happier week, albeit an exhausting one. I'm always surprised at how much my mood is affected by my level of accomplishment. After finishing a significant amount of work I'm happier and energetic. This generally results in further productivity. The difficult part is keeping this state. It's far too easy for some external force to interfere with work or some internal force to interfere with my mood. Then the cycle is reversed. I tend to start each day depressed that I have so much to do because I accomplished so little the previous day. This disposition has a shockingly negative effect on my productivity. The lack of work frustrates me which digs me deeper and deeper into the cycle. When depressed I am easily overwhelmed. So, how does one stay in a good cycle? I certainly haven't found the key yet. Discipline, I suppose. But, discipline requires routine, which tends to land life in a rut. Which is depressing. I was fairly disciplined and productive when I worked for Lawstar and had to come in at 8:30, but it was also one of the most frustrating periods of life. So, where is the magical balance? Or, will my life always tend toward one of the extremes? Well, that's probably more introspection than anyone wants to hear.

So, moving on to philosophy. Last week I noticed that Jenny had set her chat alias to "after the game the king and the pawn go into the same box". I've been reflecting on this interesting bit of wisdom. Do black and white pieces get along after the game? Does the defeated king, surveying his reunited army, think to himself, "what a bunch of numbskulls, no wonder we lost." Does the first pawn to die still hold a grudge against that sneaky bishop? Perhaps later that evening he and some of his pawn friends will jump the bishop and beat the crap out of him. Sneaky bastard probably deserves it.

Anyway, I'm in Ohio now. I've had many adventures since coming here, but I'll have to tell you about them all in my next blog.