Back in Action

College hath started back up.

Start up with my 8 am class on Monday! Yeah!

I haven't woken up at 8 am in a year. I'm not even joking. And I need to actually get up before 8 am because we haven't developed teleportation yet.

Way to be a bunch of slackers, physicists.

Anyway, this summer was kinda boring. I mean, this is a blog about my college adventures, and its hard to have awesome college adventures when its summer-

However, I do have something, rather a list of things. Over this summer, I took a calculus III class. The instructor was awesome. This is why:

On the first day of class- Prof: "Why are you guys looking at me like 'what the fuck man'? Watch this magic."

Prof: "So, as we can see, the Harmonic Series grows slower than BP's response to the oil spill."

Prof: "Are you using your calculator for basic multiplication?"
Student: "Damn Right I Am!"

Prof: "What if we were to use more than 2 dimensions? After all, most of you have 3!"
Student: "Most?"
Prof: "Some of you guys are pretty boring."

Prof: "So, you guys better hope the caldera doesn't blow in... about a week and a half from now."
Student: "Or we can hope that you grade the finals before it explodes."
Other Student: "What are you talking about? We really want the caldera to explode early, catching our finals in the blast."

Prof: "Did you guys see that news clip of the guy getting mauled by the Bison?"
Class: "What?"
Prof: "Oh, its really cool. Who brought a laptop to play solitaire on?"

Prof: "So, lets talk about calculus today!"
Student: "We always talk about calculus. Lets talk about something else."

Prof *puts his fists together so that his forearms are making a line across his chest* "Look, Diameter!"

Prof: "This is Pascal's triangle. Named because it was discovered by Chinese, Arab and Indian mathematicians and not Pascal."

Prof *points at e^x* "He. Does. Not. Have. A. Bad. Bone. In. His. Body."

Scary Parts of the Internet, round 2

So, last time I did a post like this, I had stated that it was probably a bad idea to let the US into a treaty that was built around data mining your computers.

It was then generally excepted that this idea sucked. Mainly because we all have things on our personal computers we really would not like to share. With anyone. Ever.

That's just your average American, and that's just your average laptop. Opinions aside, one could just not travel with a laptop, and thus avoiding the main clause that I had problems with in the treaty. Besides, laptops (in comparison to today's technology) are heavy. They're bulky. You need to take them out and have them x-rayed separately when clearing the security checkpoint, which is not only a real pain, but also annoys the people behind you to no end.

Besides, people need to take more road trips anyway. They're an American tradition, dangit. Its an easy, no tech solution to the problem. You don't even have to sacrifice much, and maybe you'll get off your lazy butt and see the Grand Canyon.

Now, lets start getting our hands (and pants) dirty once again, as we delve into other terrifying things about the Internet.

This one is longer than my last post, and due to that it isn't as scary as some things around here on the web. Yet, its also more scary because most people don't get WHY its scary. Aside from someone telling them that it is, at any rate.

And if you believe anything people tell you, then thanks for actually calling up the number on your screen during infomercials, jerk.

So, I dug into the dark depths of the web, slew a kraken and pulled out this treasure:

http://www.securecomputing.net.au/News/214707,goatse-security-claims-gaping-hole-in-ipad-users-data.aspx

First things first: Hi Apple guys who claim their OS rocks because no one can hack it! How ya' doin? What we're looking at here is called a "front door" in hacker language.

It pretty much means that instead of finding a vulnerable spot in your OS code, we simply get your username and password from somewhere else.

This is known to people who still speak English (and not texting gibberish) as "circumvention". I know that's a big word, and you text-speakers out there have used shorthand for so long you can no longer type normally, so I'll define that for you.

Going around a wall rather than knocking it down. So, your data can be protected by the equivalent of the great wall of China, but here we see that if you have personal info stored elsewhere- that data better be protected by the great wall of China too.

And there is only one great wall, so you're SOL.

We have the "usernames" of about 117,000 iPad users. This should scare the crap out of anyone with an iPad. Its not hard to query a server (ie, the one with all your data) for results. There are only two things keeping your info from going all over the net.

And one is about as strong as paper.

First- the fact that AT&T's servers with your personal info are secure. This is probably true. Except for the fact that AT&T's servers are safe against a blackbox software attack. Or, in not nerd- they are safe against a team of hackers that have no foreknowledge of the system. The guys attacking the servers are flying blind and dealing with protections on the fly.

Hacking isn't easy, I'm not claiming it is. Most solo hackers are idiots who just happen to get a hold of a bit of hacking software and run it. They have no idea (mainly) how it works. AT&T is a serious company. Getting hacked would take their profit margin, give it chloroform in a sleazy bar, take it home, and do unspeakable things to it.

And, companies are serious about their profit margin. They'll throw money at lobbyists, who throw words (and probably money) at governments to keep it in the black. As, per-say, the last post on this series.

AT&T is damn sure they're secure against the idiots. Except that it was an "idiot script" that got us the damn usernames in the first place.

The people who can really hack (it takes a combination of insanity, luck, and Zen) are mainly stopped by the fact that a system that is getting hacked flips a shit about it. And then the software protection people mobilize and start fighting back.

But, now, the hackers have a bit of the puzzle- a username. Its a powerful piece- a system generally will not throw up alarms if a username is entered in without a valid password. They can just brute force there way into the system.

The process is similar to guessing some one's telephone number by going,
"111-1111. Damn. 111-1112. Damn. 111-1113 Damn."

Computers can do this at very fast rates. Like a trillion combinations a second.

Which brings us to the second thing saving your ass- your password. The harder it is to guess, the safer you are.

Which brings us back to square one: So, apple users, did you ignore all those password generation ideas and just use "password" because you have an apple product and no one is ever going to hack it?

Oh, and it would appear that several important people in big name positions have an iPad- with a username now out in the public domain.

And the hackers already have your e-mail address. I'll let you ponder that after realizing how many websites ask only for an e-mail address and a password.

You guys are sooooo screwed.

If you use the net, it is time you know about the scary parts

I don't know if this will turn into a series or not, but there are some outright scary things going down in places that should have most of you scared out of your wits.

Most of this is just the facts, from where I can snag them. Any extrapolation is mine.

A lot of the info I pull for this stuff comes from the web, which means that I've a 60/40 chance of it being true. At best.

And that's the best news your getting, so lets strap in, set an away status on the instant messenger of your choice, and grab a soft drink, its time to look at the ugly things hiding underneath your average Internet.

And the normal pits of the Internet? That's getting factored as average. If you've been around the net for more than facebook, then please go get a new pair of pants. I'll wait.

So, let us begin.

http://acta.us.to/ is our starting spot, and, frankly, is by no means tame.

This is like a house cat- you think its all cute and cuddly (and they are!) but then you remember that they commonly prey on more than 200 different species.

At a first glance, this is a treaty signed among nations to stop piracy. That's something I can (aside from being a hypocrite the size of a hippogriff) get behind. Exceptions non-withstanding (and if the product/IP I would like is no longer sold in retail? What if the artist of that album I'm torrenting is dead?) piracy screws over businesses. Probably not as bad as they think, but yes, I am willing to admit that it does cut into profits.

And not all of it can be rationalized away by absurd prices- with some people pirating things just to get them early. And come now, even if they sold games for 5 bucks, we'd still pirate the hell out of them, because its free. Screw quality drops, free things are always better.

Its like the first rule of college.

Ok, fine. Maybe I don't like the idea, but its a morally good one. Just like the fact that I can't break the shins of people who wait until they are at the register to order something after being in line for an hour. I can't get everything I want.

Fine.

Now its time for the scary stuff, the dagger held by the little cute child, if you will.

There is a clause in this agreement that states that they want to also be able to randomly search computers for pirated material a-la random terrorist search at the airport.

Oh, HELL no.

Problem A) Unlike a terrorist search, this has no threat to national security, or the business of running a country. We have nations stepping in for businesses. Last I checked, most of us don't have businesses. I, quite frankly, don't care about your business, I care about your product. Nations should never enter the private sector- at least not on this level. I can understand a state run competitor company, but this is WAY different. You are acting on the market as it stands to keep current businesses in the black.

That violates the best part about a free market- that it is fluid. Businesses grow, and businesses fail. The market works like evolution- those that can adapt, stay afloat. Those that can't, sink. This gives the consumer power over businesses- we can pick which places stay up, and which die. This treaty goes against that in a big way.

Problem B) This is actually an issue that goes against the whole random screening in general, but it applies in a big way here. There is no bounds on the data they can mine from your computer. They'll trawl the whole damn thing.

Examples?
Your search history from when it was 3 am and you were bored.
Your search histories from all the times you were drunk and horny.
Any and all passwords/user names your browser may have saved for quick entry.

And this stuff can be saved in ways and places you might not expect. All it takes is a system restore to before the point you started clearing your Internet history to get any old info. And, a lot of this is saved in more places than just your browsers history- and in ways you might not expect.

And I'm still assuming they don't put anything new on your computer. A virus can trawl up more info than you've ever dreamed. And, of course, leave a nice backdoor.

Now, I know. Most people won't do such a thing, and most places do have securities to prevent some broke TSA agent from stealing your identity. But, that is the big difference between a standard passenger screening and this new digital screening- OK, people ruffle through you bags- you don't keep a lot there. Someone goes through your laptop or computer- and all of the sudden they are seeing a whole lot more than just what type of hand sanitizer you like to use.

Readers: "we're protected by the constitution! They need a warrant!"

Does TSA need a warrant to do a random strip search in the airport? Not currently. And may I remind you that congress has the power to agree to treaties- even if they conflict with the bill of rights?

That's OK. I need to change my pants now too.

Fail me again, humanity. Do it. I DARE YOU.

First things first: This, depending on where you work, is NSFW. If you work in a convent, I suggest finding a library first. If you work at a strip club, I'm pretty sure you see far worse things every night. I didn't bother censoring myself this time. Yes, normally I am a proponent of keeping conversations civil and that we have far more descriptive and creative words to use, but as you will read, I kinda don't feel like trying to make the world a nicer place at the moment.


Long, rant-like post today. I tried to find the humor here, but then I blacked out and a bunch of people ended up dead. They were all holding copies of one of the Twilight series...

I blame a mixed social message- they got in with vampires, thinking it'd be hot and got eaten/drank. I had blacked out because the memories were to painful. Clearly.

I don't know why I had a switchblade covered in blood. Clearly those were puncture marks made by vampire teeth.

In the stomach.

So, as a few of you may know, yesterday was the anniversary of the events that started World War 1. Its a pretty important event, as I think all of you at least know that world war 1 happened, and it was a war, and it involved most of the world.

Ignoring all the political/cultural/future ramifications, the death toll and number of combatants alone makes it an important date.

And as all of you must know, Eclipse comes out tomorrow. Its just another Hollywood movie, with most people going to see it not expecting any sort of real lasting value- there doesn't appear to be a strong thematic message or moral, and in 10 years all our movies will be in 4D with Smell-O-Vision, so we'll probably be looking back on this one the way I look back on silent films.

Pity.

This exchange was lifted from a friends Facebook profile, without permission (This is the Internet, after all. I have standards of plagiarism that I must keep to.)

Friend: "Did you know that today is the anniversary of the assassination of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand. His death sparked the First World War."

Person (middle 30s) in grocery line: "Oh, whatever. Did you know that tomorrow Twilight Eclipse opens! Ooooooohhh, I am soooo excited! Team Edwar...d!"

He said that all he could do was shake his head in disbelief.

It was all I could do not to demand the name of this person and castrate them. Because they clearly been using the wrong head to think with for a very long time.

Note: Castrating a female is tricky, but not impossible. You just need some imagination and a willingness to hate yourself forever afterward.

I can understand you not knowing the exact date that World War 1 started. I didn't myself- I didn't even know the month. I can even (grudgingly at this point) understand that you might not know why WW1 was started.

History isn't your strong point. I'm sure you could point out a million and one things I should know about but don't. Like, for example, how a hot water heater works. Or how the meter on the side of my house measures how much electricity I use.

My power company could be ripping me off in the hundreds of dollars and I'd never even know.

So, I can excuse that you might not know why WW1 happened, or why it was important. Fine.

But to blatantly blow it off for some stupid pop culture phenomenon strikes me as outright irreverent and incredibly disrespectful to the men and women who fought and died in that war. In fact, you have cheapened the lives of almost every human being on the planet, by saying that paying the ultimate sacrifice for a cause isn't even as worthy of remembering as who the hell Edward is.

I don't know. I've never read the books. But, I'm pretty sure that any vampire/werewolf/sick perverted fantasy you may have with such doesn't even hold an iota of significance to even the smallest human sacrifice. Even the ones that don't require us to give up our lives.

Thank you for bringing our lives down to your sick level. Thanks. I hate it down here.

Besides, vampires don't have blood, right? The reason why you're body operates at a nice 97 degrees (give or take) is because of blood transporting heat and nutrients and oxygen around you.

Having sex with a vampire would be like fucking your refrigerator.

Somehow, that metaphor makes this all the more disgusting.

Gettin' Locked Up.

Yep, I went to Prison today.

Its actually rather pretty. Lots of flowers everywhere and a whole bunch of birds. Also, lots of artistically charred ruins from where the old warden's house used to sit.

Where else, but Alcatraz. Which was interesting on several accounts. 1) the actual history of the penitentiary is interesting, and 2) when you give people an audio tour with headphones, they fall silent. Absolutely silent. I had taken my headphones off (after pausing my tour... never fear, I still took a wrong turn and got lost for a bit) to scratch my ear, and the only sounds that greeted me where the shuffle of feet.

It was like a bunch of zombies, minus the moans and huger for human flesh.

Other things: it takes 430 steps to get to the top of Coit tower, which still isn't the highest spot in San Fran. But your calf muscles sure as hell feel like it. And, as far as I can tell, they built Coit tower because they felt like it.

San Francisco Arts Committee: "This hill in the middle of a residential district looks like a good spot for a tower that'll attract idiot tourists".

Ghirardelli Square has no less than 3 chocolate shoppes in it. And they all serve the same brand of chocolate.

This town still feels backward. We passed by the Inga Donut. Which serves Chinese food.

The west coast is just weird.

Hello from San Francisico!

Yep, I'm rockin out the East Coast!

I'll be here in California for the week, and will make an attempt to have a story up every day from here on out.

Judging from my itinerary, this may be difficult. There are several travel days built in, and those tend to be boring on all accounts, and I (hopefully) do have a day of rock climbing on actual cliff faces also set aside.

I may be too exhausted after defying gravity all day to write. Gravity's a bit of a jerk, she doesn't like people going against her all-powerful order that things shall fall.

At any rate, even after one day here, I can tell you that everything is seriously backwards here in San Francisco. Look for a train, get a parking garage. Look for a bathroom, get a hotel lobby.

Go visit in the summer, get flippin' winter.

Today was COLD. And, due to the sliver tongues of some people who used to be my friends, I was in shorts. And a t-shirt.

Other than that, we took a 8 mile bike ride/tour over the Golden Gate Bridge (which, I guess from growing up in New York, part of me wants to shorten to the GGB). And, aside from the assurances of the people we rented the bikes from, aside from the logical impossibility of it, this ride/tour managed to be uphill. The entire way.

Seriously, the place really has seemed pretty. I mean, there are some lower-end areas, don't get me wrong. But uper-end San Fran kicks the crap out of uper-end New Orleans.

Relimited (At times): "You know, I could get a job out in Silicon Vally, and get a house out here..."

But, then I'd here some piped in music from a restaurant, and spend a good 5 minutes looking for a street musician before I figured out it was piped in. I do so like my street musicians.

And, so far, I haven't been able to locate a good tongue in cheek humor t-shirt shop. Its like all the places that sell t-shirts are far to uptight about where they live and refuse to poke fun at it.

That's just... weird.

Out of Style?

WARNING: This post is about books. Judging from the people at the book store, this means that 99.9% of you will walk away in disgust.

Seriously. I was in Border's (a book shop- Its closer than my personal favorite, Barns and Noble's) using it like a big library. I am poor. I will gladly buy all the books I read.

Someday.
Maybe.
Ok, only the good ones.

On with the story! So, I was in Borders books a while back, telling myself that I was going to study for my Computer Science final but really going to read Ender's Shadow.

Normally I'd recommend such a fantastic book, but it would appear that reading is so rare these days that such a point would be totally missed entirely by my readers.

I had three, THREE separate people congratulate me on "Being so absorbed in a book". Including a sweet (I assume, she seemed to be sweet for the three seconds we interacted) old lady who also added that "I should never loose that fantastic gift- the ability to get so into a book".

In the immortal words of my wind band conductor, "huh?"

Since when did getting absorbed in a good book count as a "gift"? Anyone should be able to find a book that they really enjoy and get lost in it, its not some special power that the gods gave me after a quest or some great gift I was born with.

Able to enjoy a book != (that's not equals for all you not Computer Science nerds) artistic genus. Seriously?

Have we moved so far from the written word as a culture that it is now considered "special" to be able to really enjoy a written work? Are we that dependent on motion picture/music?

huh?

I know, I know, I shouldn't get so into three people telling me something. Just because it happened three times doesn't mean anything. I understand how probability works. It wasn't exactly an improbable occurrence. I was reading for a couple hours, I'm sure many people came and went in the book store.

And maybe I get really, really absorbed into a book. I wouldn't know my own "interest rate" in a book vs the average, because questions like that are creepy.

Relimited: "So, like, when you read, like, how deep do you get into it?"

Ranks right under "I want to talk to you about Jesus" please-go-away-faster-you-really-creepy-guy type questions.

Still, moral of this blog post: If you are part of my generation, READ MORE.

Major Problems

Fun part about a backlog-

what is actually kinda relevant at the time of writing may or may not be relevant when you finally dig it up to post.

But whatever.

Anyway, it's about programming, so I think this is really relevant. And my opinion matters and yours doesn't.

Because it's my blog. Unless by following your opinion you'll read my blog more. And get your friends to read it too. Then your opinion matters a lot.

I'm such a sellout.

I've pulled many an all-nighter in the lab over the course of this year. Why? Because I spent my time very wisely over the school year and have not tried to cram work that should have been spread out over a month into a week. Nope, not me!

I generally stay till about 3, then fall asleep on the keyboard, wake up and go find a real bed to sleep in. The worst time was when I was in the lab till 5 am. And I had got there at 9pm. So, it was like a workday, after my workday.

good times!

After struggling with the same code for 8 straight hours, you'd think I'd have gotten it down. That somewhere along the way, I had become the code incarnate- the god programmer- that there would be nothing, no error message to heinous, no algorithm to complicated, that I couldn't tackle.

You'd be wrong. Here's a picture of what my complier returned after 8 hours of work.

Yes, It wanted the exact same type it indentified. Yes, it makes absolutely no sense. I was and still am aware of this.

And remember, I got this error at 5 am.

I was too tired to even be mad, really.

It must be in my blood

ah, before I launch into this tale, you must first know that it is not mine.

In fact, I wasn't even there when it happened.

I wasn't even born. (insert audience *gasp* here)

I heard this one from a family member over a nice meal at a nice restaurant in the french quarter. The best part being the the food was light years better than anything the school cafeteria had ever put out, and I didn't have to pay.

I love getting a meal at someone else's expense. I feel guilty as hell when the bill comes, but deep down I love getting treated to food. Make a note of that, any of you blog readers that want to get me a present for being awesome- free food rocks.

So, way back when, my relative, Jill, was playing around in the basement of her parents house.

A few things to note: My extended family is very Italian. Everything happens in the basement. They have a kitchen down there. They also have a kitchen on the first floor, but that one is more immaculate than a clean room. I don't think they have used the upstairs kitchen in eons.

Family Meal? Basement.
Entertaining Company? Basement.

Also, my great aunt wanted those floors spotless. You could perform open heart surgery on them they where so clean. Seriously.

I mean, you could be getting a glass of water, and spill some of the water on the floor and she'd be after you over the sticky spot on her floor. The water spill, however, would not be sticky if you took a towel and sorta wiped/spread the spill around. Then it was fine.

Never mind the fact that I have trouble trying to see water as sticky in the first place. But, she was right. Every time you spilled something, bam, she knew exactly where it was. She had developed some kind of synergy with the floor, it was less a floor and more an extension of her nerve network.

Anyway, so Jill was playing around, in her words, "Trying to kill a bug or something", when she managed to break the triangle shaped window from the basement to the garage. So, naturally, to try and hide the event from my great aunt, she tried to clean up the glass shards quickly.

However, being a wee little gal, she didn't quite do a fantastic job. This led my great uncle coming back and seeing a pile of glass and then sticking his head through the new triangle shaped hole in the door.

Great Uncle: "Why is there a pile of glass around the door?"

And he wasn't being sarcastic in the least. He honestly did not make the connection between the broken window and the pile of glass.

It would appear I've been cursed from birth.

Lock and Key

alternative title: Bet I've done something you haven't.

And not skydiving.

Yes, I've jumped out of a plane because I was bored. And because everyone else was doing it. I'm your mother's worst nightmare. And I don't regret it, and if I get the chance, I'll do it again.

So nyah.

Anyway, this isn't about jumping out of planes, although I might do an entry on that in the future.
This is about locked doors and why routines are dangerous.

Also I'm a spaz, but you read this blog so you knew that already.

So, every night I lock my door before I go to sleep. This is an old habit, formed way back in my wee little years when my house was robbed and instead of helping their new born son, my parents barricaded themselves in their room. Very chivalrous.

I assume they thought I could take that thief on. Pee on his eyes then ,while he was blinded, throw up on him or something.

He'd probably run out crying tears of shame.

Anyway, its something I do every night. Always. Even if it is stupid and over protective, when you dorm with other males that may or may not come back after a night of hard drinking on Bourbon street, you want a physical barrier between you and and fig. A of what too much alcohol does to the brain.

So, one night, I was up late (big surprise) and I was also really tired(two shockers right in a row. I'm all over the place). So, I closed my door but did the unthinkable.

I forgot to lock it.

So I go to sleep. Wake up the next morning to about 3 alarms going off and still slowly get out of bed. I think I actually rolled over and went back to sleep, even with the cacophony of noise erupting all around me.

I need an alarm clock that physically beats me to wake up, because noise just isn't cutting it anymore. I get my stuff together, and go to take a shower, and unlock the door.

Except for the fact that the door was already unlocked. But I still threw the lock, just in the wrong direction.

This means I locked myself in my dorm room.

Inside Relimited's Head: "I'M TRAPPED! AND I DON'T LIVE ON THE FIRST FLOOR, SO CAN'T GET OUT VIA THE WINDOW! SOMEONE SAVE ME! HEEEEELLLLLP!"

My hair isn't blond by the way.

For a good five minutes, I struggled to open the door and tried to think of an emergency escape route out the window. I also wondered how thick the walls were in case I needed to tunnel my way out.

Then panic woke up the rest of my brain and I unlocked the door, took my shower and went to class. Had a pretty normal day too.

Aside from almost getting trapped in my room and starving when the ramen finally ran out. Which wouldn't have been any time soon, I can survive a zombie apocalypse with my ramen stockpile.

Shush, its not sad. Any one of you could have done it!

Typical Day

alternative title: output of the function of caffeine per typical day.

you can rewrite the alt title as the following: F(x):{x E Time y E caffeine consumed}

For those of you not in higher math- this post is a typical day for me, in terms of how much caffeine I consume.

Its actually a little scary.

12 am (this is when a day starts, no?): Look blearily at computer screen, ponder switching majors. Chug first Starbucks doubleshot.

12:45 am: start first pot of strong coffee. Thank the powers above for a suite mate that has a huge amount of the 'black gold', and wants to get through it by the end of the semester.

1:30 am: mounting frustration at computer code, wonder exactly how little musicians make. Consume first cup of coffee.

(note on coffee cups: we have big ones. one cup of coffee is two cups according to the markings on the pot)

2:15 am: finish first cup of coffee- look sadly at bottom of cup.

2:16 am: pour second cup of coffee, add 3 spoons of sugar.

3:00 am: ponder throwing computer outside of window, and finding and killing prof for assigning this final project.

3:30 am: suite mate comes in, demands I stop for the night and go to sleep.

3:30:30 am: decide that I'll have enough sleep when I'm dead.

4:00 am: collapse on keyboard, take an unscheduled power nap

4:20 am: get up. Ponder the effects of slobber on a keyboard. Pull out calculus II text book.

4:45 am: wonder how much a F will effect my grades.

5:00 am: finally collapse against bed, fall into fitful overcaffinated sleep.

7:30 am: first alarm goes off. I apparently get up out of my bed and turn it off, but I don't remember any of that.

8:00 am: second alarm goes off. Reach over and shut it off.

9:00 am: get up for real due to sunlight shining directly on face. blink. Try to remember what day it is.

9:05 am: successfully remember what day it is. Go back to laptop and put some more time into calculus.

9:50 am: go to Geology Lecture.

10:50 am: Buy a medium Carmel Macchiahto from the coffee shop in the library. The drink is pretty much espresso, milk,and Carmel. Ponder adding more sugar.

11:00 am: go to Technical Communication. Give all the student presenters for that day a 100. Pull out Discrete Math textbook, look prof directly in the eye and show no fear. Then, begin studying Discrete Math.

(aside: Professors are like lions: you've got to show that you're not about to take any of their crap, that you're not afraid of them, and they won't give you any trouble.)

12:15 pm: start to feel effects of lack of sleep. Wonder about hallucination myths when I see a golden retriever go up the isle of desks.

1:00 pm: go out and buy a Starbucks doubleshot, a rockstar energy drink, a 5 hour energy shot, and shampoo.

1:20 pm: write blog up to this point- then resume studying for calculus.

2:00 am: finish prepping calc to teach student. Start putting finishing touches on CS project.

2:30 pm: Decide that the CS project works, and that's all that really counts anyway.
Even if it does look like crap...

2:45 pm: go to UC to meet student and drink second Starbucks doubleshot of the day.

It works for about an hour where I am sane enough to teach three of the five concepts we will be tested on.

4:45 pm: get told by student to take nap at this point, I am very spacey and am having trouble with basic math terms. (I couldn't multiply, much less integrate by parts)

5:00 pm: go get food from the University Center- feel far better after getting my first meal of the day.

5:15 pm: fix Technical communication final essay.

6:30 pm: consume Rockstar energy drink.

7:00 pm: Swear to all higher powers I can think of, that I will never, ever, procrastinate again. EVER.

8:00 pm: consume 5 hour energy. Work until collapse (which will happen tomorrow).

Link week, day 5

alternative title: don't trust me. Ever.

So. I'm a day behind in link week already. Yeah, I know this looks terrible. I feel terrible about it.

But, I think I'll use the American method here and take no responsibility. I blame my room mates.

They introduced me to the computerized crack cocaine known as the computer game Diablo. I was killing the devil instead of blogging yesterday. Priorities people.

I was also killing the devil instead of working on my computer science final project, which is worth far to much of my grade. Its also no where near anything that might resemble functional code.

And its not due tonight... yep, not due tonight. Can't be. No way. I don't even need to check. There is absolutely no possible way he could ever expect it to even be remotely due tonight.

Anyway, on with the last day of link week. I know, you're just as sad to see it go as I am. But like all good things, this too must come to an end. And I'll have to actually start writing real stories soon. Damn.

As all of you readers know, my life is chaotic and filled with ridiculousness. However, I might be off the wall and ditsy, and also seem to have a penchant for running into other off the wall and ditsy people, the setting is mundane.

Or at least more mundane that say... THE MOST MAGICAL PLACE ON EARTH.

That's right, The Beamish Blatherings of a Burbled Brodie is a blog about what its like in Disney World. The author is a cast member there, as a janitor (oh, wait, Sanitation Engineer). He comments on the guests of the park, the other employees there, and what Disney really is like behind all the magic in a fantastic sarcastic style. Totally worth a read- especially if you got dropped on your head as a child and like this blog. Its similar to this one, only far more awesome.

A note to all the blogs I have linked during link week: if you don't want me to link you anymore, just contact me and I'll take your blog down with no fuss or hassle. Thank all of you, link week links for writing/reviewing/taking pictures (photographing?).

Link week, day 3

You all must have figured out what time it is by now.

That's right, link week update time! *the sound of children cheering*

I know, I bet you're excited as I am. I bet you can't wait for me to tell you about another cool spot on the Internet that is far better for wasting your time than whatever I'm scratching over here.

Don't forget about me. Please.

Also, to all you blog writers that I'm linking to: This is a contract. I link you, you keep writing so I don't look stupid.

What do you mean "I didn't sign up for that" and "hypocrite?"

Confusing people, you are.

Anyway, today's blog is fairly new, but gets updated every day, so there is a ton of content for you to look at and browse through.

That's right, look at.

KimberlE Spins is a photo-blog by a very talented photographer. With a penchant for flowers, and a fantastic eye for colorful and delightful pictures, this blog can make any day seem more full of energy and fun. The author is currently over half way through a 100 day picture-a-day challenge, and its a great hope of mine they'll continue to update even after the challenge is up.

This is a blog I recommend everyone take a look at. You will not be disappointed.

Link week, day 2

This kinda sounds like summer camp in my head now.

Inside Relimited's head: "Ok, campers, now that we've spent aaaall yesterday breaking the ice with some reaaaally fun activities, lets go see what fantastic fun we'll have today!"

For full effect, read that in a bubbly, far-too-happy type of voice. You all know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, cool spots on the interwebz. Hmm...

How about the blog that I get my inspiration from?

Bannable Offenses is a hilarious (and actually really funny, unlike this one) blog about the life and times of a certain sadistic GM for Final Fantasy XI, a rather old Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game that for some reason is still around and has a sizable community.

I used to play it way back when.

GM Dave is an amazing writer that literally makes me bust out laughing every time I read from his blog. Really. I can't give him high enough praise.

However, you should know that the blog is based around FF XI. Most of the in game terms are explained in time, as well as general MMO game terms, but there will be some jargon for people who have never played that sort of thing. However, the humor doesn't fall around the jargon, for the most part, so you'll be laughing hysterically along with the rest of us.

And learn some useless info in the process. But this is the Internet, what did you think?

This is probably a bad idea but...

alternative title: Link Week: day 1.

I had this fantastic idea. I should do something special to commemorate the zombie blog rising from the grave.

But, I couldn't think of anything. I mean, what does one do to restart a blog? Then, I had an idea. I'll link this blog to a couple of other blogs that I like a lot that are good and worth your readership. And tell you why, of course.

Most of you probably know about most of these blogs, but not all of you know about all of them. So, I feel mildly justified in doing this.

So, first on the list is actually not one blog, but two. And its not even two for Tuesday. I'm so generous.

Ever read my blog and go,

Blog Reader: "Well, this guy totally sucks at writing AND there is absolutely no useful information here, aside from this joker's life issues. I mean he's a 'musician' and he doesn't even talk about what bands he likes!"

Well, fear no more, jerk.

Syncopated Time is brand new music blog written by a friend of mine, who also has a pretty good movie blog too. The blurbs about the music/movies aren't detailed, allowing you to get a basic idea of what is good/bad and then draw your own conclusions yourself. Its a style I prefer over the elaborate reviews, because lets face it- movies and music are two of the most varied types of media in terms of enjoyment.

Hope you enjoy- I'll be linking another blog tomorrow, and this one is one of my all time favorites, so STAY TUNED.

On Writing

The title is also the title of a book by Steven King.
Its about, guess what, writing.
So is this post today.

However, these two things vary very greatly.

Very, very greatly.

You see, Steven King's book is about writing when it works. This post is about when writing falls apart and what happens to the minds of those who try to read it. It is... interesting.

Definition time!

Interesting: 1) holding the attention, 2) arousing interest, 3) [flapjacks]! [shortcake]! We're all going to [flooring] die!!

I'm going for definition number 3 here.

Anyway, I am currently slogging through writing a geology essay on the geologic history of the Mediterranean sea. Riveting stuff.

It's actually vaguely interesting. I almost enjoy it.

Almost is a funny word, isn't it? Its of like but, it can totally negate whatever positive points something was gaining, and then point out the millions of negatives that are about to bust out like a rabid bear getting poked by hyperactive children in a little stick-cage.

i.e. it's not going to be pretty.

These articles on it read like they where written by a retarted 10 year old desperately trying (and absolutely failing- if people got grades this bad, we'd need a new letter, like S for [fan dangling] SUCKS) to sound smart by making up the most asinine words that, I swear, I have ever seen. Screw spell check, dictionary.com didn't even know what most of this stupid babble was.

Think about that for a second. You take the internet- the source of far to much information, and you put a dictionary on it- which probably has definitions for far to much considering the amount of information its sitting in.

wikipedia even failed me at one point. WIKIPEDIA!

And the rambling.

Oh, gods, the rambling.

I have never known you can string so many words together and get absolutely [chicken][stewing]-bull[flying] nothing. Nothing at all.

These journals lack almost any evidence of the ability to even put your fingers on the keyboard in a cognitive and remotely not-retarded manner.

Dear Readers: "Pshaw. Whatever. Stop [bomb shelling] and work on it"

First, dear readers, I am ashamed. I try to keep this blog family friendly and you go on and say something like [bordering]? For shame, for shame.

Second- oh, yeah, dear readers? Well, just try and pronounce magnetostratigraphy!

Or astrochronology. Its not just nouns for the study of something stupidly arcane, there is also fun adverbs like diachronously, and verbs like disaggregate. I feel like puking just relating this stuff back to you.

I am being totally serious right now.

Combine things like that with a total lack of the ability to structure sentences, much less paragraphs-- While we're on sentences, the passive voice is not for you to use with every [goodness] thing you write. It is definitely not to be used so you can try to avoid setting up a subject in a sentence.

Yes, there were sentences without subjects. You know, that basic building block of English writing? The fact that every sentence must have a subject and a verb?

[gratuitous cursing block. Nothing wholesome to see here folks, move along]

As it stands, I have 7 pages done. And I need to write 3 more.

I have never feared 3 pages of text so much more in my life. And never have I had a general loathing toward a major, but now if you're an EES major, I'm sorry. But I hate your guts.

Why no one wants to be a teacher...

I've decided.

Its probably not the spitballs, exhausting work and terrible pay that drive most teachers to quit. They knew that going in.

Its probably not even the to-cool-for-school idiots that think life's a joke and are fated to drop out of community college and go serve at your local McDonalds.

After all, I can totally see a terrible feeling of smug gratification coming from that. "Oh, you didn't listen in my class and made my job hell? Welcome to the only industry that gets payed less than I do. And I do want that super sized, thank you very much."

Its the smart kids that come after you with a dagger after an hour or so of calculus when you still have 8/10'ths of an exam to still review.

If that sounds oddly specific, it isn't.
I swear.
Really.

Stop looking at me like that.

Ok, alright. I tutor several classmates here on campus in Calculus II. Except for the fact that I hardly have a handle on what is going on in that class and these sessions are never scheduled. It kinda goes down like this,

Classmate: "Hey, its the weekend before a test, can you teach me all the math stuff before then?"

So, I do the only thing and good college student would do:

I pull up my professor's old tests and half teach/half read through them. This works with varying degrees of success.

Lesson A) Complete and pass a level of math before attempting to teach it. Its handy.

Anyway, this teaching style was brought to a head last night as I was trying to teach logarithmic differentiation to Chuck (everyone in the blog is Chuck- even the girls).

The most common line out of his/her mouth: "WHY THE [family friendly blog] DO WE NEED THIS?"

Most common line out of my mouth:
A two way tie between: "PLEASE DON'T EAT ME and PLEASE DON'T STAB ME"

Good times- after all, I managed to teach the concept fairly well and kept both my legs.

Also, friends don't let friends smuggle daggers into the dorm. Its scary for the rest of us.

1st law of computer people: when it doesn't work, reboot it.

So, hi.

We haven't talked in over a month.

I can't help but shake the feeling that this is like me calling you up, my dear readers, and begging that you let me back into your life.

Oh, look at that, I'm writing this at midnight too. Its a textbook "take me back" plea. If I could, I'd do a little ASCII art flower and everything.

You see, what happened was that... I sorta let the blog die. Things where getting very hectic around midterm week and I was busy. Very busy.

Stupid class getting in the way of college.

At any rate, I kinda walked away from writing for a bit. There just wasn't enough hours in the day to do everything I wanted, and I didn't really think anyone actually read this, so... You people can figure it out, spare me the shame of saying it.

Then, it would appear, people DID read this. And they wanted an update.

Oh snap.

So, I'm going to start up again. However, like any good zombie, this blog is coming back and will be harder to kill than ever. First things first: two updates a week. Every week.

I swear. Until I forget. So, don't let me forget, Internet, because I will, oh I will.

So, with no further ado, the blog is back. And hungry for brainz.

First story of the zombie blog tomorrow. Look for it!

Its a Mardi Gras recap, reacap, recap (part1)

The title makes sense if you sing it to the tune of the refrain of "Mardi Gras Mambo"

If you're not from around here, then just take my word for it. If you are from around here, then you've heard the stupid song on the radio enough times to have it stuck in your head.

Anyway, I wanted this one out by Tuesday, but then got caught up in the celebrations, and on Wednesday, managed to slam my car into some poor old lady, killing her, her husband, her child that just won his first baseball game, and a pure, innocent puppy. Poor dog never had a chance.

Not really. Just a minor fender-bender. The only thing that's dead is my savings. However, if you're ever in need of attention, just post somewhere on the web that you're in a car accident, even in a joking manner in relation to something totally different, and you will get much concern and e-hugs.

Anyway, back to my past couple of days.

Saturday: I went to Endymion and learned several important things: The cure for abject public drunkenness is to simply have someone cluster-carpet bomb your poor, obliterated mind with F-bombs, and that parades are not as fun when you fly solo. So, it was with a somewhat heavy heart I walked back down Royal Street to get to my car.

Then (because sound seems to factor a lot in my life), I was listening to several street performers play, and had an Epiphany.

I could totally do that.

So, I rushed back to my dorm, and immediately fell comatose as I tried to read the legal document on street permits. I swear they put chloroform on those, never mind I was reading a digital copy.

When I woke up several hours later, I found out that permits where cheap, useful and seemed fairly easy to obtain. And that Shakespeare must still be alive and writing somewhere, no one else in the history of writing has stuck that many whoms and thous together.

Yes, I just took a low blow at Shakespeare. No, I won't apologize.

Sunday: I saw Bacchus the way its meant to be seen, with friends and family. It was awesome. Plus, Drew Brees (with less booze) was riding and we totally knew someone else on his float. So, it while everyone else was like "DREW, OH MY GOD, DREW, THROW US SOMETHING SO WE CAN ENSHRINE IT!"
We where like: "CHUCK! CHUCK! WE LIVE TWO DOORS DOWN AND I DON'T QUITE REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE, JUST THROW STUFF TO US!"

Yes, Chuck is my go to name when I need a fake one. Even the girls. No real people are named Chuck.

Monday and Tuesday (with a bit of Wedensday double recap) sometime this week, so stay tuned.

When in doubt, have a parade

So, last Tuesday, I went to my first parade of the season.

Yes, we have a season of parades: Its called Mardi Gras. The parades are usually accompanied with heavy partying, drinking, and/or other forms of debauchery

First things first, these aren't your boring old 'normal' parades. Oh no. Here, we have people on the floats that throw stuff to the crowd, the bands not only play, but also dance. Its more akin to a block party on wheels than a parade.

Its pretty sweet.

Now, I don't know if you heard or not, but the Saints won the super bowl. I even got up off my lazy butt and blogged about it. So, the first real "big" parade of the seasons was....

You guessed it. A Saints parade. And, lemme tell you, they know how to make a parade work.

I stood next to a rather cool old woman, and a trio of die-hard Saints fan girls. Actually, it might be better to say duo, because the third one fainted upon seeing Drew Brees.

I must say, Brees has some stage presence. With a very limited amount of throw-crap, he was pumping up the crowd, running all up and down along his float, dancing along with the music...

The man was drunk out of his mind.

But, that could be said for almost the entire team, as they where dancing on the floats, jumping off to run by and high-five the crowd, dancing with the speakers, starting crowd chants...

Jeremy Shockey was dumping beads on some woman that was flashing him with, I hate to say this, not all that much.

Garret Hartley was looking so start struck with all the cheering, I thought he might faint.

They didn't throw much, and the parade wasn't all that long, but by the time Sean Payton (the head coach) rolled around on his mega-float with the Lombardi trophy, you felt like you had been to one of those big parades.

Payton was the only one not drunk. Probably due to fear of dropping the stupid trophy. But all he had to do was hold up the Lombardi trophy and the crowd went nuts. I had a sinking feeling that if Payton wanted, he could have pointed the trophy in any direction and we'd have followed, performing some kind of jihad-esque fanatical march.

Which probably means that we'd follow the trophy, descend on where it was pointed, run whatever poor infidel place Payton picked out of booze and stumble back to New Orleans.

I dunno whats worse, the fact that I really thought of that or the fact that I'd be right there with 'em the whole way.

When the Saints Come Marching In

I'm in absolute shock.

Infact, its hard for me to even write this.

I'm not a die hard Saints fan. I made fun of them back when they where 3-13. I was a bandwagon jumper back in '05 when they made the playoffs. I don't own a jersey.

Heck, I didn't own any Saints gear 'till about 2 weeks ago.

And yet, here I am, with a Saints hat, with a stupid big smile on my face.

This time, I was the one honking second line out on my car horn. May it be an insperation to all you nerds out there to get out and enjoy this once in a lifetime oppertunity.

You only win your first Super Bowl once, you know.

And it was a game. A big shout out to the crowd at Viola, you guys rocked.

And the guys I was with, you people are like number one on my list to watch more football games with.

Plus, I got free drinks, a hat, and a t-shirt out of it.

But, man, was it a party.

Last time I was called the nerdiest who dat. This time, I was dancing on a table. With a big black guy. I think... I think I may have actually gotten a little cooler after that one. Maybe.

I huged several random strangers. one old lady, one big musicular guy, two girls that a cooler man might try to pick up and the aformentioned black guy.

And as I stumbled out into the street, no one was more suprised than I to feel a streak of wetness on my cheek.

A single tear. A tear for victory.

Go Saints. Bless you boys.

Don't talk to strangers

Alternative title: The rule right after look both ways before crossing the street.

You may remember a post of a long time ago where I bitched about music.

You may also remember the warning about how this blog is about what I like and music happens to be one of those things.

However, I never indulged to you readers what instrument I actually play.

I play the most amazing, manly, testosterone building instrument of them all:

The flute.

Duh.

Anyway, because I decided that last semester I had FAR to much free time and fun, I decided that this semester, I'd try to take flute lessons from the 2nd chair flautist of the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra.

Operative word here is try. I fully expected her to read my e-mail, laugh a little bit then turn me down. This way, I'd get points for trying, and could still spend my semester at my leisure.

So, I figured the fastest way to get rejected was to be totally honest.

Flute Tutor to-be: "I'd love to teach you! You said you play last chair in both the Wind Ensemble and Youth Orchestra, that's great!"

Trust me, no one was more shocked than I. Talk about a backfire.

So, today, I plod up the street to her house, convinced I'm not nearly good enough to be her student, that I should never have come, etc. etc.

In a nutshell, the usual.

Anyway, I notice one house on the block is particularly worse than all the other ones. They all are in pretty bad shape. (rather, pretty bad shape for the standards of any other city on the panet, the people down here like their houses listing to one side)

However, this one house looks like it would violate some humanitarian act if it was used to house people. I assumed it had been abandoned before New Orleans had adopted the phrase, "Bring Hell Or High Water" and our very streamlined and great political system down here had simply forgot to tear it down.

So, I ring her doorbell, and after dealing with one of those tiny, yapping, somehow-more-annoying-than-the-you-forgot-to-dial-the-area-code-beep dogs, we moved upstairs.

Also, I've seen the LPO in concert several times, and swore her hair was BLONDE blond. Like bright yellow. Like blond back when blond was cool.

Inside Relimited's head: "Her hair is brown. Does she bleach it for all the concerts, or die it when she isn't on stage? Am I going crazy, and only thought it was blond? I never knew hair color could be so distracting..."

So we talked, I thoroughly screwed up Mozart's Flute Concerto in D major, which I practiced, but did a lot better on a slower piece that I hadn't looked at in over a year. Yeah, the correct answer is, "The Hell?"

We talked a bit more, she showed me how a) My tone was good-ish, but my technique was total crap, b) that I had been cheating on several fingerings for my entire life and c) I had one fingering outright WRONG.

(Fingering: which buttons are pressed down for a certain note)

My task: Unlearn all that stuff you've been doing for 7 years and learn it right.

Fun!

However, overall, the first lesson went a lot better than I had anticipated, and I left feeling pretty good.

Then, from the house I thought was illegal, a voice hails me: "Hey sugah! How 'bout you come 'ere and lemme get ya somethin' cold to drink?"
It belonged to a large black woman.

To my credit I did not run back to my car yelling "STRANGER DANGER!".

At least not all the way.

I think its pronounced who dat?

For everyone that does not live in New Orleans:

The Saints are in the Superbowl. Its apparently pretty big news.

My Geology Professor gave everyone 10 bonus points because of it, and ended class 20 minutes early. He teaches a 50 minute lecture. He also spent the first 10 minutes talking about how awesome the game was.

that's only 20 minutes of rocks vs 30 minutes of Saints, in a geology class taught by someone with a Very Thick Accent. i.e. this man is not even a native of New Orleans.

p.s. Tech Writing got out 15 min early, and almost pushed back our first paper when our professor thought it would conflict with the Superbowl. Luckly, we managed to stop her from shifting the date, beacuse the new date would have actually conflicted, and the old date was just fine.

hmm? Whats that? Oh, you want to know what I did for this historic occasion?

Well, I watched the game in a little no-name tavern off of St. Charles.

Yes, they had big TV's. Any place that had any sort of TV was packed.

And, wow, was it a game to remember. It was so tense, I took the entire game to eat a Philly Cheese Steak and some fries. I was going at a rate of like one fry every 5 minutes.

And, New Orleans Saints fans being the crazy, insane, yet somehow lovable batch of people they are, where naturally following the game very closely, and trying their best to feel like they where in the dome.

Which, of course means that when Sean Payton was trying to pump out the already sonic-weapon-grade loud croud, we yelled and cheered along too.

Yes, I am aware the TV is not 2-way.

It was good times. Afterward, I called up the parental unit to see if they had survived the amazingly close game (after all, their risk of heart attack was higher). The cell lines where full. The city had actually managed to place so many calls, I couldn't get an open cell line Finally, I managed to call home, find out that yes, my family was still alive. And also, planted the seed for what I would do later.

I drove back, listening to the post game reports on WWL 870 AM, looking longingly over at the French Quarter. I got back to my dorm, put my stuff up and heard something amazing. Something almost magical.

Someone was honking out Second Line on a car horn. At that moment, I knew what I had to do.

I needed to celebrate, geology in the morning be damned.

I dove right into the mob of black and Gold that was Bourbon street. Impromptu refrains of "Who Dat say they gonna beat dem Saints!" Where being sung out on every corner. There was a guy with a trumpet playing "When the Saints go Marching In" off of a balcony somewhere. The Cafe Du Monde was filled to capacity with people in shock and awe of what had just happened, eating their doughnuts with powdered sugar, whispering, "Did you hear how quiet the dome was before that field goal kick? It was silence, then as the ball rose flashes of light, then pure sound as it went right through the uprights."

I impulse bought a Saints T-shirt. I danced to some kickin' jazz at the Royal Sonesta. I met up with a bunch of college friends at some time, and had one hell of a night.

I was called the "Nerdiest Who Dat I even seen, and I love ya for dat" by a passing large black woman riding mainly outside the passenger seat window of a pickup truck.

I can't wait for the Superbowl weekend now.