A place to hang my towel. Following me around like a Hitchhiker, won’t be beat into submission, and won’t stay gone for more than a couple minutes

It must be the heat. Probably something to do with the expansion of blood vessels, or stuff like that. What manner of fucked up am I? Here I am blogging about spurious hard-ons* , one after another after another, and about cranking it. (A fair number of people I know won’t admit to it, let alone publicly document it…) So yyyyeah… I was taking care of business, and… during this time most guys have, you know, visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads. In the middle of this process, here’s the thought that pops into MY head:

Accelerometers. Whether a detected terrain dropoff should be considered a hazard depends on its angle relative to gravity, not relative to the vehicle. So there will need to be some kind of well-filtered accelerometer/inclinometer source in addition to the sensor arrays feeding into the decision… that’s so stupid, why didn’t I think of that already?

Fuck. Can I stop being a nerd for 15 minutes?

*when I was barely a grade schooler, I learned this term from a kid who seemed old at the time. But he’d apparently misheard it as when a boy sees a pretty girl he likes, he gets hearts on. I thought it sounded rather subtle and gentlemanly at the time, not to mention romantic…I thought it meant the aspiring suitor might signal his affection by wearing those boxer-shorts-adorned-with-hearts worn by anyone who ever gets pantsed in a cartoon

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