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Posts for the date of Thursday, June 27, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 10:10 AM |
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Part of my job requires that I spend a lot of time talking with university professors. Therefore, I spend time researching universities. Most of them make sense. The University of Michigan is, well the University of Michigan. And on.
However, there is an odd trend of naming universities after faraway places. I suppose that naming a univeristy after Rome, Oxford or Milan would be very interesting. However, this isn't the case. I offer these two as examples:
The Indiana University of Pennsylvania
Miami University . . . in Oxford, Ohio
Why? I ask. I'm sure there's some sort of interesting story behind each one, but that doesn't matter. Why the hell would anyone want to go to Indiana University in Pennsylvania? Why not go to Indiana?
And I feel sorry for the students who admit to going to Miami University.
"Really? Wow! It must be great to live in Miami."
"Well, no. It's in Ohio."
"No, Miami is in Florida."
"True, but not the University. It's in Ohio."
"So you do a lot of drugs, huh?"
Again, the world confuses me. Therefore I'm going to ignore it and try to solve this damn Rubick's Cube.
I've been working on it since 1983. Being red/green color blind doesn't help.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:43 AM |
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I’ve been looking for a new lease on life, but I haven’t been able to settle on the terms. It’s easy enough to find the right attitude at a good price, however it’s the fine print that gets you. I may be able to find a lease for happiness, but the square footage is way too low.
So I began shopping around. Would my new lease include utilities? There’s nothing worse than a lease on life in which you are responsible for the water and sewer. I hate that. I once had a lease on life that didn’t allow pets. That was bad, for what’s a new lease on life without the mute companionship of a loyal pet?
Another thing to consider about a new lease on life is location. You can have a new lease on life anywhere, but what is the cost? You may be paying less per month for the lease in Des Moines, but more in Honolulu. It’s a balance. Your lease in Hawaii may cost more, and you may get less, but the quality of that lease on life would be higher. It’s all a trade off.
Now, the sticking point for me is maintenance. I don’t want to have to do my own life maintenance. It’s so tiresome. Maintaining the relationships, your job, and your health. I’d rather just call a handy man to take care of everything. Fight with the wife? Enter Guido, who puts a little emotional Spackle on the situation and leaves. Sometimes he unclogs a drain and we all cry together. Guido is a good guy, and quite helpful. He’s more an ombudsman than a handy man.
And, with your new lease on life, what’s the view? Is it of the parking lot of life, or do you have a vista view? Once, in the mid nineties, I had a lease on life that overlooked the dumpster. It was binding and the penalties for breaking that lease on life were severe. I signed a new one in 1998, shortly after a trip to Disney World. I’d like to think that the time spent on Tower of Terror helped me in the negotiations.
The other consideration is not leasing life, but actually owning it. However, to do so you have to make sure that the life has a good foundation, with no leaks or flooding. Plus, who owned this life before you? Did they treat it gently? Did they have pets? Life ownership is complicated, plus you’ll have to mow the lawn.
I’ve decided to sublet someone else’s lease on life. Perhaps Martha Stewart’s is on the market?
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Posts for the date of Wednesday, June 26, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 9:29 PM |
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Crap. I didn't really do anything today, did I? I think I'm too tired to write now. My brain has lost its charge.
So uh . . . yeah. How are you? Are those new shoes?
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:23 AM |
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Update on Google searches. We've hit a new low. Last night someone hit this site looking for (drumroll . . . anticipation mounts . . . )
Albino Nipple
What should frighten us all is that I actually used that phrase.
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Posts for the date of Tuesday, June 25, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:10 AM |
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Someone asked me what I'll do with the old computer. Here are my ideas:
1. Wireless network. Make this one a slave, file server and a play station for the kids.
2. Just make it a server. Maybe even host my own website from it.
3. Beat the living hell out of it.
4. Wipe it, and sell it.
5. Gut it for parts.
6. Blow it up.
7. Throw it out the window.
8. Have a party where I give every party goer a piece of the computer. Chip here, board there . . .
9. Rip out the processor and wear it on a chain.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:35 AM |
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I’m sad to say that the time has come. The war must now escalate to untold proportions and extreme measures are being taken. The carnage will be great. Blood will be spilled and tears will be shed.
I am not referring to either the strife in the Middle East or the war on terrorism. I’m discussing the tech war that has been waged in my household.
The wife and I have finally decided that we are going to retire our 18-month-old computer. I stupidly bought a Gateway. That was a mistake. HUGE mistake. Besides the fact that their components have the dependability of a Yugo, their customer service sucks ass. Big hairy, unbathed Canadian lumberjack ass. In flannel boxer shorts.
In my defense, my previous computer was a Gateway P5-166. It had a blistering processing speed of 166mhz, 16MB of RAM and an ungodly 2.1-gigabyte harddrive. “How will I ever fill that????” I was a stupid, stupid man.
However, that little piece of machinery has never broken down. It still works, humming along like a trooper. Its counterpart, with an uber-fast processor, gobs of memory and RAM out the wazoo breaks down every two months, when it isn’t blue screening me to death. It assaults me with its inability to work.
Gateway, of course, has “fixed” it real good. They fixed so that it never, ever works. When I asked them if taking a computer into the shop five times in a year is an acceptable rate of error they asked me if I wanted it fixed or not. As if they were threatening me!
Ahhh . . . customer service. Theirs sucks ass, have I mentioned that? I remember the day when companies worked with their customers to make them happy. After all, they probably told their employees in training, “A happy customer is a repeat customer!” The only thing I’ll be repeating about Gateway is how their customer service sucks . . . I’ve mentioned that, haven’t I?
So, it has officially begun. My wife and I discussed our options and have decided that, since my livelihood depends upon this machine that, I will need to replace it. The expense will hurt our house hunting but I need the equipment for work.
Our options? Go to another national retailer and see what my options are, which I have and the computer I want will cost me roughly half the national debt, or build one myself.
Yes, you heard me right. Build one myself. Me. Build something other than sandwich.
I admit that it fills me with a little fear, but I will have some good help. John is acting as my consultant, telling me what sorts of processors to look at, and things to consider. And Geekfriend will surely help me construct, if not to assist then for the entertainment value alone. Of course I’ll need a good heat sink and will have to consider the buffer in the primary bus. Not only that, but I’ll have to look at USB 2.1 as well as which PCI slots I’ll fill and if I’ll skip the dependable LPT1 for a faster data rate of Firewire. Will I get a video card with 64MB of internal memory? It will certainly help system resources, but then I don’t play games much. Of course I’ll want a killer sound card. Will I want a DVD-R or just a CD-R? I know I’ll have at least two bays of drives, probably one with a DVD-Rom and the other with a CD-RW. I could always consider an internal zip, but that would be silly.
I, of course, have very little clue what I just said. However, I know I’ll have to make these decisions soon, because eventually I’ll have to mount the drive. At that point I will ask it, “Who’s your daddy?” If it doesn’t respond with my name I will return it.
Of course that isn’t how you mount a drive. You have to buy it wine first. Every good geek knows that.
The point is, I’ve entered a new level of geekdom. I am building things. Before you know it I’ll be implanting biochips in my kids’ heads that will make them clean the house. That, of course, will make me rich. Ethics be damned.
But I’m afraid that things are already getting beyond my scope. For example, I’ve already eschewed a normal computer case for a custom case. Will they perform any better? Hell no, these are like spoilers for cars! Check these babies out! They are cooooool, daddio!
Remember the days when men would stand out on the driveway looking at their muscle cars, discussing their performance as if they were high-class call girls? “Yeah, this baby has twin cams, a ceramic carb, duel exhaust and a fiberglass body with curves that don’t quit. When I stroke her she purrs like a kitten and goes off like a rocket!”
Those days are over. Now we men sit inside (we can’t go out without a sunscreen with lower than an 85 SPF rating) discussing our computers in the same way. “Yeah, she’s got twin processors running at 2.2 gigs a piece, but overclocked for better performance, a primary heat sink with top of the line thermal grease, duel OS that boot separately and an aluminum case, with viewable lines and neon to highlight her spinning drives. When I crack her BIOS she purrs like a kitten and goes off like a rocket!”
How far we have come to become more civilized.
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Posts for the date of Monday, June 24, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 9:24 PM |
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As I mentioned earlier, yesterday was Matilda’s seventh birthday. Mom is currently roaming the house, singing Nick Cave songs and draping all the mirrors in black. Mom’s little baby has grown and is now becoming independent.
True, seven years old is not exactly emancipation age. She’s not driving, drinking or dating. However, the magical years of wide-eyed innocence are ending. Matilda figured out the truth of the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny and Santa Claus in quick succession. Halloween is becoming a contest amongst friends. Worse, her heart is broken on a daily basis.
Our ability to protect is slowly waning. Where we were once able to shield her from unnecessary pain, we can no longer tread. From here until, well . . . death, is a learning experience. One dreadful moment to the next, pain and humiliation.
At least that’s how a parent sees it. Matilda will still have wonderful times, great memories and exciting experiences. Yet, to us, we only see the downhill turns. She has yet to be betrayed by a best friend, not invited to a party, been dumped by a boyfriend . . . it never ends.
Matilda is carving out her own personality. Her own likes and dislikes. Her own style. She’s entering the trying times of acceptance and rejection. And it’s difficult to watch.
She no longer openly cries, but now feels it necessary to fight back the tears. Bite the bullet. We see her friends treating her poorly and have to hang back and remember that she needs to learn how to handle it herself.
For the parent, bedtime is the worst moment. In the dim glow of the bathroom light, we discuss our day. We go over our highs and lows. There is something about that moment, reflecting over the day that makes us want to discuss fears.
This used to be easy. Are ghosts real? Are you going to die? Will there be an earthquake? Now . . . we have real life fears. What if no one likes me? They’re going to laugh at me. Why do my friends treat me that way?
These aren’t situations that can be chased away with a kiss to the forehead. These are fears that will stay with her. And, how she handles them now will teach her how to handle it in the future. And I CAN’T DO ANYTHING. Just support her and talk through it. Give advice. I can no longer answer the questions but, rather, guide her towards a good decision.
It’s hard to believe that the child I met when I started to date her mother is now seven. She was just a two-year-old then. We played Barnyard Bingo (and I always lost . . . and not on purpose). Now we discuss fashion and terrorist threats.
Where have the years gone? How did that stammering little girl, who morphed her “r”s into “w”s turn into this intelligent, articulate girl? Where did that little girl go?
I’d say that I long for her back, that I want her to remain a toddler forever. But that wouldn’t be the truth. To be honest, I’m proud of how she’s growing. True, it’s faster than I expected, but she’ is quite the amazing child. Intelligent, truthful, good-hearted. She’s a reader, an artist. She’s poised and polite, making us the envy of all the other parents.
And yet, part of me wishes I could freeze that moment in time so long ago when she sat on her pink princess bike and donned her Barbie helmet for the first time, tottering down the street, training wheels clattering over the seams in the pavement. She had a doll in her basket and was ringing the bell.
The training wheels are gone. So is the basket and “Princess” license plate. The doll stays inside now and the bell is hidden in a drawer. Next year, a more serious bike will replace the pink princess bike, and old pinkie will sit in storage until the day when Baby Gertrude is ready to ride.
And the training wheels will be dusted off; a new basket will be bought. And we’ll hear those wheels clattering again. Except this time, a nearly eleven-year-old Matilda will be running behind the bike imparting her wisdom and encouragement to her little sister.
And my heart will be breaking. But in a good way, because the neighborhood will be filled with children’s laughter. My children.
My girls.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 1:22 PM |
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Happiness is:
Reading other people's comments, finding a mutual comment and summarizing them. The joy! The fun! The excitment! Who says publishing is no longer an exciting field? Why I'm just bubbling over.
Entry later. Much later. I have to finish this and then go pick up the little ones from the sitter.
Yesterday was Matilda's seventh birthday. Much fun was had by all. Except her mother and step-dad, who were at an outdoor wedding. In the 90 degree heat. Matilda was at her dad's house. Having a party and cake. And playing with her new Skip-It.
All in all, the entire family shut down for nearly three days and had a non-stop festival. It started Saturday with a pre-birthday dinner extravaganza and ends today, with a McDonalds luncheon with her friends at the sitter's.
On a higher note: She and I are nearly 200 pages through the first Harry Potter book. We're already planning to get the second book as soon as we're done. This is what makes parenting worth it. Forty five minutes a night reading a good book together.
It doesn't get much better.
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