Archive for September, 2005

You can’t make stuff like this up

From an actual electronics surplus catalog (AllElectronics) :


The poison is words. A compression wave, molecules striking molecules striking molecules under the controlled direction of man; or a swath of photons in a premeditated pattern, hardset in the physical properties of angles and pigments, or ephemeral, switched into these patterns and in their respective directions by a Rube Goldberg circle-jerk of bioelectrical pulses to mechanical actuation, then back to electrical impulses, then encapsulated, encoded, amplified, translated to photons and carried on the backs of orthogonal mathematical functions through a routing hub named for the nearest airport, to probably California and then back again with a switchback to electricity to magnetic domains to electricity to photons again, back to electricity and then to magnetic waves, back to electricity, layers of encapsulation peeled away, decoded, back to free-flying photons in a darkened room, guided by either magnetic repulsion or the mechanical deformation of liquid crystal, captured and converted back to an electrical pulse constellation with absolutely no loss of intent or precision; by an ever-flickering analog finite state machine; the most intricate and beautifully complex and simultaneously the noisiest, most vulnerable system it knows.

The poison is images. Images that modify previous images, perverting them with its own tainted slant. Imported in pieces, one seemingly innocous atomic segment before the next, to reassemble destructively against any existing pattern that mismatches them; grinding themselvse obscenely on the dimensionless patterns that represent yesterdays and last weeks and last years in a manner whose mechanisms are not and may never be known.

The poison is subtlety. It exists as subtle hints, offhand comments; states of unviability casually suggested. It trickles into body language, into externalized state, such that it can mount its assault from every sense. Like a hacker laying siege to a system, it hammers every door, every route in, until certain that the venomed payload was successfully injected.

The poison is drift. Butterflies flapping their wings, the planting of one microscopic seed at a time, just a little seed, imperceptible, a single degree nudge off course at the outset from a distant shore.

The poison is pain. It exists only for its own ends, spreading only to spread. A mind virus. It fulfills this in whichever way it has evolved to understand as most effective, invoking guilt, responsibility, fear, promise, hope of change in the future. But the poison cannot change; it can only find another willing host. The poison is submission.

The poison is acid. Eating away reason, dissolving the motive force toward positive change. Burning away the hardness of knowledge, reducing it to reasonable certainty, then belief, then blind faith, then doubt, then unknowing; etching out the pedestals of logic that hold two opposing beliefs, true and false, up to their respective levels, until they lie on the noise floor as equals, rolling over and over each other as the blacks and whites of television snow. The poison is doubt. It causes one to question one’s own recollections, own emotions, one’s sovreignty over one’s own mental faculties, one’s own sanity.

The poison is words, and yet cannot be captured with words, those words, any words. The poison is undefined.


I didn’t sleep more than an hour last night. It didn’t make sense, I stayed up late the night before, stayed up late this night too, went to bed dog-tired. It felt like something was wrong; at least a little off. And the more I buried my head in the pillow, the more I shifted and adjusted into a more sleepable position, covering my head against the artificial light and non-artificial cold coming through the window, the more my brain latched up with state that wouldn’t clear; stacking up over and inside itself, like squishing barbed wire into a bag until it won’t accept any more.

I think I may have found out why, but that doesn’t make any sense. That wasn’t observable, couldn’t have been.

For the first time since they’d come on I had to get up and turn off my window fans. It was cold, in the zone where it’s not warm enough to be comfortable, but not cold enough to not bother me anymore. I can’t any longer suspend disbelief and pretend that the endless carefree summer is still with us; the weather is foreshadowing the inevitable march of the days getting shorter, darker and more complex.

Karma police, arrest this man, he talks in maths. He buzzes like a fridge, he’s like a detuned radio.

They struck again. I came out of work today to find the familiar orange-and-black VIOLATION notices folded and stuffed under windshield wiper after windshield wiper, all up and down the street. But wait a minute… upon closer inspection, these were not parking tickets at all, but blood-pressure-raising advertisements for Workout World, the gym beneath my office whose noisy aerobics class music’s bass drifts up and rattles my desk when I’m working late. Reading one of the many unfolded (discarded (thrown down in disgust (wipered away))) copies adorning the street and floor of the parking garage, it read “THIS IS NOT A VIOLATION…” at the top without the clever folding.

For just a moment I wondered what would happen if I gathered up every single one of them in a couple huge trash bags, held the gym’s doors open wide and leafblowered them all in, swirling around the equipment and covering the front desk like fallen orange and black autumn leaves. Of course my membership, if they caught me, would be revoked in a nanosecond, but I wondered, since I wouldn’t have actually entered the gym (trespassing), and the ad-trash was quite provably their own to begin with, whether I could be gotten into any sort of legal trouble for doing this. Littering, or loitering, or disturbing the peace, or tortious interference with prospective economic advantage, or any of the other eggshells we stand on every day without noticing them. Actually, I’m no lawyer, but I can pretty much guarantee that they could.

Then I kind of start to wonder why they can do it, but I can’t. Why plastering someone’s private property with unwanted litter was somehow above reproach, and what the difference is. Then I wonder how we’ve let society go this far. Then I tell myself I think too much, and start walking home.

“I have to show you this email I just got.” -MH
“…Enlargement…?” – TvS
“Yeah, I’ve been getting those too.” -me
“But I don’t subscribe to them.” -MH

QOTD (yesterday) :
“Was he being a dick in the good way or the bad way?” – me
“The bad way.” – No*
“Er wait…I don’t know if there’s a good way to be a dick.” -me
“Ha! That’s a quote!” – No*

Math movies?

Talking with someone not long ago about organizing a math-related-movie marathon, it was concluded that there kind of aren’t a lot of them. Pi, A Beautiful Mind, and (maybe? stretching it a bit) Good Will Hunting, but that’s about all I can think of. Can anyone add to this list?

LJ people – ask your friends! There aren’t many of you on my list :)

(Note: Comments on are broken until I get around to finding a secure method to lock the spambots out…please post on the LJ account)

An observation

My car mysteriously died while I was on vacation this August; when I got back and started it for the first time, it ran for about a second, died and would not restart. (Yaya…it has spark, battery’s good, fuel pump working… could be a dirt-napping timing belt.) Anyway, I’ve been meaning to get that fixed, but like 3e+08 other things I’ve been meaning to do, haven’t. Now realizing I’ve been car-less for about a month now and it hasn’t really been a problem. In fact, in these spring/summer/fall months when I’ve been mostly walking places because it’s nice out and I like to walk (and more recently, bike), the biggest problem has been remembering to drive somewhere (anywhere) every 2 days to keep the ShCity of Medford from ticketing/towing it for being parked in one place for more than 48h. The observation is that for the most part, I pretty much just use my car to transport other people (often to places I don’t particularly care to be).

The sun was up.

That whole nightish thing…it seems like I only really write in this thing late at night, and there’s usually some kind of catalyst involved. In the middle of the average weekday doing all that usual daily-grind stuff, there’s really nothing much to say. As for right now…

Documentation or braindump? Hard to decide… I can’t really do both, for reasons (rational#paranoid?) I won’t get into right now… but that’s kind of what today was all about. Decisions, or the inability to make them. When presented with a set of options that all kind of feel the same, how do you pick one? I guess a lot of people would go by “gut feeling”, which can work sometimes (even for me), but there are so many circumstances where the ol’ guts just don’t really feel anything. Ordinarily our good friend Logic comes to the rescue (think I rely on him way too much; our shirttail-acquaintance Guts is never around when you need his advice), but when there is really no quantifiable difference between them, and logic also fails, what’s left? I had with me a comparatively professional decision maker who seemed to take care of them pretty well, but to me, it was kind of like keys….ok, those CAN be alike…snowflakes. (Unless they’re on boxers) Officially, no two are alike, one may have peaks in a spot where another has valleys, and they could mesh together not well at all…in fact, they could be pretty much complete opposites of each other, and yet average out the same; unprocessably alike in every way that mattered. It would be like looking at any two side by side and asking, “Which one would taste better if it landed on your tongue?” “Which is prettier?” “Which one would melt faster…and then which would be better?” Maybe these would be easy questions for some people. Maybe it’s a near instantaneous state collapse that depends on subtle inter-neural noise, or differences in propagation delay that depend on how recently each one fired last, to nudge a truly fencepost decision to fall one way or the other – one signal hits first and latches…the opposite conclusion also barrels in, a microsecond later, but is too late. I don’t know. That kind of bugs me a bit – listening to a pair of speakers in a debate with roughly equally-matched arguments, how many listeners would side with one or the other based on such factors as the ambient temperature, what they listened to on the radio that day, how closely each speaker’s voice matched their own, or which presented last? But not being able to collapse that fencepost decision regardless bugs me almost more.

When I catch myself in this state it often seems like I’ve been spinning and thinking nothing, until I realize just how much “stuff” I actually thought about, how much was ground through and how much data was generated, just with no net result.

At some point tonight I found myself sitting, breathing, inches away but frozen. A superposition of intertangled states that would not collapse. Do I dare?…kissed back or pushed back? So I vibrated, oscillating at the speed of whatever loop this was (13 Hz?), until I managed to distract myself away with something else. Or time ran out; I can’t really remember which, and it seems like I should. (Both must have happened, but the time sequence is all fucked) Why is it that so many times the good things we barely remember, but traumatic things are burned in as if by a laser, where you can rotate the scene and count every hair on every head, and read state right off faces as if they were books? If only the rest of life, people, were like that. Observable, readable. It’s all state, it’s only information and it’s only an inch away, but you still can’t see it or touch it. It seems like you should be able to, that internal and external state should match, that you could catch it somehow if you could sample and crunch all those points of information fast enough, but it doesn’t work that way.

Not very much later, my mind was running away with itself again, this time in “the circle” between my house and Davis. With the limits of what could be resolved in the darkness, it was almost like an island disconnected from reality; all cool humid night air and faintly visible broad leaves of nonnative plant life and long, thin and unlikely flower stalks, and a distant hiss from all around that could be tires on distant pavement or just as easily the echoes of a far-off waterfall refracted a hundred or a thousand times by trees and rock [the background noise of the indoor tropical monkey house at Brookfield Zoo], it was kind of like being in a rain forest, except not. It was no rain forest…norainforest…by the time I was halfway home…or maybe not even…at least across the crosswalk and back on a section of street that had sides (as in, a right side and a left side, as opposed to an inside and an outside) I realized I’d just had an conversation in my head with someone who wasn’t (any longer) there, to the effect of “just shuffle the whitespace around until you find the 4th way to parse it”… after thinking that character sequence would be a clever and (mathematically sound? Text and math are completely separate, but they don’t always feel that way) temporary title page for a particular picture site, at least to get rid of the telltale “Directory listing of /” Apache generates for any directory without an index* page in it, but before the recollection of asking my first-grade teacher “but why do all the letters have spaces between them?” as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world, especially when just teaching kids to read, why they’d go and split up all the letters like that and make things difficult. This is kind of where I came to and realized I was halfway home, not entirely sure how I got there but entirely sure of the first sentence I ever ‘officially’ read, as in, in the official 1st-grade reader where they were officially teaching us to read text, as opposed to absorbing it kind of incidentally just by having it around the room**, or following my dad’s finger along a page as he read to me (out of books that also had those annoying gaps between the letters [I eventually figured out this was just for my benefit, since when reading just to themselves adults didn’t run their fingers across the pages, or talk out loud for that matter]) – “The sun was up.” Mrs. Jeffres explained that the spaces were there so that you knew where one word (what were they?) ended and another began…it would be hard to understand, she said, if it was written “Thesunwasup.”!. Wondering how I got from there to here…sun..rain..yeah, I guess that makes sense.

I should go to bed.

* .cgi or .php or .htm or .html or .sgml or .txt OR whatever filename and/or extension are specified in changes-as-often-as-my-underwear.conf, and I don’t remember which overrides which.

**in kindergarten, if someone was bad they got their name written on the blackboard. But every day, one kid’s name was on the board even if I was the first one there. Sometimes it would be in a different color, and sometimes it would have a box drawn around it. He wasn’t even in our class. I spent over half the year wondering what this poor kid did that was so bad he got his name on the board forever. His name was Warning.

Quantum Toilet Seat

Recently, some issues regarding bathroom tidiness have come up among the work crew. Besides the obvious issue, the fact that the little silver handle on the front of the tank is *not* intended to be solely decorative, another has come up – where the toilet seat should ideally be when not in use.

We will assume for the moment that approximately equal energy is required to raise or lower a toilet seat, as the bulk of the effort is in bending to reach it, and lowering also requires continuous action against gravity for the duration of its descent (to prevent the seat from making a loud bang or portions thereof shattering on impact). Ideally, every fixture would be equipped with a quantum toilet seat that was both up and down at the same time, and only collapsed into one state or the other depending on whether it was being observed or not; i.e., which way the user is facing. (Yeah yeah…I’m working on it…) In the meantime though, there should be some logic-based consensus on this matter.

Some (femi-nazis?) would insist that the seat be left down at all times. However, this is pointless and inefficient. Consider the worst case scenario, multiple consecutive “stand-up” operations. In this case, each user would find the seat down and be required to lift it before use, then lower it afterward – 2 changes of toilet seat state per use.

In a population of uniform gender distribution, each operation is statistically more likely to be a “sit-down” rather than “stand-up” operation. However, in a predominantly male environment, this distribution is skewed toward stand-up operations. Let us consider the idea of insisting on “seat up” as the default. Not only would this make more sense than seat-down in such a distribution, it would reduce or eliminate the common problem in which some members of the population (hereinafter, “lazy slobs”) believe their aim to be flawless and beyond the limitations of elementary physics. However, in the worst-case scenario, consecutive sit-down operations, this would also result in 2 seat state changes for a single operation.

It seems to me that the ideal solution, in terms of efficiency, would be for every user to set the seat the way they want it on entry, and leave it that way on exiting. This way, the absolute worst-case scenario is limited to one state change per use. The reduced energy consumption could then be re-invested into talking about sports around the water cooler, checking email or surfing Slashdot at work. It is believed that this approach, if consistently and uniformly adhered to, could stave off the heat death of the Universe by at least ten years.

More UIs should have one…

“Live Long and Prosper” button!

From the Analog Devices’ SwitcherCadIII filter-design software I downloaded today.

(for some stupid reason, they call it a ‘move’ button.)

Out comes LART

Grr, I think something’s a-brewing. Since this Monday I’m getting deluged by an exponentially-rising number of blog comment spam attempts…before Monday I was averaging ~ 6 comment spams over the lifetime of the blog, or about 2 years, which is pretty good. But now…

Spam spam spammity spam

Holy rock salt Batman, that’s a lot of spam!

They’re rolling in from all unique IP addresses/blocks from around the world. Has someone done the unthinkable (a.k.a. next logical step) and written a blog-spamming worm? I’m eagerly awaiting the day it hits my office and I get to spend the entire day performing Windoze exorcisms…


Doublethinking:: “Aww, that’s too bad…” and “Yesss! Yesss!”. I kind of feel like a bastard. But sometimes being a bastard kind of feels good.

QOTD (yesterday) : “Before Bush, they just stayed in their little holes and went “God God God God God God…”…and nobody cared. Now they’re coming out of their little holes…” -JR

Oh fine…everyone else is doing it!

LJ Interests meme results

  1. boston:
    Err…I live here. I lived in Chicago until a little less than 2 years ago (wow…has it really been that long?), where I was a fresh college grad with nothing better to do than unsuccessfully job-hunt and read/post Slashdot, which ended up landing me the interview with my current company in Medford, MA.
  2. carnivorous plants:
    Adapted for survival in peat bogs and very nutrient-poor soils, some plants have developed the ability to supplement their diets by capturing and digesting small insects (and the occasional small rodent, for the very largest of the Nepenthes), falling leaf matter and even bird poop. I’ve always been fascinated by these, but only recently started collecting them. It probably bugs a couple of my friends to know that my windowsill eats more meat than they do.
  3. computer science:
    Logic, logic, logic…finite and discrete states. I don’t do well in the land of “maybe”, so CS is a place where I’m comfortable. I didn’t actually major in it, but I do end up writing a lot of code both at work and as part of various hobby projects.
  4. digital signal processing:
    Kind of goes along with the previous. Separating a signal from noise, or extracting the most possible information from sources that may be kind of questionable. (It works as both an engineering exercise, and a metaphor. Hah.)
  5. fishing:
    I like to fish. It always brings back fond childhood memories of getting up at 5am to go fishing with my dad out on the lake…it was so quiet, peaceful, no worries and no distractions, just nature and a hint of steam rising from the water’s surface in the chilly morning air.
  6. geeking out:
    What I do best. I am a geek, and admit it freely. And tend to go off on random geek tangents, completely not considering that whoever’s listening might not give a damn and/or have the slightest idea what I’m talking about. “Sorry, I just geeked out.”
  7. hardware design:
    What else I do best….and get paid for it. I’m an electronics engineer, and get to design the guts for all kinds of nifty gadgets.
  8. nerds:
    The average sports-loving, NASCAR-watching Joe Sixpack tends to bore me, and vice versa. I’m a nerd, and pretty much prefer the company of nerds and intellectuals. And I’m in no position to be offended at the social ineptitude of others :-)
  9. retro computing:
    For some reason I think ancient hardware is really fucking cool. Back before everything was hidden away inscrutibly on insanely complex and application-specific silicon, computing has been done with water, motors, gears, relays, punched paper, discrete logic gates. You could study them, watch the gears turn and the states flip and understand what they were doing.
  10. self-organizing systems:
    …kind of the other end of the spectrum. For some reason this for me condures up images of our creations taking on an almost biological air, so irreducibly complex that we dare not even try to understand them; although it doesn’t necessarily have to be that way. Think along the lines of networking hardware that can detect other nodes, cooperatively work out optical routes between themselves, identify the capabilities of everything in their reach and mesh themselves into an optimal, robust net even while individual nodes come and go and move around. I’d like to get into that kind of stuff more, but don’t really have time for it.

Enter your LJ user name, and 10 interests will be selected from your interest list.

Timezone offset fixed…

…maybe? (Time on my watch is 10:45am..)

WordPress is a little broken.

Standing still <--> still standing

And fighting time so hard I pray
that this moment last forever.
And will the world stay standing still, at least for me.

It isn’t common that your thoughts can be summed up by song lyrics written long before them. But today in a seemingly perfect moment, feeling better than I have in a very long time, I just wanted time to stop in its tracks. Stopping the relentless march of the postsummer Boston cold which, as if lurking behind and inside every molecule of tonight’s beautifully temperate air and gentle breezes, in preparation for a sneak ambush maybe a week away; freezing in its place the nearly full moon that added subtle constance to a wash of flickery streetlamp light. Shady figures loafing just outside the lightscape of a too-bright 24hr convenience store, drivers peeling tires as if pissed at the world, or just at the fact that at midnight in Somerville they had no audience to impress, going nowhere in particular, but going nowhere fast…these and a billion other of those little points of evil and unrest in the world frozen in time and space, locked safely and inertly in stasis. One of those less-usual me-dreams completely lacking a concept of time, where one scene is layered inside of another, and another, wrapped up in a too-widely-interpretable jumble of images in as many dimensions as necessary.

On my street I crossed the path of a small black cat, sitting on the sidewalk I was walking on, staring out intently at nothing in particular. It eventually noticed me coming and darted across to the other side of the street, where it continued staring at the same spot. I’ve seen a lot of that. I kind of wonder some odd stuff, like if schizophrenia is common in cats. Maybe whether when they stare like that, they’re seeing something that isn’t there, or seeing something that only they can.


Yesterday, “goth nite” at its temporary club, preceded by dinner at the Pu Pu Hot Pot (beating Rockford, IL’s own (former?) “Lung Fung’s” [for those who don’t see things like that, that’s one character away from Lung Fungus {google concurs}] for Most Badly Named Chinese Restaurant, but the food was okay). Since I don’t exactly know the observability requirements of the folks I came with, I’ll kind of just leave this as more of a datestamp entry.

[20:44] K*: I cannot date someone who does not want to see me.
[20:44] K*: Even if they do love me.
[20:45] K*: I did not sign on to sit at home on Friday nights all alone.
[20:45] K*: I can do that single.

[20:57] K*: I HATE IT HERE!
[20:58] K*: I think hicks make my teeth fall apart.
[21:03] K*: I hate these pick-up driving, daughter raping, ignorant minded, Militia supporting, cigarette smoking, tooth less, trailer living, NASCAR loving , cracker, hick, Deliverance quoting, diseased creatures

More stuff from today…

Posting over neighbor’s unsecured wireless because our Internet access was cancelled…but moron that later.

Speaking of the radio: Wow, you can say the n-word on the radio? I never knew that. Whatever on-air personality my officemate listens to said it about 5 times in a row this morning in the course of the usual morning-zoo clowning around (honka honka). In college in the third notch of the Bible Belt, IN, we could (and did) get censured for joking about Satan on-air, among many many other things.

I dreamed last night that I was in a squad car, riding along on a big Cops-style bust of someone suspected of Downloading MP3z. It was huge! We’re talking a mega crime ring here (sarcasm), a 12-year-old boy came out of the house escorted by an two officers and crying, and the computermachine behind this criminal mastermind featured a nice but uber-graphical OS shell the likes of which I’ve never seen (imagine if a candy factory exploded all over GNOME) that gave me a few interesting ideas. In typical Tim-dream fashion, I was watching this somewhat nervously because about 50% of me was busted earlier that same dream-morning for the same thing, so half of me was watching from the *back* of the squad, which was getting rather crowded this being the 3rd Evil Downloader bust of the morning. It would have been amusing if e.g. a murderer ran by and the cops couldn’t keep him because they were too busy busting downloaders, but that didn’t happen.

So anyway, (in real life) our Internet connection has for the past few days been returning a “Comcast Help” page in response to any HTTP request (e.g., prodding us to download some Windows executable. Much as I love to download untrusted Windows executables, I figured this looked like a job for Mr. Complainypants. The lengthy background process, meddling spyware, behind-the-back-settings-changer-ware, alternative OSes rant was just about ready to spill forth when I was informed that not having paid the cable bill in several months might, you know, have something to do with that.

Come again?

It turns out that for the approximately half a year we’ve had our own internet access at this house, the bill has been sent to our landlord in his name, and he had been billing Erich, designated bill-handling housemate, who in turned split the bill to everyone else. (Or that’s how it worked in theory, anyway.) I found this out by calling the landlord to find out who was in charge of the account, and hearing “Oh yeah…Comcast…I have 2 or 3 bills from them I’ve been meaning to send you guys…”. Mystery solved, probably, but it looks like it won’t be pretty (the last bill he found was for July, already reporting 60 days late and a reconnection charge, and it’s now mid-September…).

[00:19] HAL: Generally solid-state relays get killed rather dramatically, requiring some patchwork on the (now scorched) relay board…. there are other failure-prone parts as well
[00:19] HAL: And yes, stupid users *do* have a habit of hooking up outputs to the mains :(
[00:20] HAL: … or peeing in the box and shorting everything out
[00:20] Me: but typically not the SMD chips, CPU and etc, right?
[00:20] HAL: … or destroying the screen with a hammer
[00:20] Me: haha…you’ve actually had (l)users do that?
[00:20] HAL: In union shops, yes

“We’re there when you need us…call 1-800-EAT-WORMS; That’s 1-800-EAT-WORMS.”

Am I going deaf? Or are radio adverts getting less distinct? I don’t really listen to it much, but our new intern at work always has a radio on in our office. (“Keep the country goin’, government farms…”) Maybe it’s one of those things where, once you hear something wrong once (due to low volume, etc.), you can only ever hear it that way afterward. Or maybe exposure to advertising kills brain cells.

[19:29] Arc*: We need to get you drunk…
[19:29] Arc*: On Thursday?!
[19:29] Me: hehe
[19:29] Me: me drunk why?
[19:29] Arc*: Or maybe take you to Fasika and feed you?
[19:29] Arc*: So you forget how old you are. =)
[19:29] Me: ah…yeah…I forgot about that

Observables (0xc0ffee)

Skunk spray smells deep blue; black and blue. And smooth, not like B.O. with its prickly peaks of fiery yellow and orange, giving themselves over to more earthy tones of yellow-gray and then brownish as they disappear into the vanishing point of a hard-to-describe, non-spatial dimension…this image is that of every less-than-inspired physics textbook’s text-and-figure depiction of a black hole as a bowling ball resting on the mattress of the universe, where the mattress is covered with a rubber sheet with gridlines, as if its owner is known to wet the bed and be entirely too fond of graphing things. Skunk spray kind of reminds me of Axe deodorant, which smells silver-blue, which is also a song (and another one (whose images uncannily correlate (love and blood and pass(age)oftime(lone(lines)s))). Oh, and another one.

Coming home tonight I could have been mowed down by an obviously irritated cabbie (although the reason for his irritation was not observable), but wasn’t. The cab simultaneously as an entity and a system of states, biding its time with an implausibly-tight U-turn mentally queued, ready to trigger on the perfect opening, and did…its centroid, tires spinning, was the axis of an intricate and beautiful vaudeville act of cars and pedestrians converging without blocking; open gearing made from revolving doors.

More systems, more states, unreadable, like a dodgy AOL diskette after its 50th reformat in a dusty room, which, if you were lightly standing on it, would still be unreadable, even if you took off your shoes, your socks, your skin.

I haven’t really slept a usable amount in a while…it’s kind of a waste of time if you can avoid it. The familiar, but rare, state I’m in now is fueled by caffeine and lack of contentment and fellow-human catalysts that shake up and randomize thought patterns like a snow globe. Random is good, unlike the usual patternful form, which is kind of like having a song stuck in your head all the time, except that the song is made out of text and it doesn’t make any sense. I should be taking advantage of this and coding something now. It’s hard to write anything while content, complacent. But this agitated, randomized state – even if it doesn’t feel good, it does, in its own wierd way.

LJ(-only) memespread

(Sorry, doesn’t work off LJ… try .)

Who do these guys think they are? My reply:

To whom would I be billing this time?

> Dear Tim *******:

Exhibit Surveys, Inc., an independent research firm, has been commissioned by the show organizer to certify the number of attendees to NEPCON/Assembly East 2005. Your response is extremely important for the accuracy of this project.

Our records indicate that you registered for NEPCON/Assembly East 2005 which was held May 4- 5, 2005 in Boston. Please confirm whether or not you attended and verify your registration demographics. If any information is incorrect or missing, please select the appropriate response.

If your email does not support this hyperlink feature, please copy the above URL and paste it into your Internet browser.

Thank you in advance for your time.

(The link points to a longass survey, easily 10 pages long…I’m not sure exactly how long, because it, most likely intentionally, doesn’t say.)