Sunday, January 29, 2006

Why Dragons?

You’ve probably noticed a certain fascination I have with dragons. I tend to idolize people or things that embody the qualities that I admire. To help you understand why I chose dragons, here’s a little thing I wrote about 8 or 9 years ago when I first learned HTML. (I have since taken down that web page it was a fine example of an amateur’s first page.)

Love Thy Dragon

Whether in the realm of reality or imagination, dragons are nothing short of fascinating. These wonderful creatures are the embodiment of majesty, wisdom, and raw power. They fear nothing.

They come in all sizes, shapes, colors and temperaments. Their diversity reflects ours. The dragon is beautiful, and we must do our best to educate the ignorant ones who would vanquish them.

They are creatures of legend, often misunderstood. We fear what we don’t understand. We must open our eyes and see the dragons that live among us. We must open our hearts and learn to love them. And finally we must open our minds, because we have so much to learn.

I’ve seen this passage show up on various other sites without crediting me. So if you see it one day, it’s mine dammit!

One thing I forgot to mention is they can fly! I’d love to fly, and I don’t mean airplanes. Flying dreams are my favorite. I also wouldn’t mind being able to lift cars over my head like they were made of styrofoam. So basically I’d like to be Supergirl. But in the meantime I’ll settle for Geeky Dragon Girl with her meager powers of sarcasm, imaginary dialog and general computer geekery.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

What am I, 14 again?

I just got back from a birthday sleepover. What am I, 14 again? We watched movies all night, crashed there, and then watched movies all day. I feel like such the slug. The only time I saw daylight was when I volunteered to go pick up some ice cream. What’s a day of sloth and sluggishness without ice cream?

The funny thing is I kept thinking, “I havn’t written anything in my blog today!” I actually tried to this morning. I woke up before everyone else and booted up their computer. That thing had so many security settings turned on in their browser I couldn’t even log into Blogger. It was quite annoying. Probably something to do with cookies being blocked. So rather than messing with their setup, I decided to deprive you all of my witty and generally pointless postings until now. Instead I checked their computer for spyware and found two of them. So much for their uptight security.

Anyway, now I’m full of pizza and ice cream, sitting in front of the computer. I feel like I need to go jog 10 miles to make up for the gluttony and malaise. Only I hate jogging. Makes me wheeze. I am an asthmatic geek, how typical. Maybe I’ll go stare at the treadmill awhile and imagine myself on it for 10 miles instead. Nevermind, Big Pest and Little Brat and staring at me and trying to use their doggie mind tricks to get me to take them around the block. I think it’s working.

Friday, January 27, 2006

Meet the Furballs

On occasion I’ve mentioned my little happy yappers. It’s time you met them. I had a little chat with them and they told me they would prefer to keep their names anonymous. They are, after all, very cute and would develop stalkers of some kind if someone could Google their names… according to them. Whatever. You’re furballs, what do you know? Ouch. Please stop that squeaky barking.

Okay, so there are two of them. The bigger one is named T- ...What? Oh for crying out loud, fine! Let’s call him BIG FAT PEST! ...Will you shut up? No not you, I’m talking to the dog. Okay, he’s not fat. Let’s call him Big Pest. His smaller, more hyperactive friend is named… nevermind. We’ll call her Little Brat.

Big Pest enjoys long, moonlit walks around the block, cuddling and begging for whatever’s on your plate. At 12 pounds he’s a little big and kinda muscular for a chihuahua. He’s a sweet, mellow boy, until he thinks a stranger is invading his turf. Then he turns into a bristling, loud guard dog. I call this photo his “I’m Too Sexy for Your Camera” pose.

Little Brat is only 6 pounds and very fast. She prizes staying warm very much, but will venture out from under the blanket in winter to steal bones and chewies from Big Pest, go for a walk, or bark madly at any random noise believed to be an intruder. Other dogs make her go absolutely nuts—she will not hesitate to pick a fight with a Doberman (since she thinks she is one). She is slightly neurotic and has obsessive compulsive licking behavior.

So now you’ve met my furry little children. Are they annoying? Yes. Do I love ‘em? Absolutely!

The pressure is on

Ever since discovering The Bitches, I’ve been checking out their site every day, and not because I’m expecting them to have reviewed my blog already (too soon for that). They’re just so wickedly snarky all the time, I can’t decide if I’m in awe or just jealous because I’m not that fearless. In other words, they are freaking hilarious! Especially this one (skip down to #3), it had me giggling like a 12 year old girl for days.

Anyway, I know I really have to wean myself off this Blogger template. I’ve taken the first step and designed a title banner thingy. You likey? Last night I started coding a brand new template from scratch. I like the colors on this one, so I’ll probably stick with them, but hopefully it’ll be different enough to look like my own creation. I’m on a mission and the pressure is on!

I just reminded myself of that 80’s song “The Heat is On”. Who was that, Glen Fry? Frye? Whatever. The saxophones just won’t stop playing in my head! “The heat is on!” (Well, not really, my house has no heat, remember?)

Thursday, January 26, 2006

What's that on my desk?

Uh oh, it's Elmo

I heard on the radio this morning that they’ve come up with a new talking Elmo book. As if that alone wasn’t enough to scare me, there seems to be a bit of controversy around this one. On pressing one of the buttons, he’s supposed to be saying “Uh oh, it’s time to go!” (Does it also pee on cue?) However when you play it, it sounds like “Uh oh, it’s time to die!” I didn’t think that could be possible, the two words don’t even rhyme. But then they played it over the radio, and sure enough you hear the tinny little demon voice gleefully informing you that it’s time to die. I was laughing so hard, you have to hear this! (Links to a video clip. Actual clip plays after a commercial. Sorry, it was the only one I could find.)

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius...

I decided to put my age in my Blogger profile, more to remind myself than anything else. No, seriously. On my birthday last year my coworkers were asking me how old I was. I told everyone I had just turned 31. I went on believing that for the rest of the day, until I got home and opened a birthday card from an old classmate that said, “I can’t believe we’re 32 now.” I was all, “Really? Oh, but, I thought… really?” I did the math and she was right, I was wrong.

Understand this is coming from a girl who relies on her watch to tell her if it’s Thursday or Friday.

Of more interest though is the Chinese zodiac sign that they list if you put your birth year into your profile. I’m the year of the Ox—slow, methodical, reliable, stable, strong, reserved, not very creative, and stubborn. I’m also an Aries by the monthly zodiac—courageous, outgoing, likeable, creative, impatient, headstrong, high energy and initiative, and… stubborn. My two signs are almost like polar opposites, and yet I find I’m a weird combination of both. But they both have one thing in common: I’m stubborn, stubborn stubborn!

Smile? Are you TRYING to annoy me?

I have one of those faces that, while relaxed, makes me look depressed or angry. I don’t know which, I guess it depends on who you talk to. I’m not sure what it is, maybe the corners of my mouth point down when I’m not actively smiling. Maybe I look droopy. I don’t know, it’s something. Whatever this something is, some people take it upon themselves to try to cheer me up. Now this is fine considering their intentions, but so many of them go about it completely the wrong way.

The worst of these are the ones who tell me to smile. “Smile!” they’ll tell me with an expectant Mary Poppins expression on their faces. Oh, is that an order? I was deep in thought about something until you decided to interrupt me with your “good deed for the day”. Did I somehow offend you with my expressionless face? Oh you thought I was sad? Well you read wrong! And even if I was sad, would you bossing me around telling me to smile make me feel any better? Or maybe you thought I was angry? Well maybe I am. Even if I wasn’t, I sure would be now. Why don’t you mind your own business? If I wanted to talk to you I would look you in the eye. And even if I looked you in the eye, that still doesn’t give you permission to annoy me with your misguided intentions.

I’m not naturally a bitter person, but an entire lifetime of people telling me to smile deserves at least one ranting blog post about it.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Victory at last

Most of you could care less about my Tivo trials and tribulations, but I’ve been wrestling with the networking problem for so long I just have to comment about it when I finally kicked its hairy electronic butt this evening. Ooh yeah, I did it! I watched the angry “what’s wrong with you” screen change into the happy “connection successful” screen. You should have heard my victory whoop and seen my victory dance. The dogs heard it. They immediately started a barking frenzy, assuming there was an intruder in the house since I don’t whoop on regular basis. Whooping is good. You should try it.

As for my victory dance, well, let’s just say I’m glad there were no video cameras around. It was shameful. Not even comical. It was just… sad. (Sad but happy!) As I’ve reported in a previous post, I have no skills in that department. I probably injured some furniture in the process.

But boy was I happy.

My Tivo does not love me

I was doing just fine with the Tivo hooked up to the phone line. But then the phone line went weird and we can only get incoming calls, no outgoing calls. There’s just no dial tone. The bastards at the phone company say they can’t get here to check on it until Saturday. Is this not a frickin disruption of service?

Okay, whatever, they’re the monstrous utility company and I just have to take it like a good little consumer. In the meantime my Tivo is about to run out of its subscription information. It can’t dial out, meaning it can’t update its recording schedule, meaning it won’t record anything. Big fat bummer!

I then decide to hook it up to my home network. I never bothered with it before because the phone line was so much easier. So much easier. I’ll leave out the boring technical details, but suffice it to say that the Tivo really needs to have some user interface settings to choose from. I want to be able to click a button that says “For the Technically Inclined” and then I can go in and change all the nit-picky little parameters that are preventing me from getting the setup right. Those who don’t want to deal with this and prefer the pretty interface can click on the “Everyone Else” button to let the Tivo set everything (incorrectly) for you.

Incidents like these make me feel like less of a geek, less proud of my obviously limited intellect. Technology should be predictable, not wonky and temperamental. How else am I supposed to appear more capable than I actually am?

Breakin' the Law

So we’re trying to refinance our gargantuan loan so that the monthly ouch is a little less. An appraiser was sent to our house to evaluate the improvements we made to determine how much more our house is worth now (crossing fingers, big bucks, no whammies!) The appraiser is a pleasant old man with a clipboard. After looking at this and that and jotting lots of notes, he turns to us and asks me, “I was looking for a heater, how do you heat the house?” I stare at him blankly and say, “Uhh.... blankets?"

See, the old furnace under the house was leaky and therefore dangerous, so we had it disconnected. The wall heater in the den was ugly, and useless since the furnace was disconnected, so we had it ripped out. The floor heater in the living room was even uglier and I’d already dropped multiple objects down the grill, so we had it covered up since it was using the same disconnected furnace. So bottom line, we have no heating, unless you want to count the oven.

The appraiser, patient as can be, replies,"I mean, do you have an electric space heater in a wall? A gas floor heater? How do you heat the house?” Again I stare at him with wide eyes and go, “Umm.... heavy jackets?” He chuckles and informs us that city codes require all houses to have some kind of heating system. And little portable electric ones don’t count. I don’t see why not. Isn’t a portable one better than one stuck in a wall?

Apparently not. He’s unimpressed by the 6-inch tiny heater/fan I pull out of the closet. But like I said, he was a nice guy. He sat for awhile figuring out a way for us to get around this remodeling error without reporting it to the city. He finally decides to report that the old heating system was removed and that we are in the process of having a new one installed. Half truth, half fib. Thank you mister appraiser dude!

So here I am, an outlaw. Violating building codes left and right. How do I live with myself?

Monday, January 23, 2006

How can you tell when a cookie is getting old?

When the first bite you take tastes vaguely like Play-Doh. With chocolate chips in it.  Just thought you all should know. And yes, as a matter of fact I have tasted Play-Doh. Without the chocolate.

It's time for American Idol, finally.

I finally got around to watching the American Idol auditions the other day… for the first time ever! Let me just say, wow. It utterly amazes me the vast quantities of people, the thousands upon thousands, who are so completely delusional with inflated senses of self importance and ability. “I know I can make it, I just need to be given a chance!” Uh… no you can’t. Not while you’re singing through your nose like that. Go back to karaoke please.

Do these people listen to themselves? They think they are it. I mean seriously, they really believe they are up there with Whitney Houston. I think the stupidest ones are the dolts who decided to pick a Paula Abdul song and then proceeded to shred it to pieces in front of her. Let’s think about this. If you perform it badly, you are offending her by insulting the song with your screeching. If you do really well, maybe even better than the original, you run the risk of her not liking the fact that you can sing her song better. Either way you lose. But that’s okay because it makes for some rollicking good laughs.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

I'm going to get reamed, I just know it.

This is what happens when a masochist with limited creativity and even fewer artistic skills gets her paws on her own blog. She goes to a site like I Talk Too Much where their sole content is cutting other blogs down to size, deservedly… and then she decides she wants to be a part of it. Okay, she is me, and I am in for it now because I submitted by blog for review. Now, all that would be well and good… if I could get my act together and make my blog more presentable, or at least different.

Trouble is, I, well, I kinda like how it looks now. It’s a Blogger template and for some reason I’ve grown attached to the colors, the rounded corners, even the font. What on earth is wrong with me? I ran into another blog just yesterday that was using the same template as mine. I was like, “Hmm, this looks familiar. This is bad. But mine is so much better.” They had changed the colors to some ugly combination of pinks and mauves.

Right, like mine is so much better. Okay, I need get rid of this fixation. I am better than a Blogger template. I build websites for a living for heaven’s sake! Problem is I’m not a graphics geek. I’m a code geek. I need to find something cool. All right, so off I go onto my quest. Maybe I’m actually just lazy. I mean, my blog works doesn’t it? Do I need to fix it?

Okay okay, yes it needs fixing, fine. I’m going. If I’m not back in a couple days please come feed my doggies. Thank you.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Oh crap, how could I forget?

Perhaps the single most fascinating part of my date last night wasn’t the movie (which was really good) or even the hog slop they called food. It was the completely weirdo freakazoid sitting just one seat away from me with the Rapunzel hair. Now, I’m not the judgemental type who goes around calling people who are a little different freakazoids. But you just had to see this guy. I really wanted to take a picture of him to share it with you guys, but I there’s just no way to do that without being obvious. Plus it was too dark for a cell phone camera.

I’ll try to paint a picture of him with words, try to imagine this. This mid-twenties guy shows up, tall and really skinny, and sits just one seat away from you. He’s all alone. At first glance you immediately think he’s wearing some kind of Lion King wig. He’s got this reddish-blondish hair, and lots of it. It is LONG long hair. But he’s got it sort of trimmed so the front part is down to his shoulders, while the back part reaches all the way to his knees. I kid you not. From the side it had the effect of a poofy lion’s mane. From the back it was “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” ...all the way down to his knees.

Now that alone isn’t enough for me to call him freaky. Odd, definitely. But whatever floats your boat, right? What makes this guy totally creepy is the fact that he spent the entire movie brushing it. He sat there with the tail end of his knee-length hair in his lap, and he was just combing it. It didn’t really look like grooming, that would mean brushing different parts of your head. He just kept combing and combing the same place, compulsively it would seem. Now if he had started rocking back and forth like an insane asylum refugee I probably would have changed seats right then.

After getting a good look at this guy (as discreetly as possible without staring), my sweety and I have this whispered conversation (starting with her):

"Do you want to change seats?"
"I don’t know, do you think he’ll stalk us after the movie?"
"I don’t think so."
"He seems harmless."
"I guess, but he is creepy."
"Yeah I know, but let’s stay here."

In thinking about it, if we had made an issue of his creepiness and changed seats, it’s possible he might have taken offense and decided to stalk us afterwards as payback. You just never can tell.

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