I'm Santa Claus, Dammit! (GRUBB UPDATE)

An earlier entry here at words of advice for young people introduced our reader(s) to Monroe County character David Grubb and some of his outsider art.

Recently the man himself has been in the news, as with a story in the June 8, 2006 edition of Bloomington's 'Herald-Times'. I can't link to it, because you have to be a subscriber, so I will just share some excerpts in a manner I hope is consistent with 'fair use'.

One of the most universal and fundamental pieces of advice old folks pass on to the kids is: 'don't take candy from strangers'. It seems some Bloomington kids were trying to follow that advice, but the stranger, none other than GRUBB, took offense. From the article:

"David Grubb, who got 212 votes in the 1998 GOP primary and who is a fixture of public comment periods at local government meetings, is charged with felony battery of a 5-year-old boy by hitting him on Sept. 23, 2005, after he and another boy refused to take candy from Grubb."

also...

"The afternoon's testimony was anticlimactic, with a 7-year-old boy, two 14-year-old girls from across the street and two mothers who got involved testifying about the incident. The 5-year-old victim, now 6, was deemed too young to testify.

The 7-year-old boy said Grubb offered the two boys candy. When they refused, he said it was OK because he was Santa Claus, but they still refused. According to testimony, Grubb then took a swing at the 7-year-old. The boy ducked, and Grubb then hit the 5-year-old in the forehead, causing a bruise over his left eye.

The two girls across the street plus adult witness Michelle Ricardez said they saw Grubb swing at the boys. Ricardez, the girls and the 7-year-old boy all said they never heard anyone tease Grubb before or during the incident.

Baggerly said that Grubb never hit the boys but that they had been taunting him, and that the witnesses got together later to "close ranks" in their accounts. "

For his part, Grubb evoked Roger Miller and borrowed a favorite tactic of his idol 'Pres Bush' in his comments:

"The nation is at war and everything is in chaos," he told Harris outside the jury's presence. "I'm not sitting in front of a bunch of women. They're going to hang me, dang me ... I can be innocent and they will find me guilty."

Eh, at least he didn't blame gay marriage for his plight.

The trial continued today and is probably over now. We will follow this story as it develops.

UPDATE:

Actually it is over. Here's the headline:

Man convicted of battery
David Grubb could face a new felony intimidation charge for a remark he made to prosecutor Thursday at his trial for striking a 5-year-old boy who wouldn't take candy from him in September 2005

The article elaborates:

David Grubb hadn't even been convicted Thursday of felony battery of a 5-year-old child when his own remarks started police on paperwork for a second felony charge.

Grubb, in jail after being convicted of the battery, may face an intimidation charge for saying in court of prosecutor Lynda Robison, "I'd like to cut her throat."

and...

Grubb rambled at length about his life, jobs, feuds with public officials and problems with the law over the decades. Grubb is 67.

"I get run out of this county a lot because I see wrong, and I raise hell," he said. "I'm a little scattered, radical because I've had to fight for my life all my life."

One after another, he made allegations against people in the community, alive and dead, by name. He blamed many of his life's woes on "Democrats, idiots and queers."

Scratch what I said earlier. He did play the gay card.

Finally:

"I love kids. I don't hit kids," he said. Except for one case, he began recounting, to Baggerly's dismay.

It was in 1962, and two boys were throwing hay out of his barn loft. Their dad was drunk at home, so he cut a maple branch, called them out and switched them. He said it got him hauled into court for battery, and "it cost me money," so he didn't hit kids after that.

As for whether he struck the 5-year-old boy on the forehead on Sept. 23, 2005, after the boy and a 6-year-old had refused to accept candy from him, even when he told them he was Santa Claus, he denied hitting the boy.

"I'm Santa Claus, damn it!" he said.

"Take me out behind a building and shoot me," Baggerly moaned during the jury break that followed.

Neither he nor his client will be shot, but sentencing will happen June 15, according to the article.

No Irony

Here's a charming little photo that was in Bloomington's Herald Times this morning. The caption:

Lorraine Hensley, 18, sits between signs held by Alexis Hensley, 8, left, and Linda Jerome during a demonstration against illegal immigration Saturday near the Bartholomew County Memorial for Veterans in downtown Columbus. President Bush urged Congress on Saturday to find a middle ground between mass deportation or instant U.S. citizenship for the estimated 12 million illegal immigrants already living in America. Bush's radio message was the third time this week he has spoken out about immigration. Andrew Laker | Associated Press

I would consider it to be an A-OK use of my tax money to round up this lot and ship them back to where they came from. Probably that would be Lower Assclownia.

Not sure if these folks will achieve the fame of the 'Get a brain morans' guy, but they tried.



Follow up 06/06/06:

'LEMA_ODA' on has a great post on livejournal (wow, there's a phrase I neve imagined myself typing, 'a great post etc etc') about the 'NO AMNETY' photo, along with other anti-immigrant spelling bloopers. He notes:

On a personal note, i have now been to two very large immigrant rights protests at which there were thousands of mostly Hispanic immigrants for whom English is a second language and i have yet to see even one misspelled word on any of the English-language signs and banners they carried. 5/25/2006 12:08 AM

He also has a quote from the photographer who captured this comic moment:

Hi. This image was taken with a still camera, and the video on the web site was shot with a different camera. And how do I know that? I shot them both - that's how. Thanks everyone for the kind comments. It was a funny situation. The down side is that my poor editor has been inundated with phone calls from angry protesters.

Here's a link to that post: click.

I SULTE PRESBUSH

One thing this blog needs is some pictures. So, in order to add some images to this otherwise logocentric site, I bravely ventured into GRUBB COUTRY (sic) on Bloomington's industrial West side with my digital camera. Occasionally you will see Mr. GRUBB sitting out in front of his house, but he wasn't there today. He will never wave when you wave at him. He used to have a grey beard, but the beard is gone now.



One morning, on the way to work, I saw Coutry Commissioner GRUBB coming out his front door, followed by a very large TV. The TV sped up and passed him going down the front steps. He was laying flat on his back. The TV was laying screen down on the ground. I stopped the car and asked if he needed help. 'No, no' he said, and waved me off. He was able to get up and that was all the convincing I needed. I hopped in the car and sped off.



Just as Ol' Dirty Bastard once proclaimed 'Wu-Tang is for the children', so too is GRUBB concerned about the well-being of our young people. The truck used to say 'KIDS NO DRUGS' along with other slogans including 'THANKS REPS BLACKS DEMORATS (sic)' and 'POWELL AFTER BUSH'. Now it says 'KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS KIDS'. KIDS what? I'm afraid to ask

Worth noting: the satellite dish. In related news, the number of homes without plumbing recently surprassed the number of homes without satellite TV.



Our last shot shows the truck from the other side. As you can see, still shaken by my previous visit, I was afraid to get out of the car to take these photos. I would be surprised if more than 3 of the people who graduated from IU this year ever saw GRUBB COUTRY in their 4 or more years in Bloomington. But like Skull Island, it's out there, with its own rules and logic, best left alone by those from the outside.

Scenes from post-graduate life ca. 1990

Congratulations, graduates!

I graduated from college 16 years ago. W's Daddy was in office, and things were pretty bleak. He hadn't yet started that hoo-ha, let's feel good about ourselves war in the gulf yet, but plenty of people were graduating with seemingly not too bad degrees (various engineering disciplines) from not too bad schools (like Purdue, not too shabby in the technical area), yet getting fuck-all response to their job searches.

I was able to land something using some of the same pestering nerdly skills that had met with a 0% success rate in dealing with the opposite sex. Anyhow, they got sick of me calling and generally annoying them all the time, and gave me a job at what everybody called the 'Naval Air Welfare Center' in Indianapolis. It was about the only place I could think of where you could work in Indianapolis with a Physics degree, seeing as it involved creating and testing devices that could be used to kill people. It was where veterans and college grads with no self-esteem went to die. This dying process could take anywhere from 1 to 40 years, and involved such indignities as

• sitting in the cafeteria eating horrible, horrible food, listening to your Lovecraft-esque boss talk about his sex life with his wife
• listening to grown men talk for an hour about the merits of competing brands of lawnmowers
• listening to increasingly icky guy co-workers make lewd remarks about the women in the cafeteria
• watching the new boss, who had a body resembling a melted candle, pull a room-temperature (no microwaves available at the time) hot dog from his cooler every day as he ate lunch at his desk

Anyhow, dealing with this day in and day out created a level of angst and dread so intense I had to listen to the Smiths and read Kafka after work to step down from the heights gradually. It really woke me up to the nail-gun-repeatedly-to-the-head banality and tedium that apparently was what really made post-collegiate life so horrifying, and made attending graduate school and working for $4500 a semester seem like I had died and gone to a better place.

So, enjoy your new jobs!

They killed Mr. Softie

Here's some tired crap you hear a lot - it's one of those memes that people hear and pass on and on and on, without ever pausing to think about how fucking stupid they sound first off for repeating something verbatim which probably everybody has heard many times to begin with, secondly, for doing so in a complete mental vacuum in re: labor history:

Unions were fine organizations, 100 years ago. Back when the federal government was not addressing certain crucial labor issues, unions brought them into the public's view and created needed debate.

Today, however, unions do little but increase the costs of doing business. Sure, some select people benefit by earning more than they would otherwise get in a truly free market. But the majority suffers from higher prices and union corruption.

It's from here, but oh god it doesn't matter. Anyhow, I am on a mailing list for Techsunite.org. They have taken on the Quixotic task of getting techies to Unionize. Quixotic because among other things techies are anti-social creatures, so the whole getting together and organizing thing seems a bit absurd. Also because they are highly competitive, so the whole working for the common good thing seems a bit absurd. You could probably be a passable manager of techies just by insinuating to your various reports that 'employee X might do job Y better than you'. They would then bust their techie asses to prove you wrong. Anyhow.

Here's an article from a former Microsoftie, The WalMartization of Microsoft.

I left Microsoft to be a full-time parent to my newly adopted daughter in 2000. Since then, not only is the stock stagnant, but the wages and salaries are too. In fact, wages and salaries seem to have stagnated at the same time Microsoft hired a top Wal-Mart executive. That same executive has just been promoted to Chief Operating Officer.

Meanwhile, according to anonymous sources, managers at a recent Executive Retreat were encouraged to make everything like “Wal-Mart.” How deep will this exhortation go? Will wages continue to be stagnant and perhaps decline?

She goes on to reference Steve Ballmer's advice to fire 6.5% of your staff every year. That might actually please 'Who da'Punk', the individual behind Mini-Microsoft, a blog with this mission statement:

Let's slim down Microsoft into a lean, mean, efficient customer pleasing profit making machine! Mini-Microsoft, Mini-Microsoft, lean-and-mean!

Sounds good on paper, but who is he kidding? You can't go back to the garage. Once a company reaches a certain size, all it can do is hang on and make modest but safe gains, picking up new products by buying out little guys here and there, hopefully without accidentally destroying them with your hamfisted clumsy big fucking corporation hands, and eventually you just die. In the meantime, the blog is an interesting window into Microsoft, as many Microsoft type folks vent spleen within (here's the big revelation - middle management: not good!), and it's also a good source of Schadenfreude for Microsoft-bashers or maybe just people who wished they worked someplace of significance.

For the record, I actually like a lot of Microsoft products. XP, which I'm using now, SQL Server, I even think C# is pretty cool despite the Java resemblance. I got no personal beef with Microsoft. I'd get much more Schadenfreudic enjoyment seeing Oracle or Sun go down the toilet, actually. Larry Ellison's role in life seems to be making Steve Ballmer seem all cuddly and Care Bear like.

A Series of Progressively More Painful Indignities

I recently read The Tortilla Curtain by T.C. Boyle, a book seemingly written for these times, and by these times I mean the times where the immigration debate is on everyone's mind, with immigrants even marching in Burlington, VT, of all places. Actually the book was written in 1995, and is set in California, which is usually ahead of the rest of the U.S. in things like popular music, fashion, drugs, and racism toward Mexicans (I visited L.A. back in the 80's, and what struck me the most was how all the white people would speak disapprovingly and condescendingly of racism toward African-Americans in Indiana, then turn around and rant about 'beans', apparently completely oblivious to the irony of the conversation's turn. But this was before Alanis Morrisette brought the concept of irony to the masses.)

The novel revolves around two couples, well-off white liberals Delaney and Kyra, and immigrants Candido and America, who live in a camp in Topanga Canyon not far from the white folks' gated community. The book opens with Delaney striking Candido with his car, and Candido and America suffer a series of progressively more painful indignities as the book progresses, while Delaney's liberal ideals slowly (and Kyra's less slowly) unravel under the influence of paranoid and decidedly creepy upper-class neighbors.

As I've mentioned before, I'm fascinated with Mexico and its culture, so I found the book very interesting independently of the timeliness of the subject matter, and it is definitely worth reading (as is the other T.C. Boyle novel I've read, Drop City, in which a hippie commune self-destructs in a highly interesting way, in Alaska, of all places). It will give the reader a better understanding of what immigrants have to deal with, although I suspect people clamoring to round up all the illegals and ship them South of the Border might not be too inclined to give this book a chance.

I visited the NorthEast Kingdom, and all I got was this lousy virus

We all flew out to VT last Friday for an extended weekend visiting grandparents and cousins. I didn't mention this before, because you can't be too careful with all the burglars clicking that 'show me next blog' link until they see that somebody's in Vegas next week, which they note for either their own fiendish purposes, or to pass along to somebody else in the sophisticated network of 'blog-burglars'.

One of the highlights of the trip was going up to Craftsbury, VT (the name sounds like it was created by a team of marketing professionals tasked with coming up with a cute, rural-sounding Vermont name, but as far as I know, it was not), where my brother in law works for a small college as a farmer.

Craftsbury is in the Northeast Kingdom. It's in the Northeast part of Vermont, and it feels like another country. Actually, it feels like another planet. The light is different. I'm not sure why, maybe it's the latitude, maybe the lack of pollutants - car exhaust and general industrial filth, but it's very bright and clear and eerily different. So much so if I were to look up and see two suns, I might even be relieved to have an explanation of what's up with the light.

I noticed that the last time I visited the Northeast Kingdom, a couple years ago, when we visited my brother and sister in law on the organic yogurt farm where he was working. That trip was very memorable because I got to see a man stick his arm into a plastic sleeve, then up a cow's ass, and clear out a lot of cow crap so he could stick a 3 foot long needle into the cow and get her pregnant. I dodged a very thick stream of cow urine that started flowing during this process, and watched my brother in law stick his hand in a cow's mouth and pull out the ruminant. Prior to this gig, my brother in law worked on a farm camp for at-risk youth, run by I think the Farelly brothers.

Anyhow, my daughter was along this time, so I was hoping we wouldn't be seeing any of that. It was springtime, and it was time to see the baby animals. So we all walked down the street to see the chickens. There were numerous chickens walking about in the yard, and my brother in law scattered some feed for them.

'I want to go to the farm.' my daughter exclaimed.

From there we went to a greenhouse where spinach and other greens were growing. My daughter ate some spinach, and pronounced it yucky. Later during the trip, she would try to grab some gum under a seat at an airport.

'I want to go to the farm'.

The next stop was inside a shed where we heard the peeps of real live baby chicks. We got to look at them and even got to hold them.

'I want to go to the farm'.

After that we went to the barn to meet a mama goat (who had an unfortunate swollen teat that had the effect of making her look like the goat Ron Jeremy) and her two babies. They were extremely cute and jumped around a lot. We were able to pet them although they were hard to approach.

From there we went to the field populated by sheep (mamas and babies) and a llama. We were told to bow to the llama, and we did. The llama didn't really do anything in response, but apparently it's more a matter of what happens if you DON'T show the llama respect.

After the sheep we saw the cows, including some calves. There was cow excrement everywhere. I was amazed how much those cows produced. It didn't smell particularly bad (in the Northeast Kingdom, the light is different, and cow shit smells ok), but it was everywhere.

My daughter by this time was convinced we were finally at the farm.

The other highlight was riding the shuttle in the Detroit airport on the way back. It takes you back and forth along the terminal. We got at one end of the train, where if you're 2 you can ignore the signs saying 'don't sit here' and sit right there looking out the window pretending you're driving the train, and further pretend that it's not the shuttle at the Detroit airport but Gordon from the 'Thomas and his Friends' show. It's great family fun and created the
only good memory I have of Detroit after visiting Detroit on a couple of different occasions.

My spokesmodel is a Jewish Carpenter

Need Peace of Mind?
call on God and
Kelley's Termite &
Pest Control
(phone number)

(actual Bloomington Area sign)

If business goes well, Kelley can gradually phase God out,
like Sears phased out Roebuck.

True Story:

There is a business in Southern Indiana. We won't mention the real name. Let's call it 'Drywall For Jesus'. The main point here is they use a reference to Jesus in their name; Jesus is part of their 'brand'. An acquaintance hired them to do a job. With the job half-finished they stopped showing up. Much time passed, but no word from Drywall For Jesus. Aforementioned acquaintance called and asked for an explanation. Explanation: you have alcohol in your fridge and therefore your house has demons in it. We can't go back there.

When this goes to Court, we'll see what kind of game the law firm of Miller, Baker, Johnson, Oglethorpe and Christ has got.

The Moral of this story:

Alcohol in your fridge might attract demons. Do all your drinking at a bar or acquaintance's house. Or smoke weed. Demons hate that smell.

Van Driving Yahoos Are Ready to Steal Gas!

I thought people were pretty much over the 'gas is so expensive' gripes when it went back under $3, but apparently that's not the case. At the gas station today a very angry white dude of the Tom Arnold type driving a Van complained to a young guy of the Eminem/Kevin Federline type (a future entry will go on at greater length on the Theory of White Guy Types) that gas was too gosh (sic) damn expensive.

"It's 2.64 and it goes up 10 cents every week. Before long people are gonna start stealing gas. This van gets 13 mpg. I can't afford it."

"I know what you mean. I have to put premium in that piece of shit." (points to dark green, somewhat old but still in pretty decent condition BMW with the pimped out rims whose main function is to make the rest of the car look like shit).

"People are gonna start stealing gas." (the other guy again)

At this point K-Fed mentioned how motorcycles get great gas mileage, and tried to sell Tom Arnold one of his for $800, but he didn't bite, saying he didn't have that kind of money and couldn't afford it.

He should have at least got K-Fed's address. Then he could have stolen the bike at least.

Elmo's Coloring Book, live at the Murat (WARNING: SPOILERS)

My wife, daughter, mother, father and I had wholesome family fun at the Murat Theatre in Indianapolis last Sunday, where we saw a production of Elmo's Coloring Book. The last time we were at the Murat was to see Chris Rock's Black Ambition Tour in 2004. Neither daughter nor parents were with us for that.

People who don't have kids probably see going to things like this as a good reason not to have kids, but all in all, it was a well-done production featuring nice sets, much dancing and decent music, although I suspect Elmo was lip-syncing.

Actually, a nice thing I noticed about ECB, as those in the know refer to it, was it didn't throw in a lot of half-assed pop-culture references to try to reach the parents. This seems to be a welcome trend in kiddie entertainment away from the 'Robin Williams as the Genie does impressions of 80's celebrities' thing that was big for a while, as Curious George the Movie didn't pull any of that shit either, aside from the King Kong references, but how do you expect them to do a monkey movie without throwing in a nod to King Kong? Actually in this case, there was an interesting subtext having to do with Imperialism and the White Man's appropriation of other cultures. It was a message similar to that put across by Gil Scot-Heron and the Last Poets in their track 'It Ain't No New Thing' ('release the album 'John Wayne sings the Blues'/release the album 'J Edgar Hoover sings James Brown'), but in this case presented in a fashion that would entertain toddlers, and definitely would not require you to explain to them what 'cultural rape' means.

In the story, Professor Art, the only human cast member, creates a device that enables the characters to put themselves inside coloring books depicting scenes including ancient Egypt and Dinosaur times (in a bold move, during this sequence they acknowledge that yes in fact the Earth is more than 5000 years old, which would have enraged the IDers if there had been any there (nobody walked out angrily)).

Colors start missing from scenes, and even Oscar the Grouch loses his color, becoming as white and clean and annoyingly cheery as the Snuggle Bear. The culprit turns out to be a Polar Bear named Blanche, who lives in the color starved (except for the Northern Lights I suppose) Arctic, and thus has to resort to stealing colors from others to enhance her environment. Obviously there are direct parallels to White America's appropriation of blues and later hip-hop from African Americans here, as well as the British Empire's appropriation of elements of the various cultures it conquered in its Colonial days. It's an interesting message, but of course to the kids it's all about singing and dancing Dinosaurs that look like they rolled in a bowl of Skittles and seeing the Sesame Street gang pretty much Live On Stage.

At the end, everyone reconciles and all is well. Then confetti cannons go off on each side of the stage, startling especially small children and reminding the rest of us that even when peace and harmony are achieved, they are fragile things that require constant attention and care, with the possibility of war and violence always lurking in the background.

Overall it was quite thought-provoking, and the kids dug it too. My daughter was sad it was over and wanted to see it again, and it seemed the production was well-received by other children in attendance.

Recommended for people wanting to entertain people who can't read this sentence.

Pimp My Senator

The recent woes of Tom Delay, Jack Abramoff, and Duke Cunningham remind us that in the U.S. we truly have a government of the people, by the people (with a shitload of money) and for the people (with a shitload of money). It's easy for the individual who does not have access to millions of dollars and a stable of lobbyists to feel shut out of the process and alienated.

I personally can not complain, though. For one brief moment a couple years ago, I had an opportunity to throw my lot in with a political action committee and be partial owner of a Congressho, the way a stockholder can be a partial owner of a corporation. I worked for a huge telecom company that had an employee PAC, and one day there was a mandatory PAC-related meeting for all the 'managers' at the company. Like 90% of the managers there, I had no underlings, but because I was called 'manager', I couldn't join the union, so it was a win/win. I had a meaningless title, and the company had no need to worry that I might ever try to stand up for myself in an inconvenient way.

At the meeting, the sub-sub-demi-President of our local nodule of the corporation made a few remarks and introduced our bi-partisan presenters. There was a former Republican State Senator who looked like the president of the Lambda Chi Alpha Chapter. There was a former Democratic State Senator who looked like an AME minister. They told us about the hard life of the state representative. It is a part time job that doesn't pay very well. Lots of very
thick bills full of legalese end up on their desks. "There is no way we could read it all". Fortunately, there is help for the overwhelmed freshman senator.

These guys were approached by lobbyists for the corporation. "Hey, we spent a lot of money on your campaign" they said. "We think we deserve some access as a result". Access means getting to tell the senator how to vote.

These guys acquiesced, but they weren't just two cheap trollops that got used up and thrown away by the lobbyists, it turns out. They ended up getting really nice jobs with the corporation after their stint was up. God Bless America.

The way the PAC worked was pretty clever. When you signed up, you'd chose a percentage or amount from your paycheck that went to the PAC. You'd also choose a charity from the corporation's approved list, and the company would match your PAC contribution with money going to the charity. That way they got your money in exchange for charitable contributions which, unlike your PAC contribution, were tax deductible.

After the presentation was over, a cynical old bag at the back of the room said, in a voice ravaged by thousands of smoke breaks: 'think of this as your management union dues'. The ex-congresshos laughed, but said 'well, we aren't allowed to say that, ha, ha'.

Some chump I worked with signed up to pay a dollar per pay period. He lived in fear and was really under the corporate fist. He slept at his desk regularly, but feared if he checked weather.com from his work computer the goon squad would take him away. Beep beep. I'm sure he thought if he didn't give them any money, his days were numbered, but I'm surprised it didn't cross his mind that the $1 would look like an insult.

As for myself, I signed up to give them nothing. I guess I only have myself to blame for my position of powerlessness and lack of say in what the government does.

(BTW, I don't know what happened to the grizzly story. Looks like blogger ate it.)

Why we're not yet really fascists: where are all the Superstar Generals?

Though Americans are proud to be without a royal family or a tough-but-fair autocrat who took charge via a military coup running things around here, we do have a history of superstar Generals who even veterans of our public schools can rattle off without even thinking: George Washington. Ulysses S. Grant. 'Blackjack' Pershing. Douglas MacArthur. George S. 'like crap through a goose' Patton. Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Even more recently, during Gulf War I, aka American Gets Its Groove Back, fat middle aged men sitting on the couch watching the ass-kicking all teary eyed fell in love with fat, middle-aged General Norman Schwarzkopf, whose aw-shucks memoir 'It Doesn't Take a Hero' was a phenomenally successful best-seller for a while. General Colin Powell became 'the black man everybody at work can agree on' before Will Smith took the title, and middle Americans unable to pronounce the word 'wash' properly marveled that 'he speaks so well'.

Then, somewhere, somehow, things went awry for the military as a path to celebrity. Though MacArthur famously said 'Old soldiers never die, they just fade away', and Schwarzkopf appears to have done exactly that (note to self - Google to see if he's still alive after typing this), Powell introduced a new model for old soldiers - the political career that crashes and burns because you hitched your wagon to the wrong star.

With Gulf War II, aka this time we mean it motherfuckers, you'd expect a whole new Rat Pack or Brat Pack or what have you of military superstars to come out and start shining, but mostly they've been in the shadows. The only Generals I could name associated with Gulf War II when I started writing this were Gen. Janis Karpinski of Abu Ghraib infamy, and General Vincent Brooks, who gave all those press conferences in the pre 'Mission Accomplished' days, charming us with strong and powerful oratory like this:

It's unlike any other targeting process in the world. It takes into account all science, it takes into account all capability, and we do everything physically and scientifically possible to be precise in our targeting and also to minimize secondary affects, whether it's on people or structures.

The words seemed carefully crafted to fade from memory the instant your neurons processed them. Kids in no schoolyards proceeded to imagine themselves bravely minimizing secondary affects on structures.

While military folks are regarded as heroes in this go-around, they are kind of faceless everyman dad-went-in-to-work-even-when-he-had-a-fever-of-103 heroes. The days of the Superstar Generals seem to be gone. Now its ex-CEOs and academic neocons running things. Where have you gone, Dwight D. Eisenhower? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you, woo woo woo.

P.S. - He's alive!

This week's brilliant online persona

CAPS LOCK shouldn't be as funny as he is. The all caps thing has been done before, both by clueless n00bs and people who know better mocking clueless n00bs.

His Diary about the death of Pope John Peel (sic) II includes this gem:

WE MUST ENSURE THAT THE LIKES OF THIS NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. THE BATTLE AGAINST DEATH IS THE MOST IMPORTANT CHALLENGE FACING LOVERS OF FREEDOM AND DEMOCRACY. WE MUST NOW TAKE IT FROM THE STREETS OF FALLJAH AND BAGHDAD TO THE STREETS OF ROME, WHERE EVIL ITALIAN TERRORISTS RIDING BATTLE MOPEDS SPREAD CANCER AND HEART FAILURE AMONGST POPES. I SAY TO THEM: BRING IT ON!

...and later...

HE WILL BURIED, ONLY TO BE RESSURECTED AGAIN AT EASTER TO GIVE HIS NOW TRADITIONAL INCOMPREHENSIBLE EASTER MESSAGE OF BARKING NOISES AND DRIBBLING FROM THE VATICAN BALCONY.

In his Diary, MY MATE ASIF, he tells the story of a young Pakistani man's transformation from star-struck youth who would follow in the footsteps of Freddie Mercury to suicide bomber taking a busload of civilians down with him. In another diary, he tells a dying friend he's going to hell:

HIS LIFE WAS A CATOLOGUE OF SLOTH, THAT MOST COMMON OF SINS. NO MATTER THE PASSION OF HIS FEELING, THE SOUNDNESS OF ITS LOGIC: HE NEVER ACTED.

THERE IS SUCH A THING AS HELL. IT IS WHERE THE GUILT OF YOUR INACTION IS MADE REAL, AND YOU CAN'T LOOK AWAY.

Like b3ta, Monty Python and of course Benny Hill, CAPS LOCK reminds us that the best comic minds come from the UK.

Yo yo yo! Represent Da Lollipop Guild!

I've mentioned here before that as you move past 30 you tend to get a bit out of touch with the new music, what with not having so much time to read music magazines and listen to the near infinite sources of music now available in our brave new (but still floating-car-free) world. There was a time, sure, all I did was hang out in the apartment listening to The Smiths, but you know, you live, you grow.

Anyhow, the options as you get older are kind of grim. Occasionally you'll get wind of some new thing of the moment. Let's say 'Grime', a genre whose best known artist is 'Dizzee Rascal'. How can you not like a guy named 'Dizzee Rascal'? Well, after listening to the CD a couple times and having a real hard time getting past the hiccuping delivery and the impenetrable UK slang, you suddenly find yourself buying up Pavement re-issues, which is the aging indie-rock fan's version of curling up in the fetal position.

New superstar out of the UK, Lady Sovereign aka SOV, presents a whole other problem. I heard 'A Little Bit of Shhhh' on the Electronica 'Music Choice' satellite TV station, and damn, it is some good UK flavored hip-hop, lots of aggression and more of that impenetrable UK slang ( "Got kicked out of school due to bunking/ Now look at me, the multi-talented munchkin," - Bunking?). But Google SOV and, Oh my God, she looks like she's 12 years old. She is 19, so we're told, but she looks 12. That just won't do, no not at all, if you are male and over 18.

I guess there's an Underworld Box set that just came out. Off to the record store I go.

How not to jerk off: my special 'choose life' message to the young people of the Islamic Republic of Iran

As I've mentioned previously in this space, part of the fun of having a blog is checking through the referrals in your logs to see what's bringing people to your site.

Recently I was excited to discover I had my first hit from the Middle East. It was in fact, from the Axis of Evil itself: the Islamic Republic of Iran. It seems a young man at the Rizbarf Mineral Company was kicking back and taking a break, and instead of daydreaming about wiping Israel off the map, he went to Google to type in his search keyword: 'jerkoff'.

Imagine his disappointment when the search led him to a posting on my blog about using the Mozilla Greasemonkey plugin to filter out posts by jerkoffs, using some javascript featuring a variable called 'jerkoffs' (and I realize I'm only making things worse for future would-be wankers, but stick with me, the positive after-school special part starts right about now).

Now, I know under a repressive regime ruled largely by religious dudes with a lot of problems with the whole concept of sex and a kind of awkwardness and reluctance in re: treating women properly, there is probably not a lot of open discussion about things like masturbation (I went to Catholic School, so I speak from personal experience), but I can tell you, not only is there nothing wrong with it, it apparently reduces your risk of prostate cancer, which, even though I'm not a doctor, I would classify as a good thing.

However, some people get a little too creative, and they get hurt. I direct you to the Chuck Palahniuk novel, Choke, which features a lengthy section about masturbatory
misadventures leading to emergency room visits (who knew some vacuum cleaners had little blades inside to chop up the dirt? You do, now.)

Another possible problem, which people here in the U.S. in general would rather not talk about (although there was an episode of Six Feet Under that opened with a young man dying this way) is auto-erotic asphyxiation.

In college, I shared a house with several students and a Physics Professor. One of our housemates was brilliant, at least he was an extremely skilled computer programmer, but he was also what people would euphemistically call 'troubled'. He came to the College I Attended after being kicked out of the infamous fundie institution 'Bob Jones University' (his list of offenses included associating with a girl from Lebanon, and possession of a Stryper tape). He got in big trouble for messing with the computer system. He failed math classes he presumably could have passed. He actually paid to have electrodes attached to his arms so he could build up muscles without having to use the weights the Professor had in his basement, like the rest of us did (another story, for another time).

Anyhow, I graduated, and a couple of years passed, and the old woman who lived next door to the house (she was a good friend, we hung out w/ her when we got sick of our other housemates) told me about the tragedy: our old roommate had committed suicide. Apparently, he was deep in debt, and quit a job thinking he had landed another one, only to find the new job had disappeared. Police cars and an ambulance came to the house, and it was a terrible scene.

Even though I wasn't close to the guy, I felt pretty sad about that. It seemed like the sort of problem he could have worked through. Later, while I was discussing it with another alum of the school and house, my friend informed me it was not suicide, actually it was 'autoro...autoerotic...autoerotic asphyxiation' (this friend is pretty religious, too; and his religion dictates that he stumbles awkwardly over terms or ideas that are too repulsive to him).

Apparently this friend had talked to a police officer who had arrived at the scene. The roommate was found with a belt around the neck. Something had gone wrong and the whole thing was an accident. He had no intention of killing himself all along.

It was very sad, and a total waste, so to young people in general, stay away from that shit. You don't want to be remembered for that, and if you go out that way without a long achievement-rich life behind you, that's pretty much all you'll be remembered for by most. Actually, it's probably true that if you cured cancer AND died of autoerotic asphyxiation, you'd be remembered as that scientist who died of autoerotic asphyxiation.

How to ensure nobody does Karaoke at your New Year Party

(invite a professor who teaches voice at one of the top music schools in the country. D'oh!)

Media worth Mention pt. 1: La Perdida

This cornily alliteratively titled feature covers DVDs, CDs, and Comic books that I've recently viewed/read/listened to/otherwise ingested that not only were worth the time/money involved to acquire and ingest them, but were in fact good enough to write about here where maybe one or two people will get curious and likewise check them out.

The first item is actually a series, a 5 part comic by Jessica Abel (of artbabe fame) called 'La Perdida'. It's about a young American woman's experiences living in Mexico (Abel lived in Mexico herself from 1998-2000). Mexico is a source of fascination for many USians, myself included, several of whom have fantasies with varying degrees of seriousness about actually moving there and living there for a bit, and anyone with that interest really ought to look into this series. It's not merely a thinly veiled autobiographical travel diary thing - there are a number of events and twists in the story that add suspense and excitement that go beyond the usual foreigner acclimating to the local culture subject matter. After reading Part 4, I had to rush back to the bookstore to pick up Part 5, because I wanted to see how things turned out.

The drawings are all black and white, with covers in color. I enjoyed the style and the story, and picked up a lot of great Mexican slang along the way, which I almost certainly will never use in real life. I'm not even sure how 'guey' is pronounced.

This came out in 2002, but I am just discovering it now, thanks to the truly wonderful Boxcar Books, a non-profit, volunteer-run bookstore in Bloomington (which, thanks to some recent renovations, now has a whole room dedicated to comix). Since I discovered Boxcar Books, I pretty much only go to Borders for tech book needs now.

Highly recommended.

Merry Christmas Motherfuckers!

Apparently some people are worried about 'secular progressives' trying to further the ongoing oppression of the Christian people by saying 'Happy Holidays' instead of Merry Christmas. All the Christians are going to have to flee to Egypt like Jesus and his Mom and non-God Dad did any minute now.

As a member of this secular conspiracy to destroy America's Heritage (I am a member of the ACLU, after all), this prompted me to examine my own behavior to see if I was doing enough for the cause. On some self-reflexion, I realized I actually say 'Merry Christmas' a lot, which made me wonder why do I show such callous disregard for friends and colleagues who are Jewish or otherwise non-affiliated with the downtrodden Christian minority of 80% of residents of the U.S. (thousands of whom attend services regularly, hundreds of whom pay attention to them)?

I realized it was kind of a knee jerk thing I do as a resident of a very churchy state in the midwest where slipping up and giving the wrong person the idea that you don't 'believe what they do' will result in all sorts of grief (I hesitate to use the word persecution as let's not be a drama queen here, the beatings ended once I got away from the nuns at my Catholic school).

So, yeah, 'War on Christmas' my skinny white ass. I am going to indulge in some serious Santa worship on the 25th to atone for my utter failure to observe the Winter Solstice. My Winter Solstice tradition is to, at some point during the day, say 'hey, it's Winter Solstice today', which has yet to trigger an exchange lasting longer than 15 seconds. Still, Solstice is important, as the truth at the root of it all is that freezin' is the reason for the season.

Best programming book EVAR!

I have written briefly before about the 7 wheeled bicycle that is J2EE. Anyhow, people are looking for something, anything to replace Java as the next thing in programming, and a major contender is Ruby, a language created in Japan by a guy w/ the nickname 'Matz'. Another big one is Python, all the rage with the Linux set.

Anyhow, while wasting time on Kuro5hin tonight, I ran into a reference to Why's (Poignant) Guide to Ruby. It is full of cartoons and stories about an evil scientist named Dr. Cham. It also talks about Ruby, too. This Mr. why the lucky stiff is a genius, I tell you!

I have decided to learn more about Ruby now. Comix make learnin fun!

(update 12-23-05:

I read the whole thing. I liked the bit about meta-programming and Dwemthy's array. Writing programs that write programs is great, especially if the programs partially write themselves.

I also really liked the tiny bunny who put the dragon's head in the chimbly. I'm still not sure what a chimbly is. A cute mispelling of chimney?

Overall, a bold redefinition of the programming manual taking ideas Larry Wall touched on with the 'Job from the Bible hacks Perl' bits in the Camel Book and then just really running with them.
)

Disjointed thoughts in the Larry King Column Vein

Web sites and magazines are always talking about the 10 best albums ever, or the worst album covers, and these articles always stir up arguments. But there's no dispute as to who the worst rock band ever is: Aerosmith after 1980.

There's a really happening audio installation about the famous Amen break right here. You know the Amen break even if you don't know it by name.

The Super Furry Animals have a new album out, and I didn't even know that. It's true - after you turn 30 you really can't keep up with music to save your life.

Here's a tasty treat - put mustard and swiss cheese on an onion bagel, and put it in the microwave for 20 seconds. It even tastes great on those O-rings Lender's sells in the freezer section.

One of the design goals of .NET was to enable rapid development. One of the design goals of J2EE was to take a decent language and throw so much doo-hickery on top of it that the simplest project takes years.

Every time I see Dick Cheney trying to smile, I wonder whose heat he had turned off.

Diving into Greasemonkey, or Roll Your Own Bozofilter

I read about greasemonkey in Wired, and it sounded pretty cool. What it is is a plugin for the Mozilla browser (which is vastly superior to Internet Explorer, kind of like a 2005 Toyota Camry is better than a 1973 Pinto), and what it does is allow you to write javascript snippets that enable you to change the structure of websites you visit in whatever manner you wish (common mods include adding in links to other sites, stripping out ads, or changing ugly color schemes).

This has ramifications for Web advertising and 'brand purity' that probably nobody cares about at this time, because it's only geeks who want to fuck around with writing their own Javascript and CSS and figuring out what XPath expressions are and why you'd want to use them who will be using it. There ARE plenty of pre-written scripts out there, however.

At this point the cautious will rightfully ask whether it's a good idea to install code that hasn't been vetted on your machine, and they'd be right to do so. After all, with companies like Sony trying to get all '1337' on our asses and putting rootkit software on My Morning Jacket CD's so they can 'own' our 'boxen', we really can't be too careful. There was in fact as Security Advisory involving Greasemonkey in July of 2005, discovered by Mark Pilgrim, who we'll talk about more soon. It has since been addressed.

Let's get back on topic. All you really need to do to get started is install Mozilla, and if you do plan to be writing any scripts, you need to choose the Custom Install w/ the developer extensions. You then install the greasemonkey plugin.

There are numerous sites discussing Greasemonkey. The one I ended up bookmarking and going back to was the unappealingly titled 'Dive Into Greasemonkey' by 'Dive Into' Mark Pilgrim (you have to admit, though, having a 'Dive Into' book on the shelf is infinitely better than something from the 'For Dummies' series). Mark's guide is thorough and, here's the really great part: concise. As in brief. As in not full of a lot of useless fluff (you will soon see a 900 page book with a Red Cover and pictures of several nerds on the cover from Wrox publishing if Greasemonkey catches on, though).

Anyhow, for a simple Greasemonkey experiment, I wondered how easy would it be to write a bozo-filter for my favorite running forum, coolrunning.com. It was pretty easy. I am sure there are a million other ways to do it, anyhow here is one (standard disclaimers about for entertainment purposes only, no guarantee of blah blah blah, don't come crying to me if this causes your machine to melt through the floor, etc, apply):

// This is a Greasemonkey user script.
//
// To install, you need Greasemonkey:
//   http://greasemonkey.mozdev.org/
// Then restart Firefox and revisit this script.
// Under Tools, there will be a new menu item to
// "Install User Script".
// Accept the default configuration and install.
//
// To uninstall, go to Tools/Manage User Scripts,
// select "CoolerRunning", and click Uninstall.
//
// -------------------------------------------------
//
// ==UserScript==
// @name          CoolerRunning
// @namespace     SDC
// @description   remove wack fuckas
// @include       http://www.coolrunning.com/*
// @exclude
// @exclude
// ==/UserScript==

// give us a quickie list of miscreants
// (replace with real usernames before using)
var jerkoffs = new Array("attention ho",
                        "subliterate cretin",
                        "troll");

// alt approach: use XPath expression
// note - this is it, zeroes in on 3rd cols 
// (user on thread list)
// on comment list it's 1st col.
var xpathMatch;

var allEle = document.evaluate("//TABLE/TBODY/TR/TD/H2",
document,
null,
XPathResult.UNORDERED_NODE_SNAPSHOT_TYPE,
null);

GM_log("Got " + allEle.snapshotLength + " with the H2 in TD.");
GM_log(allEle.snapshotItem(0).innerHTML);

if (allEle.snapshotLength > 0 &&
 (allEle.snapshotItem(0).innerHTML.indexOf("Clubhouse")>=0)) {
 xpathMatch = "//TABLE[@width]/TBODY/TR/TD[3]"; // topics
 GM_log("Using topics match");
} else {
 xpathMatch = "//TABLE[@width]/TBODY/TR/TD[1]/FONT"; 
 // subject page
 GM_log("Using Listing match");
}

allEle = document.evaluate(
xpathMatch,
document,
null,
XPathResult.UNORDERED_NODE_SNAPSHOT_TYPE,
null);

GM_log("XPath got:" + allEle.snapshotLength + " items.");

wipeJerky(allEle);

function wipeJerky(theElements) {
var thisEle;
var whereIndex;
var jerkoff;
for (var idex = 0; idex < theElements.snapshotLength;
   idex++) {
   thisEle = allEle.snapshotItem(idex);
   GM_log("Inside: >" + thisEle.innerHTML + "<");
   for (var jdex = 0; jdex < jerkoffs.length; jdex++) {
     jerkoff = jerkoffs[jdex];
     whereIndex = thisEle.innerHTML.indexOf(jerkoff);
     if ( whereIndex >= 0) {
       GM_log('Looks like ' + jerkoff + ' is here.');
       GM_log(' at index:' + whereIndex + ' in the contained html.');
       container = thisEle.parentNode;
       // may have to back  up.
       if (!(container.nodeName.toUpperCase() == 'TR')) {
         container = container.parentNode;       
       }      
       container.parentNode.removeChild(container);
       GM_log('Removed ' + jerkoff + '.');
     } // found a-hole
   } // jerks
} // elements
}

The Answer's to Last Week's Quiz

1. This was kind of a trick question. In this particular case, it was a corporate, private industry job, but there was a guy that slept on the government job, too.
   
2. This one was a government job. There is a street in my town with the same name as the guy, which always reminds me of this scarily intense individual.
   
3. This one was a private industry job. Consulting companies love to find suckers to milk for all they're worth, public or private. The application violated software engineering principles like not putting more than 256 fields on a screen. (note of clarification - I didn't write the story I linked too, but it illustrates my point pretty well)
   
4. This one was private, too. Corporations, driven by market forces and the invisible hand, can make innovations in stifling, soul-crushing bureaucracy that make legendary government inefficiency look pretty candy ass.
   
5. Government job. Eerily smart people sometimes are motivated by non-monetary factors like the job being the only thing in any way technical near their home town. And no, I wasn't talking about myself here. This guy lived in Bloomfield, and I've never even been there.
   
6. Corporate job. Like Wally from Dilbert, I was not overly vigilant about making sure the thing had good batteries.
   
7. Corporate job. Some plucky individuals inside the company started a Wiki to try to make sense of all the acronyms.
   
8. Government job. He did have the sense to abandon the necklace thing when it got too small for his neck.
9. Government job. I have since gone on to higher levels of flunkydom.
   

This Week's Quiz: Government or Mega-Corporation Job?

Each item below describes something I observed either while working for the Government or while working for an extremely large corporation. Answers will appear in a future posting.

1. A guy I worked with fell asleep in his cubicle at least a couple of times a month. It eventually became a game for the rest of us to try to get pictures of him sleeping. Nobody tipped off management, because the game was kind of fun.
   
   
2. A type-A engineer rumored to have a massive home porno collection often worked weekends and usually put in 10 hour days (at least).
   
   
3. Software projects were tracked by a bloated monstrosity of VB crapware that some sheisty consulting company put together for about a billion dollars.
   
   
4. The organizational structure had 23 levels. People in the middle 21 levels mainly forwarded emails coming from higher levels down, and did their best to prevent their underlings from communicating with people at higher levels.
   
   
5. There were eerily smart people working there who knew how to change software in strange and wonderful ways by twiddling just the right bytes.
   
   
6. We were provided beepers which people actually sometimes used to try to contact us.
   
   
7. The language of the organization consisted mostly of Acronyms. Any one person knew what 10% of the acronyms meant, maybe, if they had been there for ten years.
   
   
8. A guy wore a necklace he made out of paperclips. (The number of paperclips) = (The number of days 'till retirement)
   
   
9. A guy volunteered for the daily task of 'getting supplies for people'. Getting supplies usually killed a whole morning, until a manager got wise and gave the job to a summer student flunky.
   
   

Testing on Knoppix

The piece of crap computer I bought from Micro-X-press in Indy finally gave up trying to run XP. Or XP gave up. One of these. Apparently Micro-X-Press went out of business or changed names or got swallowed up by another company.

I had a Knoppix CD handy, so here we are. I mainly just use the computer at home as a dumb terminal to get on the Web anyway. Who am I kidding?

2 Year Old Movie Critic: Wallace and Gromit in The Curse of The Were-Rabbit

(cried inconsolably when the credits rolled, wanted the movie to keep going)

Fighting the Power with Memaw and Pepaw

Resistance to the I-69 project has always been strong in Bloomington, IN, and supporters of the initiative are quick to dismiss Bloomington as 'not representative of Indiana', what with it being a bastion of liberal thought and student activists and former hippies, and all that.

Tonight they held the first public hearing on the project at Martinsville High School in Martinsville, IN, which in general is a highly conservative, G.O.P.-all-the-way kind of town. There were plenty of 'My Man Mitch' signs in people's yards during the 2004 gubernatorial campaign, so they probably thought it was at least semi-friendly territory, but they were apparently wrong.

The meeting started with a Power Point presentation by a Daniels flunky about the plans for the highway - how many lanes, where the interchanges would be, where the overpasses would be. Not much was said about the highly unpopular decision to make I-69 a toll road - hitting all the commuters that use what's now State Road 37 to travel to Indianapolis or Bloomington with extra daily costs. Mostly it was about 3 alternate plans for the roads crossing 37, and in this example of democracy in the U.S., 2005 edition, the citizens have the power to choose, but they don't get to choose NOT to build I-69, no, they get to choose whether Ennis road will have a cul-de-sac or a Local road connection to frontage roads. Thank you, grandpa, for dodging bullets in Saipan so we can have freedoms like these.

Following the meeting was the 'have your say' bit, where local citizens were allowed 2 minutes to make a statement about the plan or ask specific questions (none of the questions were answered or addressed, I suppose they were 'noted'). A traffic light changed to yellow at 90 seconds and red at 2 minutes to keep people from going over.

The first guy to speak was an elected official they shipped in from Pendleton, IN, which is on I-69 North of Indianapolis. He glowingly spoke of all the economic benefits the Interstate has provided his town. Apparently the Interstate helped them preserve the town as an historic community somehow. He gives it credit for that, anyway. After this guy the Daniels people trucked in spoke, we didn't hear anything positive about I-69 for the rest of the evening.

People were pissed about the toll road decision. They wondered about the impact on air quality (one guy made the observation that "on 'No-Zone' days, we're told not to mow the lawn before 6am, but now you're gonna have thousands of trucks coming through every day?"), and the noise levels. People who owned businesses vented about their frustration that nobody in the government would listen to them. A man 'speaking for the small farmer' questioned the numbers used in the studies supporting I-69, calling them the result of a branch of math called 'Trickonometry' (corny, but better than 'fuzzy math'). An elderly woman who could barely stand up raged (as much as she could) about the government taking away her home. An elderly gentleman outraged at the prospect of losing his home suggested '3000 small lawsuits is better than one class action lawsuit'. Those who did not speak indicated their opposition by strongly applauding those who spoke out against I-69. When asked 'who here opposes I-69', everybody raised their hand. A couple people from C.A.R.R. in Bloomington spoke, but most of the speakers were locals judging by their knowledge of the town.

After the meeting I was encouraged that there was so much opposition to I-69, even outside of Bloomington, but at the same time I still have the impression the government just doesn't care what anybody thinks about it, or how it will affect them. It seems they've made up their mind this is going to happen no matter what anyone says, kind of like Bush made up his mind we were going to take out Saddam no matter what the facts were or what anybody thought. I'd like to think people could take a stand and stop the big swindle from happening, but I obviously have my doubts.

Slicker and Tighter (Metal Machine Music Part II)

At the risk of alienating my tens of readers further, here's another entry about obsolete technology. Computers, mainly.

Legend has it the last code Bill Gates wrote for Microsoft was a little 'game' for the DOS 1.x(!) on the IBM PC called 'Donkey'. He wrote it with then high-school kid Neil Konzen in a closet while the two of them were getting a highly confidential preview of the PC.

The PC, as well as Bill and Neil's game, caught the attention of the people on Apple's Mac team.

The most embarrassing game was a lo-res graphics driving game called "Donkey". The player was supposed to be driving a car down a slowly scrolling, poorly rendered "road", and could hit the space bar to toggle the jerky motion. Every once in a while, a brown blob would fill the screen, which was supposed to be a donkey manifesting in the middle of the road. If you didn't hit the space bar in time, you would crash into the donkey and lose the game.

You can see the code, at least a QuickBasic version, here.

Just this one line gives you an idea of how far things have come in programming in general. This IS BASIC, the 'easy to learn', 'user friendly', 'so the janitor can start writing programs' language conceived at Dartmouth in 1964:

1670 LOCATE 5, 6: PRINT SD: LOCATE 5, 31: PRINT SM

CY = CY - 4: IF CY < style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255);">THEN 2230

PUT (CX, CY), CAR%, PRESET

DX = 105 + 42 * INT(RND * 2)

FOR Y = (RND * -4) * 8 TO 124 STEP 6

SOUND 20000, 1

A$ = INKEY$: IF A$ = CHR$(27) THEN 1298 ELSE POKE 106, 0: IF LEN(A$) > 0 THEN LINE (CX, CY)-(CX + 28, CY + 44), 0, BF: CX = 252 - CX: PUT (CX, CY), CAR%, PRESET: SOUND 200, 1

IF Y >= 3 THEN PUT (DX, Y), DNK%, PSET

IF CX = DX AND Y + 25 >= CY THEN 2060

IF Y AND 3 THEN PUT (140, 6), B%

NEXT: LINE (DX, 124)-(DX + 32, 149), 0, BF: GOTO 1670

Short, cryptic variable names, hardcoded numbers all over the place, no comments, and, the cherry on top, the dreaded GOTO statement.

Bill Gates famously chided John Carmack (responsible for much of the heavy lifting on Doom, Quake, and numerous other revolutionary video games) in a video shown at the ceremony where John was inducted into the Hall Of Fame of the Academy of Interactive Arts and Sciences: " I just want you to know that I can write slicker and tighter code than John ".

To the non-technical, that scene was equivalent to a skit from a 70's Bob Hope Special in which Bob, wearing one of those leather 'Knute Rockne' football helmets, tells 'Mean' Joe Greene 'I'm gonna kick your ass on the football field today'.

Enough of that, though, this is not a bash-Gates or bash-Microsoft blog (really). In the interest of fairness, I just want you to know that I could write more unreadable and opaque basic than Bill myself, back in the 80s.

This game, 'Moonwalk III', involved helping a green guy with a nice hat get across a disintegrating bridge. It was very exciting.

1 V=53248:POKE V+21,1:PRINT"":POKE V+16,0
5 POKE V+39,5:POKE V+29,0:POKE V+23,0
10 POKE 2040,13
20 FOR T=0TO62:READ X:POKE 13*64+T,X:NEXT
25 FOR T=0TO 62 :POKE14*64+T,0:NEXT
30 FOR T=0TO62:READ X:POKE 15*64+T,X:NEXT
40 PRINT"“":POKE V+29,0
60 PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT
70 PRINT" ’  ’  ’  ’  ’  ’  "
80 PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT:PRINT
90 PRINT"  ’  ’"
100 PRINT
110 PRINT"  ’"
111 PRINT""
115 POKE V,32:POKE V+1,79
130 JX=PEEK(V):JY=PEEK(V+1)
140 GOSUB 3000
150 IF RJ=8ORRJ=9ORRJ=10THEN GOSUB 5500
160 IF RJ=4OR RJ=5ORRJ=6THEN GOSUB 6000
170 IF PEEK(V+31)=0 THEN GOSUB5000
175 IF JX>250 THEN JX=0:POKE V+16,1
176 IF JX>40 AND PEEK(V+16)=1THEN 11000
180 POKE V,JX:POKE V+1,JY
185 IF FR<>16 THEN GOSUB 4000
187 GOSUB 7000
190 GOTO 140
2000 DATA 0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,240,0,1,248,0
2010 DATA 0,240,0,0,240,0,0,0,224,0,7,240,13,240,0,13,252,0
2020 DATA 13,252,0,0,248,0,1,240,0,1,177,0,3,57,0,6,15
2030 DATA 0,12,0,0,8,0,0,8,0,0
2040 DATA 0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,120,0,0,252
2050 DATA 0,0,120,0,0,120,0,0,112,0,1,248,0,1,248,0,1,252
2060 DATA0,1,252,0,0,248,0,0,248,0,0,216,0,0,216,0,0,216,0,0,216,0,0,216,0,0,252
2070 DATA 128
3000 REM READ
3010 RJ=PEEK(56320)
3015 FR=RJ AND 16
3020 RJ=15-(RJAND15)
3030 RETURN
4000 POKE 2040 ,13
4010 FORZZ=1TO15:POKEV+1,JY-1:POKEV,JX+1:JX=JX+1:JY=JY-1:IFJX>255THENPOKEV+16,1
4015 IF JX>255 THEN POKE V+16,1
4020 NEXTZZ
4025 POKE 2040,15
4030 FOR XX=1 TO15:POKEV+1,JY+1:POKEV,JX+1:JX=JX+1:JY=JY+1
4032 IFJX>254 THEN JX=0:POKE V+16,1
4033 IF JX>330 THEN 110000
4034 NEXT XX
4035 IF PEEK(V+31)<>1 THEN GOTO 5000
4040 RETURN
5000 JY=JY+4:POKEV+1,JY:IFPEEK(V+31)=1THENPRINT"SAVED":FORT=1TO900:NEXT:GOTO11111
5010 IFJY>250 GOTO 10000
5020 GOTO 5000
5500 IF PEEK(2040)=13 THEN POKE 2040 ,14:JX=JX+4:POKEV,JX:POKE 2040,15:RETURN
5510 POKE 2040,14:JX=JX+4:POKEV,JX:POKE2040,13:RETURN
6000 IF PEEK(2040)=13 THEN POKE 2040,14:JX=JX-4:POKEV,JX:POKE 2040,15:RETURN
6010 POKE 2040,14:JX=JX-4:POKEV,JX:POKE 2040,13:RETURN
7000 X=INT(RND(0)*40)
7010 IF INT(RND(1)*10)=0 THEN RETURN
8000 IF INT(RND(1)*10)=0 THEN 9000
8010 POKE 1024+(40*6)+X,32:GOTO9000
9000 IF INT(RND(1)*40)<20 THEN POKE 1025+(40*6)+X,160
9010 RETURN
10000 PRINT"YOU DIE SUCKER!":END
11000 PRINT"U SUXESFULLY COMPLETED YOUR MISHUN!!!":END
11111 PRINT"*****":GOTO115

Ack! GOTOs!

There's one comment in the code, the not very helpful:

REM READ

Which apparently tells you something is being read. This was back when I had the philosophy that because comments are ignored by the computer, it was a waste of time to include them. My uncle, who worked for AT&T forever before retiring a few years ago, set me straight on that after I suggested that his code was good and all, but why all the comments?

Possible over-exposure

I was on the front page of the local paper this morning, the Herald-Times. Here I am, with hundreds (actually thousands) of other Hoosiers, running to fight cancer and stuff. Unfortunately, there is still cancer in our world, and it wasn't a PR for me either. I did retire several months ago from competitive running, but it's like smoking, I've quit 3 or 4 times since that announcement.

This afternoon I spun the reggae classics (plus some new stuff they had in the studio) on WFHB from noon to 2 as guest selector for Reggae Children, for the guys who usually do the show and have been doing it for over ten years now. Like with running, I have made no money whatsoever out of the radio thing, but it seems to be impossible to give up. For a couple years I was even doing a monthly show from 10pm-2am, which was completely insane and eventually I stopped.

Fun fact: there is no computer in the air room at WFHB, making it unique among radio stations, where for the most part you'll find college dropout 20-somethings reading stuff off a screen (like in telemarketing sweatshops). This also helped set the atmosphere for the show, which today focused on that great period in reggae from 1974-1979 or so. King Tubby, Lee 'Scratch' Perry, Niney and the Observers, and both I-Roy and U-Roy were represented, as well as a bit of dancehall (but no slackness).

Kanye West is my official hip-hop hero

Check this out: http://tv.zap2it.com/tveditorial/tve_main/1,1002,271|97339|1|,00.html

I caught this this morning, thanks to TiVo and my wife, who was up this morning watching the benefit.

The looks on Mike Myers' face during this were priceless.

It went like this:

Mike Myers: blah blah forgettable blah plattitudes blah

Kanye West (voice shaking ever so slightly): "I hate the way they portray us in the media. You see a black family, it says, 'They're looting.' You see a white family, it says, 'They're looking for food.' And, you know, it's been five days because most of the people are black. ...I feel hypocritical asking for money, because I went shopping before I gave any money. I didn't even watch the TV, I've been trying to turn away from it. But now I'm talking to my business manager, asking what's the most I can give."

Mike Myers: blah blah what people are supposed to say at times like this blah

Kanye West: "America is set up to help the poor, the black people, the less well-off, as slow as possible. I mean, the Red Cross is doing everything they can. We already realize a lot of the people that could help are at war right now, fighting another way -- and they've given them permission to go down there and shoot us."

Mike Myers (shaken somewhat, on auto-pilot now): blah blah give blah tragic blah

Kanye West: "George Bush does not care about black people. He...."

Mike Myers turns suddenly to West and starts to open his mouth...

(cut to Chris Tucker, backstage apparently in the middle of fetching a Coke from a fridge)

Chris Tucker (frantic): In the past few days, America has really come together to help the people of New Orleans and Mississippi. Do what you can. Send water, send trucks. We are all one. Please please please please, help help help help help help help.

(Tucker showed all what a showbiz pro he is by not looking at his watch midway thru the stream of 'help's to see how many seconds he had left to fill).

On a musical note, I really like what Kanye West did with the production on Common's latest album. I'm going to go out and buy his two albums, too.

They are: The College Dropout and Late Registration.

...after donating to Katrina relief efforts, of course.

Software Archeology, or Metal Machine Music (Part I)

Software is notoriously short-lived. Like baby sea turtles making their way to the sea, most software projects are doomed to die very early in their lives. Those projects that survive to maturity are often defective disappointments, like Paris Hilton, doomed to be quickly forgotten, unlike Paris Hilton.

Even if software survives its birth and lasts for a while, the odds are still stacked against it in the long term. Platforms change. Formats change. Storage media deteriorate and fail (some people are addressing these problems, fortunately).

A few years ago I stumbled upon a technological find in the unfinished basement of a home located in South Central Indiana. It was a box of 5 1/4" floppies, items that are not so common in this century. They were in a case made of fake wood with a transparent (and broken) top. They had not been stored in ideal conditions, and I didn't have much hope for them.

In the same building, in an upstairs closet, I found not one but two 1541 disk drives. These items can fetch up to $20 on eBay, but in the interest of science, I held on to mine.

It was hard to read the labels of the diskettes, as the writing seemed to be the work of a chimp with cerebral palsy. There appeared to be several games that were popular in the mid-80's (including that precursor to internet porn, Strip Poker) plus some code written by the aforementioned chimp, who has since gone on to write software for a number of other platforms and organizations.

There are plenty of free programs out there that emulate the Commodore 64, but most computers these days do not have 5 1/4" floppy drives, so there was still the problem of getting the data from the disks to my PC.

Fortunately, the internet brings together nerds with obscure obsessions. So one can obtain (or make your own) XM1541 or XA1541 cable allowing you to connect an ancient 1541 to the parallel port on your circa 1995 Pentium (whoa, one step at a time, can't jump to the present all at once) which runs Linux. There's software you can use that allows your computer to communicate with these relics. (There's software for Windows, too).

Once you have your cable and you've installed your software, you can start reading the disks to .d64 images. This is what I did, and to my surprise, out of the box of 20 or so disks, all but 3 were readable. I had to slow down partway through the process, though, as the drive soon got so hot I worried if I put a disk in it it would melt (I would later find out that many 1541s have found an ignoble end-of-life niche serving as hot plates in flophouses).

At this point I was very pleased, and after digging old C-64 commands like LOAD "*",8,1 out of my memory, I was up and running. It was a real Dr. Chandra plugs HAL back in moment (Good Morning Dr. Chandra. I am a HAL 9000 Series computer. Would you like to play a game of Strip Poker?).

Tune in next time for part II, which will include embarassing ancient BASIC code listings from both myself and Bill Gates.

They still haven't found what they're looking for

I signed up for a visit counter for this blog (for free) over at http://www.sitemeter.com. It's interesting to look at. Among other things they have a cool map of the world, showing where all your visits came from. I haven't had any visits from Mongolia or Tuva yet, and that disappoints me.

They also list the referring sites - the site containing the link the visitor clicked on to get here.

There are quite a few referrals from Yahoo Search. I don't think the Google bot has even visited, so I don't get clicks from there. All those busy engineers who used to be fed by the chef for the Grateful Dead are doing their best to tune their algorithms to keep the random spare time sputterings of some old dude from Indiana out of their listings.

A lot of searches bringing people here are related in some way to the Blog's name, words of advice for young people. I actually named it after something William S. Burroughs wrote and recited on an album he did with the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy (the people who also brought you 'Television, The Drug of A Nation').

Excerpt:

If you are doing business with a religious son-of-a-bitch get it in writing. His word isn't worth shit--not when the good Lord taught him how to fuck you on the deal.

Anyhow, here are the variants on the advice for people theme that brought people here:

• most young rich people
• viagra use by young people
• advice from old people to young people
• words of advice about love
• advice for young bands
• words of advice for young adults
• how to advice young sister
• words for people leaving job
• words of advice for young women
  

I really don't think I helped anybody there.

Some people came here via a search on the 'Rich Dad, Poor Dad' guy that I wrote about a while back. The first person in this list was on the right track:

• rich dad poor dad bull shit
• rich dad poor dad book criticism
• kiyosaki investigation
  

There are some people looking for religious things. Again, barking up the wrong tree.

• Church signs "messages for"
• eastview christian church Martinsville,in
• they'll know we are Christians by our love mp3
• They'll know were christians
• they'll know were christians by our love
  

It seems at least one person at Eastview Christian Church in Martinsville caught me making fun of them. D'oh! Sadly, the Church signs around town have managed to be insipid without being completely ludicrous lately, so I haven't had much to write about lately on that topic.

The 'Redneck Playground of Horror' story seems to be a bit of a search magnet, judging by these:

• pigeon hill bloomington
• aryan tattoos
• redneck tattoos
• eminem's girlfriend
  

For anybody who lands here due to a tattoo-related search, here's a site about prison tattoos. It explains what all the imagery and symbols mean, which will be really useful if you end up in prison someday yourself.

In my next installment I think the topic is going to be Software Archaeology. So I know you all can't wait for that.

Catch offshore fever!

This is old but here it is, edited somewhat. The two key
things here are:

1. the use of the phrase 'joy of offshoring' apparently w/out irony
2. that universal call to update your resume: 'I'm not making any promises, but I assure you...'

I got out of Dodge, myself.


-----Original Message-----
From: **redacted**
Sent: Wednesday, March 30, 2005 2:07 PM
To: **redacted**
Cc: **redacted**
Subject: Team Changes

Due to some pressures to offshore, we will be moving into a new era in
our organization. **the lamest group on our team** has already experienced the joys of
offshoring and have made it work. Now **you other suckers** will be doing the same.
Five of the offshore folks that have worked in the **lamest group on our team** environment
will be moving over to the **you other suckers**. Because of this, we
will be moving people that we have worked with out to other projects
outside of our organization.

Both **dude** and **other dude** have accepted positions within **redacted**'s
organization on the **some acronym** organization. There will be further changes
to our organization in the next few weeks and those will be announced
as they unfold.

I do want to emphasize that, while I won't make promises, I believe
that this will be the extent of offshoring done in our group. There
is no reason to be concerned about your jobs so please do not feel
your jobs are in jeopardy.

Thank you.

**the boss**

**other boss**, please feel free to cascade to your organization.

2-year-old Music Critic

The Andrews Sisters - 'Don't sit under the Apple Tree'

Again! Again!

Harry J Allstars -'Liquidator'

No! No!

Ray Anthony - 'The Hokey Pokey'

Ho-pokey! Again!

Slint - 'Don, Aman' (from the indie-rock classic Spiderland)

No! I don't like it! OFF!

Elvis Presley - The Complete Sun Sessions

Elbis! Again?!

The Gordon Bonham Blues Band - live at the Park in Bloomington

(nods head, claps in time to the music)

...stay tuned for future installments of 2-year-old music critic

I have been away, in New Orleans and other places

It is true: Bourbon Street is what would happen if all the jocks grabbed their guns, Harris and Klebold style, and took over the country.

While we were there, we saw an awful lot of kids. Unfortunately the 'I got Bourbon faced on shit street' shirts only came in adult sizes.

One Dad was busy passing on his really healthy attitudes towards women to his sons as we walked by. He lifted them up so they were standing on a window ledge on either side of him. In the window was a silhouette of the stripper inside. Somebody took a picture of the three of them for the family album.

Fortunately Bourbon Street is a very small part of New Orleans. We hung out at the Ritz-Carlton and enjoyed all the free drinks and did our best to ignore the long-winded dudes and their wives, some of whom were unnecessarily mean to the staff, or whoever they had on their cell phones at the time. We were possibly the youngest people there who were not with our parents.

The high point was the AirBoat ride through the Bayou. Those things are louder than you can ever know seeing them during their obligatory appearances in any show or movie taking place in Louisiana, and they're very fast, too. The guy who drove us from the hotel to the Bayou was an English dude, and he mentioned how Cajuns marry their cousins 3 or 4 times. He found it really fascinating and odd, yet in England they have the royal family, so it wouldn't seem like such a big novelty.

We got to hold not one but two alligators. I don't believe the alligators dug it very much.

It's a strange place. Definitely a city with its own identity, though.

Tivo: Boon or Bane?

Boon: It took me just 20 minutes to watch the finale of 'The Apprentice'.

Bane: Without TiVo, I probably wouldn't have watched the finale of 'The Apprentice'.

Boombastic Radio

It's easy to get the too-much-of-a-good-thing feeling with funk. For example, the comp The Funky 16 Corners features 21 funk tunes (and a break-beat remix by Cut Chemist) that are all fine on their own, and I'm sure they were great as 45s, but I'll be damned if I can listen to it all the way through. It's similar to T-Rex - Greatest Hits 1972-77-B Sides in that way.

Somehow, http://www.boombasticradio.com/ plays funky music and manages to keep me tuned in for long stretches of time without ever giving me that I ate too much candy feeling. They do that by drawing from various styles either explicitly or implicitly funky: old-school funk, hip-hop, reggae, dub, dancehall, electronic music, and even the occasional surf-rock number. It keeps things interesting, and this is one of those cases where picking out what to play next is being done with admirable skill. The DJs are anonymous, though. They never speak, nor could I name one of them. All you ever hear to remind you it's a radio station is the British guy doing the occasional station ID.

Compare and contrast: New Job vs. Old

I have been at the new job for only 2 weeks, so I can't exactly say I know everything about the place, but there are already some major differences between this place and the last one.

In convenient table form:

New Job	Old Job
No questions asked when I requested active noise-canceling headphones to wear in the noisy server room.	When my phone headset broke, I couldn't order a new one because the company was no longer buying them for employees (never mind that 90% of meetings/customer interaction is via phone). I had to ship them back to the manufacturer to get them replaced, and even then I got an urgent email from my boss's boss's secretary demanding I explain the $5 UPS charge.
The building is relatively new, and looks nice from the outside and the inside. The inside is kept clean.	The building was a non-descript downtown Indianapolis building. The interior was reminiscent of a Gulag Inprocessing Center in some Eastern Bloc Regime. There was Cheetos dust on the floor from some guy who was in my cubicle in the 80's.
Employees receive a bonus every quarter when the company achieves its goals for that period.	Employees got a chump change $500 bonus after working 4 days of 12-hour shifts over a weekend while the union went out on a grandstanding strike.
I have met most of the people I work with/for in person and interact with them FTF on a daily basis.	I never met 95% of the people I worked with.
There's an exercise facility with free weights, machines, treadmills, elliptical trainers, and so on. If you want, you can have a trainer assigned to you who will help you meet your fitness goals.	No exercise room, but there is a locker/shower facility featuring posters of runners with 70s hair that runners use. Warm water is available more often than not, but wear flip-flops in the shower, b/c I think I picked up Plantar warts there.
Use of the exercise facilities is approved of and encouraged from the founder of the company on down.	Taking smoke breaks with the boss is the fast track up the corporate ladder.

There are more, but that's plenty for now.

Redneck Playground of Horror

Today after visiting my sister at her new house we took our 2-year-old girl to a playground we had driven by many times. It is in a poor section of Bloomington nicknamed 'Pigeon Hill', but it appeared to be a nice playground all the times we had driven by. Thinking back now, though, there were never any people there when we had driven by. It has fairly nice equipment (at least you can't see the graffiti from the road) including a structure with several slides, one of them a 3 story high corkscrew slide. Our daughter loves slides, so she headed straight for it.

Not long after we arrived an assortment of locals converged on the place. There was a 20-something pudgy white guy with bad skin, bleached hair, and hip-hop clothes including the bandana/baseball cap combo, who was there with his buddy. At first I wondered what was going on with these 2 guys hanging out at the playground, but eventually it became evident they were there with Eminem's girlfriend, 8 months pregnant with presumably Eminem's child, and 5 other little boys besides who probably each had different daddies. I guess Eminem was keeping his distance, because hanging around a woman and a bunch of kids wouldn't look as cool as looking like some rapper pedophile on the prowl.

Pregnant woman's girlfriends were there. They all had tattoos, some had tattoos on their necks. There were no obvious 'white power' or 'Aryan Nation' tattoos, although they were the kind of women you don't want to spend long looking at, for fear a deranged methed-up jealous boyfriend will get the wrong idea and suddenly appear out of nowhere and tear you to pieces like a mother bear when you step between her and her cubs.

Pregnant girl's friends complimented her that 'you don't look 8 months pregnant'. I don't believe in my teens - early 20s I would have had any idea what various stages of pregnancy looked like. Anyhow, she looked like she had a whole basketball in there, or maybe a whole fetal basketball team. She looked plenty pregnant to me.

Around this time I am pushing the baby girl on the swing, trying to look like I'm not freaked out by everything, and in the distance I see a really skinny guy who at first looks black. Then he looks like he's wearing Al Jolson blackface minstrel makeup. Then he gets closer and his face looks all black and grimy, and I wonder between that and the way he's walking wobbly if he is just staggering away from a meth lab explosion.

He's there with his girlfriend/wife, a good twenty years older than he. He's holding her hand either out of affection or to keep from falling down. Their young daughter(?) is there too, stopped halfway down a slide with no apparent intention of going anywhere or doing anything.

All the while there's some shady guy sitting alone in a truck in the parking lot (which is even causing the tattoo girls some concern as to what he's up to), and some people in separate cars arrive and conduct some dubious transaction and leave. We let our daughter do the big slide one last time before we get the hell out.

We tell baby it's time to leave, and the tantrum starts. I pick her up, put her in the car seat in our conspicuously new Prius and we get the hell out as fast as hybrid synergy drive can take us.