Geek Humor

I don't know how funny this will be to anyone not a computer geek. But if you are, it's a stitch.

The things I do for my health . . .

I'm not sick, and yet, I can feel my sinuses getting infected. It's been that kind of allergy season. So . . . I bit the bullet and bought a neti pot. My doctor advised this, the last time I was in with a sinus infection. It's a fancy name for a simple device designed to let you pour salt water through your sinuses. Yeah, I know that sounds gross.

Is it as bad as it sounds? Um. I'm not certain. While it's not in my top five list of Most Unpleasant Things I Have Done for My Health, it might be in the top ten. It doesn't hurt, but my body instinctively interprets the feeling as drowning. Because if you inhale water, the first thing it hits is your sinuses. The fact that I can breathe easily through my mouth the whole time does not stop my body from telling my hindbrain that I'm drowning. While it never quite becomes a panic reaction, it never quite stops trying to be one.

Snorting hydrogen peroxide hurts far more, but doesn't last nearly as long.

This better be worth it.

Feel Good

See Last Holiday. Just see it. It's a feel-good movie. There is nothing unpredictable about it. It's just a tremendously well-written movie with heartwarming moments in all the right places . . . and it's impeccably executed.

It's fascinating . . .

. . . the little things that really matter. We've been interviewing for another tech this week at work. These are really intensive interviews, and we take so many different threads out of them to factor into a decision to hire or not. And yet, sometimes the smallest details weigh heavily into our individual judgements: the words "don't," "haven't," and "never;" the moment when someone's eyebrows rise; the ability to say "I don't know;" the magic of a logic leap; or the absence of a handshake.

If you had told me, a year ago, that I would be hiding in a spare office with my co-worker and a job candidate just to fuck with my boss, I would have given this an improbability rating of 90%. Then again, if you had told me two years ago that I would end up quoting Chaucer in a job interview, I would have looked at you like you were insane.

We have a candidate we all like. I hope all his references come back clean.

What makes a hero?

I just got back from watching Superman Returns. After six hours spent bringing my hairdresser's computer back from the dead. Minus her data, alas. The first half of Superman was almost as frustrating as the computer, and slightly more irritating. The second half was much better, but I'm still of very mixed feelings. Some of my key quibbles are:

1) I can't help feeling that James Marsden, who played Richard White, would have done better as Superman than Brandon Routh did. Maybe it was just the nature of the role--Superman's boots are hard to fill. But I believed him. Every minute. I can't say that for most of the actors in this film.

2) Physics needs to apply to everyone or no one. Anime and martial arts movies only make me more certain of this. I'm willing to tuck a few things into that little black box labeled "willing suspension of disbelief," but if Newton's third law is in effect and something hits you hard, you'd better at least exert yourself to counter that force, or you're going to get rocked back on your heels.

3) I may be biased, but I kind of feel that script/direction has to be pretty dreadful before Kevin Spacey can't bail it out. There were a few moments where he was very good as Lex Luther. There were far more moments when he was either too over-the-top . . . or not enough so. And I wasn't sure which. And Kevin Spacey's just not like that.

Come to think of it, I think that's what irritated me so much about the first half of the movie. If you're going to do something as big as a Superman story, I just feel like you should make decided choices. Go for the brass ring. If you fail, fail spectactularly--I'll still probably go see the movie, just for a laugh. But the first half of the movie felt decidedly lukewarm to me, and I'm not sure I can forgive that.

With that said . . . there are a few wonderful lines and some very nice moments. There were one or two plot twists that I didn't see coming until I was on top of them, and they were perfect, nonetheless. The movie ended exactly where it needed to end, and a lot of movies aren't willing to do that. And I think there are subtleties that I might catch if I watched it a second time. I kept having thoughts of, "Wait a minute, does he know?" Or, "Lois knows. Lex-fucking-Luther knows. How does Superman know?"

I paid three dollars for it at the second-run theatre. And while I don't feel like I wasted my money, I think I should have waited for DVD. Some movies, you just really need to see on the big screen. Oddly . . . I didn't find that this was one of them.

Quote of the Week

"Lois, there are three things that sell papers in this world: tragedies, sex, and Superman."

--Perry White, in Superman Returns

Some people just play too well together.

co-worker: "Did you say to alarm the building when I leave, or not to alarm the building?"
my boss: "If you are the last one to leave, you should alarm the building."
me to my boss: "See, I told you you were alarming."

my boss: "My network cable says it's disconnected."
me: "Do you want an expression of sympathy, or am I supposed to fix that?"

me: "Why is it, when it's yours, it's a cock, but when it's somebody else's, it's a dick?"
my boss: "I don't know, but I have contemplated this question at length."

Found in Goooo(o.O)oogle

The 2006 Toilet Paper Wedding Dress contest winners

Quote of the Week

"You trust beyond reason."
"Yes. It’s how I get results beyond hope."

--Commodore "Kou" Koudelka; Vicereine Cordelia Vorkosigan, in A Civil Campaign, by Lois McMaster Bujold

Filling in the blanks

Okay, now that I'm rational, here's what's going on. Pete's just finished defending his thesis for his Masters degree, and he's starting into the Ph.D. program. Catch is, they've just changed the way that department structures cirruculum--he did the Masters under one set of guidelines, but a different set is in effect for the Ph.D. He and a few other folks are in this group that's kind of caught in the middle, and it seems like his department is trying to work things out so that they get the pieces they're missing and don't have to repeat pieces that they've already done.

Every so often . . . it doesn't work out quite that well. Wednesday, he told me about some of his travails trying to sort this out . . . including the fact that his advisor just told him that while it's possible to finish all your actual classwork for the Ph.D. in three semesters . . . she really wouldn't recommend it. Four semesters is recommended.

Now for those of you who know how I tend to tie myself in knots over planning things, stop and think: The first thing people have said to me about the engagement after "Congratulations!" is "When's the date?" So I'd started thinking about it, and I knew (or thought I knew) that he'd finish classes in December 2007, so I'd mentally begun to work around that with the idea of dates.

People keep telling me it's not wrong to have expectations. I try to have few, because I get all bolluxed up when things don't work out that way, but I'm only human. So when he told me it might be more like two years than one-and-a-half, I had to re-align my way of thinking. I usually handle this kind of thing a bit more gracefully, but I was on the tail end of being sick and kind of feeling wrecked from work, and, well . . . I didn't.

I'm feeling much more equaminious now. My stressing out was certainly not helping Pete. He's looking into working his schedule so that that last semester ends up being most or all guided reading courses, where he only has to physically attend a class once every couple of weeks. And I've managed to convince myself that there's not much difference between March and May, if it comes to that. May is hotter and there's more competition; that's kind of it.

I won't try to tell you I'm mellow--mellow is not my natural state. But, like I said--it's not the end of the world. And this one's worth waiting for. ;)

Blam!

Today has been the kind of day I want to color thick, black, ugly lines all over.

Small things have been going wrong all day. And tonight . . . blam! The big thing.

It's not the end of the world. It's not really the end of anything. It's just frustrating, and I'm tired, and if I were a little more girly, I'd cry. But I've managed not to. Go, me.

I'll fill in the blanks when I'm less frustrated.

What's in a name?

I had a hard time learning to say "my boyfriend" when I realized I was that serious about Pete. I had a hard time admitting that I'd trusted anybody with that much of my heart. Mostly to myself, I think. *wrygrin*

Now that I've finally caught the habit, I have to learn to say "my fiancee." Not that I'm objecting. *snoopydances*

And by the way, have you noticed how different it sounds if you talk about proposing, as opposed to propositioning?

A different look at corporate America.

Warning: contains zombies depicted in video-game graphic style. Not for persons subject to rule three violations. (Rule three: Never visualize). But very funny.

Quote of the Week

"The automatic rejection of science as antithetical to faith
is one of the greatest disservices to both science and faith that has occurred in modern times."

--Joel Baker

everything falls into place

Writing, to me, is a fascinating process. And even as there is a craft to it that I practice, there's an art to it that I can't really quantify or control. I just had a story fall into place. It's something I've been toying with for awhile, but I knew I was missing that critical something that would make it work. I needed the back of my brain to twist around and throw my environment into inspiration mode. This can be triggered by the oddest things. Sometimes, it's cable at three in the morning. Sometimes it's a random look on a subway. Sometimes, it's half a sermon I heard at my parents church. And suddenly, I know things:

• The protagonist can't be part of the ship's crew. He has to be the one who left it all behind.
  
• The story begins and ends with water.
  
• Nothing makes any sense unless the mentor-figure is already dead.
  
• The horror is not that the monster wins, but that it wins over and over again.
  
• Adrenaline is fine unless there's a risk of losing someone. So the character in question goes and falls in love with someone who does street luge.
  
• It's not that the character is too different from his father. It's that they're too much alike.

It's seldom anything huge. What amazes me is that it's those little pieces that make the whole thing come together, and suddenly, I know that the story will work.

Prickly

I hate fevers. They make everything surreal.

And the heat builds up under my hair, next to my scalp. It feels prickly, and all my little fly-aways and wispies stand away from my head.

Gods help me, it's started already . . .

Ahk! Whaddaya mean, I have to know a date now? Can't I put off figuring out who's in the wedding until there's a date?

What the hell are engagement parties and why would you want to do that to yourself?

Are wedding web pages designed to be scary on purpose? Not only do they contain all these details and checklists, but they seem invariably done in pastels. *moans*

My very godmother has a way with words . . .

My Aunt Ruth, who is also my godmother, said this today:

"Congratulations, sweetie! And congratulations to the lucky young man who will share the rest of your life! I can scarcely imagine happier news. Peace in the Middle East would be good. An end to suffering of all kinds in Darfur would be a blessing. The eradication of nuclear arms would be welcome news. But this; this is a joy that is unique to you, and one in which your family and friends rejoice with you.

You are so wise to choose a long engagement. You will have the time to know one another well, to learn to be considerate of one another’s needs and supportive of each other’s desires. Blessings on you both!"

Theda Bara

Roxann had just discovered that having oleander flowers on her desk at work is a good way to get alarmed looks for the rest of the office. She came in with a sprig she'd picked and told me that one of the other office staff came running out after her to tell her they were poison--they'd attack her nervous system, etc. She was utterly shocked when I told her he was right and sent her this link. Boy, my herbology may not be the greatest, but ask me about deadly poisons . . . I imagine she will get a good razzing about this for awhile to come. It's something you're warned about as a kid growing up in southern Arizona--despite being from the Mediteranean, oleanders are everywhere. But I guess you don't get that if you grow up in other parts of the country. And they're such pretty flowers . . .

Incidentally, oleanders, rosemary, and palo verde are the three plants around here that are almost impossible to get rid of once they're established--and two of the three are actually Mediteranean natives. Oleanders and rosemary you have to take out by the roots (and they do runners, so it's a pain in the ass). Palo verde trees you pretty much chop off at the ground, soak with gasoline, and then burn the stump.

The right hand doesn't know what the left is doing.

So, as predicted, the workman's comp clinic has now arranged to do an MRI of my knee. After their physician has released me from care. Now I have to try to talk them out of it. What a waste of time . . .

I didn't read the Hardy Boys . . .

. . . but I read The Three Investigators. I couldn't even remember the name when I mentioned this to Pete the other day. Just the main character, Jupiter Jones, and the headquarters in a junkyard. Turns out, he'd read some of the same books. And also couldn't remember the name of the series. So I thought I'd look it up and see if anybody else remembers these. :)

Quote of the Week

" . . . dance like there’s nobody watching, and love like it’s never going to hurt."

--source unknown

"On the Street Where You Live"

He said yes! He said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes, he said yes!



[edit: I proposed. 700 feet down a mine tunnel, under 9,000 tons of rock.]

Found in Goooo(o.O)oogle

I'm at home, sick, halfway awake between naps.

I did a Google search. I turned up a slash page in the results. And, because I'm bent that way, I clicked on the link.

. . . I don't think I can read A-Team slash. I just can't. Some other parts of my childhood are up for grabs. But I just don't want to imagine Murdoch and Face slashed together.

o.O