Web browsing - not just for Celerons anymore

Whew. When I bought this moderately cheap laptop, I skimped a bit on the processor and memory.

The conventional wisdom was that if your computing needs were light (e-mail, web browsing, word processing, etc.), you could be quite happy with a lightweight machine. If your needs were heavier (3-D gaming, movie editing, sound editing, etc.), you'd need a phat Pentium with buckets of memory to be happy.

Eventually, the day came when my laptop would bog down under the simplest of tasks, like e-mail and two web browser windows. First, I figured the hard drive suffered from the clutter of having too many programs installed/uninstalled on a Windows OS. Then, I assumed it was the grinding mechanical failure of the hard drive itself, which I replaced.

With my new, uncluttered hard drive, I'd open two Firefox windows, and time would stretch inside-out. Paging down would occur in jumpy fits and starts; switching windows became an exercise in patience, not an eye-blink. I realized that almost any window I'd open in Firefox would pour sand into my computer's gears, and wouldn't relent until I closed it. Not Firefox! I can't go back to IE, I just can't!!

I furthered narrowed down the problem to Flash doo-hickeys in web pages. Rarely are Flash components simple anymore - they aim for fast downloads, moving the bottleneck from bandwidth to processor, and dragging my machine to a crawl.

It was good news, though. Finally, a manageable point in the process! I slipped over to Firefox's website, and downloaded an extension that disables Flash components. Nice! Now, an icon sits where a cycle-gobbling Flash app would normally sprawl its fat ass, and if you want to enact it, just click on it!

Huzzah! Now I can load several pages of text and images, just as God intended it, without slowing my laptop to a time-lapse photography version of a normal PC operation. I am functional again!

Don't spank it in the county jail

Giving you more of what you read blogs for, I'd like to point out some trivial but humorous news:

Man sentenced for spanking the monkey in county jail.

My nomination for quote of the week: "During jury selection, McHugh looked at 17 prospective jurors and asked how many among them had never masturbated. No hands were raised."

What a great news day...

Papa's got a brand-new bag

I have a job, starting tomorrow. The money's not the best I can do, and the commute is a drawback, but it's a gig.

I look forward to having a regular schedule, putting some money into the kitty and dusting some chaff into the unemployment coffers, as well as the other positives regular work involves.

I remain on the market for superior gigs. I am proud to say that I have been honest with the current employer about the job's drawbacks and my abiding availability. This honesty thing just might work out. Now, to figure out the best way to tell them I already have an interview for another gig next week.

Awkward...

I support Bear Grylls - link to other blog

See my new post on the brewing Bear Grylls/Man Vs. Wild brouhaha. It pricked open a pustule of thought that I have been nurturing for a while now. I'm happy with what I've written about it.

Ozzfest report - the People

Amy took my humble ass to Ozzfest, and we had a great time at what was largely a Speed Metal Carnival. So many strange things...

Amy made fast friends with Daniel and his brother Tim. We were lucky to meet Daniel and Tim, as they were clearly on loan from an opium den in Sacramento. Daniel was an outgoing, thin fellow who had his hair moussed into stumpy horns and he had a wary look about him, as if the guys with white coats would catch up to them any minute and return them to the Psych Ward. Tim (whom I have renamed "Mungo" due to his gargantuan size and past-head-trauma demeanor) was much more Zen about it, as if the white lab coat guys were an eventual certainty and there was no point in troubling his mind over it.

We briefly met a former Marine who early in the day had already drunk enough to put him in the condition (familiar to me) where the mind still operates, but only on about half of the available cylinders fire. Five seconds of observation confirmed that the speech and major motor functions were online, but memory and higher reasoning had cardboard signs hung upon them indicating "Closed for repairs."

This meeting wasn't significant in itself, but there'll more about Full Metal Basket Case in a bit...

We made our way to the lawn seating, and about halfway into the show, three Pakistani-looking folks showed up, doing the same shifting and grooving as everybody else. Before long though, they stood out. Two of the three were a couple, a young man and woman. The first thing they did to set themselves apart was that the woman mischievously poured an ounce of beer into her date's butt-crack. Cute, and naughty, we all observed. He jumped and wriggled and boogied away from the frigid, wet wedgy just like you'd expect, and I thought he was mature enough to have taken this good-natured prank in stride. I was mistaken.

Minutes later, I see him grab not one but two beers (I'm told one of them wasn't even his), and dump them over his girl's head, in a very third-grade, overkill effort to get his girl back. Apparently, the chill beer on his vertical smile had taken its toll on his ego, and he branded himself a small-minded child in an attempt to salvage it. The excess beer (do you know how much those things cost?!) ran off onto the prone tweeker in front of us, soaking into the guy's shirt, hat and blanket. Fudge-Paki apologized to Tweekie, but not to his own girlfriend... He then spent the next hour dancing and thrashing and budging closer and closer to us, until Amy was grudgingly forced to put a foot into each of my jeans pockets and watch the concert from full-mount. We eventually moved. What a douchebag!

On the way back from the bathroom, I passed by Full Metal Basket Case, embroiled in a very intense, accusatory conversation with an angry little Metal Minx. I'm not sure what she was pissed about, and I don't think he had a clue either, but the snippet of conversation I heard was thus: "You know when you were talking to my boyfriend?! Well, that wasn't my boyfriend!!" And then she grabbed him, palm-up, by the lower jaw, and shoved his face back as hard as her poor impulse-control would allow. FMBC reset his cranium, and as soon as his glassy eyes reset upon the vengeful vixen, his right hand shot out in a looping-but-terse trajectory and clapped that bitch square on the jaw with the sound of a fastball hitting a catcher's mitt. Security and some do-gooders closed in to cool things out, and I continued on to my lawn seat, reminding myself that you don't go around assaulting a half-in-the-bag Marine and expect some twisted form of chivalry to save you from getting your eyes crossed.

Not that I needed reminding, but hey, we all can use a refresher now and then.

That's it for most of the people-watching. Oh, did I mention some strange boobs were bared in the name of Girls-Gone-Wild-type sisterhood (the best kind of sisterhood)? That 12 hours after the show, I could still taste the cigarettes and pot? That Amy is a fucking trooper for getting me home to watch my kid, even though she was near death at 2am? No? Well, they were, I could, and she is.

Ozzfest '07. What a show.

Camping quickie wrap-up

Camping up Highway 4 was a lot of fun. Among many things, I:

• Hiked the Emigrant Trail back to Lake Alpine
• Hiked the Gann's Meadow trail back to nowhere in particular, camped for the night
  
• Hiked a trail near Sourgrass and skinny-dipped in the North Fork of the Stanislaus River
• Crapped in a hole (out of necessity, it wasn't on my "To Do" list)
• Met a guy who introduced me to his brand of beer (Thanks, Dave!)
  

I took lots of pictures, but haven't sorted or cropped any of them yet. However, I have put the bite on my Dad for the use of his fancy camera for the next trip...!

Grizzly Adams ... out!

I'm going camping!

After months of waiting to scratch my itch - after months of dreaming of pine needles and rocks and masturbating to Man Vs. Wild, the time is right and I'm going to spend a night camping.

True, the entire family (and then some) spent several days at Lake Camanche recently. It was good fun, but didn't quite satisfy my need. Hopefully an overnighter alone on a non-weekend night will do the trick.

I haven't got much of a plan, but I intend to spend Thursday night at Board's Crossing (because it's free and far enough away), and check out some hiking trails above it during daylight hours. Beyond that, who knows?

My back hurts

It's been a long week, fully permeated with moving heavy shit around. It seems like everyone I know has something that no longer belongs where it is. My father-in-law had over 100 bales of hay that needed loading and unloading. I had a quickie job interview that saved me from the loading, but the unloading waited for me and the others tricked into indentured servitude.

Not only did my father-in-law have a hundred bales, the next day, his friend had another hundred the next day! Let me tell you, if slaving for another makes you feel like a whore, just try being passed around to someone's pals!

Then, my wife's (and my) friend decided to move! Luckily, she only owns enough material goods to bulge the seams of a one-room apartment, so our one trip from origin to destination was a big chunk of the overall job. Unluckily, when we arrived at the destination, there was loads of painting, moving and other finish work to be done to prepare the new place for human habitation! Lovely!

Add that to the dozens of bales of hay that needed moving down the hill and over yonder here at home, and you've got a spine that makes your chiropractor wince and question your lifestyle.

On the other hand:

Even as jealously as I guard my time (think "Gollum" from Lord of the Rings), I don't regret it a bit. My father-in-law, his buddy and my wife's and my friend have never failed to be there when we needed them. It was gratifying to help out when the call came. Plus, it's not like I had to take off work or something.

I better get going - I hear my Dad may be moving soon...

Clerical job, feeling a bit down

I am applying for a Clerk gig today. One of these things has got to hit soon. I can't go on not working, not contributing to the household. Web design and other fantasies are just the shits, opportunities appear teasingly from the haze, and then evaporate.

It's frustrating - people tell me occasionally how bright they think I am. I'll admit, now & then, I agree. I'm grateful for the encouragement, but I have a lot of trouble achieving results to prove that praise valid. A full-time job, getting paid what I'm worth and achieving the occasional success would go a long way.

Right now, it's pretty meager, and I've got to start putting something in the tank. This is getting ridiculous.

How's my kid?

I haven't spoken to my daughter since she left. Father's Day and my birthday have passed without her attempting to contact me (aside from a text message from her mother's cell phone asking for something her mother wanted, allegedly from my daughter). I am not hurt by the lack of contact, but I am disappointed.

I know her head is in a place right now where she doesn't give a fig what's going on with me, and I accept that. I was pretty up in my own head at her age, although I think she's taken emotional unavailability to a drastic new level. Where the teenage me had built an emotional moat and wished someone would cross it, she's built an island fortress, complete with surface-to-air missiles and chemical warheads and declared war on all who would trespass, but hey, you say potato, I say po-tah-to.

All I'm saying is that I think I can grasp the idea that hurt causes people to flinch away, and enough hurt over time can cause a flinch that looks more like an Iron Man Triathelete Competition. I haven't called her for a few reasons: one, because my inner child is bruised by her withdrawal. Also, because I really don't think she wants to hear from me, and the socially awkward exchanges are too much, including the ham-handed and obligatory "I love you and miss you's" that are passed so woodenly that you'd think Pinocchio's zombie corpse was on the line. I figure, why put her through that? Hell, why put me through that?

On the other hand: "Wow, nice example, Dad." If I can't stick it out once in a while and make a mildly difficult effort, what good am I? It's like that old saying: "When the going gets tough, the tough get inaccessible and apathetic." I can do a little better than that, I guess.

Still, an e-mail or a phone call would have been nice. My inner child is never too far from my outer asshole, and the two are in constant communication. Throw the kid a bone.

Ignore the pearls, swine, and root your way along

I made a phone call to a potential web client earlier this week, following up on a sales presentation days earlier where I presented two totally decent designs and two very low prices, $350 & $500. It was the first time in a while I was non-plused.

I was mildly stunned because I was expecting some questions from a client who wasn't very web- or tech-savvy. I was expecting some haggling. What I got was: "We're not interested because it looks a little pricey, and we don't think it will do us much good." It still amazes me; since I have either already explained these things to this negative person and can't go any further without being myself (read: "rude"), I'll vent here.

First, "pricey?" Half-a-grand or less for some top notch designs, plenty of pages to support a Ma-n-Pa business and some fancy back-end widgets to pave the way for easy client contact is such a gift of services it should be considered theft! This client should have greedily written a check and snickered all the way back to his/her dank little office, congratulating herself at his/her business acumen at having some money-hungry web noodge over a barrel!
I only quoted such a low cost (about half what the service was worth) because I have the unfortunate compound of excess time and a dearth of money. This cost and these services were definitely stacked in his/her favor, but s/he didn't see it. Should s/he ever stumble over a bargain like this again, I hope that she grabs it by the balls and runs like Hell.

Second, the value: the designs were templates from very gifted sources, had colors that matched his/her business's design scheme, and offered plenty of room for this business to market its regionally-based services and products. They looked great, and would represent her professionally and positively. One included Flash animation, Webforms for the easiest of contact, and an e-mail list builder, allowing the client to easily reach out to interested parties for pennies. There is virtually no web presence in this region for the clients' competition. As it is now, clients Web-searching for this profession will go to Lodi or Stockton for this need, or go with word-of-mouth recommendations of better-known local businesses, having no idea an alternative exists! Bah!

All of this rushed through my head in the space of 0.75 seconds, and it was all I could do to stammer out: "er, ooookay, thanks a bunch...!" and keep my car on the road. Having expurgated this mental soot onto digital paper, something occurs to me. If I can drain the venom off this message, I can send the remainder to the client in a final effort to change his/her mind. Couldn't hurt...

Bulking up

I continue to pack on the weight. I made 211.5 today. I have started running and walking recently, but God knows I had better start turning down junk food and embracing exercise more fervently. I'm not going back to 235. I'm just not. Hell, I don't wanna see 212 again.

Interview

I have an interview today for a computer gig in Stockton. I hope it turns into something, but I am not convinced it's a match. Sometimes, though, life surprises you...

It's about time

Last week, my wife and I fulfilled a promise I made to myself when we moved in here. We pressure-washed and treated the weather-beaten deck off the backside of our house. It looks much better.

John Bizarre's website updated, with video projects

I am thrilled to see that comedian and director John Bizarre has updated his website with content for his latest video projects. His promises of news on that front have been pretty dusty, but I can relate to the slow grinding of a project's gears.

So check out his videos, his Bio, and his always-entertaining Notebook. Go John!

And catch him next time he's in the region. He'll be in Fairfield and Reno, NV, in October. Make plans now, it'll be here before you know it!

Call SVU, I've been raped

I ran an errand last night, taking two PDF files on a USB drive to a local shipping/printing spot in the nearest strip mall. I've been there several times before, and the people were friendly enough. They weren't very tech-savvy though, and I've always had to walk them through the connection of my USB drive to print the documents it held, making the Three Stooges look like the Color Guard at Arlington National Cemetery.

I was nearly late for an appointment, taking almost twenty minutes to print two documents. It was lot like Goldilocks and the Three Retards: "This computer doesn't have USB. Oh, this other computer isn't hooked up to the printer. Oh, this (still other) computer is fine, but Adobe Reader needs updates. Oh wait, the first computer does have USB! Silly me!"

I took my color docs to the cash register, and found that I was charged not only for the extra page the printed (that I didn't want), but also charged three bucks for the "download!" I realize there was a helluva lot of effort involved, but that's isn't exactly my fault. One would think if you're going to charge someone for a service, you'd be a little better at providing said service. On the other hand, it did make me feel a lot better about my reasonably priced web design services.

A few extra bucks wasn't worth arguing over, especially when time's a-wastin', but I left feeling ripped off, and I'm not in a hurry to go back.

I've got enough mystery in my life as it is

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: If you're going to leave a voicemail/answering machine message for someone, indicate what the whole call is about. Following is one of the messages on my machine lately.

"Hi Tom, it's , just had a few questions for you. Call me back..."

I'm not calling that guy back. I don't mean to be selfish, but what's in it for me? I have a terrible habit of living my life primarily by fear, and until I kick it, I'm not calling back on this type of message. What if it leads to bad news? I'm not contributing to that situation at all. What if something's outta whack? Why so cryptic, unless he's trying to catch me with my guard down? Just because I'm paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not out to get me. Good luck getting a hold of me, pal.

Plus, it's lazy, inefficient and inconsiderate. Can't you just mention the questions, or type of questions, in your message? If you leave me the questions, maybe I can call you back with answers, having had a chance to review them, research them, and put some useful information together. That way, if I miss you and have to leave another message, I can just deposit your response in your voicemail, and leave playing tag to the kids in the street.

Hm? Am I on to something, or what? You bet your ass I am. Next time, leave a real, whole message, or don't bother leaving anything at all. My life has enough mystery and blind alleys already.

I am camping, listening to music on an mp3 player my wife bought me for my birthday that is absolutely frickin' *magic*. She is awesome, and I have never been happier than when i'm with her. Envy me for my marital bliss.

Hooray for me

It's my birthday today! What to say, what to say... Well, several things.

I'm almost better off without holidays altogether. I don't deal with them well, and I may never learn to. For example, I spent the entire morning on Father's Day peeling the silver lining off of every cloud within reach and discarding it, and focusing on every negative I could find. Wonderful gifts from my wife? Bah- I just realized how badly she made out on Mother's Day when I didn't treat her half as well. Having loved ones over later? Bullshit - so much work to do!

Eck - Paula would be appalled. It got better when I was able to tell my wife about it - just speaking it out loud to her helped me get it out of my head.

The rest of the day went pretty well - my Dad, Denise and Michelle's Dad came over, and we put together a pile of food. I had a great time, I think they did, too.

I really struggle every year with the idea of a birthday party. Usually, this is because of low self-esteem and my own terrible habit of doubting whether I "deserve" the fuss of a birthday party. This year, we decided not to have one, mainly because we're broke. We're so broke that when we say we're broke, we give the word two syllables and a lusty inflection: "buh-roke!" Not only are parties expensive, but we live far enough away that it feels like such an imposition getting several-to-a-few-dozen people up here, we're almost better off not asking. See the low self-esteem portion a few sentences back.

Anyhow, no party this year, and that's okay with me. At least I think it is. Some years, I declare that no trouble should be undertaken, and the next day I regret it bitterly, and wonder how I could have foolishly let the opportunity slip by. I am a nut, and impossible to live with. My wife deserves canonization.

Birthdays are also a time for reflection.

Reflection one: I don't feel 36, but boy, do I look it. I don't mind gray hair at all - what little significance it holds in my mind is actually a positive, similar to a badge of courage. I've earned every silvery one of these damned things, they're my right as a world-weary basket case and don't you dare take them from me. I'm fatter than I want to be, though, and if I were to consider a birthday a milestone, I would like the next one to see me 20 pounds slimmer. I just don't feel like me with this life-preserver of flab around the middle. I've earned it, just as rightly as the gray hair, but emotionally, I reject it.

Reflection two: Is this all there is to my accomplishments? When I was little, say, elementary school age, I watched as all these grown-ups, 16 to 60 years old flitted from one objective to the next, determined in their paths. They looked so focused in their objectives, so certain. Now, I realize they were simply busy, and that one should not mistake action for certainty, commotion for creation. These people had simply stacked up enough to do that they didn't leave time to sit around and doubt (or think).

I know this now, but it's too late - by the time I was twelve, I had it firmly programmed in me that by the time I was twenty five (certainly thirty!) that I would have all this shit worked out, make a pile of money, and all there would be left to do was boss little people like myself around and make them go to school when they didn't want to. Now, I'm thirty-six, barely have a handle on anything. Some people never figure things out, become the least bit enlightened, or fit anything near the mold I thought I saw when I was eleven. Some of them can smell it on the wind that there is more out there, and hate their ignorance like I do, and some are as happy as pigs in shit never getting past the simplest existence. Which of the two groups has it right? The randomness of life on this planet is thrilling and terrifying.

Whew - that was some serious mental spelunking, I better take a break. Lucky for me, my wife allowed/encouraged me to open many of my birthday gifts early, so I've got just a pile of wonderful toys and books to play with, read and rub all over my body in a rush of material wealth.

If you need me, I'll be in the pile...

Prices that suck comedy cock

I tip my hat to Vino Piazza for supporting and promoting stand-up comedy in this little area, including "Men who kick comedy butt."

I tip a single finger to them for charging 25 bucks a head for admission to these events, plus a $5 deposit for a wine glass. Wine glass deposit?? Just serve the goddamn drinks! Every other venue manages to deal with flatware logistics without having to take such extraordinary measures! What's next, frisking patrons on the way out for forks and ketchup bottles?

They would have had two more attendees for their Saturday show except for these brazen prices. Pepperbellys in Fairfield is a dedicated comedy venue, is closer to the astronomically-priced Bay Area, and they charge less for nights featuring genuinely nationally-known comedians. Shit, they had Orny Adams for $15 a show, and Dana Fucking Carvey for $20!

With my birthday coming up, I would love to find a good comedy gig to splurge on, but this just isn't it. This area needs more comedy options, bringing quality up, and prices down.