Eventually the toy will begin to feel comfortable around the children and beg to be played with, Matson said.

"After your children tire of the toy, however," Matson warned, "it will join with other discarded units and try to enslave humanity."

This is why I've turned off the Recommendations Auto-record feature on the TiVo. Of course, my TiVo likely thinks that I'm a large family consisting of:

1. A young child who watches cartoons (Samurai Jack, Invader Zim, Justice League)
   
2. A teenaged boy who watches sci-fi action dramas and rude comedy (Buffy, Angel, Firefly, Smallville, Stargate, Enterprise, South Park)
   
3. A teenage girl who watches teen angst dramas (Buffy, Gilmore Girls Yes, I watch Gilmore Girls. Lauren Graham is a total M.I.L.F. The dialogue is very well-written. Stop laughing. Fuck you...)
   
4. A mother who likes cooking shows and adult-oriented comedies (Good Eats, Naked Chef, Sex and the City, Mind of the Married Man)
   
5. A father who likes real-life dramas and maybe some nostalgic comedies (The Sopranos, 24, John Doe, That 70s Show)
   
6. A random unleashed sex fiend/pervert (Real Sex)

Yes, I know I watch too much TV. Shut up

My Amazon and Netflix recommendations are pretty screwed up, too. My Amazon Gold Box keeps offering me knives, baby mobiles and monitors, and Star Trek DVDs...go figure.

I don't imagine that Netflix knows what to do with me, either--foreign films, science fiction, dramas, comedies, classics--I pretty much like them all. And then I go and rate Dude, Where's My Car? four stars, and blow it all to hell...

ALIGN=LEFT>

At 9:48 pm on November 23, Alexis Lulee Grace Ahmed was born. Five pounds, ten ounces, and nineteen inches tall.

Congratulations, Zuaelie! I can't wait to see you both.

Damnit.

Biting your tongue has got to be one of the worst pains there is...

Not fifty minutes ago, a diminutive Vietnamese woman named Tina was in the process of shearing away some of my hair.

When I walked into the Chinese barbershop/hair salon, I walked over, and she scissored two fingers into her hair, and I nodded. She pointed me towards a chair, and I sat; she wrapped a towel about my neck and draped a sheet decorated with some Patrick Nagel/Ty Wilson-wannabe graphic over me. And then she started to cut my hair.

No talking. No asking how I wanted it styled.

Once, after she had already started, she pointed at my hair in a couple of places, and muttered something, and I tried to explain to her that I couldn't speak Chinese very well. It would be about 30 minutes later, after the shampoo and the teeth-rattling massage, when she would tell me (in English) that she was from Vietnam, and ask me about myself.

At the time, however, all of this just wasn't at all upsetting to me. I just placed my trust in this woman to cut my hair appropriately.

This is, of course, in preparation for my return to Miami, so I can avoid my father's insistence that my hair is too long, and the therefore subsequent obligation to go see Lucy, the woman who used to cut my hair when I was living down there.

It's not that I don't like going to see Lucy, but you need to understand that with a trip back home, certain obligations have a tendency to crop up. Because my parents are my parents, I don't really get to say no to the "can you tell me what's wrong with the computer?" question (I've luckily ducked out on a lot of these questions since moving to Atlanta, since Jerry lives in Boynton Beach...).

Other obligations: going shopping for who knows what. While this may seem like something that would appeal to me, invariably we'll go shopping for the most tedious things,
The most taxing of the expected obligations is the Moving of the Stuff. For some reason unapparent to those of us under the age of 31, we need to move Stuff around the house a lot--from trunks full of clothes, to, more usually, furniture. Beds, shelves (and the books on them), dressers, etc. My mom and dad are worried about my father's back. Jerry and I, are worried about our own...

Oh well... Here's to family get-togethers.

Oh yeah, the haircut turned out fine.


I actually did go to see Die Another Day yesterday afternoon, with Jeech and Earnie. It was entertaining enough, but quite stupid in parts. For example, why would anyone get onto a plane in North Korea, dressed in army fatigues, and then change into some ho-cake tube top, arm-length gloves, and skin-tight white pants? Is this really necessary? Give me Famke Janssen in a short cotton robe anyday...

A night of frustration...

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Spades Night Aftermath

So tonight's the big Bones night.

Close to about a year ago, Jeech and I competed against Patty and in a Spades game to 10,000 points. The stakes were a dinner at a restaurant of the winner's choice.

The game took about 4-6 months to complete, because Jeech and Nandu got sidetracked into playing Three-Card Dumbass for a few months. When it finally started back up, Patty and Nandu's team skills seemed to have improved. They had always tended to take a lot of sandbags, and bagged over quite frequently. But when we started over, Patty and Nandu seemed to grasp the concept of sloughing off a little better.

So much so, that they defeated us.

It was pretty exciting, actually; the final hand we were near even, both threatening to break the 10,000 mark. I went Nil to put us over by a greater number of points. I knew I couldn't get set. Unfortuantely, we had 7 sandbags, and with Jeech trying to cover me on all counts, I made my low, Jeech made his tricks, we sandbagged over and lost.

Heartbreaking way to lose...

So tonight we're taking Patty and Nandu to Bones for dinner.

The bastards.

There's a reason you don't give people like me weapons...

I just found out that the sum of the lawsuit against the HOA is along the lines of $180,000.

One. Hundred. Eighty. Thousand. Dollars.

ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!

WHAT THE FUCK?!

The stupid wench is suing for an amount about 39 grand greater than the value of her bleeding condo!

I'm about a hair's breadth away from going apeshit.

. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .

There...I've gone apeshit.

I hate being an adult.

Ok. About two months ago, I made the motions to start refinancing my condo, because the rates were good, and I could use the extra cash. First I had to call around to all the various insurance companies and get condo contents insurance coverage. Most of the time, mortgage companies will want you to show some proof of coverage so they know that they're not going to just lose money on shit.

It took me about 2 weeks to get anywhere with coverage because my existing car insurance company (State Farm) apparently had quotas on how many homeowner's policies that they could write. So I finally found a company that would cover me (Farmers), paid their fucking blood money, and got ready for the refinance.

After shopping around for good rates, I actually put an application in for my refinance with a company who took my application (along with a $300 application fee). At one point I had to meet a guy at my place so he could appraise it, and then...nothing.

For two weeks.

When I finally get some news, it's bad--some litigious bint who lived here for less than a year has decided to sue the Homeowner's Association and the Developer of the place for water damage (to her bloody furniture). Someone please explain to me how the damned homeowner's association is liable for water damage? How does that make any sense?

On top of that, because the HOA has only been in the control of the homeowners since January of this year, the refinancing's underwriters have determined that the mortgage will be unwarrantable. Eh? All of this means absolutely nothing to me. I've been paying the fucking HOA since October of 2000. How exactly does the voting control of the stupid thing matter?

Well, I can bitch and moan all I want, but the bottom line is that

1. I need to do more running around to get my place refinanced,
   
2. I'll probably get a higher rate than what I locked in at, and
   
3. Dealing with mortgage companies is about as fun as I'd imagine being the recipient of lubeless fisting would be.

I need to find out who sued the HOA, so I can spit a chocolate-oj-milk-based loogie on her if I ever see her again.

Deer Lowered...

This is for

Asshat.

Frogger taught me how to jaywalk...

RetroCrush has a great quiz on some classic (and some not-so-classic) video games.

Ah, this really takes me back. I remember sitting with my brother at my dad's old work (he worked in--not for--a hotel that his boss owned), playing the cocktail cabinet Space Invaders game that the hotel manager would add like 100+ credits to.

I shudder to think of exactly how much money I've spent on coin-op videogames over my entire lifetime. I don't know if I'm exaggerating when I say it's probably over $10,000.

Is that sad?

Feh...I had fun.

Wo die Hölle ist meine Zitrone Plätzchen?

This article has inspired me to check out the following translations:

Donde en el infierno está mi galleta del limón??
Où l'enfer est mon citron biscuit? 
Dove il hell è il mio limone biscotto? 
Onde o inferno é minha limão bolinho?

And one more:

Oh! Arcs-en-ciel! J'aime ceux, ceux suis frais.

Went to see The Ring yesterday with Katie--finally. We had postponed it a week at a time for the past three weeks. Various mix-ups and/or other events (going-away parties, etc) got in the way. But I think it was worth the wait. Deliciously creepy.

Tonight, we're playing Krystal's team in 8-ball. More than likely, I'm expecting to post me against Jeff. Hopefully, it'll work out. Marcus told me yesterday that he might not be playing because he's scheduled to work at Diem tonight. That might help...

Heidi told me that UPN cancelled Haunted the other day. I thought it was a pretty good show, but I suppose I'm glad that I now have an extra 40 minutes or so to my week. Sheesh. I really am a slave to the TiVo.

Like a Cold Shower...

Scheduled for last night approximately 8:00--

Hot Water Music playing at the Masquerade.

I met Jason at the bar around 7:30, expecting to leave at around 8:30, because the Masquerade is a respectable venue that wouldn't deign to start a punk rock show on time (again, fuck you, Tabernacle). I ate some Thai food, played some cards and got all set to leave. Jason and I drove up to the Masquerade around 8:35 or so. I did notice a significant lack of cars/line/various people milling about, aside from the occasional vagabond.

So just as Jason and I walk up to what the Masquerade deems "the box office," I noticed the sign:

HOT WATER MUSIC is CANCELLED

Fuck.

We ended up going back to Jason's place and playing some chess for a bit, and then going to see the Motolitas at Star Bar. We got there just in time to see them start their set. Courtney pretty much rocked. I wish I played guitar as well...

The Helgas would come on right afterwards--John would tell me later that it was the Helga's CD Release party, and had I known that, I might have picked up a CD--they were pretty good.

But as it stands, I'm still pissed about missing Hot Water. The whole time we were listening to the Motolitas and the Helgas, I felt like moshing. Go figure. That's three shows out of 2002 that I've missed. One at the aforementioned Tabernacle. One which I missed altogether from not monitoring the site. And this one. Pigfuck.

So now I'm at Diem, getting some brunch. It's about an hour and forty minutes until the Dupree's Anniversary Party (14th).

I guess I was punk once.

You're not punk, and I'm telling everyone.
Save your breath; I never was one.

--Jawbreaker, "Boxcar"

So despite my living in Atlanta, what could very well be considered a cultural mecca compared to the armpit that is Suburban Miami, I'm a bit on the fence as to what to do this Friday evening.

On one hand, and Earnie will likely be up at the bar playing chess (CHESS?!!? on a friday??!). As much as I'd like to work on my chess game, which I really need to do, The Donnas are playing at the Masquerade tonight. The problem is I've long since moved past the time where I had any sort of punk street cred.

Well there was the last Hot Water show that I went to (err...that I actually got to see Hot Water Music play, that is...fuck the Tabernacle for starting the show at 8:00 pm. Who the hell starts a punk show on time??), the merch guy noticed my Spoke shirt (the one that I sleep in now), and gave me a free No Idea comp CD just because I was wearing it.

But lately I've turned into a old, preppy guy--hell, I dress in turtlenecks and peacoats from Old Navy. I feel completely out of place wearing an old flannel and some 11 year old shirt.

And the young kids who go to see these shows, which, of course, have to be all-ages shows--they're all angry at the world, raising their sweaty fists to the beat of the music, clomping around and denting the bulbous toe of my Frankensteinian Doc Martens.

I just can't keep up...

My friends are all puerile asshats.

Words of the moment: Puerile. Asshat.

P.S. Yes. I do mean you.

Celebrate Official Drive-Poorly Day

Today is Officially Drive-Poorly Day.

Driving in the middle lane of Ponce de Leon intown this morning, I was almost squeezed into an accident by a large SYSCO eighteen-wheeler in the right lane and a white corporate van in the left, until one of them got the clue that the white dashes painted with the road were there for some reason.

Farther down the road, the right lane was blocked off (following Briarcliff/Moreland) because of some idiotic beautification effort where the right side of the road will now be stone-paved or something (like anyone really cares what the side of the road looks like...).

Either way, said blockage just meant that the guy who needed to turn left right off of that intersection, so graciously blocked by oncoming traffic awaiting a green light, would in turn block the rest of us from any forward movement, until the fools to the left took up the gargantuan holes of space between their cars and let the guy on through. Of course, that took about a literal minute, which while it doesn't seem like much, is actually an eternity--For example:

    One minute = 60 seconds
    Average Rate: 7.6 expletives/second

    Estimated expletives spewed = 456

You get the idea.

From there, I would go on to encounter:

• Various fools turning left off of Ponce without the use of their turn signals;
  
• Another eighteen-wheeler carrying some large construction vehicle trying blocking off all of Scott Blvd. while trying to back into a house;
  
• A Honda CRV whose driver believes that the appropriate on-ramp speed to merge onto I-285 is 35 MPH; and
  
• A taxi (Atlantans will understand).
  

But at last, I'm at work, and for administrative reasons, we've decided to table my primary task for the day. Now I just need to wade through some third-party code and integrate it into our product. From what I have seen of the code, however, I fear this may require a complete overhaul of what the aforementioned third-party tried to do.

Joy.


Word of the moment: betise

Tight Racks

Depending on who you're playing, a 3:3 APA league race can be quite nerve-racking.

I was playing Ty tonight--we're both handicapped at 4, and he took the first game quite soundly. We traded a bit on the second game which I won, and the third game was a real challenge for me defensively.

My five was tied up with the eight ball, and he only had the twelve to run through before attempting the eight. I kept trying to leave him with a shot from against a rail, or force him into a bank or a kick shot.

One of my defensive shots left the cue ball against the rail around a diamond away from the side pocket; the cue was frozen to my five, which was frozen to the eight. My opponent had a keen sense of aim, so that even though he might not sink a ball, he could do enough to avoid giving me ball-in-hand.

Which in this low-percentage case, he did.

We would trade a few more defensive leaves before he eventually had to shoot on the clustered eight (I had combo-ed my two ball to sink his twelve). Thus breaking open the table, I was able to sink my two then my five, and finally, the eight.

The final game of the match is the kind that every pool player aspires to. I usually break a rack so that there are good options for running a number of solid and stripes, and perhaps a few good defensive opportunities. Quite often, however, I'll end up not sinking a ball at all, which allows some of my more skilled opponents to run the table out.

I was a little afraid of this scenario, given Ty's skills. But just following the cue's resonant cracking against the surface of the One ball at the apex of the tightly-packed spheres, I heard Nandu shout, "Go Eight!" My eye followed the eight ball creeping slowly toward the far left corner pocket. It decelerated, however, and hung a few inches from the depths of the pocket.

The twelve ball which had so hampered me in the previous game, however, rolled ever so slowly toward the eight ball. I could see the two balls line up perfectly, and then the eight ball fell into the void.

I had made an Eight-on-Break.

Now I don't want to give the impression that this is some ultra-rare, once-in-a-blue-moon occurence. On the contrary, I know some players who can consistently sink the eight ball on the break, some even in consecutive games.

But this is probably like what my dad felt when he hit his first Hole-in-One. And that's a good feeling, indeed.


Speaking of Tight Racks, there were two women at the bar following the match, both quite shapely and cute. One was loud and playful in a trashy sort of way, which just made me want to spank her... err... yeah.

And the other was just really, really great to look at.

Women. Sigh.


Word of the moment: Adept

No matter what the game, playing against someone whose skill level is significantly better than yours is extremely taxing. Unless your opponent is educationally inclined, the comparative speed in which he assesses a given situation and executes his moves will only serve to unbalance you, and make your game worse.

Chess pisses me off.


Let's try something...

I couldn't find your mother today.
I recall when she gave you to me,
warm and soft, her laughter
still adorned on her cheeks like rouge.

It's been too long since I've seen her,
and I know she sits,
veiled and shivering,
smelling of hankerchiefs and salt
amongst the tightly-pressed lips and fake smiles,
the hissing murmurs
which always follow a cold body.


Sigh. Ok. I couldn't work on that anymore. It sucked.

Word of the moment: Fend

The Great Net Slambook

About 1994-1995, back when the Internet was getting popular, I had started learning the basics of web design and programming. Drawing an idea from both Judy Blume novels and junior high school, I thought it might be neat to code up an HTML form to take and record all the various and sundry quirks, likes, and dislikes for anyone who visited my page, yes, a CGI Slambook.

Fortunately, my exceeding laziness convinced me, in a very devil-on-shoulder fashion, that actually doing something like that would be a horrendous waste of time, and thus, the Hsiao's version of the Great Net Slambook would only live in Lucien's Library.

Cut forward to November 10, 2002, and a few days after starting this livejournal, I happen upon the following quiz while playing with the Random Find Users link.

Sigh. So society has taken what could very likely be the greatest collaborative tool, the fastest and most far-reaching communication mechanism created to date, and reduced it to a junior-high school exercise in mental masturbation.

Oh well. At least I can still download MP3s...

Sex: Male
Birthday: 12/19/1973
Sign: Sagittarius
Siblings: Jerry
Hair color: Black
Eye color: Brown
Shoe size/height: 10.5, 5'11"
Who are your best friends?: Nandu, John
Any tattoos or piercings: Nope
Do you do drugs: Not once, but I'm all for legalizing marijuana
What are you most scared of: Either Michael Bolton or Kenny G.
What are you listening to right now: Stephen Cravis' "Through the Kaleidoscope," a remarkably pleasant piano piece reminiscent of some of the stuff that Wyndam Hill puts out.
What vehicle do you wish to have? Lexus SC430 or Kaneda's Motorcycle from Akira
Who is the last person that called you: A wrong number
Where do you want to get married: Either Atlanta or Las Vegas
If you could change anything about yourself, what would it be? My intense urge for female companionship
Color: Dark Green
Whats your fav. food?: pretty much any food
Boy's names: Phil A., Andrew
Girls names: Amanda, Angela
Subjects in school: English, Computer Sci
Sports: Rock Climbing, Skiing
Given anyone a bath: Yes (??)
Smoked: Nope
Bungee jumped: Twice
Broken the law: Nothing beyond traffic laws
Made yourself throw-up: Yes, just to have the post-vomit relief from nausea.
Ever been in love: Abso-fuckin-lutely
Gold or Silver: Silver
What do you have for breakfast in the morning: Daily: Cereal/Waffles. Weekends: Some fancy brunch thing like Salmon Benedict
Current Clothes: T-shirt & Boxers (I'm in bed)
Current Mood: Tired.
Current Taste: Nothing in particular/stagnant saliva
Current Annoyance: a nagging hunger at 2:47 am
Current Smell: Scrubbing Bubbles Mildew remover with Bleach.
Current thing you ought to be doing: sleeping
Current Desktop Picture: High school graduation: me and my ex
Current Favorite Group: Hot Water Music
Current Book: Some personal finance book
Current DVD In Player: random pr0n
Current Refreshment: Most recently, a Napoleon following brunch/water
Current Worry: I haven't had sex in so long, I'm wondering if they've changed it.
Drink: water
Shoes: Generally black leather lace-ups
Candy: Sour Patch
TV Show: Old Buffy, Firefly
Vegetable: Potato
Fruit: Most any fruit.
On Dating.... Dating was far easier in high school and college when the people you considered dating were around you constantly. Dating, now that I'm older, just sucks because I couldn't really date co-workers at my old job, and I'm really too shy to approach women without abject terror seizing me.
Long or short hair? I like women with long hair. I like women with short hair. Really depends on the woman.
Dark or blond hair? Again, depends on the woman.
Tall or short? No preference, but as I'm almost 6'0", taller is more accomodative.
Mr. Sensitive or Mr. Funny? I'm more sensitive than funny. See, here's one of the perils of just boguing a questionnaire from a Random link--this is where I guess I'm supposed to answer if I like Mr. Sensitive or Mr. Funny more, which if I were a woman, I'd say "Mr. Danger." Casting this question towards the male, however, I'd say Ms. Funny, because in general, I'd be getting Ms. Sensitive in the same package.
Good guy or bad guy? I'm far too much the good guy. I've been with both good and bad girls. Depends on the girl...
Dark or light eyes? Shrug.
Hat or no hat? Depends on the hat...
Pierced or no? Piercings can be sexy...
Freckles or none? Freckles can be cute.
Stubble or neatly shaved? I think I'd like the women I see not to have stubble on their legs...
Rugged outdoorsy type or sporty type? Uhhh, what? I guess sporty (who wrote this quiz??).
On preferences....
Chocolate milk or hot chocolate? hot chocolate
McDonalds or Burger King? McDonalds, in general, if I absolutely must...
Marry the perfect lover or the perfect friend? Lovers can be trained. Friends cannot.
Sweet or sour? Both.
Root Beer or Dr. Pepper? Root Beer
Sappy/action/comedy/horror? All of the above.
Cats or dogs? Cats, for the most part.
Ocean or Pool? Depends on the setting.
Mud or Jell-O wrestling? They're always room for Jell-O
With or without ice-cubes? Depends on her mood.
Shine or rain? Shine
Winter/Summer/Fall/Spring? Winter
Vanilla or Chocolate? Vanilla
Gloves or mittens? Gloves
Chewing gum or hard candy? Hard Candy
Chicken or fish? Chicken
Number? 315
Holiday? Halloween
Place? Las Vegas or Newnan
Flower? Either Calla Lilies or Orchids--I'm not really up on my flower knowledge...

So there it is. Somehow I feel dumber for having completed it. Or maybe it's just because I've listened to the same song on repeat for the past hour...

Word of the moment: carabiner

Why must I be too lazy to get up from the computer and change the channel?

Umm... the theme for tonight's Iron Chef is

Codfish

It was just on after Good Eats and Naked Chef. I swear. The incessant use of the Backdraft and Glory soundtracks is rather grating when I think of Scott Glenn, Kurt Russell, Denzel Washington, and Morgan Freeman dying skin-boiling/musket-ball-in-the-brain deaths while two chefs prepare meals for poorly-dubbed fools.

a quiet evening...

Went to sleep at 6:15 last night (err... this morning...) for some reason because after trying to watch all three Godfather movies at Rob's place, playing four games of chess (in the we-made-a-mockery-of-the-game-of-chess sense) with Nandu and Jason, and eating way too much wonderful food prepared by Keely (plus Jessyca's delectable tiramisu, I went home at about 4:30, showered the smoke from me, and began to play Hoyle Casino (2 Texas Hold'em Tournaments) and Hoyle Card Games (Hearts and Gin Rummy).

Woke up around noon today, and watched some TV, and then went to eat brunch at Apr´s. John and I then went to CompUSA and I bought another SiPix for Jerry and some other stuff. Went to CD Merchants afterwards to look for used CDs, because let's face it. I'd rather buy a used CD to prevent the freaking RIAA to get any additional income. As a matter of fact, I think I may sell a good many of my CDs now--it's not like I listen to most of them...

But I digress. After CD Merchants, I went to Target and bought some cleaning shit for all the mildew growing on my mildew-resistant shower curtain. What gives? I did get to see what could be one of the most sultry women I've ever seen walking by me amidst the aisles of the store. Or maybe I'm just being hyperbolic because it's really just been far too long.

So anyways, I made some leftover pasta that Keely left for me with garlic and oil (when garlic starts growing roots and stuff, is the darker part in the middle of the clove OK to eat? I sure hope so, 'cause if not...uhhh.... uh-oh...). Cleaned the tub, and watched John Doe.

I was thinking about heading to the bar, but I'm a bit tired, and I don't feel like getting all smoky. So I'm going to upgrade my computer so I can use USB 2.0 devices. Yay.

Word of the moment: odalisque

Some verse:

The muffled klaxon of a car alarm
plays its own 7:00 A.M. cock's crow
piercing the dense foam of plugs
stinking of sweat and earwax.

And the sunlight,
too weak to warm the odd patch of skin
exposed without blankets,
wends its way through oddly-bent metal blinds,
to repaint my dreams
with skies translucent and blood-red.

Word of the minute: ellipsis

Stick a fork in me.

Work can be pretty tough when you're fighting off sickyness and a splitting headache--especially when you've reinstalled Windows 98 and Windows 2000 on two separate boxes while hypothesizing why rsync doesn't work right on the Transmeta Crusoe. Apparently it's not the Crusoe, but some weird installation issue with our client's setup.
Fuck Windows; fuck Bill Gates; Fuck Ballmer and his crazy epileptic monkey self.

Chris is now playing I am the World Trade Center. Not too bad. His laptop's speakers sound better than the $30 pair that I got with my first computer in 1993 or so. Big shock.

Oh, by the way, , after considering the amount of time I would have to devote writing my own journal system, I decided, "fuck it," and asked to give me a code. So he gave me the one that he gave to nandu. You snooze, you lose.

Word of the minute: moist