To which I replied...

Our Deepest Fear

2012-01-21T10:00:00.000-08:00

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
-Marianne Williamson

Musics!

2012-01-09T21:59:00.000-08:00

Kimbra - "Settle Down" (Official)

[direct link]

RATATAT - MIRANDO

[direct link]

AWOLNATION - "Not Your Fault" (Official)

[direct link]

AWOLNATION - "Sail" (Video is of some guy who is insanely awesome)

[direct link]

[OBLIGATORY DUBSTEP]
Zomboy - Organ Donor

[direct link]

Kimbra's vocal technical skill reminded me of a talent I will miss... RIP Amy.

[direct link]

My Rifle MK2 - Dissipator Conversion

2012-01-05T18:56:00.000-08:00

There has been a modification to My Rifle.

For a bit of cash, I had the good folks at RifleGear (right down the street!) do this dissipator conversion.

I wanted to do this to make the rifle more comfortable, more sling-able, and more unique/awesome. I had a few options for accomplishing this. Free floated rail farm aluminum handguards were too damn heavy, and would require a low rail-mounted front sight (I like the classic A2 front sight appearance). Carbon fiber free floated handguards were nice and light and looked great, but cost more to buy than the whole job I wound up going with. They put on a low profile gas block at the original carbine length sight position, and because the front of the M4 profile barrel wasn't wide enough, they had to use a clamp-on front sight instead of just drilling new taper pin holes on a fresh A2 sight. If I had more cash to spend, I would have gotten a barrel without the M4 profile, but it'll have to do for now.

I was surprised that I could definitely feel the difference in balance. It was noticeable, but not enough to be a distraction. I wonder how much it will affect the recoil.

You might notice the rear sight is different. I took a hacksaw and file to the original removable carry handle rear sight, and touched it up with the rattle can. This was because the large screw heads on the right side (it's a lefty) got caught on my clothing, and on the left side, the forward screw head interfered with upward flipping ejection port cover. Chopping it meant I could use it without it getting caught on my clothes or interfering with ejection, while looking sweet. I really like what it does to the profile of the rifle. Eventually there will be a TRS-25 cowitnessing on the newly exposed flattop. The ACOG is nearby, set for rail mount.

Because this modification was not high priority, and I'm a function over form guy, I've done this as inexpensively as possible. I'll post range results when I have them.

Good guys don't wear masks... yet.

2011-10-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

It's hard not to appreciate the simplicity of the solution the London rioters employed. One minute they're a bystander fleeing the throng, the next, all identifying features are covered, and they are free to do as they please. We now see Occupy X protesters using here what was proven successful there. As resistance and violence increases, so will the need for anonymity.

We will need it too. It's not usually our style to hide who we are, but if things continue the way they are now, it will become a necessity.

Because what some call vigilantism, others call responsibility.

So buy oversized hoodies and handkerchiefs for each person willing, and keep one set in each vehicle. You could even get track pants, gloves, and shoe covers, but I don't think they're as necessary here as in London, where CCTV can track you from cradle to grave. All this can be shoved into a drawstring backpack (or small regular backpack), so you can enter an unmonitored area, and emerge anonymously with the backpack on UNDER your hoodie.

You may wonder why we should have to be anonymous? The good guys don't wear masks. We're in the right, we're preserving order, we're defending civilization from the barbarians. Right?

Maybe. It depends on which way the political winds are blowing. Right and wrong are now subject to popularity, politics (but I repeat myself), and circumstance, and selective enforcement of law is the new weapon of those in power with an axe to grind.

There may be a time when, as far as our leaders are concerned, we're tromping on the "right" of the people/the minority/the disaffected youth/the unemployed/the union to "petition for redress" their community by burning it down and stealing from it. When the peace-loving gang of Occupy X protesters express their righteous frustration with the economic system by kicking the local business owner in the head as he lay bloody and motionless on the pavement, we would be the ones who "escalated force disproportionately" by responding how any sane human being would.

They will be the poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

We will be the vigilantes, terrorists, escalators, and murderers.

WE will be the ones getting no-knocked four days later when fingered by the liberal down the street after you didn't let him steal what society owed him from the local big screen teevee shop, or after impeding the path of a riot with (gasp) a gun, or worse: after stopping a felony in progress.

With many of our leaders showing support for a movement that has openly called for a violent revolution, we can't expect laws of man or god to be enforced for long.

If good people push back when the mob turns, I don't think there will need to be much fighting. But if there is, who would you be fighting against?

I don't think you're ever going to get in a shootout with the granola-eating, tree-hugging, whale saving, Prius-driving, ponytail-sporting liberal down the street. Our current flavor of liberals aren't willing to die for their beliefs. They're more likely to gather at a book burning or throw bricks from within a crowd (though some might be brave enough to kick an unconscious and pre-beaten capitalist in the back). I don't think you're going to need to do more than send one whizzing over the head of a privileged child with a master's in Neo-Colonialism of Industrialized Capitalist Superpowers by Global Policies of Socio-Economic Oppression (who somehow can't get a job or figure out how a hammer works) who's caught up in the group-think of "The Human Megaphone," in order to send them crying back to their parents' McMansion. The Anarchists might issue a few sucker punches, but they're more about riling up the crowd. Some of the true believers might be convinced to pull a trigger, but if fire is returned, they care more about their foodstamp-fed bodies than their ideology. But unions? They scare me. They've got bodies that will do what they're told, organization, mob tactics, and aren't afraid of dealing out "righteous" violence to get what they say they deserve. And the worst part? Police have a history of letting union violence slide because of the political power behind them.

So when world turns upside-down, and the have-nots have tacit political approval to fight the haves of all shapes and sizes, what do you do after you catch your reflection in the mirror and don't recognize it?

That's entirely up to you and the degree to which you see yourself as belonging to something larger than yourself.

Do you remove your license plates, and drive until you think you're beyond the reach of the ideologies of jealousy and entitlement? (hint: don't stop till you hit Mars)

Do you stand in front of your business or house, say "this is MY line in the sand," and shoot whoever crosses it? (hint: this usually compromises your anonymity)

Do you organize your neighbors, Katrina-style, and barricade entrances to your neighborhood, form a fire brigade, repel rioters, arsonists, and offer no witnesses to police inquiries about the additional ventilation provided to the aforementioned? (hint: "Officer, we have 20 witnesses who say that guy fell on those bullets before he dropped his Molotov cocktail and became engulfed in flames...")

Do you form mobile citizen fire brigades and response teams to enforce the laws the police can't or won't?

Or do you let the practicality of your mind defeat the truth and honor in your heart, and do nothing?

I don't know. Like I said, that part is entirely up to you.

Pray for a future wherein we may enjoy a beer and laugh at our overreaction as we look back on this mental and material preparedness. I'll buy the first round.

Miffed over OnStar tracking? Try cell phone tracking.

2011-09-23T18:39:00.000-07:00

I see everyone getting indignant over OnStar tracking your location speed, seat belt status, etc after people requested the service be disabled. But for years cellular providers have been keeping records of your location and your calls, and selling them to the highest bidder in most states, and to law enforcement organizations in all states, without a warrant.

Just keeping this all in perspective...

The History channel.

2011-09-18T09:21:00.000-07:00

Have you ever watched a History channel show about the lead up to X conflict, or Y situation? Did you find yourself yelling "Wake up, Sheeple™! Don't you see what's coming?!" at the teevee? If so, you should keep in mind that all the key events have been distilled out, and placed in a nice neat line of dominoes in the interest of focus and brevity.

Imagine watching one of those shows that was 30 years long, where each ominous event is noted in under 10 words as it passes on a news ticker at the bottom of the screen, while the main screen shows Charlie Sheen's rants or the new awards show or some wayward starlet's mug shot, or if those things don't strike your fancy, the latest footage from Afghanistan or the recent sports game or the newest tech gadget.

Are your progeny going to say, "Grandpa, we just learned about the global collapse in school, and we couldn't understand why you didn't see it coming." To which you may reply, "Well, little Jenny, it was a different time then. We wanted to keep track of the important things, but other things kept getting in the way. There was the NFL strike, Lindsay Lohan's rehab, decades of baseball stats, arguing on internet forums, video games, the new season of Dexter, iPods, health scares, new electronics, funny cat pictures, internet videos of people hurting themselves, Facebook, new and exciting things that were going to kill us in new and exciting ways, and the pills. So many pills. Have I told you about the pills? Pills for happy, pills for sad. Pills for bored, pills for mad. Pills to treat every affliction, and pills to curb our pill addiction. We had a cure for society's ills, and it was always pills, pills, pills." "Mom! Grandpa's Cat-in-the-Hatting again!"

History is a very interesting thing. Once it's past, we like to comment on it from the comfort of our armchairs. But we refuse to recognize that we're making (or not making!) history every day, and that one day, people in armchairs will look on our history as we looked on our forerunners', and they will comment. What will their comments be?

Feel better?

2011-08-30T21:40:00.001-07:00

It seemed the area was clear. They must have been keeping the area around their hideout clear of zeds. I did a quick room-to-room search of the building, ignoring the sounds of wet thuds and grunt-screams from that woman in the office. When I was satisfied, I made my way pack to the office. As I rounded the corner I got to watch for a few moments as she wildly stabbed at what used to be her rapist's crotch. It looked as if a small bomb had gone off in his pelvis, all that was left was blood and pulp. The blade rang as it hit bone-- or the concrete beneath. One hundred and two pounds of primal rage focused every fiber of its being on one thing. Face twisted into something never before seen in civilization. I didn't dare interrupt. She became aware of my presence all at once, and jump-slipped backwards into the wall, horrified and confused at what had happened, eyes transfixed on the creation of some demon. As she caught her breath, she managed between gasps for air, "I just-- ... He was-- ... I didn't--... When he--..." I stared at her eyes until she met my gaze. "Feel better?"

She looked at herself, covered in blood and started hyperventilating.

Aliens

2011-08-30T21:21:00.000-07:00

"These people aren't from around here. They moved here from far away. Not even this planet. They float around, bumping into things, playing the part they're supposed to play. Surprised, sad, happy, laugh. They perform these things but they aren't these things. They're empty vessels. Husks occupied by some alien force trying desperately to become human. To feel what the real humans feel, to taste what the real humans taste, to experience what real humans experience. But they can't. Because they're not human. They just want to be real. The lives were always better on the other side of the galaxy, so they came here to become real people, and to live what they thought they should live, instead of realizing that they had all the life they needed where they were. They suffered from the same defect as humans. Envy. Envy so blinding that they couldn't see beyond their flat little non-noses to the truth of reality. The truth that they are who or what they are, and nothing can ever change that. The ironic thing about it is that they would live what they believed were happy lives where they only somewhere else when they formed their opinions. Instead they chase what they can never have, and tell themselves how great their lives are now that they aren't who they were. They see things on television and in magazines and they become those things. Like a child putting on its parents' clothes so it can pretend to be grown up. Or an adult, doing childish things so it can pretend it's not. There's never any satisfaction in these lives. No appreciation. No love. No laughter. No soul. These people have to be something. They can't just be. This would all be understandable -- even excusable -- if these self-propelled sacks of chemicals really were aliens from another planet. But they're not. They're actually magical beings of endless complexities and uniqueness, blessed with life by a random amalgamation of atoms formed in the very stars they hide behind their roofs and their eyelids and their bright lights. Stars so beyond their experience, so unfathomably far, so incomprehensibly large, so impossibly hot that they must avert their gaze from their creators, their gods. They're afraid. They're afraid to acknowledge the miracle of their lives because they're shaken to their core by the thought that they'll have to stop doing all the things they've been pretending were important after they realize how important they themselves are. What they don't understand is that there is only one thing that changes when you realize the greatest truth of your life. Your perspective.

I'm going to change that."

Reasons

2011-08-30T21:12:00.000-07:00

Warren turned to Jacobs with a strange look on his weathered face. Fascination? Morbidity? Condescension? Or was it something else? Something I'd never thought of? Once he caught Jacobs's eyes he purposefully drew his Beretta, ejected a 9mm round from its chamber, and caught it in the air, all without breaking eye contact. Warren turned the round in his hands and held it up between himself and Jacobs and spoke, "Don't you see? That's the amazing thing about a bullet. A bullet is a hunk of metal. Nothing more, nothing less. It doesn't care if you've got a badge, backup on radio, a SWAT team, or a helicopter in the air. Hell, it doesn't even care if you command thousands of nuclear bombs. All it does is fly straight, and fly though soft things like us. It is impartial. It has no fear, no remorse, and no respect. It will not deviate because you're a cop, or a soldier, or a child, or a king, or a president, or the Pope, or God him-fucking-self. People like us grow to forget that fact. It's only natural. We get respect, so we think we have the respect of everyone. We get fear, so we think we have the fear of everyone. We get power, so we think we have power over everyone. We forget that it only takes one bullet to end us, and one person to fire it. Body armor can be penetrated, windshields can be shattered, arteries can be opened by a prison shiv made from a fucking plastic spork. You keep going out there and pushing people around like you're invincible, and you're going to give someone a reason to remind you that you ain't. Every civy out there... Every single one... Is capable of ending you. Some more than others. They just need the right reason. 'Some more than others' there too. You don't live as long as I have by putin' on the uniform, walking out that door, and giving people reasons."

Monolith

2011-08-30T21:11:00.000-07:00

"You know the difference between you and me? You look up at that building and see a Monolith. A huge, overbearing structure assembled by the will of powerful architects. Representing the unshakable dominance of the kings that commissioned it. Daunting. Intimidating. Invincible. You know what I see? I see people. Simple people with simple jobs. People made of flesh, and muscle, and bone. Fragile people. People who do their job not because they believe in what they are doing, or the ends of their efforts, but because it's their occupation. People easily dissuaded. People easily scared. People easily killed. With those people shuffled off or scared off, the monolith becomes a husk. It may still stand upright and tall, but it is lame. A decaying symbol of a dead power. The shadow of kings."

A bit late.

2011-08-30T20:33:00.000-07:00

It was a job well done. He told his superiors they needed another few hours though they'd already cleaned the place out. No one was there, so there was no action, and that makes the door-kickers antsy; so he got a few extra hours so they could have some liberty time to unwind.

It was the fourth raid Black Boot team had been on in the past week. The guys liked all the action, and relished the rush they got from taking out Enemies of the State. Plus they got to enjoy a few choice picks from the collections they confiscated. Sure, it was tough luck for the guys that got raided, since they usually got overwhelmed in bed, and were never taken alive, but the law was the law, and without it there would be chaos.

The Black Boots were sitting around the rural property of the house they'd raided checking out their loot, drinking some beer Martinez snuck in one of the duffel bags, and generally horsing around. He avoided the childishness because he thought it undermined his authority over them. He picked a spot under a large elm tree facing the sunset where the roots formed a natural seat for him. He treated his job with a bit more seriousness than they did. It was hard for him to go after Americans. It helped to think of them as he'd been instructed; as domestic terrorists. But he knew they were just Americans. Americans like his grandfather who stood up to firehoses and dogs to secure his rights. All of his rights, including the right to keep and bear arms. But things were different now. His grandfather wouldn't want to own one of these assault weapons... Would he? He protected his family from the KKK, but those times were gone now. We're more civilized. We have better laws.

He ignored the dirty joke being told behind him, and stared at the low-hanging sun trying to quell the odd feeling he always got after he did his job. He sat with one knee elevated, and his gloved hand on top. Something struck him about the black tactical glove that interrupted the natural scene before him. He took it off and felt the cool air hit his hand as he replaced it on his knee. That was better.

As he drifted closer to a welcome nap, he noticed a small black spot grow from the top of a distant hill below the sunset. Like one of the armadillos that plagued the area struggling up the incline, then stopping at the top to survey the land around him. He idly thought, "That's a big armadillo. How far away is that?" He squinted.

First he saw the flash. He could just barely make it out so near the setting sun. Then he heard the buzz of the bullet. Then he heard the sick slap of impact on flesh behind him. Then he saw the spray of blood and matter hit the back of his naked hand still on his knee. He didn't even have time to change his expression. Then he heard the shot. He stared at his bloodied hand.

It wasn't till the second shot buzzed by him that he was broken from his hypnosis. He clambered around behind the tree, and almost tripped over his machine gun. He struggled a thought. "What the hell?! That can't be Jacobs! What balls he must have to shoot at the Black Boots!" Henry Jacobs was the owner of the property they were enjoying, thought to have fled days before the raid. Officially, he was being raided on suspicion of owning silencer parts, but the truth was that he had been a vocal opponent of theirs for years. There wasn't anything in his file about him being a sniper. As far as they knew, he was just a typical fat slob gun nut. Someone was going to pay for this oversight. He moved his back against the tree but lost his footing in the exposed roots and fell backwards into a sitting position, hitting his head hard.

He was frozen in a minor daze. He saw his teammates running for cover, and their weapons, being systematically cut down. Shot in the chest or head, sometimes straight through cover. Those who could make it to their machine guns returned fire to no effect. They were shot in the head when they exposed themselves to fire. He couldn't process what he was seeing as he watched his men die. Those who were not killed on the first shot were hit in the head, ending them in a bloody show. Jackson was the first to run, and was ended before he could make it 15 feet. The remaining members of the Black Boot squad were cowering behind any cover, refusing to expose the smallest bit of themselves. There was a short reprieve, then the shots began hitting the cover, ripping blindly through to their targets. As he regained himself he began to stand against the tree, a shot ripped through the tree trunk just above his head, showering him with splinters. The pain on his scalp snapped him back into his situation. He was lucid now, he had to think about his men, he had to fight back. He grabbed his sub machine gun, took a deep breath, and stepped out from behind the tree, leveling his gun at the target.

He emptied his sub machine gun at the small shape on the hill, and became enraged when he saw his shots kick up the dust a little more than half way to their target. "Who messed with my gun?!" he thought angrily. "It always hits dead center at the range!" Then he realized that he'd never shot it beyond 100 feet. Then he realized he'd never shot it at anyone who was shooting back. Then he realized he'd never actually shot anyone who wasn't in their bed, 5 feet away. For a brief moment he felt a repressed thought push to escape; then cease its struggle.

They were the Black Boots, they were number one, they were the best. They couldn't be wiped out by one man.

Presently, he realized he was not reloading his gun. He looked down and found his sub machine gun on the ground, and his arms hanging at his side. A cold wind chilled a spot on his chest underneath his vest. "How can I feel the cold through my vest?" He tried to say. He bent forward to inspect the cold spot, but realized he wasn't bending forward, he was falling backwards. The world spun downward, and the tree he was under came into view. After he contemplated this occurrence, and considered previous data, he came to the conclusion he had been shot.

It was strange. He always thought he would go out in a cacophonous chorus of gunfire, bullets ripping through his body as he expended his final rounds and issued a war cry before rushing headlong at his attackers, knife in hand, defiant to the end. Instead he lay backwards on the cool grass among strangely aromatic flowers, his face warmed by the low sun. The world around him lazy. Frozen in serenity. It seemed odd that such violence could happen in such a beautiful place. He was lost in thought now. The rifle issued death with slow, dull thuds. As he listened, the bullet whiz and rifle crack seemed separated and disturbed the peace of the valley; but after a while, the sound seemed almost natural. Like it was the way things were supposed to be. As if it were as common a sound as the birds singing or the wolves howling.

Time lost meaning as he drifted in the sea of grass, pushed gently about by the wind. Then he heard the faintest footsteps approaching, and forced himself back to reality and his suffering to see the man who had taken his life.

The man was small, and looked younger than the 31 years his file indicated. Everything about him was plain except for his sharp eyes. The man was checking the bodies that were once familiar, but he seemed aware he was being watched. The rifle he cradled looked old, like out of a history book. A small scope was mounted awkwardly forward, and looked strange. Through the haze he thought, "We're so much bigger, and better equipped. How could we have been beaten by that gun?" He looked at the insulting rifle, and noticed an engraving on the stock. It was something he'd seen before. Something from the files he had reviewed. It was that flag with the snake that said, "Don't tread on me" under it. Everything seemed suddenly clear.

He fought for a wheezing breath, attracting the man's attention, and rasped, "I think --- I understand."

The man who killed him squinted at the wind as he scanned the horizon, then turned to his quarry.

"It's a bit late for that."

Response to Mike

2011-08-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

Mike, I've got my ass-kicking boots on, and when I read your comments, all I hear is the wah wah wah of Charlie Brown's parents.

You know better than I what thing you wish you were doing. Write it out, break it down into bite-sized chunks, take a knife and carve out at LEAST 3 hours a day to make it happen.

Focus on the goal. Print out a picture of it, and put it on the ceiling above your bed. Getting up is the hardest part. Once you're vertical, it's all down hill from there. Leave your house to accomplish your goal, too many distractions there. Chip away at it every day, until you've made a good dent in it, then reevaluate. Has this been fun for you? Are you still interested in it? Do you look back on what you've accomplished and think, "Fuck yeah." Are you making enough progress each day to get there in time? Or did you realize you hate it, and can't stand wasting time on it? Time for something new.

It doesn't matter what you do. All that matters is that there's a goal, and you're making progress toward it.

It could be as specific as "get this accreditation," or as nebulous as "figure out how to run a business." Try to pick a path that will be versatile if you decide you hate the destination half way through. That way you can salvage some of that spent time.

Because time is your most valuable, and most finite resource.

A note on finding that "thing" that you want/are good at. I was talking to a personal trainer a while ago, he told me about how he never thought he could make enough money to become a private trainer, and how he would go to his office job, and squeeze in time to run up and down the stairs to get some exercise. This struck me because there is no way the thought to run up and down stairs simply for fun would have occurred to me. But this was his "thing," and to him, doing anything else was just crazy. He wound up striking out on his own, with a promise to his wife that if he couldn't make it work in 6 months, he'd drop it. He made it. Literally on the last day of 6 months, through a minor contact he made in passing several months prior. The universe deus ex machina'ed his dream.

The point of that story is, we all have obligations, and there are things we can, and can't do. But if you can carve time for your dreams out of _your_ life, without disrupting the lives of those around you, the only person stopping you is you. I don't have a lot of obligations. I want to be a good husband, brother, son, friend, entrepreneur, and employee. Roughly in that order. My nights are for my wife. My weekends for my friends, family, and wife. My afternoons and evenings for my occupation. My mornings were unclaimed because I was too busy enjoying my lethargy, so they were up on the chopping block.

This last weekend was my first since I decided to pound the pavement till it bleeds, and I spent it with friends and family, and playing Minecraft. I played because I figured I had earned the chance to play a bit. But Sunday night? Regrets. I'm trying to get 4 hours of work in every morning, and I spent about 12 hours (or more, they melt together) playing Minecraft (yes, it's that good), but when I was done, all I had to show for it was a series of logic gates which equated to a combination lock using the in-game equivalent of transistors. I was proud I had accomplished this with no assistance or guide, but after that was done, I realized that I had wasted the equivalent of three (or more) mornings on this. Building things like this for no reason other than to see if you can, is a truly obscene waste of a human being's most valuable resource. I may not be ashamed of my accomplishment, but I'm definitely ashamed of my wasted time.

Of course there is room for leisure, all work and no play makes Jack go on a killing spree, but keep it to a minimum. Save the life of leisure for retirement. Sit on the porch of your mansion, and think back on how you picked yourself up by your bootstraps, and made a better life for yourself, your family, and your generations to come. Think about how your success allowed you to focus on the things that really matter in life. It beats the hell out of rotting in a retirement home, or worse, becoming burden on your family.

If you happen to experience a feeling of loss at the end of your day, don't worry, that's just your drive to succeed sucker punching your contentment. Not everyone has that drive. Consider yourself lucky. Now that you know it's there, and you know it's pissed off at you, you can choose to do one of two things. You can either kill it with sleep, beer, and cheap entertainment, or you can nurse it back to to full strength, put it at your back, and let it push you off the couch, and onto the path to your goal. Confront all the missed opportunities in your life, and instead of letting them hurt you, let them motivate you. They're not failures. They're fuel. Burn them.

And if you think it sucks waking up early for 5 years to become everything you dared dream, then try waking up late 20 years from now with nothing to show for it.

It's all starts in the mirror, man. What do you see when you look?

If you're fine with what you see, then rock on with your mediocre self. Relish your tiny victories over life, and bask in your supremacy over esoterica. Honked at some idiot? Amazing. Told your off your boss? Historic. New high score? Monumental. Level 65 Paladin? Prodigious. Built a combination lock using an in-game equivalent of transistors? You're like a god among men.

But if, in that mirror, you see a world of potential crammed inside a locked safe? Then there's only one thing you can do. Crack it, tame it, and ride it to victory over life.

The best and worst thing about this path is that you're the only one who can get you there, and you're the only one who can keep you going. It's all you. Other people may help, but you can't expect them to do it forever. You have to change yourself.

All of it, from beginning to end and everything in between, depends only on you.

Lets clear out some of this stuff.

2011-08-30T20:25:00.000-07:00

I've got some bits and pieces left over in the back of the fridge.

Simon Sez...

2011-08-30T19:44:00.000-07:00

Gee, what could this handy, pocket-sized thing be?

Dollar included for size perspective. Silver included for perspective on the dollar.

Lets unfold it...

Just as I suspected! It's a collection of adhesive-backed address labels with politically thought-provoking statements on them!

I wonder what one could do with these...?

Found this picture on the camera

2011-08-30T19:30:00.000-07:00

Aside from being a great picture of Ava, I noticed this picture includes our departed friend, the cable box.

Just seeing it here reminds me of the thing we miss most about it.

The clock.

We just keep looking there, expecting to see the time.

But it's too late...

We'll get over it.

Holy fuckin' shit!

2011-08-14T23:17:00.001-07:00

That idiotic high speed rail approved by a majority of the ~~mouth breathers~~ voting citizens with whom I share ~~internment~~ a state, has exceeded its cost projections.

This is far from surprising, as anyone with a memory longer than a goldfish could tell you that every proposal is under estimated so severely you wonder if anyone in Sacramento owns a calculator.

Water is wet, the sun rises in the East, and any cost estimate that comes out of Sacramento must be multiplied by 5 to be repeated with a straight face.

But this is not the development worthy of the painstakingly selected choice of words which comprise the title for this post; the amazing development is that they stopped.

That's right. They reassessed, loudly announced the discovery they knew from the project's voter approval, and actually stopped what they were doing so they could review their ability to continue funding the project!

This is a huge step forward for California (and a revealing view behind the curtain of the fiscal problems California faces), because it used to be that when a project ran belligerently over budget, there was this song and dance about how they need to reign in spending, and reduce overhead, and reevaluate the project, and absolutely nothing official interrupted anything about the project. It just kept chugging along as if the politicians' words carried as much weight against the project as they did outside the political echo chamber. Then, years later, the project would be reevaluated, "discovered" to be horrendously over budget, and the song and dance would start up again.

But they actually stopped this one.

This is a huge step forward for California!

Well, "huge step forward" might be a bit much... Lets just say California ceased its self mutilation for a moment.

I take what I can get. Who wants cake?

The Hunter and the Moon

2011-08-14T09:17:00.000-07:00

My eyes opened without hesitation. I was lucid, and rested. A good start.

I put on the latest evolution of clothing selected for my pursuit. As I struggled toward my goal in the preceding months, clothing changed more than anything else. Past challenges, mistakes, and successes groomed my accoutrement beyond mere garb, and into nothing short of the purpose built machines of steel and polymer, and of plastic and silicone that I once regarded above simple garments. My clothes were tools. Good tools.

Quietly, I readied my equipment. Silence punctuated only by the backpack's zipper, and the M1A's action closing after one final chamber check. I kissed my dozing wife as I did every morning, and heaped straps onto my shoulders before stepping out into the stillness of a world frozen in the lull between drawn breaths.

The car beeped politely as it unlocked, and clicked gently as the trunk opened. I loaded the trappings of my current task into the eager car, and paused as I drew the trunk near closure. After a moment's hesitation, I slammed the trunk shut, hopped into the driver's seat, and drove off, trying to complete my intrusion upon the quiet as quickly as I could.

The traffic lights seemed to act more reluctantly as they granted me passage to the freeway. Free, at this unnatural hour, to exaggerate their lordship over my movements. The sparsely populated freeway lay before me, its usual cold indifference unchanged. It asks only that I get on and off as quickly as possible, and I do my best to oblige.

After a few curves, and appropriate application of the accelerator, I found myself completely alone on a stretch of the 12 lane freeway. Nothing in front, nothing behind. It felt wrong. Like aberrant actions in dreams; you feel that you must stop and question, but know that you won't be able to. I noticed the radio had been turned off.

I took my exit, and waited at the light. To my right, rows of closed shops leading to a city ready to burst to life. To my left, looming mounds of darkness silhouetted by moonlight. The light changed, and I turned left.

The darkness seemed to accentuate the twists and turns of the mountain highway. The drops off the shoulder had turned from slopes to beautiful valleys into an abyss whose glare hardened as each successful turn denied it of your substance. The will of the darkness pulsed rudely in the back of my mind, where I had banished it long ago. Far away, but never gone.

As the lights of men faded, the sky revealed the brightest of her bounty. Unfathomable gaseous monuments to our slightness deigned to share their light from impossible distances. A lifelong favorite cluster of these gods hovered over my destination. The oldest hunter known to this planet offered his consent before fading into the beginnings of the horizon's glow to leave me to my task.

I turned into the dirt clearing nearest my access point, quieted the car, and stepped out of my shell. As I moved the equipment off the car and on to me, my stomach growled loudly, threatening to expose me at my most silent if I didn't meet its demands. I opened the dense brick of nutrition I had brought along, and bit off a piece. Unlike the protein bars, this seemed to provide filling substance to my stomach, instead of small clumps of slow-release energy. My opponent sated, I adjusted the straps that clung to me, and closed the trunk.

The hunter gone, I now looked to the moon, which drifted imperceptibly toward a smaller mountain -my destination- on the horizon. It shined full, and urged me on with the knowledge that it too would soon be gone, and my magic hour lost. The moon somehow entranced me, and as an unintentional moment lost in contemplation elapsed, a shooting star appeared, and streaked in my intended direction before vanishing forever. Its swan song short, and without echo. But not unnoticed. My face brightened involuntarily at my luck, but my thoughts were still shrouded deep within my mind. I knew they had wished for something.

Sorry for the delay. I'm starting to feel it again.

2011-07-16T00:06:00.000-07:00

Hello, the one reader that stuck with me :) I'm starting to hit my stride again, and I'm reigniting my relationship with my muse. The problem with my smart post is that it's hard to follow it up with a post of my usual caliber. So I've been waiting until I've had something smart to say. How long this will last (or if it ever started) is completely up to you.

Who cares? Enjoy a ketchup post!

I just finished my 6 months probation at the new job, and have become a valued member of the team due to the fact that I actually do work. I was happy to get away from the small company BS, but now I'm getting an introduction in big company BS. It only bugs me a little bit, because instead of taking tons of time measuring how much work I'm doing compared to everyone else and adjusting so I only do the bare minimum, I just do my fucking job as much as I can without dropping the ball. It's amazing how much time and effort people put into not doing their jobs. Maybe amazing isn't the right word. As for that promotion I was working toward, I was assured that I would have gotten it had the job existed by the end of the trial period. More big company BS meant a reorganization in the middle of my trial period for the job. The job I was going for was one of the casualties. I aired my disappointment at the situation, and moved on. I know I'm good, and so do they, so I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing.

I'm not sure that I've said much about my hunting intentions here, but I'm going to change that now. A few years ago I took an interest in hunting, and without a friend or family member who hunted, I reached out to the online community. Bad idea. I'm not sure if it's hunters or just Californian hunters, but they were almost uniformly dismissive, derisive, and even discouraging. Most seemed to think I could only hunt if it did it their way, and the rest were more than happy to help so long as I paid to join their club, paid for their land, and paid for any game harvested. "Ranches" were the next place I looked, but most in the area were canned hunts. I started seriously considering saving up for a trip out of state, but the more I read about Southern Californian deer, the more of a challenge it sounded like. Very few people hunt Deer zone 15 because of the few deer and continually low harvest rates. But if you know me, and you might, you know I like a challenge. So I figured; at worst, I go hiking, get some fresh air and exercise, and enjoy some nature. And at best, I go hiking, get some fresh air and exercise, enjoy some nature, and do something other people don't/won't/can't do because they think it's too hard. And I do it all myself, without paying dues, fees, and respect to people who don't deserve any of the above. So for the last couple years I've been slowly gathering enough information to feel like I'm starting to know what I'm doing. As I've drawn closer to that point, I've been getting more aggressive. I know my way around all the dfg and usfs sites, and I've called ranger offices for the details I couldn't find online. I've been hiking more, and spending lots of time on Google Earth plotting game trails and identifying accessible areas to inspect more closely on upcoming hikes. My boss's boss was a hunter when he was younger and is getting back into it, so he's been giving me tips and advice that have been really helpful. It's starting to get exciting.

I found myself in a magazine. I looked at the cover, and there I was, the headline article. I didn't know it at the time, of course, but something in the back of my mind told me to buy it from the airport duty free shop. As I read the article on the plane, I began to assemble the puzzle pieces in my life that made my story tragic and victorious. Having never seen the box the puzzle came in, I was a little afraid of the picture the puzzle made. There were very few happy endings for people like me. After some research and soul-searching, I decided that whatever may come in the future, I should embrace my gifts now and enjoy their fruits later. I dare believe that my triumphs over what I thought was my disease (could still be, I suppose), would apply to this congenital mental whimsy. Events have aligned since this decision that have lead me to believe it was the right one. All that is left is practice.

Part of the above has been more writing. "Tac" and many others are swimming around in my head, and they need to be let out. As with writing this blog, the exercise is more important than the result. But in practice, I'm trying to make the two of equal import. Half for you, the reader, and the other half for any potential publisher. And yes, The Walking Dead series will continue and be completed (under a new name, of course). Any other bits that don't quite fit in will wind up here, so I welcome your cheers or jeers.

Since the iPad, I've been hoping for an Android tablet to come along and sweep me off my feet. Even as the first real contender arrived, I argued against software, hardware, and price, and waited. The Galaxy Tab 10.1 and the Motorola XOOM arrived with honeycomb fully executed, but at a price I was simply not willing to pay. As I patiently pined for a proper price point, there were some rumblings about the nook color e-reader making a splash in the third party ROM scene. Starting at $250, it certainly looked interesting. Only recently did CyanogenMod 7 start to really come into its own on the nook, just as Barnes & Noble started selling them at $200 (see coupon code), and the decision was all but made. I put up a good fight for a few weeks, but lost (won?) in the end. The Nook color running CM7 is a perfect fit. I get a day of hard use out of the battery, movies played from any format I choose, netflix, the excellent browsing experience Dolphin Browser HD provides with Flash 10.1, e-reader apps (nook app not working for me, fixes available, but I haven't cared), unfettered android market access, multitasking, vnc/rdp on a usable screen, very usable soft keyboard (thumb tap, vertically) all in a light package. There are some issues, of course, the case seems plastic-y and feels like it might shatter if dropped, the screen can seem really sensitive doing actions beyond a quick tap, there's a little chop in my scrolling, it's heavier than the e-ink nook/kindle versions, none of the usual android home/back/menu/search hard buttons (replaced with a hide-able soft button bar which works fine, but still isn't hard), few hardware features (gps, compass, keyboard, camera, flash, etc), and a few minor polish problems with CM7 on the nook. Most of the cons are because it's supposed to be a $200 e-reader, and are severely outweighed by the pros. Plus, most of the missing features aren't required for my use. It has been an excellent improvement to my workflow, and just like my Droid, I know it will only get better with future releases.

A few weeks ago (not really sure when) our cable box, purveyor of mindless entertainment, killer of time, and server of empty mental calories, ceased its assault. When I discovered this I made some halfhearted attempts to fix it, and I told my wife, who said it had broken some time ago, but she forgot to tell me. I confirmed the internet and game consoles still worked, and decided to bring in the box for replacement later. Except I didn't. It's been a month, and we haven't missed it, so the obvious questions arises. Do we really need it? I know the answer is "no, we don't need it," and I know I'll miss some great shows (I can always find them online if I need to), but it really is only for entertainment, and it seems we're getting our entertainment elsewhere. After writing this out, the answer seems obvious.

I brought the M1A out to the range a few more times after finding a great deal on some American Eagle 308. I was reminded of what Jeff Cooper said about ammo stored being potential skill left to gather dust, and decided to shoot it up. A few hundred rounds later, I was ringing the 10 inch gong at 400 yards off irons. I've still got a couple hundred rounds of skill left, and expect to improve. The M1A seems to shoot right when it gets hot, but in its defense, I was getting it too hot to hold. I was getting ready to adjust the sights, when I just let it cool down a bit, and it was right back to normal. That rifle is still very nice.

My wife's employer decided not to renew their lease, and her job disappeared with the building. Fortunately, my new job affords a high enough degree of stability for her to take her time looking for the right job instead of just any job. She's taking some of her time to get crafty with some paintings she's been meaning to make and sell on etsy, giving her that time and opportunity is something I'm happy to do for her.

That's about it for now, see you soon.

Welcome to Tactical Black Ops Martial S.L.A.P. Fighting

2011-07-05T23:57:00.000-07:00

Alright, it looks like everyone is here, lets get started. Welcome to Tactical Black Ops Martial S.L.A.P. Fighting. If you are here, it's because you realized that there is only one way to survive a gunfight; my way.

Introductions: you can call me Tac. I know some of you are probably thinking, 'Where have I heard that name before?' the answer is, 'Everywhere.' I've been involved in every major gunfighting development in the past forty years. Only problem is, they were all stolen from me. So now I don't open my mouth unless someone's writing a check. Just a note; Tac is not my real name. It's a name that was given to me by a hundred year old Buddhist warrior monk while I was training at his temple on my travels through the far east. Also my real name is a killing word in twelve languages. So Tac keeps me safe, and therefore, you safe. I know you're probably thinking, 'Tac, should I make out all my checks to Tac?' No, stupid question. Remember to make out all your checks to my corporation, The Combat Assault Slap House or CASH. I see there are now a few questions, stow them. In a gunfight, questions will get you killed. Pay attention to that. I'm going to tell you countless things that will and won't get you killed in a gunfight. In case you miss some, don't worry, almost everything, including nothing, will get you killed in a gunfight. If you have a question about whether or not something will get you killed in a gunfight, the answer is yes. In fact, the only things that won't get you killed in a gunfight are the things I'm about to tell you. I know you're probably thinking, 'Tac, people survived gunfights before your system was invented.' Wrong. If anyone survived a gunfight it was because they were using my techniques, whether they knew it or not. But enough about my groundbreaking gunfighting system, lets talk about what you do before you get into a gunfight.

Surprisingly, the time you spend not in a gunfight can be up to 100% of your life, that's why I include this section as part of the training, even though it doesn't apply to me. I'm in gunfights a good 30-40% of my life. Ok, so, how many of you think I'm talking about situational awareness? Hands? No, wrong. In a gunfight, situational awareness will get you killed. What you need is Confrontational Awareness, which is a patent pending technique developed by me, Tac. Now I know you're thinking, 'Tac, how is Confrontational Awareness different from situational awareness?' Well, why don't you wait a minute, and I'll tell you. Situational awareness means you pay attention to what's going on around you, but confrontational awareness means you do something about it. Example; I was in a bar, drinking a beer, minding my own business, when this guy comes rushing up on my blind side. Bad idea. First; I don't have a blind side. My sides are all scanned for threats at all times, including aerial and subterranean. Second; I can kill a man in eight ways using only a beer. Anyway, I flip him into a wrist lock, smash his face against the counter, and shatter his knee, thus eliminating the threat. However, in this particular instance, I wasn't technically in danger. Turns out he was just trying to get a beer, turns out he was a lawyer, turns out I can't go back to Arkansas for a while. So what, my bad then? Hell no. I just eliminated a potential threat. It may not have been an actual threat, but it was still a type of threat. And to be fair, who's going to come up behind me after I did the same thing to four other guys? I mean-- four other people. Situation awareness could have gotten me killed there. But instead, Confrontational Awareness potentially got me the rest of my life, and definitely a few warrants. Arkansas sucks anyway. Full of sheeple.

Ok, I'm seeing more questions. Remember, questions get you killed. Hands down folks... Ok. Another example; I was at an amusement park, drinking a frozen lemonade, minding my own business, when this kid comes up to me. No time to think. In a gunfight, thinking will get you killed. And I know I said 'kid,' but you guys should have been thinking, 'Kid, or midget assassin?' I see some nods, that's good, but remember, in a gunfight, nodding will get you killed. So I react immediately by drawing the Strider Tiger tactical knife I duct taped to the inside of my Mickey costume, and put that between me and the potential threat. This one didn't turn out to be an actual threat either, but the important thing is that I would have been safe if it was. Funny story. I still got the costume, but it's covered in stun gun burns. Good conversation piece. Or it would be, if I ever told anyone my address. In a gunfight, telling people your address will get you killed.

Alright, enough of that passive hippie stuff, lets get into some real, no BS gunfighting situations. Once the threat has been identified, and you know it's time to shoot we start the PEDSMASS system. That is not to be confused with the PADSMESS system, which is a slightly modified version that was stolen from me by a certain instructor who I'm sure you all know. Now, I'm not here to issue personal attacks; but him and his weasel friend are both liars and thieves, and they should die in a fire. I was in a bar in San Francisco, drinking a cosmo, minding my own business, when Weasel One and Weasel Two come up and buy me a few appletinis. Unfortunately, my leather collar was a little too tight, and the booze hit me harder than I expected. Remember that. In a gunfight, wearing a leather fetish suit will get a you killed. So the weasels start pumping me hard for information. Just pumping and pumping and pumping, and before I knew it, I had blown my secrets. Not a proud time for Tac, but at least I get residuals on the video. Alright, enough about those weasels and their rock hard abs, lets talk about PEDSMASS.

PEDSMASS is an anachronism for each part of the SLAP fighting system. The letters and their meanings are like this;

P stands for 'Push.' Science numbers show that 94.56666667% of gunfights take place at the ranges people usually encounter in phone booths. The 'Push' means you push your opponent as hard as you can to get some distance between you to use your gun. Keep in mind that if a gunfight starts inside an actual phone booth, pushing will not work. And that's why in a gunfight, phone booths will get you killed.

E stands for 'Eliminate.' Now I know you're probably thinking this is where you eliminate your opponent. Not quite yet. When I say 'Eliminate' I mean you vacate your bowels. When you're in a life or death situation, you're going to shit your pants. I have personally shit myself in gunfights on every continent. Yes, Antarctica counts. Polar bears want those baby seals you've got hanging over your shoulder, and not for the expensive pelts either. Anyway, shit just happens. I say, why wait? Do it now before the gunfight gets started, and you'll save yourself time later. Hey, quiet down! You think that you're going to have time to find a john in a gunfight? No way. In a gunfight, toilets will get you killed. We will be practicing this step later, which is why I locked all the bathrooms and poured a laxative into the coffee. Train as you fight, people.

D stands for 'Draw.' This is when you draw your gun. Try not to screw it up. I highly recommend you complete the previous step before starting this one, because it can be very distracting. When drawing, how many of you think slow is smooth, and smooth is fast? No hands. Good, you're learning. If a = b and b = c, then a = c, right? Well slow doesn't equal fast. It's basic math. Throw that out of your mind, and replace it with this; 'Fast is fast and faster is faster than fast.' So for fast and faster, which fast is faster than the fastest fast? It's ok, you can answer this one... 'Faster' is wrong. I was looking for fastest. Faster is the fastest fast and faster than fast and faster. Wow, you ever say a word a lot and it starts to sound weird? You shouldn't, because saying a word a lot until it starts to sound weird will get you killed in a gunfight. Actually, I guess it depends on the word. I'll get back to you on that one.

S is for 'Shoot.' Now, believe it or not, this is probably the least important part of the whole system. If you've ever been on the internet, you know that once your adrenaline starts pumping, you won't be able to hit the broad side of a barn from inside. I remember this story of these guys who were in this apartment when some other guy comes out of the bathroom with a huge 357, and shoots all 6 at them from 4 feet, but hits nothing but air. Jules thought it was a miracle, but it's really because of adrenaline. I see hands again... I can wait as long as you can... That's better. Anyway, it's a proven internet fact that you won't be able to hit anything, so the shooting part of the gunfight is pretty much a formality. You might stun or scare him with the sound though, so make sure you get a really loud gun.

M is for 'Magazine.' How many people know what a magazine is for? ... One? Ok, what's a magazine for?... You just got killed. You think you're going to have time to reload in a gunfight? Hell no. How long does it take the average person to reload? Too long, that's how long. In a gunfight, reloading will get you killed. So you take that magazine, and throw it at him. You ever been hit with a loaded magazine? It hurts. One time I was at a Navy Ranger Team Spetsnaz shooting competition, drinking some Tabasco sauce, minding my own business, when these Operators start begging me to demo my draw technique. So finally I break down, and draw my Glock 61, which is a custom deal Gaston Glock handmade for me when I saved his daughter from snow terrorists, but that's all classified. It's not a big deal, just a 10" extended barrel, extended capacity mag, extended beaver tail, extended trigger guard, extended forward and rear cocking serrations, extended mag release, extended slide release, extended sights, extended trigger, and extended accessory rails. Anyway, I draw my Glock 61 so fast that I actually bend the laws of physics, which is the only explanation for why my magazine release activates, and the mag goes flying, bounces off the ground, and hits me right in the head. I know you're probably thinking, 'Tac, why would your magazine fly out of your gun so fast?' The answer is obvious. I triple stack all my mag springs to guarantee reliable feeding. One magazine spring is good feeding? Then Tac says three are three times better. Oh yeah, make sure you bring a high capacity one so it's heavier. Also, aim for the face so he'll have to close his eyes, that's important for the next step.

A stands for 'Advance.' This is where you advance on your opponent. Now I know you're probably thinking, 'Tac,' by the way, you don't have to call me Tac every time you know, I know who you're thinking at, 'Why would I advance on my attacker when I've already put distance between us?' Well if you can't figure it out for yourself, you're just not a real Operator. Plus the Advance put us in range for the most important part of the PEDSMASS system. The SLAP.

S stands for 'SLAP.' Now, when I say SLAP, I don't mean slapping someone. I'm talking about my patented SLAP fighting system. The S doesn't stand for one thing, it's an acrobatism for my patented SLAP system, which it, in then of itself is an attackonism for more words. So again, SLAP doesn't mean slapping. So, what do the letters in SLAP mean? Glad you asked.

The S stands for 'Slap.' This is where you use your support hand, to apply an open palmed hand to the side of your attacker's face. Now I know you're thinking, 'Tac, why would I slap someone in the middle of a gunfight?' The answer is obvious because slapping does many things at once. First, you break line of sight by pushing your attacker's face to the side. You can't shoot what you can't see. C'mon guys, this is kids' stuff. Second, you disorient your attacker. You ever been slapped by a real operator? No. You haven't. Third, he won't be expecting it. He thinks you're going to shoot him. Wrong-o Tango. Bullets are just what you'd be ready for, so you get the slap. Fourth, that shit stings. Like, a lot. Pain is distracting. Everyone knows you won't be able to feel gunshot wounds in a gunfight because your adrenaline is going to be pumping, but slaps come in right under that threshold. It's simple physics.

Now, believe it or not, I've been slapfighting my whole life. You just ask Mama Tac, and she'll tell you the first time I started perfecting my technique. I was in a crib, drinking a bottle, minding my own business, when Mama Tac comes up and tries to take the bottle and put me to sleep. Bad idea. At 6 months, I could kill in 4 ways using just a blankie. Lucky for Mama Tac, I only slap away every attempt at that bottle. Finished the whole thing and threw it all up. I've been doing this forever folks, I know what I'm doing. Anyone want to take my bottle? Huh? Ok. I think I've made my point. Oh, one note about slapping; in many cases, but not all, a gunfight could turn into a slapfight. Did you know that over 60% of all gunfights end in slapfights? No, you didn't. That's because the fatcats in the firearm training industry knows that I hold 16 patents on different styles of slapfighting. You ever heard of a movie called Equilibrium? Well there was this guy in one of my classes who was asking all kinds of questions, and after the class, he shakes my hand and says I've been a great help to him. Yeah, ok, I don't think anything of it, but two months later? Equilibrium comes out, and that last gunfight is right out of the textbook I would write if writing textbooks didn't get you killed.

It seems that you're not convinced of the legitimate combaticative applications of the slap fight. So my first question to you is, have you ever been slapped in a gunfight? No, none of you have, because you're still alive. You ever seen that guy who was shot like 80 times and he still could walk to the police car after they cuffed him? One slap would have eliminated all that trouble. Sidenote: when I saw that story I went right to the Chief of their department, and told him that for 5 easy installment payments of $29.99 I could teach his department my patented techniques and increase officer safety. He'd been drinking too much training industry kool-aid, and kicked me out of his office. But he wasn't laughing at me when I waited for him in the parking lot and gave him an impromptu demonstration. I know you're probably thinking, 'Pretty ballsy move, Tac.' Well, yeah, it kind of was, but he didn't see it that way. The details aren't important, but I'm not allowed in Oklahoma anymore. Eh, big loss right? Who cares. His willingness to press charges should show you this isn't your playground sissy slap fight, this is real life and death slap fighting.

You know how we've been going over what will get you killed? Toilets will get you killed, reloading will get you killed, textbooks will get you killed, guns will get you killed, and yes, even gunfighting will get you killed. Sometimes even if you win. You kill a guy, go to jail and get the chair? You lost the gunfight. That's why killing will get you killed. You know what won't get you killed? Slapfights. ... Hey, I see some snickers. Do not snicker. In a gunfight, snickers will get you killed. This includes the candy bar. Too much nougat. Hey, sit back down, I'm getting to the L in SLAP.

L stands for 'Lunch.' This is where the gunfight gets mental. You gotta get inside his OODA loop. You ask him what he had for lunch and when he stops to think about it, -boom- you hit him with the next step.

A stands for 'Another Slap.' You think he was reeling from that first one? You switch gears on him with the mental play, then right back to the slap. He'll never see it coming. I have seen people lose control of their bowels on the second slap. That should show you what effect switching up your methods will have. Most people just aren't prepared for it. One time I was at a fondu party, drinking some cheese, minding my own business when this Seal DEVGRU Ranger Recon Scout gets all up in my face. So I decide to give him some schooling. His supposedly elite training made him completely unprepared for my slapfighting style. He was so unprepared for that second slap that he went into a coma immediately. Still in it, as far as I know. Hey, he knew the risks when he put on the Dominos uniform. Of course, the state of Arizona didn't see it that way, so I'm not allowed back there anymore. I know you're probably thinking, 'Tac, aren't we in Arizona right now?' Well, yeah, I guess we are. What are you, a cop or something? Moving on.

P stands for 'PARTY,' which is an acrocombe for another set of steps that you can learn about by taking Tactical black ops martial SLAP fighting 2. I won't give away the keys to the castle on this one, but I will give you something to think about when you go over the brochures I put under your windshield wipers over the break. Here it is; the T stands for 'Tactical.' I've said too much already. If you want to know more, you call the number on the brochure and tell Sheila you want to sign up. Sheila's kind of like my secretary, but also, my girlfriend. Tac can't be tied down. He's like a wild animal. You think you can put a wild animal in a cage? No way. I'm the wild animal that'll be waiting behind the door at feeding time with a shotgun. How'd I get a shotgun? Wouldn't you like to know...

Now that I've explained every part of the SLAP system, we're back to the last letter of the PEDSMASS system.

S stands for 'Scan.' This doesn't mean you scan the horizon for threats, this means you leave the area as quickly as possible, and listen to the police scanner you keep in your car. Apparently the police trust a lot of these potential threats, and come looking for you even though you were only defending yourself preemptively. I know, our legal system is flawed, but we've got to work within it the best way we can. Or just avoid it. So you listen to the scanner for a bit, and maybe lay low at a girlfriend's house until things die down. If they don't, then hey, that state probably sucked anyway.

Alright, so now we can start practicing these steps-- Hey, we're doing training in here, you can't come in unless-- ... No, my name's Tac. The name was given to me by a hundred year old Buddhist-- ... No, I don't know who that is. But you should be careful, because that name sure sounds like a killing word in twelve different languages. ... Hey, I don't know anything about any assault charges. ... Well, you say she was, but have you ruled out midget assassin? ... Ok, ok, no need for that, just let me finish up with this class, and I'll go with you and get this all sorted out.

Alright class, there's one more thing that will get you killed in a gunfight, and I can't stress this one enough. Getting caught. WINDOW SLAP ASSAULT! *CRASH*

I am very smart.

2011-04-29T18:45:00.000-07:00

I recently finished Atlas Shrugged, which turned out to be the most important book I've ever read. The most important thing I took away from it was the title of this post. I am very smart.

I'm not kind of intelligent, I'm not weirdly smart, I don't just happen to figure things out. It is neither freaky nor scary that I understand, learn, comprehend, correlate, and retain a wide variety of information about a wide variety of topics faster than almost anyone I know.

I will no longer feel the need to make excuses for my intelligence, because I was conditioned to do just that, and never realized it until Ayn Rand wrote about people who intentionally limit your potential by making you feel bad for being better than they are.

At work, I am excelling at my tasks and surpassing coworkers who have been doing for years what I've been doing for 4 months. I knew I was good at my job, but I didn't have enough experience to know just how good I was. Coworkers have asked me to help them with things they should have been able to do. At the time it confused me, but after I realized why, I had to laugh. These people knew I was smarter than them, and I still didn't.

But how dare I think like this? I should hide my talent. I should bury my skills. I should pretend they are an accident. What would happen if I made someone feel bad about themselves?

It is smug.
It is vain.
It is prideful.
It is unseemly.
It is antagonistic.
It is condescending.

But it is the truth.

When I was very young, my mother told me that when the kids made fun of me for being so smart, it was because they were jealous. I rejected that notion immediately, and never revisited the premise. It took decades for me to realize it, but it is completely true. Yet the opposite was what I would have said without a thought before that realization.

What other self-limiting falsehoods lie in the unchallenged corners of my mind, planted long ago by the enemies of my ability?

What buried truths lay undiscovered?

Who have I become with these mental blocks placed in my path?

But more importantly...

Who could I be if I remove them all?

Is there a limit to my potential if I remove them all?

Is there anything that could stop me if I remove them all?

There's only one way to find out.

...by the way; who told you you weren't as smart as me?

Edit after comments: What if the people who are the engines of this world are not that way because of their natural ability, but because of their state of mind?

The royal family's shit stinks.

2011-04-29T18:09:00.000-07:00

One of the things that makes America amazing is that the people who run it are not our betters. They are our peers. (technically, they're our employees once they get elected, but I digress) These people are just individuals. They're anyone. They're not a special class, they're not a higher caste, they have no birthright. They're just individuals. And when you have a country full of "just individuals" the only thing that stands out is what each individual does. The accomplishments of the individual. The honor of the individual. The integrity of the individual.

I can't help but cringe when people fawn over people who they think are better than them. Be they celebrities, politicians, or "royalty." Whether or not this actively makes them less than those they fawn over is a question worth asking.

Given the above, you can imagine what hearing about the royal wedding has done to my faith in the people of this country. So I'm just going to state a few facts that I think some people need to hear. Particularly in the UK.

When a member of the royal family get a paper cut; it bleeds.
When a member of the royal family sexually attracted; they lust.
When a member of the royal family is thirsty; they drink.
When a member of the royal family goes underwater; they return for breath.
When a member of the royal family shits in a toilet; it stinks.

They are just people.
They have the same organs as you.
They require the same food as you.
They put their pants on one leg at a time... Just. Like. You.

They are NOT magical.
They are NOT better by birthright.
They are NOT smarter, faster, and stronger.
They are NOT infallible.
They are NOT perfect.

Judge them by their accomplishments, their character, their triumphs, and their personal strength.

Then see where they compare to a single mother working two jobs to keep her kids in private school.

Ronnie Barrett spits on California's gun laws again

2011-04-27T21:33:00.000-07:00

First he tells the LAPD that he won't repair the guns they bought from him because they were using them as political pieces to advance the cause of gun control.

Then he developed the .416 Barrett, which just happened to circumvent California's .50 caliber ban.

And now a bullet button magazine release...

Wonder why he developed this...?

At first I was excited about Portal 2

2011-04-16T08:58:00.000-07:00

Then I watched all the media and read the comic here.

Now I'm ecstatic.

My most favorite picture

2011-04-13T19:06:00.000-07:00

Clicky for etc.

At what point do the TSA failures add up to a conclusion?

2011-04-10T07:40:00.000-07:00

I've become aware of a few (additional) instances of TSA agents failing to stop knives from get through their x-ray machines. In one case, an all metal Spyderco Harpy, which this person realized too late that he had left it in the bag. He watched with much apprehension the display on the machine as it painted a perfect outline of the grip, blade, some serrations, and the patented Spyderco thumbhole less than a foot from the TSA agent's face. He then watched with confusion as the TSA agent progressed the bag off the screen and out of the x-ray machine without incident. Afraid of the repercussions of alerting someone with authority over you that they missed a chance to exercise it against you, he kept his mouth shut. On his return flight out of a much smaller airport, he left no knife in his carry on, and was glad because he saw what appeared to be a supervisor reviewing and re-reviewing each bag with fastidious scrutiny.

Given the TSA's abysmal record of failure, and the growing pile of anecdotal incidents of local failures, I can't stop my brain from considering the possibility of accidentally leaving a knife I would not miss in my carry on bag and being prepared to let them toss it.

One related revelation comes from my (long overdue) reading of Atlas Shrugged. (Don't worry kids, all you have to do is make it through that first 400 pages, and it's all rich, creamy, fair-market-value gravy from there.) I realized something about the forced decision between the body scan machines and The Grope (which casually tosses aside the final veil you held over your most private of areas, and affirms that the federal government's reach extends from your income, to your home, to your family, to your body, and indeed, to your penis or vagina. Oh, and that of your child). The villains in Atlas Shrugged refused to name what their power allowed them to do, and relied on the consent of the victim to acknowledge only the compulsory "choice" in the matter. Your assailant's request always ends with the unsaid words, "or I'll have you killed/imprisoned for decades/fined thousands of dollars/touch your daughter in ways that would put anyone else in prison." These threats are never spoken, but the victim knows they're there, and the invader knows they're there. It is only by consent of the victim that these words remain unsaid, the trespasser appears benevolent, and the victim steps into the radiation chamber, seemingly of his own election.

Of course, the frightening thing about these new villains is that they act with the consent, and under the powers of, a vast, nameless, faceless, amorphous bureaucracy. A bureaucracy which is both unaccountable and accountable, guilty and innocent, powerful and powerless, contemptible and... indifferent. It corrupts its employees with authority and impassivity, and comforts its employers with deniability and abdication. It sanctions the worst in the worst people, and overpowers the best in the best people. If humanity is to return, it must be stopped.

While on the matter of radiation; given the hyperbolic reactions of the media and (sadly) therefore public to levels of Japanese radiation in America that are exceeded by a banana, I feel a part humanitarian, part capitalistic, part juvenile duty to sell Potassium Iodide pills for $20 a hit in the line to the body scan machines. But then I think to myself, "Just because a fool and his money are soon parted doesn't mean I have to be one of the opportunistic, greedy capitalists who only profits a little bit," so lets make it $60. Step right up folks! Save your children from a slow and painful death! Don't want to bleed out of all your orifices? Then buy ET's Rad-B-Gone! Only $60 a pill, or save in bulk at 4 for $300!

REPOSTOGRAPHY

2011-03-19T20:20:00.001-07:00

[direct link]

[direct link]

[direct link]

Oscillofun

2011-03-19T20:05:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

From Notch (Minecraft Creator)

What gun for asteroid?

2011-03-13T14:31:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you've all seen the unbelievable devastation caused by the tsunami in Japan by now, and I must ask all the preppers out there... What preps for a 20 foot, 30 MPH wall of water?

My brother and I were talking about this on the way out to the desert yesterday, and we were at a bit of a loss. To me, it feels like the "What gun for X" hypotheticals about outlandish scenarios you might find yourself in, and what gun you would choose.

The only thing we came up with was strapping a boat to your roof, or some kind of floating ocean hamster ball.

The destruction in the videos is so relentless, so complete, that ~~it's almost~~ it IS unbelievable. It is a force of nature from which we have no defense.

May be a helipad on your roof?

Compooter. I has one.

2011-03-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

A real one this time. No more struggling with Lappy on long sessions.

I mainly bought this computer for Minecraft, and in that regard I was successful.

Secondary and tertiary goals include things like writing more, and having a solid box on which to telecommute. The box was of decent spec, but hardly gamer-ready, so I picked up an ATI graphics card and a larger power supply for aforementioned video card.

But who cares about that. MINECRAFT!

It's so awesome. I fucking love it. I've got the display settings turned all the way up, and it runs perfectly (Although the day/night changes can still lag this quad core, 4gb ram, 1 gb vid ram box. Java, you stupid fat bastard.) I can honestly say I was speechless when I saw my first world save with no fog obstructing my vision beyond 50 feet. I spent an amount of time that must be measured in days in that virtual world, and I got to see it completely for the first time.

Since I've gotten most of the Minecraftery out of my system, and have mostly been interested in what Notch will do with it in the future, I believe I will soon be visiting the "games I'll play if I ever get a gaming rig" list.

This list contains such noble games as Starcraft 2 and STALKER, and ranges down to the ignoble reader favorite (ha!) Dwarf Fortress.

Stay tuned!

PS: It's an HP, and damn their eyes for the amount of shit they put on their boxes, and the effort they go to in order to prevent you from removing it. Just when I think I got it all some HP solution tracker/helper/survey program identifies itself for my increasing wrath.

The A in M1A stands for AWESOME

2011-03-13T10:08:00.001-07:00

My brother and I had a small outing to the desert to do some shooting, and I finally (yes, call me PDB) shot my M1A.

The M1A is the most expensive gun I own, it's also the gun I waited the longest to get. It represents everything I love about rifles, and had been at the top of my list ever since I first laid eyes on one. I went with the scout squad because I knew that if I got a standard, I'd just want a National Match and a Scout Squad anyway. Now I can just get the NM if I want.

After feeling the surprisingly gentle recoil of the Garand, I was a little worried that a synthetic stock scout squad would be too light, and recoil harshly, but it somehow recoils more lightly than the Garand. I had heard that the muzzle break and rubber stock pad work overtime on this gun, but I severely underestimated how smooth and soft they made the recoil. By the end of the day, the Garand had begun to feel unrefined next to the M1A, which is quite a feat.

The perennial favorite of the desert is 3 liter soda bottles from the 99 cent store. We set them up, and blow them up, usually at close range. Since this trip out was just my brother and I, we set the bottles up a little further. Along with the 10" gong, most of the 3 liters wound up at around 200 yards, but I wanted one that would last. So I grabbed a suitably hi-viz (fiz?) orange one, and took the long walk through the wash and up the hill to about 325 yards and set it up.

We opened smoothly with the M1A, and after ringing the gong repeatedly, I decided I wanted to start the fun of taking pot shots at the tiny orange dot on the hillside throughout the day. Sadly, I ruined the fun on my second shot from a cross legged sitting position. At cleanup I saw it was a grazing shot, catching only about a half inch in from the left side, but it was still a hit on a 6" wide target at 325 yards off irons.

The M1A was the go-to gun for cleaning up targets that refused to be shot. Only one resisted its charms, but that target danced around all the other bullets too. It wasn't until I was shooting My Rifle later in the day that we finally got rid of it. It never ceases to surprise me how something so simple as "Front sight, press" gets consistent hits after magazines of mid-day misses due to fatigue. After loading My Rifle and looking for targets I decided to try for that slippery 3 liter with some renewed focus. A different focus. I placed the front sight in perfect focus, and the target became an out of focus tiny blob of white sitting on top of the front sight. From a standing position, I hit dead center on the first shot the target that we had missed for dozens of rounds from sitting and prone position.

Fundamentals, fundamentals, fundamentals.

It's easy (and fun) to get sloppy with both eyes open in the large aperture sight on close targets, but when your target is small and far, and fatigue has set in, what you really need is "front sight, press."

The only problem that day was that we didn't have enough 308 to shoot it all day long. But I'm not sure there's enough 308 in the world to get your fill of shooting that gun.

It is slick, it is smooth, it is light, it is accurate, it hits hard, and it will hold 20 rounds of reach-out-and-touch-someone in a light, balanced package. But what is most important is that it is worth every penny. The M1A is the most expensive gun I own, and to be honest, I was a little afraid I was going to walk away from my first experience with it wondering how much cash I could get for it to put toward an AR-10. I am extremely impressed with this gun, and would recommend that anyone who wants a high quality, full powered, detachable mag fed, classically styled rifle begin saving their pennies now. The M1A really is the pinnacle of classic American rifles, and it is no wonder it has endured.

I'm Subaru folk now.

2011-03-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

I got a new car; a 2011 Subaru Outback. And yes, it really does come with an intrinsic sense of self satisfaction, thanks for asking. I was about to buy an ubiquitous Toyota Rav4 because it was most of the things I wanted, but the day before, my dad introduced me to the new outback (unlike the older, more wagon-y model that he has), and the next day I bought it. And thank god I got my new car in a manual. I was ready to go automatic for lack of manual versions of the cars I was looking at, but the Outback worked its way in. People these days. There were literally four manual transmission Outbacks in Southern California. Two were ugly, and one was in my color. Armed with that information, I got a price that allows me to chuckle at Rav4s for how much more car I got for quite a bit less money. Plus, having a car made at a zero landfill plant makes non-Subaru hippies cry when they can't take the moral high ground on their choice of car. I put an NRA sticker on the back just to piss them off.

The car represents a kind of phase shift for me. To quote everyone who knows me, "It's a grown-up car!" Exiting the phase of "Yeah, fast cars are awesome, I love to go fast." and entering the phase of "Yeah, fast cars are awesome, and I'm going to die if I get the combination of perfect song, perfect level of congestion of the freeway, and my recurring lead-foot syndrome." The Subaru is considerably slower than the turbo Passat. To get a manual, I had to get the smaller engine. But beside being slow, it's also smoother, and much more refined. The clutch is electronic, so at first, I could barely drive it. I couldn't feel a damn thing. I resorted to looking at the tachometer to know when I should shift, and when I missed a shift and ground the gears, the only way I knew it was because I could hear it. I couldn't feel shit. The fact that there is no real engine noise, very little power (comparatively, I guess), a very smooth ride, and no raw connection between you and the engine, gearbox, and clutch makes it a lot harder to get excited, and attempt to beat the land speed record while driving a slalom of zombie drivers on the freeway while Born Too Slow turns that knob in your adrenal gland up to 11.

That said, there is truly nothing like that rush. But it ain't worth gettin' dead over.

Oh yeah, I was sure I was going to miss the turning radius on the Passat, but the Outback blew the Passat out of the water. I'm pretty sure I could flip a bitch inside a parking spot. It's really impressive, and really useful.

Coming back from the desert trip yesterday we popped the Outback's cherry with some light off-roading along a dirt road mountain pass of rocks and washes. The latter of which sent most of the contents of the trunk airborne for enough time to do the tablecloth pull trick with my trunk liner. After a bit of practice, I got a better feel for how to spot the washes and take them in a way that didn't make me worry for my virgin car. Honestly, I'll admit to having a bit of the pucker factor for most of the trip. Driving over sharp rocks, steering through soft sand, and hitting bumps that would have broken my last car in half, all at a fair speed was mentally taxing. But these thoughts were countered at each turn by the Subaru's constant reassurance that yes, it could do this, and yes, it could probably do it backwards and at twice the speed. In fact, thinking back now, I don't think we ever bottomed out. 8.7" of ground clearance and good suspension are probably the reason for that. I was impressed, and we got the new Subaru the thing that Subarus seem to need most; dirty.

Catching up, getting ahead

2011-03-13T09:11:00.000-07:00

A mere two months into my current employment, I'm trying out for a promotion, having being goaded on by my boss. Somehow there is little competition for the position, so many suspect me of being the frontrunner. I didn't think I was qualified enough for the position, but the last two months have been very reassuring to me in regards to my ability to pick up new things quickly. I'm way ahead of where I should be, and I think that's why my boss wanted to make sure I at least tried out.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that doing this means I'm essentially doing two jobs. The stress has caused me to get sick, gain weight, and break out. Fortunately, this will only last for the month before they make the decision, then I can focus on one or the other. Interestingly enough, if I get the position my coworkers tell me I'll need two promotions, and two raises, which would probably make me the most well paid and skilled new guy still on probation. A few people told me that they don't expect much from you in the first 6 month probationary period, but I'm not the kind of person who meets those kinds of expectations.

Quick range trip

2011-02-15T22:50:00.000-08:00

On my last .22 trip to the range, I brought the 1911 for a little attention. Unfortunately, I didn't shoot it very well.

So last weekend, I went to the range with the GI .45 and the XD-9, and was surprised to find that I just sucked that day.

A a few single ragged holes through a few targets later, I had full confidence back in my 1911, and my XD-9 felt much more natural than I remembered.

I got a few compliments on my shooting, as usual, but no one seemed interested in any pointers, so I didn't offer them.

One of my near-term goals is to get as good with my .30 rifles as I am with my pistols and AR carbine.

THIS BLAG NEEDS MOAR GENERATIONAL DISPUTES!

2011-02-15T22:07:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about the reason there can be no Medicare or Social Security reform.

Seniors.

Today's politicians regard the senior voting bloc as solid, reliable, trust-worthy, restless, pernicious, and vindictive. That's why no politician subject to reelection would dare touch any of the senior hot-button issues.

So instead of dealing with these ticking time bombs, we get to watch helplessly as they slowly count down. The seniors will get theirs, and keep kicking the can down the road until it's no longer an issue for them... Because they're dead.

I can't help but wonder how much worse it's going to get when the glut of Boomers reach immaturity.

Who knows more about current tax policies?

2011-02-15T21:43:00.000-08:00

Professional Orange Troll Snooki, or President Barack Obama?

When the president of the United States of America insisted that he "didn't raise taxes once," you didn't have to be a Professional Washington Political Pundit to know that he was full of fake bake.

How the hell does the President of the United States of America think he can get away with a lie so obvious that a hilarious caricature of a human being sees right through it.

Pitiful.

I'm so angry! Hold me back! Hold me back! ... No really, someone hold me back!

2011-02-15T21:17:00.000-08:00

From WSJ: Obama Renews Vow To Repeal Tax Cuts For High Incomes

So guess who's got some big balls now?

Obama was so ANGRY about the tax cuts for the high earners that he just HAD to take advantage of the Democrat SUPERMAJORITY and...! ... AND...!!!

... Extend the Bush-era tax cuts.

BUT THEN!!!

The DASTARDLY Republicans LIE, CHEAT, AND STEAL their way into the House of Representatives, and now they say they're going to protect their RICH, WHITE, FAT CAT constituents!

D'oohh! IF ONLY those EVIL republicans didn't own the House!

Oh, you just BET Obama would kill those tax cuts for the richest Americans!

So be sure to vote Democrat next time so they can get a SUPERMAJORITY, and then they'll be able to pass whatever they want!

Tis the season for revolution

2011-02-15T20:57:00.000-08:00

So apparently now is the time for the people to unite and overthrow their corrupt governments!

Meanwhile in Mexico, all those young full spirited Mexican nationalists are...

Here.

I understand that they have some serious problems down there with the drug cartels, but that doesn't change the fact that for every Mexican waving the red white and green up here, there's one less down there.

Some twitter selections

2011-02-07T22:17:00.000-08:00

Man, you don't even know. I had charcoal ALL up in my grill.
~Me

Dreamt we were on Run's House on a trip but Run stayed at the starbucks when he found they'd serve horseshoecrabs right to his canoe. Srsly.
~Me

Oh noes! A young hippster caught corporate-looking me riding my shopping cart! It told him to get a job and pretended it didn't happen.
~Me

Excellent.

Some things change, some things never change.

2011-02-05T07:00:00.000-08:00

It has been a little over a month since I started my new job, and I'm starting to feel like a normal human being again.

The sleep pattern is starting to be the norm, I'm getting over this weird cold that just seemed to linger for a few weeks, the new job stress took a couple hits when I got my first customer survey back (perfect), and some guy who's supposedly awesome was impressed with my work. Things are starting to feel normal again. But not that kind of normal I had at the last place, where things were slowly sliding downhill, and you never really realize that stress until it's gone.

Real normal.

Feels damn good.

I called my old paintball buddy when I decided to go paintballing the next day. The same old paintball buddy who had grown accustomed to me turning down every offer of an outing due to me being on call or some other engagement. And I do mean every. I went so far as to explain to him that I really did want to go, and to continue inviting me, but cosmic forces seemed aligned to prevent me from going paintballing with him.

Kharmicly, he was unable to go due to a prior engagement, however he hooked me up with one of his friends who asked him if he wanted to go the same day.

We hit it off immediately, all he had to do was mention "phantom" and "machine shop" and I could tell we were going to be best friends. He and his friend are stock class players, and run phantoms, so I told him I'd bring mine and we'd make it a triple. Since it'll just be three of us, he recommended we join a walk-on and take them to school. My kind of pump players.

I hit the local shop (the only one that's left) after work, and it turned out the shop owner was there. We started talking kit, and it turned out he was on the socal paintball scene for 12 years. When he found out who I knew and what I used to do, we caught up on common friends, and the ones who were no longer with us. We talked about the scene, the drama, how some things changed, and how other things never changed.

A lot of those times are over. There are glimmers of hope, but the scene is a shadow of what it used to be. The economy is to blame as much as silly drama.

The halcyon days of southern California paintball.

It made me sad that it was gone, but I was still happy to have been a part of it. It felt strange to talk about "the good old days." I'm only 27...

But time marches on, and the oppressive cost of doing business in California, and the high insurance rates for "shooting sports" forced fields to make up their costs by requiring players buy field paint instead of bringing their own. This paint was usually low quality and high cost to maintain the necessary margin the field needed to stay in business. This made players seek lower cost forms of playing, hence an uneasy spike in pump play.

Generally pump play is the polar opposite of the "Agg Kidz" (HK kids) I fought against in the sport. It's really easy to get your aggression going with 2 grand of kit slinging four cases of paint a day. "Whoops, lit up that last guy on the bunker, and he turned out to be a scared little kid just trying out the sport. Guess he won't be back! High five!" I'm hoping the return to pump play brought a return to focus to the game style down here, but I suppose attitudes don't necessarily have to change when play style changes. But I'm hopeful, and I'm going to find out today.

Blogging should return to normal once I get this new schedule figured out, and determine where it fits in it. I used to be able to write bits and pieces at work, but that won't be the case now. I'll be back. Don't worry.

Fuck "some other time!"

2011-02-04T16:28:00.000-08:00

I was talking to a coworker about how the missus and I used to be hardcore ballers, and regaled him with all my awesome stories. Afterwards I sent him some pictures and checked out a field I've been meaning to try out for some time.

So fuck it.

I'm going paintballing tomorrow!

The Bernanke who cried wolf

2011-02-03T16:56:00.000-08:00

One of these times he's going to be telling the truth.

But no one will believe him.

The problem is, we'll get eaten alive, not him...

I lol'd

2011-01-18T08:31:00.000-08:00

Alternate Names for the "Repealing The Job Killing Health Care Law Act"

5) The “We’re Not Going to Grind Gramma Into An Edible but Nutritious Slurry Act”.
4) The “Sarah Was Right; There Really Are Death Panels Act”.
3) The “Dear God in Heaven, What Were We Thinking Act”.
2) The “We’re In Charge, So How Do You Like Us Now Act”.
1) The “Happy Cuddle Puppies Nuzzle Wuzzle Act”.

Brilliant.

The new job is looking good

2011-01-18T00:11:00.000-08:00

The commute is considerably shorter than I had expected, which is much appreciated.

I still haven't gotten the hang of the "regular people" schedule of 8-5, so I'm tired when I should be awake, and awake when I should be tired.

The company won a few "best place to work" awards, and it's not hard to see why. This place rocks.

The work is demanding, which beats the hell out of the alternative. So far, I've just been training, so I've spent most of my time straining to understand the complexities of a large business production software. The program is frickin' huge, and twice as complex in troubleshooting. I love a challenge.

The mental drain is worse than the physical drain, and it leaves me useless for blogging afterwards, so it might be a while before I return to a normal blogging schedule. I know you're all waiting on bated breath. :)

A few things stand out

2011-01-17T23:42:00.000-08:00

The congresswoman's survival is nothing short of a miracle. I wonder if that disgusting piece of trash lost his smirk after her found out she survived.

The shooting took 30 seconds and it took 10 minutes for first responders to arrive. Do the math.

Two heroes were forced to tackle this menace while he was trying to reload. It would have been safer for them and everyone else there if they had guns.

The loss of the 9 year old girl is almost beyond grief, but I have to know, do you think the father carries a gun everywhere now?

I pray that there are people out there right now taking a second look at those family members that they've been making excuses for.

And liberals, just as always, struggle to find logic in the illogical.

The nurture part of them is what keeps them from admitting there is evil in this world. Same here. It must be the music. There must be SOME explanation for why this crazy person was crazy.

You know, I can't help but wonder if libs fantasize about murdering those who disagree with them, which is why they're so violent and oppose guns (projection) and when someone goes off like this, they need an explanation for why they haven't gone off the deep end yet. Insecure. Uncertain. Scared.

and if this had happened at a rally of republicans I can't help but think the body count would have been lower

Awesome

2011-01-17T23:37:00.000-08:00

Natalie Portman's uncensored rap (Very NSFW Audio)

1. This is awesome.
2. She looks fucking hot with that short hair.
3. Black Swan is awesome.
4. Darren Aronofsky is awesome.
5. lol snl made a funny, how quaint
6. The end.

Ban concealable magazines!

2011-01-16T22:13:00.000-08:00

With (foolish) people talking about a ban on magazines that hold more than 10 rounds, I must ask WHY?! These low capacity magazines are much more concealable than 30 round magazines, and therefore much more likely to be used in crimes.

We must ban 10 round magazines, and require everyone buy magazines that hold no fewer than 30 rounds.

FOR THE CHILDREN!!!11

Light, full power rifles making a comeback

2011-01-09T10:07:00.000-08:00

Looks like I'm not the only one who likes light, full power rifles, and it looks like we just got some support from Ruger.

1. It looks awesome, and I hope it'll be available in lefty.
2. It looks awesome, and why on earth wouldn't it have M1A mags?
3. It looks awesome, and why in god's name is the MSRP 1k?!

Can't wait to find out more.

Why it pays to know a bit about guns Part 2

2011-01-09T09:39:00.000-08:00

That's not a gun.

Part 1 here.

From Uncle

Happy new year!

2011-01-03T19:15:00.000-08:00

I'll be starting my new job tomorrow. It's going to be nice returning to the routine.

As I said this to my wife, I stopped just before the word "routine" because it seemed odd to crave routine, but she completed the sentence for me correctly. It seems odd to me, but I guess there isn't really a problem with it.

Since I worked evenings before, and am a bit of a night owl, I'm still trying to adjust to the morning schedule. Getting to work 20 miles away at 8am in rush hour means waking up at 5:45, and I haven't been a morning person for quite some time. But if it turns out the commute and hours are the toughest thing about the job, that'll be just fine with me.

The new job will mean less free time (than unemployment?), but I want to keep the list of things I wanted to do with my free time while unemployed. I'm trying to break them up into smaller tasks to make it easier to make progress, and eventually do them.

Speaking of free time, since I knew I actually had a job, I've actually been able to enjoy my free time. With some unexpected cash, we've been living pretty normally this last week. Seeing movies, playing games, hanging out, drinking with friends, etc.

I had planned trip to the desert after my birthday, at first it looked like it was going to be a big group, then one by one, they were picked off by other engagements, and when we were down to the reliable two who always go, they were pulled away literally at the last hour. So we're pushing it off to some later date. But gathering everything together and trying to decide what to bring and what to leave home made me realize I needed to focus on some of my guns more. So instead of dividing my attention on range trips, I think I'll only pick one gun per trip, and use it exclusively. Top contenders for the next trip are M39 and the SKS. The problem is, I have a to do list for the range, zeroing, testing bullet drop, testing mags or ammo, and technically those things should be a higher priority than getting really good with specific guns. Right? I dunno. Maybe I'm thinking too much about all this.

Oh yeah, ordered that one thing. Can't wait to try it out. But I really just want to get some dirt under my feet, and some trees at my sides

Ever ask someone in a movie theater to be quiet?

2011-01-03T11:29:00.000-08:00

Try it today, and you take your life into your hands.

Wow, it's a good thing a cop with a gun showed up to break up the fight before one of the victims was beaten to death.

Oh wait, it was a citizen with a gun that saved their lives?

Then he must have been a fat white redneck small penis racist cowboy. Why would anyone have a gun in their car if they weren't going to threaten gays and shoot people who cut them off? The cops should have arrested that person instead.

Unrelated: We saw Black Swan last night and the cold weather meant I got to dress in thick layers.

Fuck you Arnold. This is a whole new low. You disgust me.

2011-01-03T10:48:00.000-08:00

I followed this case pretty closely, and was unsatisfied with what I thought was the end result of the case.

Turns out the murderer's daddy is best buds with the Governator, so the political girly man's last act was to commute the sentence of the murderer* (*plead guilty to voluntary manslaughter). Which, as far as I'm concerned, makes him an accomplice the same way harboring a criminal on the lam would.

Because Esteban Nuñez didn't technically kill anyone (those he personally wounded survived) his family argued that he should only get 7 to 11 years for his part in the murder, despite the fact that the wounds he inflicted on two victims could have easily resulted in death. The judge turned down this request. The Santos family agreed to a plea bargain at 16 years, and said publicly that they were tempted to turn it down and let the case progress normally to what would very likely be a life sentence, but didn't want to have to deal with all the mandatory appeals California has for harsh sentences. So the Santos family took the plea deal to get some justice now rather than live in limbo for for a decade.

Then the Chicken-shit-inator commutes this short sentence to 7 years! Damn, You-disgust-me-inator, why not just commute it entirely! You know he's not going to serve 7 whole years. I suppose you felt like you had to leave a tiny veil of coverage on this naked show of political favoritism. Frankly, I find the veil more offensive than if you had just commuted it entirely. At least then you could say you don't think he deserved it, and should get off with time served. THAT would at least be a position. You only went to seven years because you thought people would be OK with it if he served some time for a guilty plea to voluntary manslaughter. This is a truly disgusting display.

But it gets worse, because our legal system allows the Santos family absolutely no recourse in the matter.

What an outrageous slap in the face to the criminal justice system, and a shameless show of political might over moral right.

Go to hell, Arnold.

game of the year

2010-12-26T19:10:00.000-08:00

awesome

Ps I'm drunk

iPad annoyances and Samsung's giant Droid-- I mean, Galaxy Tab

2010-12-23T11:09:00.000-08:00

The iPad and I have a complicated relationship.

One minute I'm enjoying the utility; reading PDFs, sketching, watching Netflix, doing quick internet searches, or just playing a game. The next minute I'm gripped by futility; crashing after hours of work on a sketch, crashing on picture heavy sites, crashing on picture light sites, crashing on sites in general, crashing with an alternate browser on a random site, crashing when I watch a youtube video in the browser, crashing when I adjust the volume after starting a youtube video, crashing when I zoom in or out of a youtube video in the browser, failing to display any interactivity with youtube, crashing when I youtube in general, locking up on updates, forcing me to stare at a progress bar like a simpleton because it can't multitask, refreshing the large page I'm spawning windows off of every single time I leave it and return to it seconds later, refusing to let me search a site for words (REALLY?! Would "Find" have complicated things too much, Steve?!), refusing to present any content beyond simple java, making me hit "More" twelve times to find the app I want to download only to make me hit "More" twelve more time to get back to where I left off in the list. I could go on, but I'm just angry now.

There is a new update to the iOS, but it still came from Apple, so I don't expect anything more than another layer of polish on this turd of an OS, with a few bells and whistles duct taped it. Any update from Apple would only treat the symptoms, not the disease. Because Apple IS the disease.

While the iPad has been alternatively useful and infuriating, my Android phone has done nothing but improve. This lead to some enthusiasm about Samsung's new Galaxy Tab.

I thought the Tab would make a great mid point between my phone and the iPad. Smaller, handier, more functionality, all on a bigger screen. That is, until I actually played with one.

First impressions were great, the size seemed more versatile, more convenient, and handier, but the screen left something intangible to be desired. After a bit more time with it, I realized that the display was nice, but what was on it hinted at the truth I would find out later. That the Android OS was far from optimized for larger screens. Everything felt clunky. Even at 1Ghz (the speed at which I overclock my Droid), everything seemed slower. Once I started browsing, and looked at media, it kind of brought me back in. The browsing and media had certainly been optimized by Samsung, while the other apps struggled with the larger screen. The more I used it, the more I felt like I was just holding a bigger, clunkier Droid phone with no keyboard. (One thing I must give the iPad is that its keyboard is actually usable with a bit of practice. If only its autocomplete wasn't so terrible it's a source of amusement). Once I had the idea of a giant Droid phone in my head, there was nothing I could do to get it out. The fact that my phone can do so much on a screen I'm quite comfortable watching had made the prospect of a few measly inches a tease.

I don't want a bigger phone, I want a full size tablet. I want an iPad, but I want it to actually do all the shit the iPad can't or won't. I want to browse sites on a full screen, watch flash content on a full screen, read books, view pictures, draw, browse, and multitask on a screen with more real estate!

Sadly, the Samsung Galaxy Tab is the best option for an Android tablet at the moment. Other contenders being deficient in a few large or many small ways. (No Android market support being a troubling norm thankfully broken by the Tab.) That is not to say the Samsung Tab isn't deficient in 600 large ways, but it's the best implementation of the Android OS yet. The fact that it has come so far since the first Android tablets in such a short time is quite reassuring for the future of these devices and the OS itself. The fact that Samsung has already hinted at larger Tabs coming soon makes me wonder if it was just testing the waters with a 7 inch tablet so as not to go head to head with the iPad just yet. Given the feel of the Tab's OS, it seems they've made the right decision. Test and perfect on the 7 incher, then slap Apple across the face with something they can call an iPad killer with a straight face.

Of course, just because I don't need a Samsung Galaxy Tab, doesn't mean you don't. If I didn't have a Droid hacked, overclocked, and unlocked with an iPad waiting for when I want a more comfortably sized screen, I would be sorely tempted to try out apps, video conference, watch flash content, or just read ebooks and browse the net on this handy tablet while testing the waters in the Android pool.

The fact that OS integration is a little dodgy in tablet form is only a minor hurdle given the fact that Android has shown itself surprisingly unafraid of issuing large OS updates that add support and new functionality. It's a whole new world out there now that we've got an OS that is not irrevocably fused to the hardware on which it was originally installed. Plus, if you're the adventurous type like me, just wait until the this thing gets rooted, and individuals start writing custom Android versions for it. The hackability was the major reason I went with the original Droid instead of the soon-to-be-released Droid 2. I think this hardware has some serious potential. It just needs some software that's not afraid to use it.

The one law you can't repeal.

2010-12-23T10:51:00.000-08:00

This whole Wikileaks situation is ripe for a visit from the law of unintended consequences.

From Soft Green Glow

In soviet California, police arrest victim!

2010-12-22T13:39:00.000-08:00

In New Mexico there was an attempted robbery that was thwarted by an 11 year old girl who feared for her life, and retrieved a training rifle that she had just learned to use.

Fortunately, no one was hurt, especially since she was out manned and out gunned, but the mere presence of the gun prevented the crime.

Had these events occurred 500 miles west, in California, the mother would have been arrested, and charged with child endangerment for failing to lock up her gun.

Children who are trained, and aware of the consequences and dangers of shooting, should have access to firearms once they're old enough to be home alone.

Conclusions I've drawn from my short lesson in unemployment

2010-12-21T09:35:00.000-08:00

1. I can't NOT work.
It drove me insane. I was barely unemployed three months, and I was bouncing off the walls. I was all flavors of depressed, filled with doubt, questioned my faith, and generally a basket case. I couldn't do this for two years. Literally. Had I gone a bit longer, there's no doubt in my mind that I would have had to take a part time job while I continued my job search. And honestly? Subway was the first place that came to mind.

2. Free time when you're unemployed and free time when you're employed are NOT THE SAME THING.
DO NOT THINK OF IT AS A VACATION! I thought I'd enjoy the downtime while I searched for a job. Instead, it was pretty evenly split between despairing, temporarily numbing my mind with video games, silently freaking out, discovering new ways to be secretly depressed, or pacing back and forth in the apartment.

3. My heart goes out to the Boomers looking for jobs right now.
Since writing that post, it has become increasingly obvious that the Booomers are getting dropped from positions, and put in the unfavorable position of competing against fresh, young college grads with mountains of debt who will jump at any job you throw at them that doesn't involve a paper hat. True, many Boomers in the tech industry failed to keep up their knowledge, or make themselves indispensable, or realize that there was an army of young'uns gunning for their job, but I still feel for them. I happen to know one was their second favorite for the job I was offered. Being familiar with the type, I knew that if he was my strongest competition, I was very likely to get the job. Which made me both sad and happy.

4. Keep things in perspective.
As hard as things got, I always felt better when I prayed for John and his wife. No matter how bad things get, you've still got to count your blessings.

5. Something ain't kosher in the unemployment line.
One of the things I noticed while on the hunt was the volume of jobs available, and the lack of applicants. Note I didn't say qualified applicants. If I didn't have enough qualifications for a job, I'd be pounding on doors, promising the world for minimum wage if they'd only give me a chance. Because that's exactly what I did to get my foot in the door of this field. But whenever I interviewed by phone, I found I was one of around 20 applicants. Either they mentioned they didn't have many interviews, or I was interview X out of Y, or they just mentioned that I was one of a few. Of course, that is not to say 1000 didn't submit their resume, and get a "thank you, but" e-mail. But I happen to think the positions for which I was applying were not that specialized, save a couple. Something just didn't add up. I've been told thousands apply to any job that becomes available, but I'm beginning to think they're only interested in applying. Smells like sandbagging.

6. The Ca EDD helps you *wink wink* *nudge nudge* stay unemployed.
The Employment Development Department randomly selected me for a review, so I went in to a local office for an interview. Not understanding most of the form, I left it blank so I could ask questions about filling it in rather than sign my name to something I didn't understand. When I got there, an EDD employee explained to me that Sacramento handles their own tracking of how unemployment is working, and how well EDD is doing its job of keeping leeches out of the system. (Obviously, the EDD employee worded it differently, but that's what I took from it after playing dumb and asking more questions about the process). I happened to be randomly selected by Sacramento for a review. Upon seeing my mostly empty and unsigned form, the EDD employee impressed upon me that I needed to fill out the form to a minimum level to prevent a follow up interview. She made it very clear that she was there to help me fill out the form. At this point I wondered what would happen if I hadn't looked for work at all.

Then, due to a bad childhood, the plight of the inner city, the lack of gay marriage, high fructose corn syrup, my oppressed Mexican heritage, and the Bush administration, I temporarily forgot all the places I had applied to, and accidentally told her I was waiting for a call back from a place that I was really sure was going to hire me, and hadn't looked for any work for weeks. (Had all those forces not been acting upon me, someone might think I was intentionally lying, and not the victim of a vast right wing conspiracy!) She told me this was wrong, and that I needed to fill out the form to continue receiving benefits. When I reiterated that I hadn't looked for work, she reiterated that she was there to help me, and asked me to think really hard to remember what job I must have applied for. She even offered to let me leave and come back once I remembered where I had applied. When I just happened to remember one of the places I had applied to, she took the lead, and told me what to write in each box to make sure I didn't get a follow up interview. Over the next few minutes, I slowly recalled the places I had applied to (places I really did apply to, but as far as she was concerned, was making up on the spot), and she helped me fill in the paperwork to the minimum level to prevent a follow up interview.

At no point did she advise me to lie, but at every opportunity she told me how to lie on the form, and reassured me that if I filled it in to a minimum level, I wouldn't have to worry about anyone checking on it. When I put the actual number of jobs I had applied to, she even implied I should go a little lower, but I reassured her it was OK (because I still didn't want to lie on an official form).

No wonder there are so many unemployed in California.

What has two thumbs and a job?

2010-12-21T08:51:00.000-08:00

THIS guy...

Special thanks to the old coworker who told me about this place. It's actually a large company, so I'm looking forward to not having to deal with a lot of small company BS. Obviously, this also means things will be a bit more structured than a small company, which is fine. I didn't really take advantage of the small company's loose management style, though others did. I'll just be happy to get regular raises, and medical that doesn't cost an arm leg.

The job promises to be the one thing that I missed the most from my last one, challenging. It seems I'm suited for more advanced work than the entry position I'll be going into, but it's the job everyone has to start at to get the base of knowledge needed to move up. Did I mention there's upward mobility? That's the second thing I missed from the last job.

Now, on to the matter of Anon...

A while ago I wrote a post arguing that the people that have exhausted their 99 weeks of unemployment benefits can make my subway sandwich or move. This was something to which Anonymous took offense;

i truly hope somday you lose yor job and see what its like to be in the 99ers shoes,you sit here and make dumb ass comments ,jackass

To which I replied...

You can hope that I'll lose my job, but that won't put me in the 99ers' shoes. Because losing my job doesn't make me sit on my ass for 99 weeks, and then bitch about it when my free money runs out.

But for sitting there and making dumb ass comments, I'm pretty sure you're one of the 99ers, and I'm pretty sure I'M PAYING YOU to make your dumb ass comments on my blog.

Whether that makes you dumb, or me dumb is up for debate.

Meanwhile, the goddamn Subway still has the help wanted sign up. So please Anon, get up tomorrow morning, look yourself in the mirror real hard, and then MAKE MY FUCKING SANDWICH.

Since then, I've had the rare opportunity of having life put my money where my mouth is, and I've come to a few conclusions. They are here.

Why I can do anything

2010-12-20T12:08:00.000-08:00

It was about 10 years ago that I made it into the LA Sheriff's group to be accepted into the Marine Corp's Devil Pup program. I hoped to get motivation, a good extracurricular, and a bit of introduction into the military out of it.

The Devil Pups program is basically a physical challenge and team building "camp" that takes place in Camp Pendleton. The paperwork for applying was very explicit about one thing; this is NOT a camp for troubled youths. Of course, that paperwork came from the LA Sheriffs in charge of selecting the group they sent to the camp, not the camp itself. One of the first things the drill sergeant did was ask who was here because of something bad they did. I would later learn that third platoon seemed to get the lion's share of fuck ups, although it should have seemed obvious at the time. We were terrible. (Wow. after all these years, it still sticks. I just wrote "we were terrible" but personally, I was fine. Most of the platoon was terrible, but we were in it together, hence, we ALL were terrible. Interesting.) We couldn't follow the simplest instructions, and it only took a few of us to fuck it up for the rest. Hell, since we had so many fuck ups, fire watch was filled till the end of the camp, so I didn't have to worry about that punishment.

The camp was hard. Really hard. Little or no sleep, constant running, marching practice, all the expected stuff. Luckily, the food was good. That is, if we had any time to eat. Part of being the fuck up platoon was entering mess last, which became the norm after a first few days hashed out the pecking order among platoons. Third platoon, my platoon, was the shit platoon. But hey, that was because we were shit.

The two points that stick out in my mind, the most important ones, were the 35 foot drop into the pool, and getting my challenge coin.

The drop was really an exercise in fear. Falling's the easy part, and the first step is hard, but a little easier knowing everyone is watching you, but the line at the top is what got most guys. The camp couldn't force anyone to jump, so they had a (comparatively) low dive that some of the platoon went off of, and most of us (including myself) were pretty skittish until one of the bigger fuck ups jumped. The sergeant wasn't going to let the D students live it down if one of the F students jumped. (We were graded based on how well we followed orders, but since we were the fuck up platoon, we were graded from C, D, or F. I was a D student based on my plan to just get through it without standing out too much. Not sure if it was the right move now, but since we were the fuck up platoon, the C students got more than their fair share of punishment since they were line leaders. I became a line leader twice on accident, and suffered for my line both times.) So after one of the big F students went up, a small group of us D students had to go up there. I had made a few friends among the D's, and we were psyching each other up privately, while the rest of the platoon was cheering us on publicly. I went up fourth, but wound up second in the line at the top. I neared the edge, and looked down. I froze.

They say not to look down, but you can't not look down. A passing glance tells you that what you're doing is very wrong, and that you should stop. But I was stuck staring down into the blue mass, so far away, knowing that hitting it with enough speed would be like hitting concrete. The fear inches up from your neck, encompasses around your brain, and squeezes your mind. The instructor at the top saw me hesitate, and said to step to the edge. I stepped. He said, "Look at that pole out there in the distance," I looked. "Now don't think: take a step." I stepped.

I stayed focused on the pole the entire time. That wasn't a problem. The problem was the time it took to get down. Obviously it didn't take more than a second, but in my mind? Well, I had time to make conversation with myself.

Holy crap! I did it! Ok, doing good, just stay focused on the pole, don't look down or you'll tilt backwards and back-flop. I've jumped off the high dive in high school, this is kind of like that. You're not going to die, you'll be fine, just stay in form. Ok. still falling. Alright, I should be hitting the water now. Any second now. Ok, where's the water? I'm going to take a quick look. NO DON'T LOOK, NOW YOU'LL GET BLACK EYES! Shit! Ok! But where's the water?! This is taking too long! I'm too high up! I THINK I'M TILTING! CORRECT YOURSELF! CORRECT! No! Don't correct! You can't flail now! It's too late! You're going to hit the water any--

That was my lesson in fear. I knew I was going to survive, I knew what I had to do, and gravity was going to do most of the work for me. but I was still scared to do it. From then on, fear became a warning instead of a roadblock. I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer...

The challenge coin was a bit harder. It was presented at the top of a mountain that you hiked half way up, camped on, and hiked the rest of the way up the next day. I didn't think it would be a problem since we ran so often, but running is very different from hiking with packs. The hiking drained us a lot more than any of us thought, and we were relieved to set up camp. We ran on little food, and little sleep, having stayed up the night before remaking our racks because of somesuch fuckupery. The punishments became the norm so often we were better runners than the other platoons. Shame it didn't help with following orders.

The next morning I was sore, and slept terribly on the thin bedroll. I had been too worn out to bother moving the rocks that somehow escaped my initial ground clearing. Plus we weren't allowed to get up except to use the bathroom, and the other platoon's DIs were on fire watch, so clearing them clandestinely would either take up too much energy, or get me caught and see me run some more. We unceremoniously resumed the hike. Hours later the top was in sight, and I got a second wind. With the rest of the trail in sight, I knew I could power through it. We marched on as I felt my body fading, but my mind saw the goal, and kept it moving forward. On the last switchback, we had the end in sight, the final turn up to the plateau, and the top of the mountain. Except when we rounded that last corner, it wasn't the end.

What stretched before us was about 150 yards of 45 degree mountain. You couldn't hike it, you had to crawl it. The first part of the platoon had already started up, and I could see them struggling. I stood in place, thinking about how much energy it would take to get up there, and knew I didn't have enough. The Sergeant saw me stop, and screamed me onto the hill, his motivation getting me about a quarter of the way. Once I was on the hill, it was easier for me to just keep going, but higher up, the mountain was covered with some kind of hay/dirt mixture that our feet sank into when we stepped into it, and our hands pulled clumps out of when we grabbed for hand holds. Thinking back on it now, I'm not sure if it was trucked onto this last slope to make it easier or harder. But it didn't matter, because it was like walking in snow. As I groped for balance and my feet slipped out from under me, I looked up, and that's when it happened.

That's when I gave up.

I remember it very clearly, even today. The smell of that hay/dirt, the itching of my arms, the burning in my lungs, the dust in my eyes, and the immutable fact of the universe that I wasn't going to make it.

I was on my hands and knees, looking up at the side of that steep mountain, and my muscles stopped working. It couldn't have been more than two seconds that I was there, on my hands and knees, lost to the world; but as with the dive, I had plenty of time to think.

I was done. I was lost. I didn't make it. I washed out. I was so close, but there was no doubt in my mind that I would never make it up that mountain. It's so hard to put that feeling into words. It wasn't even hopelessness, because there was never any hope, never any chance, there had never even existed the idea that I could make it. As sure as the sun would rise in the east, as sure as the vastness of the universe, I could not make it. There wasn't even impossibility, there wasn't anything. There was nothing.

Except for one thing...

Disappointment. I was disappointed that I wouldn't make it. I was disappointed that I was letting my platoon down. I was disappointed that I had come so far, for absolutely nothing. I was disappointed that I would return home a failure.

Worst of all was the conclusive knowledge, the undeniable truth, the insurmountable certainty that there was nothing I could do about it. I believed it as I had never believed anything before.

Then someone grabbed my arm and started pulling. Then someone else grabbed my other arm and started pulling. They weren't going to be able to drag me up the hill. They didn't have enough energy to pull me and themselves up this hill. Didn't they know this was impossible?

From my left: "C'mon [last name], we won't let you quit."
From my right: "Move it [last name], we start as one, we finish as one."

I looked at them both, and realized I didn't know their names. They probably didn't know mine either, but we had it taped to front and back of our covers. I didn't know them personally, but we were third platoon.

Then my leg pushed.

Then my other leg pushed.

Then I started moving up.

My nameless helpers pulled me a few feet before I reached for the mess of earth below me, and started climbing myself.

Eyes transfixed on the top, I climbed as fast as I could, passing others by. My arms and legs moved like normal. It wasn't like a runner's high where they move mechanically, they were doing what I was telling them to do. They were doing what they had refused to do. My brain was doing what it told me was impossible.

I made it to the top.

I had done the impossible.

This was my lesson in limits. All of my limits before that day were mentally imposed. From then on, my body wasn't finished until continuing to do so became dangerous. I wasn't done hiking or running until my toes started to drag because my legs were incapable of being lifted to a safe height to continue my activity. I wasn't done gasping for air until the the black began encroaching on my vision. I wasn't done working out until my arms halted mid-lift, and wobbled instead of pushing a single inch more. No task was impossible with enough thought, planning, and preparation.

Obviously, it's not productive to push yourself to the breaking point for every challenge you encounter. But to doing so every once in a while will show you where your true limits are, not where you think they are.

Only when you break through that mental block will you be free to achieve your true potential.

It is pitch black

2010-12-17T10:56:00.000-08:00

You are likely to be eaten by a grue.

Current obsession: Cold Steel Trail Hawk

2010-12-17T10:16:00.000-08:00

Just look at those clean lines. Brilliant form and function. And for around $20, it's hard not to buy one just to try it out.

First, I was hung up on hawk vs hatchet, but once I defined the differences, it was a lot easier. A hatchet is better at splitting, heavier, and well suited to hang out in camp. While a hawk should be lighter, and handier so you carry it more on the trail, and have an easier job bridging the gap between hatchet and your camp carry fixed blade. I made the decision to pick two tools best suited for two jobs, as opposed to one that was OK at both. If you'd prefer the single tool solution, you might consider the rifleman's hawk, which is one of their heavier hawks.

Once I defined my objective in bringing a hawk as portability, the other hawks cold steel offers didn't hold much appeal. There is also a significant modding community for these light, inexpensive tools, which makes them even more appealing, even if you only drop $20 for a piece you can put some elbow grease into, and hang on your wall.

The only reason I don't have one with me right now is because I have the cold steel kukri machete and the cold steel special forces shovel, which I still think needs a saw side. After I defined the objective for the hawk, it became clear the others were not perfectly suited for the position. Also, I was unem-fucking-ployed, and as much as I love getting a bug up my butt about some lovely piece of edged metal and buying it on the spot, we gotta eat.

I wasn't always a fan of cold steel products, but they've really stepped up their designs while maintaining a price point that makes complaining about them harder than buying them. I will stick with their simple designs (usually anything that relies on a roughly cut hunk of metal), but I haven't touched any of their folders or anything from their "premium" line. I might be able to talk about them more seriously when they stop prominently featuring fat dudes in suits throwing spears at car hoods, or demonstrating how anything that's made of metal will go through sheet metal with enough force. Seriously guys, dial back the sensationalism. (he said, as he bought more cold steel products)

Also, this is awesome;

I gotta get out to the desert.

Oh yeah, the edge will likely need touching up, and a hex screw keeping the head on the handle is bullshit. Reprofile the edge, and take the screw out. A hawk handle is larger on one end to keep the head on. (apply directly to the forehead)

Eira's Quest part 2, Big Room Bollocks

2010-12-17T09:59:00.002-08:00

When we last left our hero, she was below the Big Room, half-dead, blind, and lycanthropic! You could say she was having trouble seeing what a hairy situation she was in! (ba-dum tschh!)

Back downstairs, I confirm I'm still wearing the ring of warning and wait silently, afraid a clot of hill giants will round the corner and throw boulders at me at any moment. Luckily, the blindness wears off, and I'm able to wait until healed, and return upstairs with a new plan.

As soon as I emerge, I read a scroll of teleport, hoping I don't get dropped near that group of chickatrices. Luckily, I get sent to the other side of the map. Whew. Good thing I didn't have to take out that group of chickatrices. I take one step, and... The pyrolisk casts its fiery gaze upon you! Shit! Where the fuck did that come from?! I attempt a retreat, hoping the conflict will run it into some other monster, but it just keeps on staring at me. After a few turns, and a few near misses due to my displacement, I manage to take out the pyrolisk. But I'm low on health, most of my scrolls have burned up and potions have boiled and exploded (goddamnit), I'm on fire, and oh yeah, I'm stuck far from the staircase in the big room with no more teleports. Just when things couldn't get any worse, You change into werewolf form! AHHH FUCK! I FORGOT I WAS LYCANTHROPIC! I was going to wait until I was lower on health to pray! The transition tears through my precious cloak of displacement and my armor. Now I'm a weak werewolf, against a wall, low on health, and no armor. Oh! summon help! I wait a few turns to get my energy up, and summon help. I'm instantly surrounded by wolves who came to help, but they too, attack me viciously. Shit! Really low on health now! Way to leave conflict on! I quickly remove the ring of conflict, which first stops my pack of wolves from attacking me as I'm near death, and second makes every monster left in the room make a bee-line for me. I noticed I'm overburdened, and quickly drop any nonessentials so I can make a hasty escape. Lets see if I can figure a way out of this...

My wolf pack takes a few monsters down before dying surprisingly easily, but at least I can put my ring of conflict back on. I'm still low on health, and looking to make my way back to the staircase as a plains centaur and a winter wolf close in on me. While I'm waiting for them to close in on me so I can make some moves around them both, the centaur starts firing its crossbow, and the winter wolf starts shooting its ice beam at me! Fuck this shit! I retreat from my position, hoping I'm fast enough to make it around these monsters, and notice that as I leave my spot, there is a pile of stuff I didn't expect. Shit! I dropped my weapons too! I can't wield anything in this form, can I? Shitshitshit. I gotta go back. Already three spaces away, I return to the line of fire to grab whatever I needed to survive until I changed back to my human form.

Dodging crossbow bolts and ice beams, I make it back to my pile of stuff. Ok, what's here? I need my sword and daggers, *crossbow bolt* and this gray stone, I guess, it probably doesn't weigh much *ice beam* and definitely this wand of lightning, hey wait! I pick up the wand of lightning in my werewolf mouth, and level it at the centaur and winter wolf, making short work of them. Whew! Ok, still need to get out of here, but conflict seems to be less effective than it used to be. It's long past time to get out of here.

Quickly dodging through fighting monsters and missiles, I'm still nowhere near the staircase, and the pack of chickatrices are alternating between turning nearby monsters into statues and making several troublesome moves toward me, when I (luckily?) discover a level teleport trap! Hopefully I'll go up a level so I can go up to level two or something, and get another cloak of displacement. I'm momentarily blinded by a flash of light, and... Went down a level. Oh well, it's still better than where I was, trapped in the big room. I'm somewhat close to the stairs, and this room seems pretty protected. I quickly pray to my god to cure my lycanthropy, and he graciously cures me, but I wasn't low enough on health to heal me. Wow. That was almost terminally stupid. Forgetting I had lycanthropy, and that changing form would destroy all my sweet armor? Geez.

I wait around a bit to heal up, and check my inventory. I've got that cursed cloak that I think is good. It's a "piece of cloth," so I'm pretty sure it's invisibility, but no other armor to speak of... Oh yeah! Those green dragon scales! I put on the loose dragon scales, which helps my armor class a lot less than expected, and put on the cursed piece of cloth, which turns out to be a cloak of protection, but I didn't notice any AC improvement. This is far from ideal, but it's better than nothing. I'll worry about removing this cursed cloak later. I futz with my inventory a bit and heal up enough to venture back to the up stairs. The up and down stairs on the Big Room level are pretty close together, but I can't remember how many were in that area when I was there last. Or more importantly, where those chickatrices were! I still don't have any lizards, and a simple touch from one of those would end my quest!

I continue making my way back to the familiarity of the up staircase area, when I find a neutral altar! Sweet! Now I can sacrifice to my god, get a prayer back in case of some other stupid move, and possibly get Mjolnir! I hang out for a bit and sacrifice a few small monsters that come by. Fuck this, I'm zapping my wand of create monster. I greedily zap the wand and a damn plains centaur appears! Ok, maybe I should have waited until I healed up a bit! I eye my inventory for a way out, and realize that what worked before should work now, and zap it with my wand of lightning, killing it instantly. OK! Lets not try that again! I drag the centaur onto the altar, and sacrifice it for a little luck, but I need more monsters. Understandably gun shy, I leave the wand of create monster alone, and opt to wait around, healing, and trying to coax monsters into the altar room. One room over a hill giant breaks down the door. Shit! I don't need this right now! Please don't throw a boulder at me! It'll block my way back to the altar room! I quickly vacate the corridor for fear a bolder might block it, and luckily, this hill giant didn't seem to have a boulder. It very clearly passes on several opportunities to throw one at me, and closes in to melee me, which is definitely what I prefer. That's it, a little closer... Then it throws a boulder at me. AH FUCK! *WHEW* Dodged it! No longer afraid of boulders, I close in on it, and take it out. The next corridor has a lot of items in it for some reason, I check the pile and see the grave of a dead wizard, and all his kit. Well, most of it is probably cursed, but beggars can't be choosers!

I grab everything that looks useful and check the cursed status on the altar. Most of it is cursed, but some isn't. Quite a few cursed rings, and a pair of cursed leather gloves. I briefly consider the danger of those chickatrices, and decide to put them on. Woot! They lowered my AC by 3! There is an uncursed amulet, but I'll try it out later. My amulet of reflection is too important to me right now. Ok, time to try on some of these rings... Oh wait... I can't take off my cursed gloves to change rings... Genius. Wait, I'll just sacrifice some more and pray, and maybe I'll get lucky. How about this cursed potion? Potions are heavy, and even cursed, they don't usually have game ending consequences. I quaff cursed potion, and discover it's a potion of gain level! But cursed potions of gain level literally make you gain a level. I float up and through to the ceiling, and back into the Big Room! Genius... Well, at least I still have my ring of conflict on, and I found some scrolls of teleport. Here we go!

Back on in the Big Room, I see that I'm actually in a pretty good spot. Pretty much on the opposite side of where I was before, so I'm far from where the monsters were, and they will have to fight their way through each other to get back to me. This might actually work out better than expected! I take a step, and land in a polymorph trap! SSSSHHHIIII--wait! The scales are merging with my body? I'm turning into a green dragon! The transformation destroyed my cursed cloak of protection, and pushes my cursed gloves off of my hands! So... win? Hey! I can breathe poison and lay dragon eggs! Sweet! Never mind, not enough energy since I just transformed, but now I wonder how fast I am... Hey, I seem pretty fast! I dance around the chickatrices, making them run into other monsters, and contribute further to my Big Room statue garden. After the Big Room is pretty clear, I retreat downstairs to relax for a bit, and try out my new form.

[to be continued]

Tired of America? 15 reasons you should seriously consider leaving!

2010-12-13T14:39:00.000-08:00

Confounded by Tea Baggers fighting for the right to work themselves into an early grave?

Can't comprehend why people fight against free government services?

Astounded by America's low standard of living compared to other nations?

Baffled by the disagreement over the government providing basic human rights like health care, food, and shelter?

Exasperated by the violence and hate of this nation?

Tired of The Corporatocracy systematically destroying the American middle class?

Outraged by the American peoples' persistent stupidity at the polls?

Disgusted with the unabashed consumerism of this country?

Plagued by religious zealotry?

Hopeless over The Wealthy Bankers' control over you and the government?

Crushed by the poverty, debt, and hardship the chase for the almighty dollar has gotten you into?

Had your fill of The Working Class?

Well, maybe it's time for a change then! Obviously, we all would prefer to stay and fight for change, but that might not always be the best choice. Would you rather fight for your life, or live your life? What about your children? If you're tired of all these things and more, here are 15 reasons why you should seriously consider moving to another country.

1. Americans are sheep.
The Tea Party is funded and driven by Rupert Murdoch and Fox news. It sprang from nowhere by sheer will of media. Now they rise up against basic human services such as health care. These people will forever be pawns of the media, and they will vote because they were told to be angry. You need to be in a more enlightened country with more enlightened people who care about humans instead of corporations.

2. The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer.
This is the system today. The rich are the ones who run the government with bribes and backroom deals. Do you really think they're going to let you change it? There's an old saying which goes, "If voting could change anything, they'd make it illegal."

3. Obama was the last hope for real change, and the corporatists and made sure he failed. Can anyone really stand against them?
He was the true Hope for Change. But they stopped him at every turn. Even from within his own party. He was the best shot this country had, and they practically lynched him for trying to be that agent of change. Obama was a once-in-a-lifetime guy, who would possibly stand up for the same things after they saw how he was destroyed by the people who are really in charge of this country?

4. America's foundation is in capitalism and greed.
There is no question that America was built on hundreds of years of greed. It is predisposed to be capitalist and corporatist. Why try to change a country whose foundation is the opposite of the change you want, when there are other countries that only need a few manageable changes to become as close to a utopia as humans can achieve?

5. If America really does make the switch to a more socialistic form of government, how effective will it really be compared to European nations?
The political infrastructure is not built for a new economic system. This kind of change requires a lot of time to pull out all the kinks and stops. There is no way America will be a more effective socialist nation than other countries that have had centuries time to get it right.

6. The Constitution guarantees there will always be guns and violence in America.
The second amendment is the second amendment in the constitution, and repealing it was made to be intentionally difficult. In fact, given the current level of divisiveness, it's unlikely we'll get enough consensus to make any amendments in our lifetime. There will always be guns and violence in America. Why fight one of the most powerful documents in this country, when other more enlightened countries have already banned guns?

7. If the military industrial complex really is in control of this nation, what can you really do about it?
Certainly, they are hiding their true power to keep the masses believing they are in control of a democracy, but if they are ever revealed, what can a small percentage of the nation armed with small arms do against tanks, jets, and bombs? There can be no victory against them.

8. The Evangelical Christian Right will always have a stranglehold over this country.
Lets face it, Pat Robertson says jump, and the voting masses say, "How high?" Recent events have proven their power has not diminished, and will likely continue to grow. They're not going anywhere. How can you honestly hope to fight so many of them?

9. If your wildest hopes and dreams for this country really do come true, there will still be over 40% of the population fighting it at every turn.
Why choose the path of most resistance? These people won't change their minds, and they'll use everything available to oppose you at every opportunity. Why fight them? When you could just go to a country that is already where you want it to be?

10. Don't stay just to spite your opponents.
"Because leaving is exactly what they want me to do, so they can take over!" is not a valid reason to stay. Are you really going to keep playing against a stacked deck just because you don't want to give them the satisfaction? This isn't a game. This is your life. You should be living it in a country where they believe what you believe. Not hitting your head against a brick wall because it looks like you may have made some superficial progress. Besides, keeping you engaged in futile arguments is an effective method of keeping you from leaving. Especially when coupled with someone telling you that you actually have a chance of winning.

11. There is no such thing as "American Exceptionalism."
The idea is jingoistic tripe. What's exceptional about people starving in the streets and children not being able to get health care coverage for diseases they are born with? This country is no more special than any other, and claiming so is nothing short of delusional.

12. America was founded by puritans, and will always be run by puritans and religious zealots.
The history of America is clear, and it continues to shape it hundreds of years later. It will never change.

13. Even with the most perfect set of circumstances, the change you're trying to make in this country will not happen in your lifetime.
Why not make the change now, move to a more worldly country, and enjoy it, and let your kids enjoy it? Why choose to fight for change all your life in a country that resists it, only to have your kids fight for it all their lives, so your grandkids must fight to refine the changes in a country that only barely resembles your dreams? Is this really what you want?

14. Get out while you still can.
When people start realizing that the American Dream is dead, and they are nothing but loan interest slaves, do you think the people who are really in power are going to let them leave? Who will work to fund their billions in profits? America will be locked down under the pretense of something terror related, and no one will be allowed to leave.

15. If you truly can't see enough good in America, why torture yourself by staying?
Family can move, and those reluctant now will have the benefit of someone already living in the country of your choice when things get really bad. Minds will quickly change when they see what's coming.

Disclaimer: I'm a capitalist, and don't believe any of these 15 reasons, but I've argued with countless people who do. I've told them that if they really believe all these things they should leave. They usually take this to mean that I want to eliminate them as competition, and take over the country with my ideology, but that's not my goal. If you believe any of these things, and are truly honest with yourself about them, you should seriously consider leaving the country so you can live more happily. Many of the people I've argued with I consider friends, and I want my friends to be happy. I don't care about winning, and neither should someone who believes any of these 15 things. What we should all care about is being happy. Sadly, many of the people I've argued with will never be happy in this country. Why struggle and be miserable when you can just move someplace where things are more to your liking? I think this country, though far from where I believe it should be, is near enough to where I want it to be for me to stay and fight. I stay because I believe it's possible to win. If I believed the same things as many of the friends and acquaintances I've argued with, I would leave, and the above reasons are why. Please don't take this as a push toward the door, but as an honest representation of what I would do, and why, if I believed as you did. Don't let your ego get in the way of your happiness, or the happiness of your children. It's hard to start fresh, but it's worth it to live the life you really think you should live. Start with little steps. Get a passport if you don't already have one. Take some vacation time. Visit some potential countries. See how you like them. Please don't just dismiss this as misdirection from someone who disagrees with you. I've been honest with you, so please be honest with yourself. Wouldn't you be happier in Europe or South America?

Eira the Valkyrie, and the new stratagem

2010-12-08T11:19:00.000-08:00

After a series of promising, but ultimately dead characters, I started reading some ascension posts (posts about winning), and saw that these players were playing kind of fast and loose with their characters. It was risky to dive to sokoban for reflection or all the way to the castle for the wand of wishing, but both of those things exponentially increase your chances of surviving to mid-game. So was it more dangerous to go straight down to sokoban as soon as possible for reflection, or was it more dangerous to meander about, trying to stay alive long enough for the Random Nethack God to figure out a complex set of circumstances that ends in my death? I'd been playing each character like I wanted to keep it alive, but they're all very notably dead. Could being more risky be technically less risky? Only one way to find out. I switch back to the class I have the most experience with, and roll new Valk.

Eira the neutral human Valkyrie enters the Mazes of Menace...

I started out pretty well, found a shop with two cloaks of displacement for only 66 zorkmids. I couldn't buy one fast enough. I then, rather uneventfully, rushed down to sokoban, and solved it with little trouble. The amulet of reflection was mine, and at level 5 I was protected from a good portion of the insta-deaths Nethack can issue. Maybe there's something to this new strategy... Should I make a run for the castle? Why the fuck not?

I continue down, and find a few rings I can't check for cursed status with a pet because they've all died due to somesuch Nethackery, so I just hold on to them in the hopes of finding an altar. A kitten attacks, and I toss it some tripe for a cheap cursed item ID, and abandon it. Don't look at me like that. You knew what this was. I test out the uncursed rings, and find they are conflict and warning! Quite a find. Warning will show me where nearby monsters are, and how nasty they are. Very useful. Conflict will cause all the monsters on the level to fight each other. Extremely useful in certain situations. Later I happen across an uncommon find; a grey stone. It could be a few things, only one is bad, so I test it to make sure it's not a loadstone, and pick it up. Hey, could be a luckstone... Yeah, and a djinni could fly out of my ass and grant me three wishes! It's probably flint. Maybe even a touchstone. I'll check it later, but there's no harm in bringing it along. Despite the unlikeliness, I carry it in my immediate inventory as if it were a luckstone. Just wishful thinking, I suppose.

Further down I enter a new level, and begin searching for the downstairs when I suddenly stop. I furrow my brow and stare. Why the fuck is my ring of warning telling me there is a 5th level dangerous monster around the corner??? The ring of warning uses numbers to show how dangerous the monsters nearby are. If you can't see them, but are near enough, they show up on your map as the number. 5 is the highest I've ever seen warning go, and now I was seeing it extremely early in the game. This can't be right. Its gotta be a chameleon. Just be cool, back away from whatever it is until it changes into something easier to kill... I take two cautious steps toward the upstairs, and think I might have just dodged a bullet. I take another step, and it teleports into the room with me! It's a fucking Arch Lich! It casts a spell, and I'm surrounded on all sides by serious monsters! Among them an ettin zombie, two hill giants, and a goddamn green dragon!

okokok, don't freak out. Check your inventory for something to get out of this. I've got two scrolls of teleport, one cursed, one not. The cursed one will change what level I'm on, and the uncursed one will just move me around on this level. I'd rather deal with the chameleon now, so lets try the uncursed one first, and keep the cursed one in reserve. I read the uncursed scroll of teleport, and wind up two rooms away. I quickly put on my ring of conflict, and make a run for a corridor so I can deal with the monsters one at a time when they show up.

I hear noises from elsewhere, hopefully that ring of conflict is doing something. As I stand in the corridor, two "2"s show up in the room in front of me, but out of my visual range. I poke my head into the room, and see a cockatrice and a scorpion. I didn't know a scorpion was a 2... I back into the corridor and ready the few daggers I have for that cockatrice, when the 2 changes into a 1. I poke my head out, and see a small kobold where the cockatrice once was. It's the chameleon! Kill it while it's still weak! I rush over and kill it, then make my way the scorpion. On the way I see a 2 and a 3 making their way over to this room, so I dispatch the scorpion quickly, and fall back into the corridor. The corridor is at a bit of an angle, so I might be able to see what it is before it has a straight shot at me, so I back into the next room, which turns out to be a leprechaun hall! They're still asleep, so they won't bother us, but if things get hairy I can wake them all up, and with the ring of conflict, they should make for a good distraction. But this room is still a dead end. I hide around the corner, double check my inventory, and wait for the 2 and 3 to make their way to me.

The 2 enters the corridor, and I poke my head around the corner, and see that it's an ettin mummy. I should be able to take him... them?.. It. I position myself so I can hit it as soon as it sees me, and wait for the 2 to round the corner. As soon as its heads appear, I attack. It was tougher than I thought, but I killed it. The 3 suddenly makes a bee-line for me, I'm still at 2/3 health, so I need to know what it is. I wait until the 3 is in the corridor in a position where I can look safely, and peek around the corner. Green Dragon! Ok, it's kind of early for me to try to take one on. I know I have poison resistance... Fuck it. I've got a potion of full healing and a wand of digging in case it gets to be too much. No guts no Glory. I wait for the Green Dragon to get in range, and bash it with my long sword. It takes quite a beating, and gets my hitpoints down to the teens, but I drink the full heal potion, and finish it off in a few more turns. Sweet! Now I have green dragon scales that I might be able to turn into dragon scale mail!

I continue clearing out the rest of the level, and pick up a large cat as a pet. I open the door on the last room in the map, and it's full of chickatrices! I check my inventory and confirm I have a lizard corpse, but no gloves... I try to close to the door, but a chickatrice hops into the doorway! I have no reason to fuck around with these things, so I'm out. I back out of the corridor, slam the door behind it, and lock it. I'll deal with those guys later. Or never. At least my large cat was far enough away to keep from getting locked in with them...

On the way to the stairs down, I run into a gargoyle. I hate gargoyles. I check my inventory and zap it with a wand of lightning, killing it on the first hit. It drops a potion, which I quaff greedily. It was a potion of self knowledge!

You are piously aligned. You are cold resistant. You are warned. You are displaced. You are stealthy. You are fast. You have reflection. You are lucky. You have extra luck. Bad luck does not time out for you. Good luck does not time out for you. You can safely pray.

That's odd... Why all the luck? Oh well, I won't complain.

The next level down is the Big Room, and I've got a ring of conflict! I slip it on and put some distance between me and my large cat. The monsters start fighting amongst themselves, most notably a pack of chickatrices, but the overall flow of monsters is still closing in on me, so I carefully made my way to the down stairs so I'd have an easy escape if it got hairy.

The chickatrices have been making tons of statues out of monsters, but they weren't making it close enough to keep me clear. Or do I want them to stay away? I fight as much as I can, and flee downstairs once surrounded, knowing that some monsters would follow me down.

Sure enough a zombie and a tengu follow me down, it'll be good not to have them around me when I go back up. As I fight them off, a hill giant appears in the doorway, but is far enough away that I'll have these guys out of the way before he gets to me. Suddenly the hill giant zaps a wand of lightning while I'm at half health! Shit! If this doesn't kill me, he's still far enough away to zap me multiple times before I can get to him, and my daggers are all upstairs! Should I escape upstairs? The bolt of lightning streaks toward me, bounces off my amulet of reflection, blinding me, and returns to the hill giant, killing him. Ok, that was close. Or did it just seem close? Whatever. Hill giants usually travel in packs, and the monsters that had surrounded me upstairs didn't seem too tough if I recall correctly, I think I'll hang out upstairs until the blindness wears off.

Back upstairs, I blindly fight off some minor monsters, but one bites me and I feel feverish. Crap! A werewolf! Ok, my god will cure my lycanthropy, but I don't want to use up the godly heal if I'm not near death, because I'm still low on health. I keep fighting, but the monsters seem too resilient. Fuck this, I'm leaving. I escape downstairs.

Eira's quest continues here...

Quick updates

2010-11-30T00:21:00.000-08:00

Things are going pretty well. I have a few promising job prospects, both are better than what I had, as is normally the case. Still running off savings, and we have enough that I don't have to freak out about money while I look for the right job instead of just any job.

I figured that if I ever won the lottery I would retire to some acreage in Montana or Texas or Wyoming, preferably with a quarry, and just fucking relax. Seems like a great idea right? Yeah. See, I've been going nucking futs with all this waiting around. I really thought I'd have an easier time doing nothing. Just play some video games, do some work, hit the range for some .22 practice, and enjoy the time off. Nope. I can't do any of those things unless I force myself. If I don't catch myself, I'll just pace for hours, thinking about jobs and life, and generally driving myself up the walls. I just don't know what to do with myself. Maybe it will be different when I have a few million in the bank, but I just can't sit still. This last week has been the worst because the holiday just shut everything down, and I'm waiting for scheduling on follow up interviews, and I can't call them because they told me they'll be busy going into Thanksgiving, and then Monday rolled around, and I didn't want to bother them today because I know it's the first day back from a long holiday weekend, and blah blah blah. I guess I've just got more stuff to do.

I applied for unemployment benefits after a little goading from friends and family, because I'm not philosophically opposed to unemployment benefits, as long as they're used as intended. That is, a helping hand during a career transition, and not a long term source of income. I did all the stupid paperwork, and weeks later got the first check. It's still sitting on the counter. Filing was one thing, but depositing the check? It's different. I may not oppose unemployment benefits, but that doesn't mean I have to like them. Also, the check is about a third of what I made (exactly how do people live off of this for 99 weeks?)

I've been taking advantage of this time to take some more serious looks at out of state work. It's by no means decided yet, but the plans are definitely moving forward. One of the good opportunities has a lot of people on their team that work all over the country, so being able to move was a bit of a selling point.

I don't lie on my resume or in interviews, but I lied by omission to answer one question asked during an interview in order to conceal my conservative values and general disgust for the way this state is run. When I told my wife about it she asked me why I lied, and I said that for now, I have to be employable in this state, and liberals tend to hate (not disagree with, hate) people who don't conform to their world view. That's why I blog under a pseudonym. Maybe after we move I'll be more open about my identity, but then again, I'm a private person, so maybe fuck off :)

I've been digging back into the California hunting and camping information. Camping isn't that hard, but I want to camp in a place that isn't hermetically sealed from the environment. I want to pitch a goddamn tent, make a goddamn fire, and poop in a goddamn hole. Well, maybe a porta-potty or two wouldn't be so bad. I just gotta get away. I crave that quiet that I only get when I go out to the sooper seekrit desert shooting spot. But California is strongly opposed to letting you interact with anything beautiful about this state. Believe me, if they could wrap plexiglass around every hiking trail they would. I want to feel like part of nature, not just a tourist with a camera. The hunting stuff is just as confounding as ever. The State's websites on the matter are uniformly inconsistent. One wilderness park has maps, marked areas, specific locations, and another has vague mention of separate areas that have different rules. The one thing that is somewhat consistent is that they always recommend just asking at the ranger station, but a few searches has shown many people receiving bad information from random rangers. This is bad. Because depending on the area and the infraction, being unclear about where this zone ends and that begins could mean anything from a scolding to federal prison. So yeah. BLM land seems to be the only truly free place left, but it's almost uniformly dust and scrub in my area. Which isn't really that bad, but what's the point of living in one of the most beautiful states in this country if you can't enjoy it? But for as unhelpful as the state-provided information is, the hunters themselves are even less helpful. I remain astounded at how unwelcoming, and in some cases, hostile a group of people can be who are enjoying a sport that one might conclude they want to keep in existence. I don't know if they got the memo, but hunting is a dying sport in dire need of some revitalization. But I guess they just figure that means more game for them, right? That said, the predator guys seem pretty alright. Predator hunting might be a good way to cut my teeth.

The failure of national opt out day was very disheartening to me. If people aren't willing to suffer a minor inconvenience to make a symbolic stand for freedom, what the fuck are they going to do when confronted with something that actually matters?

In other news, the world is going to hell in a handbasket. North Korea rattles its saber more violently than it has in quite some time, the collapse of the dollar seems closer and more dangerous than ever, drug wars ramp up all over to deal with decreasing demand, Government Motors put out an ad thanking America for their hugely unpopular and widely opposed bailout, Jihadist bomb plots get closer and closer to home every day, liberals pop their collective monocles when they see someone doing that "fishing" thing they read about, Lady Gaga is helping PFCs steal classified information that has the potential to send international relations into a tailspin, and Obama is as impotent as a man who's married to Michelle Obama. Good thing I've got a case of bad news burnout, otherwise I might be concerned.

Bo Burnham is hilarious

2010-11-30T00:18:00.000-08:00

I saw his words words words show and highly recommend it.

Art is dead

[direct link]

Words words words

[direct link]

What has two thumbs and just got laid off?

2010-10-27T10:38:00.000-07:00

THIS guy...

I'm excited.

I've been kind of looking for a new place for a while, and I haven't been challenged there in two years. I think the change was overdue.

My boss didn't want to do two weeks, so right afterward, I showed him and an ex-coworker how to manage some of the undocumented scripts and automation I had done for our patch server, and went over some of the other undocumented job functions I had been doing since our previous round of lay-offs. Then I signed out for my phone (god, I hated that phone) and card, and my former boss and I went out to the parking lot and talked for an hour about the company and my honest opinion of him, my coworkers, and the CEO.

I wasn't a dick about any of that stuff because I didn't feel upset. Like I said, I was excited. I told him he needed to delegate more before he wound up in an early grave. I told him he was trying to balance the company on his shoulders, without asking for any help, and it was taking its toll on him. I told him how one of my coworkers was truly suffering from the low pay. I told him how the CEO revealed to me that he was bored with the job. I told him how it was a privilege to watch the company learn and grow over the 7 years (this month!) I worked there.

Then I shook his hand, said goodbye, turned around, looked up at the sky, breathed the free air, and felt great.

On to the next adventure...

It's a marathon, not a sprint

2010-10-26T11:28:00.000-07:00

Alright, it has been a little over two weeks since I started pounding the pavement, and I quickly discovered that a kickass attitude is no match for burnout.

The first week was easy. Well, it was technically easy. It was hard to get out of bed, and get to Starbucks, but once I was there, and my brain was in gear, there was no stopping me. I may have been more tired than I was used to at the end of the day, but it wasn't that bad.

But after the first week, I started to notice that not only was I more physically tired, I was also mentally tired. Code I had written days before made no sense to me, which wouldn't be the first time, but probably the first time for code I had written so recently, and definitely the first time I could not grok after a few minutes. Frustrated with the confusing code I had written, I decided to just start work on a different segment of code. Except... Nothing was coming out. I just sat there, unable to put two thoughts together. I started just writing whatever came to mind so I could keep track of what I was doing, but I'd forget where I was after a few lines. Then I got really angry with myself for forgetting how to code, and surfed the net idly, stopping periodically to see if I remembered how to code. I didn't. Then I got mad at myself for wasting time, and opened my list of things to read, and started reading about some perl methods I wanted to try out. Except... That didn't make sense either... I was broken, frustrated, and angry. I went home.

The following week I started sleeping through my alarm. No matter how much I turned it up, I slept right through it. And when I woke up an hour or two late, still with time to work, I didn't want to go to Starbucks because I felt like it would be a waste of time and money. So I tried to work at least one hour at home. But I had the same problem. So I just wound up playing Fallout New Vegas. More metaphorical comfort food, but it didn't matter to me, because I knew i wouldn't be able to code.

When the weekend rolled around, I wanted to code, but something always got in the way. I played obscene amounts of Fallout, and honestly had fun doing it. But I still knew time was passing me by.

I overdid it on Sunday, and stayed up too early playing, and fucked up my morning. I still work up early, and actually woke to my alarm this time, but I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything but play Fallout. So I thought about it a bit, and decided to sleep in as much as I could because I was going to work Tuesday.

So two weeks after I declared war on sleep, I slept.

After about 10 hours of sleep, I woke up a new man. Feeling refreshed, and ready to work. I didn't though, because I didn't want to jinx it.

I went to a particularly vexing day of work, came home, unwound with some teevee with the wifey, and got to bed at a reasonable hour.

This morning, I was up on time, got ready for work early, headed into Starbucks, got 2.5 hours of serious coding done, and still had a half to write this post, and head in to work.

tl,dr; I need to start pacing myself. I don't think I've ever worked as mentally hard as I did that week, certainly not on that little amount of sleep. I just didn't think I could induce burnout in a little over a week. Honestly, I'm kind of impressed. But I'm not in it for the short game, and I certainly shouldn't expect to take off at a full sprint with no training. I'm going to try doing half-mornings of non-business stuff in between my business mornings, and generally figuring out the maximum I can do without going over that threshold.

Why Minecraft is fun

2010-10-22T14:26:00.000-07:00

I've often wondered what it was that made Minecraft fun.

It was frustrating trying to explain it to people who hadn't played it, because I just couldn't put my finger on it. But this review hit the nail on the head.

The reason Minecraft is fun is because it's totally random.

The world generation is random.
When you generate a new world, you're seeing something no one else has ever seen before. Everything is new, nothing is planned. That is why discovering amazing naturally occurring land features is so exciting. There was no artist that sketched this and gave it to a team of graphic designers who built it into the game. This is all new, generated just now, discovered by you. Sure, there are rules that go into the creation of these features, but they are still quite random, and still somewhat rare.

The enemy generation is random.
Enemies generate within certain rules, but their generation is still random. There is no pretense of fairness. When you buy a standard game, and you hit a part that you can't quite get past, you'll keep pushing at it or try a different method, because in the back of your mind, there is the knowledge that a company developed this game, and they did not make it impossible. They probably spent tens of thousands of dollars in testing to make sure it was just the right level of difficulty for the potential buyers. There is no safety net in this game. You are entirely at the mercy of the random number generator and a few simple restrictions.

Resource generation is random.
When I find diamond in Minecraft, I get honestly excited. Because it's rare. Really rare. And when I go mining, I have zero assurance of finding any. I'm not fulfilling a mission to find diamond to continue the main story of the game, where I can be comforted by the knowledge that I will find diamond, because I require it to continue playing. If I find diamond, it's because I used a good mining strategy to find a rare resource, not because someone put an objective marker on my map, and handed me a pick.

The situations you can get yourself into are random.
The combination of the random events occurring randomly on randomly generated landscape can lead to some really random situations. You could be out in the light of day, gathering resources, then fall into a cave filled with monsters, and instantly get overwhelmed and killed. You could be out hunting cows to make some leather armor, when it starts to get dark, and you realize you have no idea where you are or where your shelter is. You could be monster hunting with the best weapons, and the best armor, and take a single hit from a spider, and be pushed off the edge of a heretofore unnoticed cliff. You could be spelunking when a creeper sneaks up on you, jump back, missing most of the blast, and watch helplessly as the sand ceiling collapses, suffocating you.

The world is a beautiful, dangerous, unforgiving place.

Finding diamond, building amazing structures, or simply surviving are all the more rewarding knowing that you did it in a very hostile environment with no safety net or promise of success.

It's just you versus the world, and it feels really good to win.

How to cheat at caravan in Fallout: New Vegas

2010-10-22T14:15:00.000-07:00

Caravan is a card-based minigame within Fallout: New Vegas. A whole bunch of NPCs will play it with you, for varying amounts of caps.

It is also incomprehensible.

The rules provided are terrible. A fucking tutorial would have taught in minutes what a giant block of text couldn't explain in hours. But here we are.

There are a number of youtube tutorials on how to play, and to Bethesda's credit, it's actually a pretty fun game once you understand what you're doing, and how to fuck with your opponent. Only problem is, the opponent AI in this minigame is a bit thick (at least so far in the game). Once you get a few tricks under your belt, it's practically a guaranteed win as soon as you start. Maybe later on better NPCs will put up a real fight, but nothing so far. Just free caps.

But if you just need the caps, why bother learning to play, planning out your strategy, or giving a shit? Just do this for free caps forever. (or at least until they patch the obviously flawed rules of their game)

Whoops.

"Brutal" is right.

2010-10-21T18:19:00.002-07:00

[direct link]

From HotAir

EVIL RICH PEOPLE! (Election Shenanigans)

2010-10-21T18:19:00.001-07:00

[direct link]

From HotAir

Quote of the don't ask me, my wife handles that stuff...

2010-10-21T17:30:00.000-07:00

I think women, because -- at least in my household -- tend to have a better sense of the family budget...
~President Obama

Wow.

So the first lady is better at budgeting than the president?

I wish I could say I was surprised.

I guess I'd rather have this running my country.

All partisanship aside, I NEVER want the person with approval and veto power over this country's economy to tell me that his wife is better with money than he is.

Complete disrespect

2010-10-18T15:26:00.000-07:00

Lara Bush would be caught dead looking like this in public.

Whenever I saw Lara Bush on teevee or in print, I quietly appreciated her stately appearance, but expected nothing less of someone in that position.

Obviously, I should lower my expectations.

Repost: Quote of the Collecting History

2010-10-18T13:50:00.000-07:00

The Armed Candian talked about why he buys surplus rifles. It's all right here.

For every "cosmo queen", there is a rifle with a battered stock and a little wear that has a story to tell. Holding a surplus rifle, you can imagine what it was like to carry it into battle. You can picture what life was like for the man who depended on that weapon with his life. Did he clean it and care for it? Or did he toss it aside after a hard days march or fighting? Perhaps it saw the rubble of Stalingrad or Berlin or the icy snows outside Moscow? You may never know the story but someone, somewhere carried a rifle like it with all their hopes and dreams along with it. And perhaps died with it, the last object they ever held in their hands.
~Armed Canadian

Serius bizniss

2010-10-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

Business Partner: Anything else?
Me: Yeah, we need to talk about how we're going to handle the personnel bandwidth issue coming up mid-October.
BP: What? I thought we were doing good on time. What's the issue?
Me: Fallout: New Vegas.
BP: Oh crap.

For you to succeed, I must fail.

2010-10-14T15:30:00.000-07:00

I know that the ideal outcome of a web application vulnerability assessment is that the hacker finds nothing, and reports that the site is very secure.

But that doesn't keep me from feeling crappy when I can't find anything wrong.

Bleh.

Booty Call - The Midnight Beast

2010-10-13T21:33:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

Kiara - Bonobo

2010-10-13T14:51:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

I wished I could stay in that uncomfortable chair at that tiny table in that freezing place all day

2010-10-12T13:30:00.000-07:00

I go to that Starbucks because it's close, opens early, and has free wifi. I dutifully purchase a product to use the space each morning. But I don't like it.

It's cold, the chairs are uncomfortable for long periods, the internet can lag at times, and the tables are tiny. Did I mention it's cold? I don't get cold easily, but I've typed through shivering hands there. Sweater, pants, and shoes are required. I usually wear a beanie too.

But this morning, I didn't want to go to work. I wanted to stay there so I could work on the business.

One of the many people I talked to before deciding to start a business told me that when you work for yourself, you'll never work harder in your life, but you'll love every minute of it.

I only started pounding the pavement last week, and I think I already love it.

Why won't the library open earlier?

Being a good guy

2010-10-12T09:03:00.000-07:00

Last week, my wife dropped me off at the shop where my car was waiting for me. I had already paid for it earlier and had the keys, so I just hopped in and got ready to leave. The mechanic who took care of me ran out, and knocked on my window. Apparently a guy in an RV broke my tail light backing up to leave. He left a complete note with his name, address, and two phone numbers. The damage was very slight. There was a deep scratch in the bumper, and outer plastic of the tail light was broken with no body damage. Perfect broken tail light.

I called him that weekend, and he asked that I get an estimate so he can figure if he's going to have his insurance take care of it, or just pay out of pocket. I said it was no problem, and that I would get some estimates. I was a little concerned about damage I couldn't see, and looked up shops that could get me an estimate. It wasn't until I started considering how much time it was going to take to get fixed that it even occurred to me to change it myself.

I checked eBay, and found I could get a replacement tail light assembly for $70, so I went out to the car, and spent about 30 minutes taking apart all the trunk paneling I could to get to the poorly located nuts that held the tail light in place. I could swap this out easily, and the scratch on the bumper was cosmetic. My car was far from brand new, and scars show character.

I considered asking for $300 to cover the damage, and just replacing the light myself. If I involved his insurance, his rate would very likely go up enough to make a one time $300 expense make sense. He'd be fine with it, and I'd have a little extra money in my pocket during these no OT times. It was the capitalist thing to do. Both people would be happy with the transaction. But one would probably be happier.

The more I thought about it, the harder it was to rationalize. Especially when it would have been easy for him to just drive away. Maybe $200 would be better? I didn't really feel good about profiting from this guy's mistake, but my time was still valuable. Bah, I'll just chalk it up to experience working on the car. $70 for the light, $30 for my labor. An even $100.

I called him up and told him I took apart my trunk to get behind the light, and saw I could replace it myself, and that I found a replacement light on ebay for $70.
John: So how much do you want?
ET: Figure 30 for my time. An even 100.
J: You sure?
E: Sure. [jokingly] But I am kind of giving your a break on my normal hourly rate though.
J: How about $150?
E: If that's what you want to pay, I'll take it.
We set up a meeting at the Starbucks I code at in the mornings.

The next morning he called to say he had arrived, and I told him where to find me. He was a little younger than I figured for RV folk, late 40s early 50s, pattern baldness around a well tanned head, short salt and pepper hair and beard. I half-closed my laptop, and stood slightly to shake his hand.

John: Nice to meet you.
ET: Nice to meet you too.
J: Thanks for being a good guy about this... [he seemed to think, "lord knows this could have gone the other way"]
E: No problem.
J: Well, here's the $150... [counts out $130] Wait a minute... I seem to have lost $20 on the way here. Hang on. [begins toward the door]
E: [I make a quick visual recount] Wait, John, you don't... [he was out the door]
[Is this a game? No. He counted it out in front of me, he's got a note, and he left me with the money. I hide the money under the handwritten notes and pen he brought. No point in leaving it sitting out. He returns, and I decided against making a joke about "what money?"]
J: [He seemed to notice that I looked very at home in my little section of this Starbucks. That's not good. I'm sick of this place already] You here often?
E: Every morning. I'm starting a business and working, so it's 5 every night, here to work on the business, then off to work.
J: Well, it's good what you're doing. [he counts it again and sighs] $130. I just came from the bank, and I got $140 out and had this $10. Not sure where that $20 is, but it looks like it's costing me $170. [takes out his wallet]
E: Forget about it.
J: No, no, I said $150.
E: It's your call, man.
J: Here you go. And I wrote up a quick note saying that I paid you for a broken tail light and bumper damage, if you don't mind signing it.
E: [It was a simple note, nothing lawyerish, not even printed on a printer] Of course. [I signed the simple document, and handed it back to him]
J: Did you want a copy?
E: Not necessary. Actually, there is one more thing... Since the accident, [I rubbed my neck emphatically] I've been having some neck pain...
J: [he grinned broadly] Really? And where were you during the accident again?
E: Well, I was a few miles away, but me and my car... we just have this bond...
J: [laughter]
E: You know, you thanked me for being a good guy about it, but you made it easy by being a good guy first.
J: Well, the first thing I did was go inside to see if they'd give me your number, but they couldn't because of client confidentiality or something, so I left them that note to give to you.
E: Well, I just appreciate you doing the right thing.
J: Thanks for being a stand up guy about this. Well, I gotta get back to my sick wife.
E: Oh! I hope she feels better.
J: It's cancer.
E: Oh...! [I could feel my eyes begin to water slightly. Over empathy strikes again!]
J: [he didn't break eye contact, his face didn't change from the pleasant expression he had the whole conversation, he didn't miss a beat] Don't worry about it, life goes on-- you're young, and you're here, makin' it happen. Thanks again for being a good guy about this.
E: [I barely croaked out:] Thanks. [not what I wanted to say, but it was what came out]

I can't believe I almost profited from this man.

If I said $300, he probably would have been less friendly, and less likely to open up to me. I would have continued on my merry way, $230 richer (or $296 if just got some red brake tape) and never given it a second thought. I would have never known that I created an unexpected expense for this man who's probably going through the hardest time in his life. Hell, even if he told me, there's no way he would have accepted his money back.

He was just some random jerk who smashed into my car, and inconvenienced my life. But after a few minutes with him, I have this connection to him that would never allow me to do what I could have just as easily do to some stranger. But that's what confuses me; technically, he's still a stranger. We're probably not going to hang out later, or talk about how my tail light is doing at the 5 Year Broken Tail Light Reunion. I only know a few things about him, and will probably never see him again, but I'll never regard him as some random jerk again.

This has been something I've pondered for a long time.

Things would be very different if everyone realized that all the nameless, faceless people they pass by every day had the same hopes, fears, ambitions, insecurities, loves, hates, and life that they had.

When people start seeing themselves in other people; how could they do wrong?
~From post A Blog's Purpose

Sure, his problems aren't my problems, and I could have just as easily been self-righteous about giving him a moderately expensive lesson to remind him to be more careful when he maneuvered his RV. He could also just as easily have been fucking with me, and enjoying a big laugh at my expense on the drive home. But I'm glad I did what I did, and the lesson I learned will stay with me.

California budget 100 days late, relies upon magical money shitting goat to close gaps

2010-10-11T15:07:00.000-07:00

Not quite a magical goat, but it might as well have been. They balanced the budget on the expectation that the economy will turn from bust to boom on a dime, and that the feds will give them a bigger allowance this year cuz they've been mowing the lawn, and taking out the trash, and keeping their room clean.

To anyone familiar with California's "maybe we'll win 4.8 billion dollars in the lottery next year" budget planning style, this should come as no surprise. But the fact that they're doing it in the middle of the great ~~recession~~ super happy recovery time, is just salt in the giant sucking chest wound that is California's fiscal liabilities.

Wait a minute... Are the feds the magical money shitting goat??? Maybe they're not so crazy...

Pound the pavement till it bleeds

2010-10-07T11:50:00.000-07:00

Because of a number of factors in my childhood, I was on edge most of the time at home. I didn't sleep in because my mom wouldn't let me. There was always something to do. When I moved out, I worked mornings, and sleeping wasn't possible. After my hours got changed to evenings, for the first time, I could sleep in without worry of disturbance. After trying it out a bit, I realized I really liked not having to do anything.

I was now able to wake up, and feel joy that I didn't have to get up, and could go back to sleep. I started doing it every weekday (on weekends it felt like a waste of free time), and I enjoyed it. I did this for about 3 years.

Since work started kicking up, I started to feel down. I used to have more fun at work, but with the recession, understaffing, and elimination of overtime, work has just been draining me.

It was a medium-sized push, but I was already close enough to the edge for some reason to start feeling depressed again. Since I had fought it so well before, it took some time for me to recognize the old symptoms. My mind would automatically avoid the thought, because that starts the spiral, so I had to come to the realization somewhat obliquely, but there it was.

At this point, I was relying on metaphorical comfort food to keep my mood up. I found the FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU sub-Reddit, and it was guaranteed lolz for me. Hanging out at the top of the board on Modern Warfare 2 on Xbox Live for hours was fun, but wore off quickly when I stopped. Enjoying my wife's company was great, but as soon as she left, so did the feeling.

I stopped blogging anything of substance, I hated work, I hated the feeling I got after an 8 hour session of MW2 pwnage, I hated checking the FFFUUUU subreddit and seeing there was nothing new because I checked it 10 minutes ago, I never felt like going to the range, I had no drive to code, and I acted like an unmotivated employee in the company I co-owned.

I knew I was depressed, but was afraid to admit it to myself because the source of my depression had changed, and I wasn't sure how to address it.

Realizing how big the world is and how small you really are is great for when you're getting caught up in the small stuff. But this was different. I was comfortable with where I was, and somewhere in my mind, I knew I was doing something wrong.

Then I saw some drawings on FFFFUUUU based on a comment from Ask Reddit. I tracked the comments back, and read the original post, and the comments referenced.

Original post
One of many responses;

Three words; wake up early. Wake up every day at the crack of dawn. Beat the sunrise like a boss. 5 AM is ideal. Tired? Fuck that. By waking up early every day, you take control of your entire day. The first thing you should do when you wake up is not think "Fuck I'm tired..." but "FUCK YEAH ANOTHER DAY I LIVE!" and plan your day accordingly. Write down goals all the time and circle the ones you have not completed yet in the morning. Conquer every day. Do not let the day control you. Sleep every day early unless your goal needs to be completed that day. You can either enjoy the indulgences of lethargy and then drown in regret or take the pains of goals and live a champion.
~ihaveacalculator

The response to the above that I saw first;

Three words reiterated: Wake thefuckup earlier. Fuck dawn, be awake for that as well. Wide awake. Leave your house while dark, grab a coffee, and attack nature. Climb a mountain, surf a wave, dive a trench, or pound pavement until the concrete bleeds. I don't know where you fucking live. But seize it. See those dark windows as you're running by? They don't know what the fuck they are doing with their lives. You do. And your gonna fucking win it all. Graphic design the shit out of your life too. Dont have art on your walls? Fucking make it! Lost your pet? Put some fucking signs up. Even if you didnt, make some anyways! Practice the shit out of what you love, and it'll love you back like your bitch. Yea your short. So fucking what. Bet you one day living like its yours, and every person in the world will look up to you. Just don't ever fucking stop. Not for anyone, and not for anything, until you can look back on your life and say fuck yeah. I did that. I did it all.
~news_and_coffee

The specifics of the motivation are as unimportant as the typos and grammatical errors. The main points for me were the last line of the first comment, and the motivation of the second.

You can either enjoy the indulgences of lethargy and then drown in regret or take the pains of goals and live a champion.

When I read this I remembered making the conscious decision that I was going to sleep in and be lazy because I had never been able to do so before. I actually decided to be lazy. Three years later, I was close to the edge, and work troubles pushed me over. Now that I could see what I was doing, I could see how I had rationalized it all this time.

I wasn't oversleeping, I was sleeping at least 8 hours, which is what doctors recommend.
I didn't need to work harder at the business, coding was easy enough for me that I just needed to code, and the rest would come.
Shooting is expensive, and I'm already good enough with my .22s. Plus it takes all day to drive out to the desert where I can shoot larger rifles.
Work is annoying, but I power through it, so it's OK.

Even though these rationalizations aren't technically lies, it was obvious they weren't working for me. I needed to change. I didn't used to be like this. I kicked ass and took names to get where I am today. I had that "don't tell me what I can't do" spirit. Where is that guy?

Oh.

He's sleeping.
He's procrastinating.
He's looking for the quick fix.

He's acting like every other person you see out in the world, wandering around aimlessly, looking for a quick shot of pleasure, and waiting for the next big thing to happen to them.

And he's not going to have ANYTHING to show for his actions in 10 years.

Which brings me to the second comment;

Wake up early and pound the pavement till it bleeds.

The comfortable life is a phantom temptation. It creeps up on you, and whispers into your ear;

"Hey, things are going pretty good right now. They're not incredible or anything, but they used to be much worse. Remember those times? All you gotta do now is tread water, and you'll never have to live those times again."

Beat the comfortable life like it owes you money.

The motivated people I read about and listen to are never satisfied. They want more, and when they get it, they want even more than that.

My misanthropy stems from a severe abhorrence of mediocrity. It's like I can see the skates many of the people around me are coasting through life on. Just hoping the bump into something good. Sometimes they run out of steam, and have to push a little. Sometimes they bump into something good. Sometimes other people give them a push toward a goal. But they're just coasting.

Well, I finally looked down, and somewhere along the way the ass-kicking boots I put on years ago turned into skates. The world was passing around me and I wasn't doing anything about it because I was afraid I forgot how to walk.

FUCK.

THAT.

I'm meant for bigger things.

I'm getting up at my equivalent of dawn, getting away from my distractions, and pounding my equivalent of the pavement till it bleeds. I'm going to practice what I love until it loves me back. And I won't stop for anything or anyone until I can look back and say, "Fuck yeah. I did that. I did it all."

Changing your life is hard, and it's a lot harder to kick yourself in the ass when you're lying down in bed, groping for the alarm when your eyes haven't started working yet. I recorded a message to my tired self from my kick-ass self, and I listened to it this morning... Sure, it took a few times before I actually got up, and I'm cold, and hungry, and tired in this Starbucks, and my car has been in the shop for 5 hours longer than I thought it'd be, but I've been getting shit done for 6 hours now, and it's not even 2. Today, I got 5 hours of work done before the time I would have gotten out of bed two days ago.

I was lucky enough to record the big picture things I need to do during the moments of clarity in the fog I was coasting through, so I've got plenty to work on.

I know it's hard, but nothing worth doing is easy.

I've done enough hard things to know that they get easier to do if you keep doing them, and if you keep doing them long enough...

They come as naturally as breathing.

So that's the goal.

Rebuild myself once more.

Become that guy again.

And I'm gonna fucking win it all.

Mad Rush - Philip Glass

2010-10-06T16:03:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

I've been discovering Steve Reich lately, and this was on one of his playlists. I usually have the music playing in the background as I work or do something else, but when this came on, about half way through I realized that I wasn't working. I was just listening, staring right through my computer screen, and letting the music move me. Music should move you like that.

Marko called it.

2010-10-06T14:32:00.000-07:00

[Regarding health care as a right] You cannot have a right to something that necessitates a financial obligation on someone else’s part. [snip] Calling it a "human right" sort of makes a mockery of the term, since actually treating it like a human right would make a whole class of professionals slaves to the rest of us.
~Marko

NY Times op-ed: Doctors should start working weekends for the good of us all.

Homeless man under pressure

2010-10-06T14:02:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

This is a relation of one of my coworkers, he's a performer, and looking to raise awareness for the homeless.

I laughed until I peed a little

2010-10-05T20:36:00.000-07:00

Top Gear is one of my favorite shows.

Priceless: Dem tries to explain how a job is created

2010-10-05T19:26:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

They should have asked him how a job is destroyed. He knows the answer to that, but he just doesn't realize it's the answer he gave to create a job.

From HotAir

Smooth Obamatron hits a segfault, gets stuck in a loop

2010-10-05T17:42:00.000-07:00

George Snuffleupagus interviewed President Obama, and just had to ask the question every Democrat must be asking while November approaches the Democrats in the same way an asteroid approached the dinosaurs;

STEPHANOPOULOS: How deep is your commitment to this fight? Are you saying that if Congress passes a short term extension of all the tax cuts, you're gonna veto it?

OBAMA: George, here's what . I'm saying is that we've got a fundamental choice about this economy... [tl;dr blah blah republicans' fault]

STEPHANOPOULOS: Does that mean you will veto an extension of tax cuts to the wealthy?

OBAMA: What I am saying is that if we are going to add to our deficit by $35 billion, $95 billion, $100 billion, $700 billion, if that's the Republican agenda, then I've got a whole bunch of better ways to spend that money.

STEPHANOPOULOS: But you're not saying you're gonna veto it.

OBAMA: There are a whole bunch better ways to spend the money.

STEPHANOPOULOS: How come you don't want to say veto?

OBAMA: There are a whole bunch better ways to spend the money.

ERROR! ERROR! DOES NOT COMPUTE! Conflict between prime directive 1 and 2!

Prime directive 1: Soak the rich
Prime directive 2: Preserve Democrat leadership
Prime directive 3: Golf

Engage subroutine &doubletalk;
RETURN: "There are a whole bunch better ways to spend the money."

Source video

Meanwhile, the Democrats in Congress are doing the same thing;
Reporter: Hai guise! Wanna propose legislation to extend Bush's tax cuts for the middle class? You look like you could really use a boost and you already concede that this needs to happen.
Congressional Dems: ERROR! ERROR! DOES NOT COMPUTE! Conflict between prime directives! ONE: Never cut taxes. TWO: Preserve Democrat leadership.
Reporter: What?
Congressional Dems: We're going to wait until after November.
Reporter: But shouldn't you act now, before Republicans get into power, and take the credit for passing it? Pushing it through now is a no-brainer win for you guys, and might spare you a few seats!
Congressional Dems: *BZZZT* We're going to wait until after November.

Music for 18 Musicians by Steve Reich (Beginning)

2010-10-04T20:39:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

This is incredible.

The next one is here, but be warned, there are 10 of them.

Three

2010-09-30T21:47:00.000-07:00

Empire Of The Sun - Country

[direct link]
Whereupon you will find the single greatest comment ever made in the history of internets;
I listened to this song taking a dump. It changed my life forever. The unreality of my dump.~unicornrida4life

Bonafied Lovin - Chromeo

[direct link]

This next one was so good, I almost gave it its own post. Do yourself a favor and watch it in HD.

Ametsub - Repeatedly [Mille Plateaux]

[direct link]
Found here

San Diego pays $35k to settle unloaded open carry case

2010-09-30T21:23:00.000-07:00

BIG win for the Calguns Foundation, and gun owners in California!

Full recount of the story

Results

Suck it Lori Saldaña! We owe it all to you being outfoxed by Ca Republicans at the end of the last legislative session!

Boxer campaign hires day laborers to hold Fiorina protest signs

2010-09-30T18:15:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

From Big Government

War is hell.

2010-09-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

Sample panel of the whole comic.

[clicky for full comic]

The nanny.

2010-09-30T13:17:00.000-07:00

Democratic Congress: Alright Barack, we're going to go on recess to go campaign! Be good while we're gone!
Barack Obama: Geez! Don't worry guys, I told you I'm old enough to work without congressional oversight!
DC: Yeah, well, you haven't exactly inspired a lot of confidence lately.
BO: I can't believe you're saying that! I have too been responsible!
DC: Really, young man?
BO: Well I may have slipped up a few times, but obviously you trust me now, because you're leaving me home alone!
DC: ... Not exactly.
BO: WHAT?!
DC: Yeah, we're having the neighbor keep an eye on you, and if he sees anything we don't like, we're coming right home.
BO: GAWD YOU GUYS!!!

The Slide (Day) - Minecraft

2010-09-29T14:56:00.000-07:00

[direct link]

Same slide at night, different music.

The law of unintended consequences

2010-09-29T14:30:00.000-07:00

El Reg: Car wrecks rise after texting bans imposed

Larry Elder had a better idea for why texting bans increase accidents.

Tell people the cops are looking for them texting, and instead of texting with the device high up on the steering wheel where they won't have to move their eyes so much, people will text with the device down in their lap where they have to take their eyes further from the road.

GM union workers working drunk and stoned didn't surprise me

2010-09-28T18:24:00.000-07:00

That they actually got fired, did!

Seemed appropriate considering the flips and reversals

2010-09-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

Quote of the trains to where exactly?

2010-09-23T13:36:00.000-07:00

My biggest worry is that, in times of national crisis, when nobody's working and everyone's afraid the currency will blow up, people want to vote for someone who promises to make the trains run on time without ever asking where exactly those trains are headed.
~Tam

I knew Tam had some serious snark skills, but that last line is godlike.

Inception Trailer A Capella Re-Dub

2010-09-22T23:39:00.000-07:00

I LOL'd with reckless abandon.

[direct link]