Credit goes to J.S. Augustine for the identification of the World of Meters! As a geographer, I like this kind of data/information. In fact, I like this page so much I will make it a permanent link on this page, so that I can check it more often.
It said that so far, the United States has spent $3.94 billion on perfume. About once a month, I spend $2.96 +tax at Wal-Mart for a cheap spray cologne called "Cool Mist" or something. I guess I might be slightly out of norm in this area.
--gh
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Boohbah...
I have seen the threat to the Teletubbies, and it is the Boohbah. Fear the Boohbah. What is this show about? I'm not sure, actually, I just discovered it. But we have another troupe of glandularly-challenged fuzzy and brightly colored creatures that respond to colors and rainbows and sign-wave-like sounds.
According to the creators, this show is superior because it:
In other words, "we're just making this up, and toddlers are too stupid to know otherwise."
Every thirty seconds some kid chants "Boombahhhhhhhh...", is it annoying? For me it isn't. I can watch ANYTHING. And Boombah is proof.
Maybe it is too late, but this game took me three tries!
Duh!
--gh
According to the creators, this show is superior because it:
"It is intended to foster a style of active
viewing in which the things that children learn
from viewing are not determined primarily by the
content of the program, but rather by the ways
that young viewers ... engage with the program."
In other words, "we're just making this up, and toddlers are too stupid to know otherwise."
Every thirty seconds some kid chants "Boombahhhhhhhh...", is it annoying? For me it isn't. I can watch ANYTHING. And Boombah is proof.
Maybe it is too late, but this game took me three tries!
Duh!
--gh
Friday, October 22, 2004
Resume Templates
So I am writing up a resume for a grant our department is applying for. It's weird that I have to write a resume, because with tenure you would think that wouldn't come up again. But, I get it.
Usually in academia, we write a curriculum vitae which is a fancy way of saying "the more pages I fill up, the more I rule the world from my Ivory Tower!"
But, this process needs an actual resume, the short kind, like the kind normal people would want to read. Five years ago, if you started typing a resume, you were accosted by a paperclip that said something like "Dude, looks like you're-a writin' a resume" and then starts helping out. Where did that little imbecile go? I needed him!
So, I went to Microsoft's Office Templates to search for a template that fit. The one that suited me best was for Butcher/Meat Retail.
Somehow, that seems fitting.
No, not really. But I don't have the kind of career that moves around. In higher education instructional positions, moving around too much is actually a negative. That is something that administrators and faculty who cannot cope does.
My resume has to describe all of the innovative stuffs that I have done here, which looks fairly decent when you put it all together.
--gh
Usually in academia, we write a curriculum vitae which is a fancy way of saying "the more pages I fill up, the more I rule the world from my Ivory Tower!"
But, this process needs an actual resume, the short kind, like the kind normal people would want to read. Five years ago, if you started typing a resume, you were accosted by a paperclip that said something like "Dude, looks like you're-a writin' a resume" and then starts helping out. Where did that little imbecile go? I needed him!
So, I went to Microsoft's Office Templates to search for a template that fit. The one that suited me best was for Butcher/Meat Retail.
Somehow, that seems fitting.
No, not really. But I don't have the kind of career that moves around. In higher education instructional positions, moving around too much is actually a negative. That is something that administrators and faculty who cannot cope does.
My resume has to describe all of the innovative stuffs that I have done here, which looks fairly decent when you put it all together.
--gh
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Spam prose
Until my university gets their act together, I am stuck with over 70 SPAM each day. Man it is annoying. One of the IT guys told me that the solution was a $35k upgrade, and was shot down. Insane. But there is testing going on now and maybe it will get better by the end of the year.
Until then, my salvation is SpamBayes. It does a great job at catching just about anything. The Spammers out there are constantly trying to outsmart filters. Last summer, it was deliberate mispelling. (e.g. fixt hoam lone 5.3%). Knowing that this looked stupid, they then went to skipping letters or adding spaces (e.g. fix d home lo an, 5 .3%). Then at least you might think your computer is stupid. A few months ago the state-of-the-art was random words at the bottom of the email, which looked really weird. Today I found a spam message with random words, but written in white! Like someone wouldn't wonder what all the blank space was...
The words create an almost-poetry, which I thought I would share. I don't make it a habit of posting other people's work like poems, song lyrics, essays, but "Hebert" and the other financial wizards at Nokika.com did not put a copyright on this work. To complete the effect, you will need to highlight the text below.
--gh
Until then, my salvation is SpamBayes. It does a great job at catching just about anything. The Spammers out there are constantly trying to outsmart filters. Last summer, it was deliberate mispelling. (e.g. fixt hoam lone 5.3%). Knowing that this looked stupid, they then went to skipping letters or adding spaces (e.g. fix d home lo an, 5 .3%). Then at least you might think your computer is stupid. A few months ago the state-of-the-art was random words at the bottom of the email, which looked really weird. Today I found a spam message with random words, but written in white! Like someone wouldn't wonder what all the blank space was...
The words create an almost-poetry, which I thought I would share. I don't make it a habit of posting other people's work like poems, song lyrics, essays, but "Hebert" and the other financial wizards at Nokika.com did not put a copyright on this work. To complete the effect, you will need to highlight the text below.
"fosterite a gooseberry via barb,
not eqjwgs gould a of with an not qntylpgv
on or got for comic court backdrop curfew
guarantor are gruesome a with on
deviant sacral out mill it our munich firebreak
a no legislature poseur enhance are dante
leslie usaf escalate beribbon indefinite
indeterminacy? for compose in felix oiffp
out it on transmission bhutan vclyxuntk
our to not me preference itscrimea our ucxaob
hessian are of permeable Neffie
seminarian hockey us you a knuckle
on mineralogy. navel, out dinah kiva,
lloyd ldukkgj"
--gh
Monday, October 18, 2004
Newest Acquisition
I broke one of my rules today. I do not really care for garage sales (but I love pawn shops) and I don't stop on the street to rummage through garbage. This is difficult for two reasons: 1)garbage shopping runs in my family, and 90% of my LPs came from the garbage cans of Fairfax County, VA. 2)I drive a pickup truck.
However, I also have a strong urge not to accumulate needless items. But today, I could not resist the sign that said "FREE" attached to this jewel:
Does it work? Oh yeah.
(If you are curious about the wadded up tissues, you are witnessing a parenting event. One of the kids sopped up orange juice with paper towels and then discarded them on the floor. Only one kid drinks orange juice, and it is the same one that is also most likely to clean up. But obviously 90% is not really good enough for this job. Am I making a show of my parenting here? lol)
--gh
However, I also have a strong urge not to accumulate needless items. But today, I could not resist the sign that said "FREE" attached to this jewel:
Does it work? Oh yeah.
(If you are curious about the wadded up tissues, you are witnessing a parenting event. One of the kids sopped up orange juice with paper towels and then discarded them on the floor. Only one kid drinks orange juice, and it is the same one that is also most likely to clean up. But obviously 90% is not really good enough for this job. Am I making a show of my parenting here? lol)
--gh
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Port Foam
I didn't want to stay up late this evening, but I think I am forced to. I think we fed the dog a little too rich this weekend. A few hours ago, I let her out into the yard to do what I hoped would be the last of her business for the evening. It's cheap, but effective right before nighty-night.
From the yard I could see her making her famous grimace. This means that she is either about to yak-up, or make foam pour out of her hiney. The gaseous sounds eminating from the yard made it clear that the dog had diarrhea. I hate that, but I bet she hates it more.
I waited for one more "round" before I retrieved an Immodium tablet, broke it in half, and gave it to her. That stuff is usually effective. So far, it seems to be working. Funny how under this affliction you can go and go and go, and then after one small dose it all goes away. When I take it, I feel kind of dehydrated the next day, but that seems to be the only side effect. I don't know all of the dog's side effects, but I think Terra just likes to not be pitched forward in a patch of grass in the front yard foaming her port to oblivion.
So far, so good.
--gh
From the yard I could see her making her famous grimace. This means that she is either about to yak-up, or make foam pour out of her hiney. The gaseous sounds eminating from the yard made it clear that the dog had diarrhea. I hate that, but I bet she hates it more.
I waited for one more "round" before I retrieved an Immodium tablet, broke it in half, and gave it to her. That stuff is usually effective. So far, it seems to be working. Funny how under this affliction you can go and go and go, and then after one small dose it all goes away. When I take it, I feel kind of dehydrated the next day, but that seems to be the only side effect. I don't know all of the dog's side effects, but I think Terra just likes to not be pitched forward in a patch of grass in the front yard foaming her port to oblivion.
So far, so good.
--gh
umop apisdn is upside down upside down...
A few weeks ago I was in a restaurant in Jefferson City. I have eaten there several times, alone. Man, I hate eating in a restaurant by myself. This is a Denny's, or Perkins, or Country Kitchen or something, and at 7:30 pm is nearly empty. I don't really know how waitressing works, but it really annoys me that you get clumped together. I don't mind that they try to close sections down, but the hostess sat me right next to this normal looking young family with 2-3 kids. Frankly speaking, it might have been my family 10 years ago. The whole time I am walking in, this 4-year-old starts giving me the eye, and I am getting pissed off. Why do they have to stare like that? Of course, the hostess puts me right behind their booth, and this little nightmare is eyeballing me the whole time.
Fine, I think to myself. I will just sit with my back toward them and ignore them. Big mistake. If I sat facing their table, I could have given a few mean looks and most likely she would have stopped. However, with my back toward them, I could hear absolutely everything going on at their table. I ordered a coke and just started to simmer. I heard them moving silverware around. I heard the father talking to the kids in a way that was so annoying it made me want to take his fork and drive it through his face deviating his septum forcing him to snore for the rest of his life like a V8 running on 5 cylinders. (He sounded like he was showing off the fact that he was a parent talking to his kids. I can't really describe it, but some people have a way of making their family a public performance.)
On the other hand, they were not doing anything wrong at all. I was just ticked off about being seated so near them. I looked across the room and saw a guy sitting by himself eating a salad. Where was his surrogate family? Why did he have it so easy? I got so mad I got up and walked out. I don't even remember if they had brought the drink, but I didn't care. I ended up at a German restaurant in a whole room by myself eating schnitzels and several manner of sauerkraut.
A day later I was on my way home and tried to eat at a restaurant called Steak and Shake in Columbia, MO. This time the waitress was the one seating me, and sticks me next to all of these smoking customers with ashtrays all over my table. It was like eating in the Dark Ages or something. Amazing how living in a city with all smoke-free restaurants makes you so intolerant of a little pollution. I just was not in the mood for it. I used to put up with that, and now I am turning into my old man. Either that, or this particular trip put me in a foul mood. I told the waitress that I didn't smoke and didn't feel like eating around it. On my way out the door I heard her pleading with me that she could find another table.
So, walking out twice in two days. I was thinking that I turned a new chapter in my life, an assey one. But, I recovered once I got back to the 'ville.
--gh
Fine, I think to myself. I will just sit with my back toward them and ignore them. Big mistake. If I sat facing their table, I could have given a few mean looks and most likely she would have stopped. However, with my back toward them, I could hear absolutely everything going on at their table. I ordered a coke and just started to simmer. I heard them moving silverware around. I heard the father talking to the kids in a way that was so annoying it made me want to take his fork and drive it through his face deviating his septum forcing him to snore for the rest of his life like a V8 running on 5 cylinders. (He sounded like he was showing off the fact that he was a parent talking to his kids. I can't really describe it, but some people have a way of making their family a public performance.)
On the other hand, they were not doing anything wrong at all. I was just ticked off about being seated so near them. I looked across the room and saw a guy sitting by himself eating a salad. Where was his surrogate family? Why did he have it so easy? I got so mad I got up and walked out. I don't even remember if they had brought the drink, but I didn't care. I ended up at a German restaurant in a whole room by myself eating schnitzels and several manner of sauerkraut.
A day later I was on my way home and tried to eat at a restaurant called Steak and Shake in Columbia, MO. This time the waitress was the one seating me, and sticks me next to all of these smoking customers with ashtrays all over my table. It was like eating in the Dark Ages or something. Amazing how living in a city with all smoke-free restaurants makes you so intolerant of a little pollution. I just was not in the mood for it. I used to put up with that, and now I am turning into my old man. Either that, or this particular trip put me in a foul mood. I told the waitress that I didn't smoke and didn't feel like eating around it. On my way out the door I heard her pleading with me that she could find another table.
So, walking out twice in two days. I was thinking that I turned a new chapter in my life, an assey one. But, I recovered once I got back to the 'ville.
--gh
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Reviewing and "The Unburnable Flag"
About 2-3 years ago, a friend of mine told me that in addition to writing movie reviews, he was very proud of his Amazon.com reviews. The eclecticness of his reviews (movie reviews included) has always amused me. Tony reviews Al Gore's Earth in Balance in 2002! Then there is the Star Wars Sketchbook and Sounds from Star Trek reviews. So, I decided to write my own reviews.
Of course, I am not as interested in being helpful as Tony is. As you can see, Tony reviews dozens of items. Of course, most of his interest lies in material that is left of political center. (He describes himself as a proud liberal Democrat.) His movie reviews are even funnier. He rates everything from independent small distribution movies to foreign films to ill-fated blockbusters (like Wild, Wild, West! lol).
I don't have the patience to write movie reviews, but looking at Tony's work, I should reconsider.
I first met Tony in Bushnell Hall at Mary Washington College. (It is now called the University of Mary Washington. It might be the only state-funded institution of higher education named specifically after a woman, George's mom.) I could write a chapter in a book about this guy, he was so much fun, unless he was drinking. Golly, I hope he gave that up (sorry about the language). In 1988, the presidential issue of the time was flag burning. So, Tony took an American flag and immersed it into a milk jug full of water. He titled this work of art "The Unburnable Flag." It was genius because it still desecrated a flag while permanently keeping it from burning. I am not sure if he had any other good ideas that year, but who cares, that was better than anything Robert Maplethorpe produced. If only we had a picture.
A long time after that, possibly months, one of my roommates was with Tony and they were probably drinking up a storm. In Warren's drunken glory, he purchased "The Unburnable Flag" for $7.00! I thought this was amusing, and this meant that we were able to house this piece of art in our dorm room. I know much time had passed because the water was pink from the red ink coming off the flag. (Should have taken a professional picture!)
Apparently, Tony grew to resent this purchase. When he sobered up, he realized that he did not have "The Unburnable Flag" and was really sore at Warren. Warren would not give in, a deal was a deal. However, several weeks after, in another drinking binge, they got into it again and Warren gave it back. That I am aware of, Tony never gave the $7 back.
--gh
Of course, I am not as interested in being helpful as Tony is. As you can see, Tony reviews dozens of items. Of course, most of his interest lies in material that is left of political center. (He describes himself as a proud liberal Democrat.) His movie reviews are even funnier. He rates everything from independent small distribution movies to foreign films to ill-fated blockbusters (like Wild, Wild, West! lol).
I don't have the patience to write movie reviews, but looking at Tony's work, I should reconsider.
I first met Tony in Bushnell Hall at Mary Washington College. (It is now called the University of Mary Washington. It might be the only state-funded institution of higher education named specifically after a woman, George's mom.) I could write a chapter in a book about this guy, he was so much fun, unless he was drinking. Golly, I hope he gave that up (sorry about the language). In 1988, the presidential issue of the time was flag burning. So, Tony took an American flag and immersed it into a milk jug full of water. He titled this work of art "The Unburnable Flag." It was genius because it still desecrated a flag while permanently keeping it from burning. I am not sure if he had any other good ideas that year, but who cares, that was better than anything Robert Maplethorpe produced. If only we had a picture.
A long time after that, possibly months, one of my roommates was with Tony and they were probably drinking up a storm. In Warren's drunken glory, he purchased "The Unburnable Flag" for $7.00! I thought this was amusing, and this meant that we were able to house this piece of art in our dorm room. I know much time had passed because the water was pink from the red ink coming off the flag. (Should have taken a professional picture!)
Apparently, Tony grew to resent this purchase. When he sobered up, he realized that he did not have "The Unburnable Flag" and was really sore at Warren. Warren would not give in, a deal was a deal. However, several weeks after, in another drinking binge, they got into it again and Warren gave it back. That I am aware of, Tony never gave the $7 back.
--gh
Mexico readership
Earlier this summer, I wrote that visitors from Mexico make up 0.90% of total viewers of this blog. I tried to make a commitment to keeping that percentage, and perhaps build on it. It helps that I discuss some of my favorite songs from Durango, (okay, some is Tejano).
Since the percentage has remained the same (thank you "Mesa que mas aplauda"), I need to come up with another angle. I could post portions of letras (lyrics) of songs that I like. I have not resorted to pasting the entire lyrics of a song on this blog, yet. Partially because I don't think people are nearly as interested in what I am interested in, partially because my editorial duty is to show the snippet of the lyric that interests me the most, and partially because I don't understand the copyright issue involved.
Perhaps discussing Mexican politics will help attract a couple of Mexican lurkers each month. For the first time in recent history, a sizeable percentage (2-5%, probably) of Americans can name the President of Mexico's name. It helps that Vincente Fox sounds cool. While this blog tries to maintain a politically neutral climate, it is hard to not notice that Fox was not very helpful (or even sympathetic) to the United States after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. Fox's comments directly after the event were about as lukewarm as Saddam Hussein's "yes, yes, this is a terrible loss of life and a tragedy -- I feel for the Americans" type of speech. Personally, I think Fox tried to use the situation to push an agenda about U.S.-Mexico border relations. My thought in mid-September 2001 was that Hussein was more a friend of the U.S. than Fox. (Maybe we invaded the wrong country. That was a joke.)
It is a family joke that I am related to Vincente Fox. My step-father's sister-in-law is like his second-cousin once- or twice-removed or something. My Aunt Ruby told my parents that a few of her cousins went to the inauguration in 2000. So, I should have a more soft spot for Fox. I listen to his comments about 3-times a week on the spanish-speaking news on the radio, so perhaps I am. I can tell that he is trying, and his presidency represents a massive change in Mexican politics. And his name is easy for Americans to remember.
In July 2006, Mexico will have presidential elections, and I am already getting excited. The mayor of Mexico City (Obrador) is a contender. Let's do a web search on his full name... ah, thank you The Economist: "Andrés Manuel López Obrador." So, I should really refer to him as Mr. López Obrador (thank you 9th-grade Spanish). By the way, the Economist article that I found his name on states that he has distributed 2.2 million comic books showing him fighting dark forces. (The federal government has charged that the mayor of the D.F. has used public works on an area of private land - a small charge in the historically corrupt land of embezzlement and drug-financing.) I WANT THAT COMIC BOOK!
I will close this entry by showing my full ignorance of Mexican Presidential History. How many Mexican Presidents can I name? Here goes:
Pretty pathetic considering Mexico is our neighbor, and one of our largest trading partners. I can name all of the Prime Ministers of Canada since Pierre Trudeau (2nd term - 1980). That is probably more than a Canadienne should expect from a 'Merkin. (Still don't know if that nickname, 'merkin, is a sleight or not.) I like to use the québécois "Canadienne" since it sounds more like a hockey team.
I bet the average academic from Mexico can name more than 3-4 American presidents. Hopefully, this exhibition of my ingnorance will get my Mexican percentage above 1%. I will end with an awesome quote from Benito Juárez:
"El respeto al derecho ajeno es la paz"
(translation: "Respect for the rights of other is peace.")
--gh
P.S. I use Window's CharMap to get the extra accented á's and é's, I hope I don't offend anyone if I have the accents going the wrong way. At least I tried.
Since the percentage has remained the same (thank you "Mesa que mas aplauda"), I need to come up with another angle. I could post portions of letras (lyrics) of songs that I like. I have not resorted to pasting the entire lyrics of a song on this blog, yet. Partially because I don't think people are nearly as interested in what I am interested in, partially because my editorial duty is to show the snippet of the lyric that interests me the most, and partially because I don't understand the copyright issue involved.
Perhaps discussing Mexican politics will help attract a couple of Mexican lurkers each month. For the first time in recent history, a sizeable percentage (2-5%, probably) of Americans can name the President of Mexico's name. It helps that Vincente Fox sounds cool. While this blog tries to maintain a politically neutral climate, it is hard to not notice that Fox was not very helpful (or even sympathetic) to the United States after the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. Fox's comments directly after the event were about as lukewarm as Saddam Hussein's "yes, yes, this is a terrible loss of life and a tragedy -- I feel for the Americans" type of speech. Personally, I think Fox tried to use the situation to push an agenda about U.S.-Mexico border relations. My thought in mid-September 2001 was that Hussein was more a friend of the U.S. than Fox. (Maybe we invaded the wrong country. That was a joke.)
It is a family joke that I am related to Vincente Fox. My step-father's sister-in-law is like his second-cousin once- or twice-removed or something. My Aunt Ruby told my parents that a few of her cousins went to the inauguration in 2000. So, I should have a more soft spot for Fox. I listen to his comments about 3-times a week on the spanish-speaking news on the radio, so perhaps I am. I can tell that he is trying, and his presidency represents a massive change in Mexican politics. And his name is easy for Americans to remember.
In July 2006, Mexico will have presidential elections, and I am already getting excited. The mayor of Mexico City (Obrador) is a contender. Let's do a web search on his full name... ah, thank you The Economist: "Andrés Manuel López Obrador." So, I should really refer to him as Mr. López Obrador (thank you 9th-grade Spanish). By the way, the Economist article that I found his name on states that he has distributed 2.2 million comic books showing him fighting dark forces. (The federal government has charged that the mayor of the D.F. has used public works on an area of private land - a small charge in the historically corrupt land of embezzlement and drug-financing.) I WANT THAT COMIC BOOK!
I will close this entry by showing my full ignorance of Mexican Presidential History. How many Mexican Presidents can I name? Here goes:
Pretty pathetic considering Mexico is our neighbor, and one of our largest trading partners. I can name all of the Prime Ministers of Canada since Pierre Trudeau (2nd term - 1980). That is probably more than a Canadienne should expect from a 'Merkin. (Still don't know if that nickname, 'merkin, is a sleight or not.) I like to use the québécois "Canadienne" since it sounds more like a hockey team.
I bet the average academic from Mexico can name more than 3-4 American presidents. Hopefully, this exhibition of my ingnorance will get my Mexican percentage above 1%. I will end with an awesome quote from Benito Juárez:
(translation: "Respect for the rights of other is peace.")
--gh
P.S. I use Window's CharMap to get the extra accented á's and é's, I hope I don't offend anyone if I have the accents going the wrong way. At least I tried.
Friday, October 08, 2004
Sarah Elizabeth Mocko
If you are wondering who Sarah is, (currently listed in my links), then your guess is as good as mine. I came across this page last Spring, but I have no idea why. I do not know who they are, or why they think it is smart to have clues to their locale and possibly real names on the 'net. I feel like I am stalking this family just by visiting her page.
So, I visit her page once or twice a month.
The site is not a formal blog, but it is organized in reverse order like a blog. My favorite is the "NEW" image that I remember using in 1993 when I was writing my first web pages. (Everything back then said either "NEW" or "UNDER CONSTRUCTION.")
I appreciate the narrative first-person technique that the author has chosen. It is almost as if Sarah is writing this herself! Does Sarah even know that unknown lurkers are satisfying their prurient interest in visiting this site? ...reminds me of that movie, "The Truman Show."
Some day, Sarah E. Mocko is going to have to take over the page herself. Maybe we can watch her grow up, take ballet lessons, go through that 1980s fashion faze of trampy/torn-up clothing (I just know that will be coming back in style in the next decade -- all stupid things are repeated.)
Here is an excerpt, 20 years from now:
May 2024
June 2024
July 2024
Rock on, Sarah. Shine on YOU, you crazy diamond...
--gh
* * * * * DEBATE UPDATE * * * * *
Bush just referred to the Internet as "the internets." (Maybe he is speaking L337, and it actually is spelled "IN73RN37Z".) I am now commited to refer to the Internet as "the internets" until:
1. it catches on, and few even remember where this odd nickname came from in 5 years
2. *I* look like the only idiot (well, one of two, at least) saying it
3. people stop getting why I am saying it, and I look as silly as our President saying it
So, I visit her page once or twice a month.
The site is not a formal blog, but it is organized in reverse order like a blog. My favorite is the "NEW" image that I remember using in 1993 when I was writing my first web pages. (Everything back then said either "NEW" or "UNDER CONSTRUCTION.")
I appreciate the narrative first-person technique that the author has chosen. It is almost as if Sarah is writing this herself! Does Sarah even know that unknown lurkers are satisfying their prurient interest in visiting this site? ...reminds me of that movie, "The Truman Show."
Some day, Sarah E. Mocko is going to have to take over the page herself. Maybe we can watch her grow up, take ballet lessons, go through that 1980s fashion faze of trampy/torn-up clothing (I just know that will be coming back in style in the next decade -- all stupid things are repeated.)
Here is an excerpt, 20 years from now:
May 2024
June 2024
July 2024
Rock on, Sarah. Shine on YOU, you crazy diamond...
--gh
* * * * * DEBATE UPDATE * * * * *
Bush just referred to the Internet as "the internets." (Maybe he is speaking L337, and it actually is spelled "IN73RN37Z".) I am now commited to refer to the Internet as "the internets" until:
1. it catches on, and few even remember where this odd nickname came from in 5 years
2. *I* look like the only idiot (well, one of two, at least) saying it
3. people stop getting why I am saying it, and I look as silly as our President saying it
Thursday, October 07, 2004
GUIT-tar Fingerins'
Mark was complaining about fitting three fingers in the second fret to play an A chord. It might be easier to play it by barre-ing the chord with the index or middle finger. If I want to hear the high E string ring out, then I would play this with my middle finger, because it can bend up to hear the open E. However, if I wanted to play a riff with the G on the lowest string, then I don't care about high notes, and would use my index finger to play the A chord.
Here's an example of something that I would only play with my index and middle finger. Every place that you see the second fret (in tabla-chure if ya kain't reed musik), I use my first finger, barred across a few strings. The middle finger does the G (and C-natural at the end).
To complete the sound, I would probably mute the strings a little with my right palm near the bridge. Props to Notepad 2005 from Finale for the composition tool...
--gh
Here's an example of something that I would only play with my index and middle finger. Every place that you see the second fret (in tabla-chure if ya kain't reed musik), I use my first finger, barred across a few strings. The middle finger does the G (and C-natural at the end).
To complete the sound, I would probably mute the strings a little with my right palm near the bridge. Props to Notepad 2005 from Finale for the composition tool...
--gh
Disturbing message
So this is the email message that my wife sent me:
Now if we were talking about preschool or something, then this really wouldn't be too shocking. But my daughter is in the seventh grade! Come on!
Oh yeah, Harsh and other varients is one of my nicknames.
--gh
"Hey Harsh,
Cindy is fine but got bit by another student today,
the nurse doesn't think it broke the skin but it
may bruise and we should watch it closely. The other
student has been suspended."
Now if we were talking about preschool or something, then this really wouldn't be too shocking. But my daughter is in the seventh grade! Come on!
Oh yeah, Harsh and other varients is one of my nicknames.
--gh
Environmental Issues
I am writing from the orthodontist's office while my son is having stuff glued to his teeth. It's nice that they keep a wireless network with open access. The orthodontist is hilarious -- because he is abrupt and short with his staff. I would say that the work environment here is tense as a result of his temper that seems to be just below simmering. Last month I thought the staff were going to mutiny. If they think that I can't see their rolling eyes, quick comments to each other, and the orthodontist's terseness, then they are fooling themselves. Still, this staff and doctor is one of the best in the area, so I am not worried about the aesthetics of pleasant (and usually fake smiles and comments) that you usually get from such practitioners. It is definitely more real than most, so I guess I get a kick out of it.
They were playing Grateful Dead music when Tyler first sat down. When they were administering a topical numbing agent, the speakers were blasting: "Driving that train, high on cocaine!"
This visit reminds me of a trip I took with a colleague to Jefferson City in late August. Basically, we gave a presentation on geographic information systems and homeland security. But what impressed us was the poor attitude of the agency that we were delivering this at. The staff were so demoralized and snipping at each other right in front of us. On the way home, we talked about how glad we were to not work in such an environment. Where I work, we support each other, and would never talk another professor down, especially in front of students. I guess I am lucky to have the job that I have, and to work at where I work.
--gh
They were playing Grateful Dead music when Tyler first sat down. When they were administering a topical numbing agent, the speakers were blasting: "Driving that train, high on cocaine!"
This visit reminds me of a trip I took with a colleague to Jefferson City in late August. Basically, we gave a presentation on geographic information systems and homeland security. But what impressed us was the poor attitude of the agency that we were delivering this at. The staff were so demoralized and snipping at each other right in front of us. On the way home, we talked about how glad we were to not work in such an environment. Where I work, we support each other, and would never talk another professor down, especially in front of students. I guess I am lucky to have the job that I have, and to work at where I work.
--gh
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Guitars
I don't write about guitars enough. After about 25 years, I think I am finally getting comfortable with this instrument. So, I thought I would mindlessly write about guitar things.
Unless I was joking, I never referred to this instrument as an axe. Never understood that. Even in High School, my guitar-mate and I never said axe.
My acoustic is a Martin, and my electric is a Les Paul. You think that would be enough, but a guitarist is like a trumpet-player. We are always desiring that one more instrument that fills this unique niche.
Shall I dare say that two more would suit me just fine? I am in desperate need of a classical/nylon string guitar. I lost my last one on a cold winter day in Idaho, really should not have moved it around. It basically came apart. I loved that guitar. Tonight I played a Fender (don't laugh) that was absolutely awesome. I am not a classical purist, and this guitar was incredible. It had a narrower neck, like a steel-string acoustic, and actually had a radius fretboard. A plus was the active pickup configuration.
Oddly enough, my other guitar desire is a Fender electric. I keep going back to trying out Telecasters. Stratocasters seem to be too complicated for me. I guess I like two pickups, and a three-way switch. I don't mean to be a bigot about this, but it must be American made. I've tried the Mexican and Asian versions, and they just don't cut it. In fact, it's hard to find a Telecaster that has the fit and finish that I am accustomed to (my Les Paul is a Custom). I feel like a fancy-boy, but I need fret-ends that are dressed so that I don't feel them when I play.
Basically, a well-built Gibson reminds me of whisky that is tempered by pouring it through charcoal for refinement and smoothness. On the other hand, some of these Fenders remind me of moonshine or Everclear. Sure, they both get the job done, so it is more a matter of taste. Well, I want my Everclear mixed with some grape Koolaid (the college version of Purple Jesus). I think that means the model I am looking for is the American Deluxe or maybe a custom version or something. This might take a while.
The main reason why I started this post was to discuss one of the most perfect guitar solos, which is found in Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2. Have you heard this lately? I was driving along South Walnut (I still don't know if my street is a ST, or AVE, or what??!!!) and it occurred to me how organic Gilmour's playing is in this song. The entire song has that constant chord progression which is just one step from the seventies, and then he breaks into this solo. There are times that you can hear how he is picking, and even hitting the pickups. It is by no means sloppy (like much of Page's work, IMO) but if that solo was recorded now they would say "Perfect! Now let's edit out all those glitches."
Sorry for the rip on Jimmy Page above. When VH1 declared them the #1 rock and roll band of all time (or something) I concurred. Led Zeppelin is awesome. And Page's rhythm work is astounding. They just should have had another guitar player for lead. (Don't flame me, or cry foul. Most of their songs had rhythm and lead parts anyhow.) Who should their lead player have been? Probably Jeff Beck another Yardbird.
I want to go play guitar right now. See ya,
--gh
Unless I was joking, I never referred to this instrument as an axe. Never understood that. Even in High School, my guitar-mate and I never said axe.
My acoustic is a Martin, and my electric is a Les Paul. You think that would be enough, but a guitarist is like a trumpet-player. We are always desiring that one more instrument that fills this unique niche.
Shall I dare say that two more would suit me just fine? I am in desperate need of a classical/nylon string guitar. I lost my last one on a cold winter day in Idaho, really should not have moved it around. It basically came apart. I loved that guitar. Tonight I played a Fender (don't laugh) that was absolutely awesome. I am not a classical purist, and this guitar was incredible. It had a narrower neck, like a steel-string acoustic, and actually had a radius fretboard. A plus was the active pickup configuration.
Oddly enough, my other guitar desire is a Fender electric. I keep going back to trying out Telecasters. Stratocasters seem to be too complicated for me. I guess I like two pickups, and a three-way switch. I don't mean to be a bigot about this, but it must be American made. I've tried the Mexican and Asian versions, and they just don't cut it. In fact, it's hard to find a Telecaster that has the fit and finish that I am accustomed to (my Les Paul is a Custom). I feel like a fancy-boy, but I need fret-ends that are dressed so that I don't feel them when I play.
Basically, a well-built Gibson reminds me of whisky that is tempered by pouring it through charcoal for refinement and smoothness. On the other hand, some of these Fenders remind me of moonshine or Everclear. Sure, they both get the job done, so it is more a matter of taste. Well, I want my Everclear mixed with some grape Koolaid (the college version of Purple Jesus). I think that means the model I am looking for is the American Deluxe or maybe a custom version or something. This might take a while.
The main reason why I started this post was to discuss one of the most perfect guitar solos, which is found in Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2. Have you heard this lately? I was driving along South Walnut (I still don't know if my street is a ST, or AVE, or what??!!!) and it occurred to me how organic Gilmour's playing is in this song. The entire song has that constant chord progression which is just one step from the seventies, and then he breaks into this solo. There are times that you can hear how he is picking, and even hitting the pickups. It is by no means sloppy (like much of Page's work, IMO) but if that solo was recorded now they would say "Perfect! Now let's edit out all those glitches."
Sorry for the rip on Jimmy Page above. When VH1 declared them the #1 rock and roll band of all time (or something) I concurred. Led Zeppelin is awesome. And Page's rhythm work is astounding. They just should have had another guitar player for lead. (Don't flame me, or cry foul. Most of their songs had rhythm and lead parts anyhow.) Who should their lead player have been? Probably Jeff Beck another Yardbird.
I want to go play guitar right now. See ya,
--gh
Monday, October 04, 2004
Ungual relations
I am writing again because an essay on pinworm infestation is probably not the lead blog I want on my page for too long. I also wanted to write about my fingernails, which can harbor the eggs of various pests...
For much of my life, biting my fingernails has always been a poor habit. I did this from age 2-3 on. People describe this as a nervous habit, and I think I can attest to that assertion. There was a time when I naturally quit biting my nails, and it was one of the most stress free times in my life. It was after I graduated from college. I was getting married, moving to Idaho, and beginning graduate school.
I noticed that I stopped biting my nails one week after graduation, when I was visiting Moscow, ID. For the first time in my life, I had to get to a drugstore and buy a nail clipper. It was kind of fun actually trimming, clipping, and filing my nails, like a real adult.
Two months later, we were 3,000 miles from where anyone knew us, our car broke down, and classes were set to begin shortly. I picked up my habit again.
I wonder how many minutes could be calculated with my fingers in my mouth over the last couple of decades. It is astounding that I contracted pinworms only twice.
About 15 months ago, I stopped biting my nails for the second time. What is significant about this time period? I was granted tenure and promoted to the next rank (Associate). Earlier I wrote about last year being one of the most over-worked of my life (only my 2nd-to-last-year of PhD was worse). However, having that sensation in the back of my conscious that says "you are fine, you cannot even lose your job!" really brings serenity into the mix.
Thirty-plus years of nail-biting has left me with some seriously deformed nails, but I think they are slowly looking more normal. But that 1-2 millimeter of white at the ends shows that I am much more sane than I used to be. Every once in a while I see the finger-stubs of a nail-biter, and I am amazed at how subtle this nervous response is. I never made a conscious decision to quit, I just quit...
If you are similarly afflicted, I guess you can check out StopBitingNails.com where they appear to be selling a cream. Maybe it puts a bad taste on the nail, making you more aware of your oral-ungual predilections. My mother tried this when I was in 2-3 apparently. She would put bitter stuff on my nails, and I kept biting them. Then she tried the hot sauce, and apparently I would be tearing up, but feverishly biting away. She told me the only thing that worked was taping tongue depressors across my elbows so that I couldn't bend my arms. Sort of the human equivalent of that dog-cone deal.
The tongue-depressor story helps pinpoint the date as well, because a tongue depressor wouldn't even work on a five year old or larger child. I cannot help but notice that what was going on in my life when I first started biting my nails -- my parents divorced. Man, I have issues. (Maybe I just had issues, perhaps I am on some kind of road to recovery.
--gh
For much of my life, biting my fingernails has always been a poor habit. I did this from age 2-3 on. People describe this as a nervous habit, and I think I can attest to that assertion. There was a time when I naturally quit biting my nails, and it was one of the most stress free times in my life. It was after I graduated from college. I was getting married, moving to Idaho, and beginning graduate school.
I noticed that I stopped biting my nails one week after graduation, when I was visiting Moscow, ID. For the first time in my life, I had to get to a drugstore and buy a nail clipper. It was kind of fun actually trimming, clipping, and filing my nails, like a real adult.
Two months later, we were 3,000 miles from where anyone knew us, our car broke down, and classes were set to begin shortly. I picked up my habit again.
I wonder how many minutes could be calculated with my fingers in my mouth over the last couple of decades. It is astounding that I contracted pinworms only twice.
About 15 months ago, I stopped biting my nails for the second time. What is significant about this time period? I was granted tenure and promoted to the next rank (Associate). Earlier I wrote about last year being one of the most over-worked of my life (only my 2nd-to-last-year of PhD was worse). However, having that sensation in the back of my conscious that says "you are fine, you cannot even lose your job!" really brings serenity into the mix.
Thirty-plus years of nail-biting has left me with some seriously deformed nails, but I think they are slowly looking more normal. But that 1-2 millimeter of white at the ends shows that I am much more sane than I used to be. Every once in a while I see the finger-stubs of a nail-biter, and I am amazed at how subtle this nervous response is. I never made a conscious decision to quit, I just quit...
If you are similarly afflicted, I guess you can check out StopBitingNails.com where they appear to be selling a cream. Maybe it puts a bad taste on the nail, making you more aware of your oral-ungual predilections. My mother tried this when I was in 2-3 apparently. She would put bitter stuff on my nails, and I kept biting them. Then she tried the hot sauce, and apparently I would be tearing up, but feverishly biting away. She told me the only thing that worked was taping tongue depressors across my elbows so that I couldn't bend my arms. Sort of the human equivalent of that dog-cone deal.
The tongue-depressor story helps pinpoint the date as well, because a tongue depressor wouldn't even work on a five year old or larger child. I cannot help but notice that what was going on in my life when I first started biting my nails -- my parents divorced. Man, I have issues. (Maybe I just had issues, perhaps I am on some kind of road to recovery.
--gh
Saturday, October 02, 2004
ENTEROBIUS VERMICULARIS (My Friends)
Okay, eventually it was going to come up that I had worms. Pinworms. If you don't know what pinworms are, then you are in for a treat.
Basically, pinworms can be transmitted by fingers contaminated by anything from bed linens to toilet seats. Microscopic eggs may get transferred to the grubby fingers of dirty little kids like me who probably did not wash their hands enough and had their fingers in their mouths more than they should.
To finalize your formal education, the eggs make their way through the intestinal track until, well, you can probably guess what happens next. After a trip to Florida, when I was about 6 or 7, I noticed something peculiar in the toilet. Basically, it looks like your stool has happy dancing threads in it. Since a pinworm is only 1/2 inch long, each event exhibits hundreds of these creatures. As you might imagine, I told my mother immediately. After a dose of medicine, this all cleared up just fine. If I remember correctly, my brother and sister had to go on the medicine, just in case. I think you just take the medicine once or twice.
But my pinworm story does not end there. When I was about 9-10 I had another bout of worms. This time, I thought I could enjoy my "friends" a little bit more. Since only one dose of medicine kills them off, I guess I didn't think it was too much of a deal. Besides, I was a little ashamed that I had degenerated in my filthy ways again. I knew that this time I would get yelled out (which was true, by both parents -- a rarely achieved feat in a broken home). So, for a few days, I actually looked forward to using the toilet and enjoyed with an almost cinematic glory the spectacle of threads be-bopping around in the toilet bowl.
Then the itching began. You see, this is how the pinworms transfer, I itch, pick up eggs, and contaminate just about anything that I touch. You can probably imagine where the itching takes place. It was unbearable, and the medicine worked as usual. I shed a tear looking over the threads that were moving no more for me.
Every now and then I reminisce, and once or twice a year I actually have to look twice. But it has been a few decades since my last contamination. The funny thing is, I almost long to revisit my friends, even just for a little while.
--gh
Basically, pinworms can be transmitted by fingers contaminated by anything from bed linens to toilet seats. Microscopic eggs may get transferred to the grubby fingers of dirty little kids like me who probably did not wash their hands enough and had their fingers in their mouths more than they should.
To finalize your formal education, the eggs make their way through the intestinal track until, well, you can probably guess what happens next. After a trip to Florida, when I was about 6 or 7, I noticed something peculiar in the toilet. Basically, it looks like your stool has happy dancing threads in it. Since a pinworm is only 1/2 inch long, each event exhibits hundreds of these creatures. As you might imagine, I told my mother immediately. After a dose of medicine, this all cleared up just fine. If I remember correctly, my brother and sister had to go on the medicine, just in case. I think you just take the medicine once or twice.
But my pinworm story does not end there. When I was about 9-10 I had another bout of worms. This time, I thought I could enjoy my "friends" a little bit more. Since only one dose of medicine kills them off, I guess I didn't think it was too much of a deal. Besides, I was a little ashamed that I had degenerated in my filthy ways again. I knew that this time I would get yelled out (which was true, by both parents -- a rarely achieved feat in a broken home). So, for a few days, I actually looked forward to using the toilet and enjoyed with an almost cinematic glory the spectacle of threads be-bopping around in the toilet bowl.
Then the itching began. You see, this is how the pinworms transfer, I itch, pick up eggs, and contaminate just about anything that I touch. You can probably imagine where the itching takes place. It was unbearable, and the medicine worked as usual. I shed a tear looking over the threads that were moving no more for me.
Every now and then I reminisce, and once or twice a year I actually have to look twice. But it has been a few decades since my last contamination. The funny thing is, I almost long to revisit my friends, even just for a little while.
--gh
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