I'm Not Dead

And I have a real update coming soon, I promise. For now you'll have to settle for a Google Bomb:

THE ALGORITHM CONSTANTLY FINDS JESUS
THE ALGORITHM KILLED JEEVES
THE ALGORITHM IS BANNED IN CHINA
THE ALGORITHM IS FROM JERSEY

Facebook

The weirdest thing that happened to me this week:

I'm generally wary of people asking me to be their "friend" on FaceBook. I don't have many friends, and those that are on FaceBook are already on my friends list. Hence, most people wanting to add me to their ever-growing collection of names are usually minor acquaintances, that I might have had for Spanish 3 back in high school. A few months ago, one guy that tracked me down found my name in his MIDDLE SCHOOL year book. Look, Guy or whatever your name was. Nothing whatsoever happened in Middle School--NOTHING--that is, beyond the deep emotional scars that even now keep me quietly sobbing into my pillow on the particularly lonely nights. You are NOT my friend, and I know this because I HAD NO FRIENDS in middle school. I do not appreciate you, or those of your ilk reminding me of that. Please fuck off and die. K, thanx, bi.

I used different words than that in my response.

So it was with great trepidation that I opened a friend request this week from some broad called "Emily." I had no idea who she was, what the hell LSU stood for, or where Mandeville High School was. And since she listed her political views as "very conservative", I could very easily rule out her being my "friend."

So I had to do something I hate. I had to send, for the 48th goddamn time, a message to some random person to the general effect of: "Please don't take this personally, but who the hell are you?"

As it transpires, I must have known this chick when I was seven years old. I say "must have" because she knew what neighborhood I lived in back then, and my first and last name, which was enough to track me down. I don't know which is worse, that she is so obsessed with Facebook that she went through the trouble of tracking my ass down fifteen years later, or that she cared so much about me that she REMEMBERED me all this time and went through the trouble of tracking me down. She's either a nut job or I'm a horrible person. What if, at the tender age of eight, I said something deep and philosophical that inspired her throughout the years, getting her through the rough patches with her alcoholic father, or her mother's horrible brain cancer? And then I FORGOT her ass.

Whatever the case, she went through the trouble, so that was well worth allowing her into the sacred halls of my friends list. Watch and see if she ever writes me again.

LordInsidious.Livejournal.com

Mike, remember how you commissioned me over a year ago to write a short story from a supervillian's point of view? Well, I had to turn in a short story for my comedy class today, four pages or less. This is what I wrote:

---

LordInsidious.Livejournal.com


Subj: Progress

V. productive day! Renovations on Dungeon C going quiet well. Workers installed laser dismemberment table today. Wanted to test on watermelon, but watermelons were out of season, so used cantaloupe. Success! Had fruit salad for lunch.

Nuclear moon laser proceeding ahead of schedule. Should be ready next month. Budgeting working on appropriate ransom amount to demand of world leaders.

New episode of Heroes tonight! ^__^

Mood: Excited.
Music: “Perfect Day” - Hoku


Subj: Stupidfriends

Talked to Sheila, new head of Superfriends Advisory committee. Says odds of them uncovering nefarious moon-vaporization plot now “likely to highly likely.” Developed plans to have entire crime-fighting organization win lavish, 3-week vacations to Maui — $50,000 not anticipated in budget. Will have to cease renovations on Dungeon C and delay project indefinitely. Stupid superpowered freaks. H8!

Have lunch meeting with the Excruciator tomorrow. Just know he is going to show off ugly baby pictures.

Mood: Disappointed
Music: “You Make Me Sick” – Pink


Subj: Lunch Date

Excruciator’s offspring photos worse than had imagined. Purple-y. Fetal-y. Bloated. Conversation consisted of endless monologues on diapers and preferred brands of formula. Found myself unable to finish organic sun dried tomato wrap. Perhaps discovered cure to obesity epidemic. Ugly baby pictures = miracle appetite suppressant? Would explore further, but findings might benefit humanity.

Saw Sheila after lunch. Went over details of Superfriends-Maui-diversion plan. Why? Why? Should not have to concern myself with matters not related to lasers, like hotel reservations. To top it off, Heroes is a rerun tonight. No justice in the world.

Mood: Depressed
Music: “Witness” - Sarah McLachlan


Subj: Explosions!

Good news! Security caught spy attempting to infiltrate secret volcano base. Found him in lava ventilation tubes on routine patrol. Hahaha. n00b. Got to use laser dismemberment table for real! Resulting explosion MUCH cooler than with cantaloupe. Joy dulled, however, by one minor problem: HOW DID HE FIND MY BASE? HOW? WHY? WHEN? WHERE? Has he told anyone? If so, who has he told? If so, where do these people live, and do they have any close personal friends that would make good hostages for elaborate and public revenge scenario? If so, how can I incorporate lasers into said scenario? Sheila swung by to discuss possibilities, even though not her job. V. peculiar.

Nuclear doomsday moon laser due to be finished next week. *does a dance*

Mood: Satisfied
Music: “It’s My Life” – Bon Jovi


Subj: FRIENDS ONLY



Comment to be added.

Mood: ANGRY
Music: “Nobody’s Fool” - Avril Lavigne


Subj: Suspicious

Figured out how spy found secret volcano base. Had to make LiveJournal “friends only.” Stupid internets.

Also, beginning to suspect Sheila has a crush on me. Keeps inventing reasons to visit. Unsure whether instincts are correct, and if so, whether to act on this. Mentioned situation to Larry in human resources, and he advised I “hit that action.” Still not certain romantic entanglements a good idea now. Might provide fatal distraction at the most vulnerable stage of my plans. Then again, she’s hot, and likely a sure thing.

What the hell.

Mood: Hopeful
Music: “Everlasting” – Kenny G


Subj: Kick-Ass Sweet Awesome PWN!

Nuclear doomsday moon laser finally finished! Laser looks like something out of old, crappy Battlestar Galatica with Lorne Greene, and not new, vastly superior Battlestar Galatica with Edward James Olmos, but otherwise could not be happier. Once plans are in place, will be able to hold world for ransom. If demands are not met, will vaporize moon, thereby removing tides and throwing global weather system into disarray. If demands are met… will probably still use anyway. Why waste perfectly good doomsday laser?

Completion of laser gave me HUGE confidence boost, so asked Sheila out for Thai food. She said yes! But she said she wanted to pick the restaurant, and would not tell me where we are going. Worried.

Also, laser will have to be tested before threatening world leaders. Alas, no spare moon to test laser on. Hmmmm.

Mood: Elated
Music: “Everyone Wants to Rule the World” – Tears for Fears


Subj: Doomsday moon laser FTL

Total disaster. No other moons to test laser on, so was forced to test it on real moon. Then stupid me scheduled date with Sheila on same night as doomsday laser test. Horrible planning on my part. Blamed secretary and strangled her to death telekinetically. Still did not feel better and had to push back laser test two hours.

Sheila took me out to Red Lobster. Did not bother to ask if I was allergic to shellfish. Stuck eating breadsticks all night. Discussed favorite movies and bands. Mentioned deep love for Bon Jovi. (When world domination plans come to fruition, he will be spared.) Sheila laughed at me. She called Bon Jovi an 80’s has-been. Was forced to telekinetically strangle her for her insolence. Date a failure.

Laser a failure. Turned it on and moon did NOT blow up. Left blackish scorch mark on Sea of Tranquility and that was it. What now? What? What? Astronomers will notice big scorch mark, and then tell Superfriends, who will come to secret base and kick ass, that’s what. So unfair. Tempted to strangle engineers telekinetically for their incompetence, but didn’t feel up to it.

Will now have to move secret volcano base to different location and booby trap the old one. New base will likely be not as cool. Will probably be in a cave or rat-infested castle.

Also, Tivo mysteriously did NOT record new episode of Heroes. Will never find out if Hiro saves New York.

Will never find true love. Will never have nice things. Will never take over world. :-(

Mood: Crushed
Music: “Foolish Games” – Jewel


Subj: Real Estate

Housing market is total crap. Could not even find cave. Had to rent out office in industrial park under name of LunarTech Inc.

Mood: Inconsolable
Music: “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” – Green Day


Subj: I am a Genius!

I am a genius! Thought of way to salvage moon laser debacle. Laser does not blow up the moon, but does make v. good engraving device. Have decided to sell off idea to highest bidder and engrave the winning corporate logo on lunar surface. Best, most visible billboard space on Earth is on the Moon. Will make millions… billions. Maybe more. Besides, gazillionare business entrupieteers (sp????) get much ladies, or so I have heard.

Giving serious thought to trading in cape and menacing black ensemble in favor of business suit. Will probably go for it, as am allergic to spandex.

Mood: Creative
Music: “I Will Survive” – Dianna Ross

Spic and Span

I'm in my last semester of undergraduate work, and while many of my peers are scrambling for last-minute credit hours, fretting over job applications, or merely trying to get in as many keg parties as they can, I worry about none of this. Last semester? Bah. Been there, done that. The benefit of being a super-senior.

No, what I worry about is: how am I going to fit all my shit into a Volkswagen Beetle? I moved into my apartment almost four years ago, and since then, I have managed to accumulate, like plaque, a fantastic assortment of clothes, books, nicknacks, posters, and dust bunnies large enough to apply for American citizenship. The process was gradual, and so escaped my notice until it occurred to me that in a few short months, every single scrap of it is going to get boxed up, and shipped... somewhere. Most likely, my parent's basement. This means that my parents have a good shot at seeing the contents of those boxes.

Conclusion: Fuck.

Overdue library slips, threatening bank letters, embarrassing photographs, something goo-y that leaked inside my desk drawer, letters from that person I forgot to write back, papers with bad grades on them--all of them incriminating evidence, each one capable of revealing me to be a human being and not a Stepford daughter, and thereby leaving me open to parental nagging. They must be destroyed.

So where have I been these past few weeks? Knee-deep in old textbooks I couldn't sell back, bras of the wrong cup size, seventy-eight pounds worth of screenplays/Marti Saga, and a extravagantly heavy TV set that broke over a year ago, but I was too lazy to haul to the dumpster. All gone. My room is CLEAN, except in the sense of it being vacuumed, dusted, or purged of any actual dirt. After all, I had blog updates to write.

Uh-Oh

After 2008, I'm never going to leave my computer again. I will be like that South Korean guy who starved to death after playing Star Craft non stop for a month. Lord help me, they are making at Firefly MMO.

Goodbye, dear sunlight. I shall miss you, outside world.

Procrastination

I’ve written here before about the correlation between the progression in the semester (t) and the drop in intelligence (i) across campus. In other words, as the semester progresses, everyone, students and professors alike, feels increasingly stupid. For evidence, note the drop off in the number of updates here. I have been far stupid to write something worthy of even the pointless drivel I normally post.

In honor of the approaching exam week, I’d like to propose another law of academics: As the semester approaches exam week, the level of procrastination approaches infinity. Somehow, in the final weeks of each semester, just when the days seem to shrink from twenty-four hours to a mere sixteen or less, and just when my workload is at its peak, I somehow find time to cram in enormous amounts of procrastination.

For instance, three years ago, that procrastination came in the form of online cartoon HomestarRunner.com. I went through the entire contents of that site, every single cartoon, in three days: 80 Strong Bad e-mails, 10 issues of Teen Girl Squad, and I totally beat the Peasant’s Quest game. I also passed all my classes. I am a god.

Two years ago, it was Red versus Blue, a machinima parody of Halo. I don’t play Halo. I don’t even own an Xbox. But minor considerations like “logic” and “reason” held no sway over my primal and insatiable thirst to do anything other than what I was supposed to be doing.

Last year, I immersed myself in RPG geekiness on the Signal, devising intricate storylines that would take years to enact in full, most of which I never got to use.

This year, I am an Internet news fiend. I know more about the current status Hilary Clinton’s presidential campaign than Barack Obama. In the highly likely event I get rejected by all the grad schools I’m applying to, Senator Obama needs to hire me as his campaign strategist. (Best strategy to win the White House: Don’t run against Clinton, but as her running mate. Serve eight years as vice president, and then run for head office. In the meantime, appear on The Daily Show at least once every six months.) I also finally beat Kingdom Hearts and Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Chaos Bleeds for the Playstation 2. Yes, I am a bad person. Yes, I should have been (and should be) doing my work. However, I submit to you that resorting to Buffy: Chaos Bleeds for procrastination is its own punishment.

That is why this is my new desktop background, compliments of some random blog on the Internets:

You Fail At Grammar

I'll save you the trouble of clicking on the following link if you don't feel like vomiting on your keyboard today. Some person named Rae Hart Anderson lost her bid for Minnesota State Senator, so she sent her opponent a concession letter. I'll summarize:

Anderson: Congratulations on your victory. You really should find Jesus before you die and go to hell. LOL.
Chaudhary: ......?

I probably should have mentioned that State Senator Satveer Chaudhary is a Hindu.

Anderson’s letter disturbs me, but not because someone this ignorant ran for office. That's hardly unusual. Nor am I upset that her tone closely resembles a Scientologist sales pitch. Nor am I shocked that some people voted for this lady—herself, for one, and her mother. And yet, even with her supporters behind her, this loony wasn't elected, and that gives me hope for humanity.

No, what disturbs me about this letter is the Minnesota school system's utter failure to teach Rae Hart Anderson how to write. I've seen better compositions in AIM chat rooms. Her letter is poorly organized, uneven in tone, and a grammatical nightmare. Take her opening paragraph, for instance:

"Congratulations on winning the District 50 senate race. Your phone is 'busy'...no doubt with good wishes!"

Anderson's use of quotation marks around the word busy would seem to indicate sarcasm, however the irony isn't supported by the context. If Chaudhary won the election, wouldn't it stand to reason that his phone would be busy? Or perhaps Anderson meant to imply that no one actually cares who won the Minnesota District 50 race. In other words, she is so incompetent that she can't win an election that is so insignificant that if she were to have won, no one would have bothered to call her and offer congratulations. Anderson seems to ponder this grammatical paradox mid-sentence with an ellipsis. Alternately, she was omitting a comment, such as:

"Congratulations on winning the District 50 senate race. Your phone is 'busy', you godless, low-life, election-stealing infidel. I bet you had to sacrifice 30 babies to Zeus or whoever to swing the vote, no doubt with good wishes!"

Unfortunately, her opening sentences are among her best in her letter. From that point on, her crimes against the English language become bolder, more brazen, as she hijacks the noble ellipsis and presses it into service for a variety of purposes normally reserved for the comma, semicolon, or period. She takes similar liberties with the M-dash, so that she may better construct grotesque run-on sentences with impunity:

WRONG: "God in Christ is reconciling the world back to Himself, with offered forgiveness--this is one choice we get to make nose to nose with the living God--fear Him and you need fear no other."

RIGHT: "In the form of Christ, God is reconciling the world back to Himself, by offering forgiveness to all qualifying infidels. This is one choice we get to make nose-to-nose with the living God. Fear Him and you need fear no other. Act now, and you'll also receive a free toaster with each salvation."

Often, she combines these techniques, like she does in this gem from paragraph seven:

"Take some time to get acquainted with this power-filled Jesus...God with us. You could be a temple of the living God, by invitation---yours, TO GOD. :)"

Tisk. Tisk. Let's see if we can make that better:

"State Senator Chaudhary, as a practicing Hindu, you may not be aware of the many high-powered Jesus options available to you. For instance there's Jebus, Disco Jesus, Jesus Marx, Baby Jesus, Personal Jesus, and even Jesusaurus Rex. Did you know that everyone qualifies to be a living temple of God? It only takes one phone call and credit check to sign up! :)"

I think this effectively demonstrates why it's so important that every election require a writing sample from each candidate, to be graded by a panel of bipartisan judges on a holistic scale from one to five. I give this letter a -3.

My Dilemma

I finally told my parents that my laptop wasn't so much a laptop anymore, but a small desktop, ever since the hinge on the lid snapped and the screen won't fold down anymore. The bright side is that I might have a new computer coming my way. The bad news is that I have to say goodbye to my beloved Ziggy. Ziggy, who by now was so old that her retro looks would get me ooohs and ahhhs from Mac geeks on campus who wondered if it was some sort of new brand of MacBook they hadn't seen. Ah, Ziggy. Your pixels brought me such joy.

Moving on. I need to decide on a name for my new computer. I have a scifi robot/computer theme. Previous used names include Gort, Gir, Robbie, Artoo, Bender, and Data. I need to pick a name that will exude awesome, and communicate that this is a computer that can pwn Windows, and will be used towards geeky ends. So far, the canidates are:

Bishop ("Synthetic Human", Aliens)
Tom Servo (Robot, MST3K)
Caprica 6 (Cylon, Battlestar Galatica)
Deep Thought (Computer, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)
Hactar (Evil computer, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)
Wintermute (AI program, Neuromancer)
Jane (AI program, Ender's Game series)
Lappy 486 (Computer, Homestar Runner)

Any thoughts? Suggestions?



Update: From Wikipedia: "The hinges on the Titanium PowerBook display are notorious for breaking under heavy use. Usually the hinge (which is shaped like an 'L') will break just to the left of where it attaches to the lower case on the right hinge, and just to the right on the left hinge (where the right hinge is on the right side of the computer when the optical drive is facing you)."

Well, now I know. And knowing's half the battle.

Horray for Number Two!

I had to see a professor in his office hours last week and he asked me how I was doing. I hesitated. At this juncture, I had two options:

1. Lie. My professor feels better about me but I become a horrible person.
2. Tell the truth. Appear to be emo PMSing emotional wreck that can't cope with a measley twelve credit hours.

I threw caution to the wind and went with number two. "Actually, I think I'm getting progressively dumber as the semester progresses." From the adjacent office, the neighboring professor overheard our conversation and chimed in: "Oh, thank god I'm not the only one!" Horray for honesty.

I got to thinking about the incident later. What if I had hit upon a universal constant in the college experience? As I went to my classes, I did an informal poll, asking various people I ran into how smart they felt at the beginning of the semester, versus how smart they feel now. The results were disturbing:



The evidence is irrfutable, and very useful for explaining a variety of phenonoma, like the 2004 presidental election. Democrats were counting on college students showing up in droves to vote for Kerry, but we didn't show up. Why? Because by November, we were already falling down the stupidy curve. Since it also applies to professors, it goes a long way towards explaining how they will assign rediculously complicated projects in the last weeks of class, only to later complain that they have a lot of grading to do.

I have a solution. It involves time travel, and moving from the end of the semester (where things are difficult but you're stupid), to the beginning of the semester (where things are easy, but you're smart). This would not only allow you to bring the intelligence/workload of a semester into balance, but you'll notice that it also generates a time loop, where as soon as you return to the end of the semester, you get bumped back to the beginning. That's right. Not only does your semester go better, you never get old, and you never die. Genius.

Priorties

Like everyone else, I spend a lot of time waiting in linings, riding the bus, or sitting at red lights, so I have some time to kill with no real productive way of spending it. Times like this, I retreat to one of a dozen or so standard fantasy scenarios I've been working on for the last few years. One of my favorites is to imagine what it would be like if I woke up one morning to find myself in hte past, in my five year old body. I would have advance knowledge of all sorts of things--the direction of technology, which companies to buy at IPO, September 11th, Bush, Iraq, Harry Potter...

Wait a minute. Harry Potter. Do you realize how close we are to that book coming out? The anticipated release date is sometime in 2007, which is right around the corner. Not to mention Spiderman 3, Batman 2, Hellboy 2, Sin City 2, and Joss Whedon's Wonder Woman. They're so close I can taste it. I have a lot to live for.

Thinking it through, that would mean that I'd have to wait eighteen years just to find out if Harry really is the eighth horacrux. I'd have to wait even longer to see Joss Whedon pwn at the box office, and I won't even waste my time hoping to see Hillary Clinton return to the White House with Baracak Obama as her running mate. Sure, I'd be comphensated by living about seventeen extra years, but some of those would be in the eighties, and all of them would be filled with reruns. I'm not sure if I can stand to see the X-Files jump the shark again, or hear another Hanson song on the radio.

So I guess we're stuck with Bush in office and the twin towers flat as pancakes. Not that I could probably fix either of those anyway. At five years old, I would either wind up ignored or in a lab getting anal probes from mad scientists.