Why is it that I always end up with a shopping cart with squeaky wheels? I pick one out at random, from the group hanging out in front of the super market, and I invariably end up with the one that does has a stand-up act and whose finisher is its famous imitation of a mouse squeaking his love for life and the spring and the glory that is nature.

Not all shopping carts squeak the same. There’s the timid squeaker. This agreeable shopping cart will squeak occasionally. Just a timid, little squeak to let me know that it is alive and that it is contemplating the state of my sneakers.

Then there’s the continuous, but considerate squeaker. This one will squeak without a pause, but not too loudly. It’ll let you carry out a conversation while it provides the background sound effect. Nothing too obtrusive, just a hum, you know, like every spaceship has on a sci-fi show. Except that it isn’t a hum but is a “squeakysquakysqueaksqueakysqueak.”

Then there’s the loud obnoxious squeaker. It’ll squeak at the top of its mechanical lungs without a break. Like a bullfrog in the springtime, except that it does not croak but goes “SQUEAKYSQUEAKYSQUEAKYSQUEAK.” It takes savage pride in the fact that every one in the supermarket can hear it. Heck everyone in the supermarket in the next town can hear it.

Finally, there is the shopping cart that is the essence of pure evil. This villain bides its time until the moment is right. Lurking in the shadows pretending to be that rarity, a completely silent shopping cart. It bides its time until you notice that hot woman who strides the aisles with an admirable disdain for restrictive clothing, and gather up the courage to smile at her. And as you make eye contact it hollers “SQUEAKAFUCKINGSQUEAKEDYOURASS
SQUEAKSQUEAKITYSQUEAKSCREECHBOOM
BANGSQUEAKTADAAH” with every bit of energy in its metallic body. And as you try to slink away unnoticed it laughs at the top of its voice, “SQUEAKHAHASQUEAKHAHAHA.”

Incidentally, I did have a completely silent shopping cart today. It was wonderfully mute and picking out my eggs, milk and cereal was a pleasure.

…Until the left front wheel fell off in the parking lot.

Somebody please stop the reality television. There seem to be six hundred reality shows on television today, each with their version of reality. There’s one with Hulk Hogan and his family, there’s one with a fat actor from Predator 2 trying to lose weight, there’s one where a bunch of hicks are un-hickified by a rich lady, whose only claim to fame is that her daughter is a dirty ho and there’s one where teenagers get plastic surgery.

I’d like a channel where they aren’t looking for the next big pop star, and aren’t interested in the reactions of attractive people to the knowledge that they are going to be eating maggots. A channel where I do not have to see the inner lives of drunk and stoned celebrities, their spouse(s), their mutated spawn and their disgusting pets. A channel where reality TV means the News.

One exception. FX is running 30 days with Morgan Spurlock, a reasonably good fish out of water series. It takes people out of their normal milieu, dumps them into a lifestyle far removed from that and lets them squirm for my vicarious pleasure. I’ve seen a couple of episodes so far, one with a homophobe living with a gay roommate in San Francisco and another with a conservative heartland Christian living with a Muslim Family in Dearborn.

Predictably, both the subjects undergo sea changes in their attitudes at the end of their respective months.
Were the changes genuine or were they hammed up for the camera? I haven’t a clue. However, it’s good entertainment. I suppose that that is all that matters.

The wrong definition of atheist from Dictionary.com:
One who disbelieves or denies the existence of God or gods.

The correct definiton of atheist from Miriam-Webster.com:
One who believes that there is no deity.

To the people in charge of the Uni-mart at the corner of Atherton and Allen, when I ask for a roll of quarters I want a roll of quarters. I do not want a packet of Trojans.

If I did want a packet of condoms (yeah right!), I would say, “Ahem ahem er um can you give me that latex anti-reproductive device.”

I do agree that it is a bit strange to have someone pop by at four in the morning and ask for a packet of chips and a roll of quarters. However, I was hungry, I needed to do my laundry and I keep odd hours. Perfectly reasonable isn’t it?

To recap, in future, when I ask for a roll of quarters do not hand me a packet of condoms.

Clarification: I was sober and unfortunately was returning from my lab, and not from a hard night of partying.

A summary of events so far.

December 2003, the Dept. of Computer Science and The school of Information Science and Technology move into this building, variously refered to as “That architectural marvel”, “A landmark building” and “A concrete vision of the future” by the establishment, and referred to as “That functionally useless pile” by yours truly.

But I digress. That was not the point of this post. Onto today’s episode.

The point of this post is that the building vibrates. It vibrates like a humming bird on caffeine, like the string of a guitar, like California during a little one. As you may imagine, the denizens of the building, phlegmatic though they may be, do notlike this. Especially graduate students, who are delicate wonders of nature and will wilt in an environment which is in the least bit harsh. So they complained and so did a few others I guess.

The response, Linda M. Hanagan, PhD, PE states, “it is recommended that the occupants be assured that the vibration levels observed are in no way an indication that the floor structure was insufficiently designed for strength. In fact, the amplitude of motion observed is so small it is nearly insignificant from a structural strength point of view. It should also be noted that it is unlikely that a cost effective alteration to alleviate the problem can be found. In the beauty of soaring cantilevers is also flexibility that can result in perceptible vibration levels.”

A dissection of this response.(I’m resisting the urge to put in bullets here)
“L**** * ********, PhD, PE”.
Translation: I’m smart and you are not, so shut the fuck up. kthxbye.

“It is recommended that the occupants be assured that the vibration levels observed are in no way an indication that the floor structure was insufficiently designed for strength.”
Translation: Vibration is good.

“In fact, the amplitude of motion observed is so small it is nearly insignificant from a structural strength point of view.”
Translation: Vibration is still good.

“It should also be noted that it is unlikely that a cost effective alteration to alleviate the problem can be found.”
Translation: Well, it really isn’t all that good, but after spending sixty million on this building, we’re fucking broke.

“In the beauty of soaring cantilevers is also flexibility that can result in perceptible vibration levels.”
Translation: Vibration is still good. In fact it is better than good. Vibration has been known to cure the common cold, short sightedness, baldness and even erectile dysfunction. It isn’t a coincidence that Vibration and Viagra both start with “vi”.

I’m pickin’ up good vibrations
She’s giving me excitations
I’m pickin’ up good vibrations
(oom bop bop good vibrations)
She’s giving me excitations
(oom bop bop excitations)
Good good good good vibrations
(oom bop bop)
She’s giving me excitations
(oom bop bop excitations)
Good good good good vibrations
(oom bop bop)
She’s giving me excitations
(oom bop bop excitations)

Deleted- because blogging when your code decides to bend you over, and treat you like an Ottoman soldier interrogating Sir Lawrence is a bad idea.

Chilli has apparently decided to book tag me. So here goes.

I read the back of cereal boxes. Sometimes I read captions for advertisements.

That’s it.

Fine, I’ll complete the tag later. “grumble grumble”.

Click here. Trust me, it’s for your own good.

Paperback writer

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
Based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

It’s the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn’t understand.
His son is working for the Daily Mail,
It’s a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

Paperback writer

It’s a thousand pages, give or take a few,
I’ll be writing more in a week or two.
I can make it longer if you like the style,
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

If you really like it you can have the rights,
It could make a million for you overnight.
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer.

Paperback writer

Paperback writer – paperback writer
Paperback writer – paperback writer

Sweeping generalizations and ill informed assumptions used to justify absurd conclusions.

I am occasionally guilty of this sin. Bite me.

Absurdity…I’m too polite to call it stupidity. I’m being diplomatic. It’s one of the many things that I’m good at. One of the other things I’m good at is plugging someone’s unsuspecting ass with a crossbow in the Stalkyard.

I’m too tired to sleep. I’m stretched out on this couch with a boneless languor that only a grad student who has no time to stretch out can achieve. The apartment is a mess. I would blame my roommates but…Oh what the hell I’ll blame them. It’s entirely their fault. Execute them.

Yawn.

I really did yawn. And I decided to share that with you.

Small gripe. Code that works on one browser should fucking work on another.

Good night.