Month: October 2004

This is one of the best explanations for the many reasons I have to NOT own an iPod. Any system engineered to specifically prevent me from customizing it is off my list so goddamn fast….

Rio Karma? Built in web server for u/l d/l to and from over your lan (recharger cradle has an etherenet jack that will sniff out an ip if you have dhcp, or you can assign static via UI). Also USB2, if i want that. No limit to computers I can marry to my player, or where my music goes.

If you don’t like the cross-platform web client built into the thing (or prefer USB transfers) you can use a desktop client.

Freedom makes me happy.


Physicist says imaging techniques prove the president’s bulge was not caused by wrinkled clothing.

– – – – – – – – – – – –
By Kevin Berger – totally illegally swiped from Salon.com for “the good of the nation”

Oct. 29, 2004 | George W. Bush tried to laugh off the bulge. “I don’t know what that is,” he said on “Good Morning America” on Wednesday, referring to the infamous protrusion beneath his jacket during the presidential debates. “I’m embarrassed to say it’s a poorly tailored shirt.”

Dr. Robert M. Nelson, however, was not laughing. He knew the president was not telling the truth. And Nelson is neither conspiracy theorist nor midnight blogger. He’s a senior research scientist for NASA and for Caltech’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, and an international authority on image analysis. Currently he’s engrossed in analyzing digital photos of Saturn’s moon Titan, determining its shape, whether it contains craters or canyons.

For the past week, while at home, using his own computers, and off the clock at Caltech and NASA, Nelson has been analyzing images of the president’s back during the debates. A professional physicist and photo analyst for more than 30 years, he speaks earnestly and thoughtfully about his subject. “I am willing to stake my scientific reputation to the statement that Bush was wearing something under his jacket during the debate,” he says. “This is not about a bad suit. And there’s no way the bulge can be described as a wrinkled shirt.”

Nelson and a scientific colleague produced the photos from a videotape, recorded by the colleague, who has chosen to remain anonymous, of the first debate. The images provide the most vivid details yet of the bulge beneath the president’s suit. Amateurs have certainly had their turn at examining the bulge, but no professional with a résumé as impressive as Nelson’s has ventured into public with an informed opinion. In fact, no one to date has enhanced photos of Bush’s jacket to this degree of precision, and revealed what appears to be some kind of mechanical device with a wire snaking up the president’s shoulder toward his neck and down his back to his waist.

Nelson stresses that he’s not certain what lies beneath the president’s jacket. He offers, though, “that it could be some type of electronic device — it’s consistent with the appearance of an electronic device worn in that manner.” The image of lines coursing up and down the president’s back, Nelson adds, is “consistent with a wire or a tube.”

Nelson used the computer software program Photoshop to enhance the texture in Bush’s jacket. The process in no way alters the image but sharpens its edges and accents the creases and wrinkles. You’ve seen the process performed a hundred times on “CSI”: pixelated images are magnified to reveal a clear definition of their shape.

Bruce Hapke, professor emeritus of planetary science in the department of geology and planetary science at the University of Pittsburgh, reviewed the Bush images employed by Nelson, whom he calls “a very highly respected scientist in his field.” Hapke says Nelson’s process of analyzing the images are the “exact same methods we use to analyze images taken by spacecraft of planetary surfaces. It does not introduce any artifacts into the picture in any way.”

How can Nelson be certain there’s some kind of mechanical device beneath Bush’s jacket? It’s all about light and shadows, he says. The angles at which the light in the studio hit Bush’s jacket expose contours that fit no one’s picture of human anatomy and wrinkled shirts. And Nelson compared the images to anatomy texts. He also experimented with wrinkling shirts in various configurations, wore them under his jacket under his bathroom light, and couldn’t produce anything close to the Bush bulge.

In the enhanced photo of the first debate, Nelson says, look at the horizontal white line in middle of the president’s back. You’ll see a shadow. “That’s telling me there’s definitely a bulge,” he says. “In fact, it’s how we measure the depths of the craters on the moon or on Mars. We look at the angle of the light and the length of shadow they leave. In this case, that’s clearly a crater that’s under the horizontal line — it’s clearly a rim of a bulge protruding upward, one due to forces pushing it up from beneath.”

Hapke, too, agrees that the bulge is neither anatomy nor a wrinkled shirt. “I would think it’s very hard to avoid the conclusion that there’s something underneath his jacket,” he says. “It would certainly be consistent with some kind of radio receiver and a wire.”

Nelson admits that he’s a Democrat and plans to vote for John Kerry. But he takes umbrage at being accused of partisanship. “Everyone wants to think my colleague and I are just a bunch of dope-crazed ravaged Democrats who are looking to insult the president at the last minute,” he says. “And that’s not what this is about. This is scientific analysis. If the bulge were on Bill Clinton’s back and he was lying about it, I’d have to say the same thing.”

“Look, he says, “I’m putting myself at risk for exposing this. But this is too important. It’s not about my reputation. If they force me into an early retirement, it’ll be worth it if the public knows about this. It’s outrageous statements that I read that the president is wearing nothing under there. There’s clearly something there.”

There may be Friday Trivia later, but for now, a Friday Poem

There once was a hippo who wanted
to fly —
Fly-hi-dee, try-hi-dee, my-hi-dee-ho.
So he sewed him some wings that could flap through the sky —
Sky-hi-dee, fly-hi-dee, why-hi-dee-go.

He climbed to the top of a mountain of snow —
Snow-hi-dee, slow-hi-dee, oh-hi-dee-hoo.
With the clouds high above and the sea down below —
Where-hi-dee, there-hi-dee, scare-hi-dee-boo.


(Happy ending)
And he flipped and he flapped and he bellowed so loud —
Now-hi-dee, loud-hi-dee, proud-hi-dee-poop.
And he sailed like an eagle, off into the clouds —
High-hi-dee, fly-hi-dee, bye-hi-dee-boop.


(Unhappy ending)
And he leaped like a frog and he fell like a stone —
Stone-hi-dee, lone-hi-dee, own-hi-dee-flop.
And he crashed and he drowned and broke all his bones —
Bones-hi-dee, moans-hi-dee, groans-hi-dee-glop.


(Chicken ending)
He looked up at the sky and looked down at the sea —
Sea-hi-dee, free-hi-dee, whee-hi-dee-way.
And he turned and went home and had cookies and tea —
That’s hi-dee, all hi-dee, I have to say.

Thanks Shel…you crazy twisted man.

Par l’une puissance agissant pour moi et par moi
Que je baisse par ceci la lune dans me
Selon la volonté libre et pour le bien de tout
Diane, Selene, Hecate, me présentent
Je baisse par ceci la lune pour
Eteindre la soif du sang dans
La puissance qui est transférée les mouvements de lune par moi
Toujours par toute l’heure et tout le grain de l’espace
Ainsi il est

As you may or may not know, tonight is going to be a blood moon.
Be careful with hearts, anger, and fire.
Enjoy lust, dancing, drink, and the hunt.
Keep an eye on the sky.

These don’t come often.

twenty to start white.
twenty to start black
set the board up again and again
play where the pieces fall

more than a hundred million options in six moves
years roll by like seconds pass
between competitors
they click like the stiff buttons atop
nerdy clocks

i am the game
that is all there is to me
variables, iterations, outcomes
if i were to live 10120 years
i still wouldn’t be anything but
midgame

i don’t play to win, or lose
i don’t play for stalemate
i play because it keeps me whole
better a fleeing king
than a pawn – unless the pawn
finds the other side

the passion never meets the desire?
the penance never meets the wrong?
the restitution never meets the cost?
grilled cheese and vodka makes me feel white trash?

i wish i had a clone sometimes – a subservient one though, so i wouldn’t have to kill him, or worry about him killing me.

not a yak. don’t want yaks.

i am thinking of going away for thanksgiving – where would you go if you could go anywhere? why?
cuz, y’know, i’m curious.

I lost my pants this morning.
Losing something, in and of itself, is not a rare occurance in my life. I lose things all the time. However, I have never lost my own pants, in my own apartment before.
This would not be a huge issue except for two things:

  1. My pants contained all the things I need to survive in the outside world.
  2. I could not find my pants because I was still fucking drunk.

Now, #2 up there is what really scared me.

I’ve been a bad boy on many occasions. I’ve done stupid things a plenty. I have never come to work drunk. I’ve come in on vapors of the night before, or a little woozy from too much partying.

I have NEVER come to work blotto. If you knew how hard it is for me to type coherently, you’d be appalled.

I could not pass a breathalizer right now folks. In fact, the cop wouldn’t need to take the little machine out.

Why you ask?

Because THE FUCKING YANKEES DROPPED THE BALL!

Now I know what it is like to be a Boston fan. Since I know so many, I also know the next step to recovery…

GO ASTROS!

I hope that made it back alive from ‘s place last night. Things got a little blurry after the blood out tha ass situation. UPDATE: thought to check friends list, looks like the wombat made it back alive.

Anyway, everything is blurry from midtown to Harlem except for when I got on the 7 to head to GCT, and for when I stopped at the 24 hour liquor store near my place to buy a bottle of JD at drunk-o-clock.

Thats right kiddies, already inebriated on spiced rum, and stuffed to the gills with overpriced pizza that was missing a topping, our hero decided that the best way to wash away the woes of a shattered life and a hopeless baseball team was to drink alone.

I clocked out retired broke the bottle at ~6am.

I then realized it was 6am.

Hell-O reality. You cold fucking bitch.

My boss is out this week, so I HAVE to be at work.

Cold shower, hydrate, warm shower, clothes… NO PANTS.

It took me nearly 20 minutes to find them. I actually hung them in the closet. I never do that.

Last night, despite the loss, was a hoot. Hung out with ,, , and . Went to Brother Jimmy’s, which canceled white trash wednesdays because of the frickin game. Did some work on TOT, and then got some cliffs notes on life and everything after. I also learned that and i have probably crossed paths in a former life, and that I need to take pictures of my guitar so she will buy it. It just took me four five tries to spell guitar.

A good time was had by all, until we got to ‘s.

That was still a good time, it just definitely involved too much blood – virtual or otherwise.

I learned that I am, after all these years, still not bad at After Burner. I also learned that engineers from Ford can work for NASA promoting projects that will, ultimately, IMO doom our species. I was surrounded by RPI people last night. Very weird.

But yeah, big tip for the day, when you realize you really drunk, and there is no way you are going to sober up in time to clock in, fucking call in. This shit is just not fun.

AND I have a big meeting in an hour? Please empty carbs, do your duty!


“They are all around us… the connections, fragments of connections, the spokes waiting for new connections. I seen it, in the war, in my life, in the dice. It happens, and when it does, you ride the wave or sink like lead.”

“Whatever mister.”

The smell of bum, stale sweat, and rotten teeth swept up before the next tirade like surf before the wave.

“Look son. I been in three wars. I seen more men dead than you probably ever called friend. My lives stack up like a late night better’s chips against your paltry ante. Shut the hell up a spell. Gimme half that sandwich, and I might tell you a secret or two.”

Brendan eyed the chunk of turkey in between the mayo-soggy bread he had just chewed a lump out of. Everything tasted like plain oatmeal since he started smoking again.

“Here.”

The bum moved like a snake, but one who had already struck, and was not worried about it’s envenomed prey. The half hero was gone before Brendan could manage another bite, but that was relative, given the bum’s near-toothlesness, and his distinct lack of desire to take another bite after watching the bum gum the sandwich. The recess kids and the traffic from Fifth avenue pulsed like a distant heartbeat.

The bum belched loudly, and the smell ended any chance of Brendan finishing the last part of his half of the sandwich. He put it down on the bench and slid it towards the bum. The bum eyed it suspiciously, wiped the mayo and crumbs from his beard with the back of his sleeve, and pocketed the remainder of the hero, paper and all.

Standing, the bum stretched. His back popped, fifteen popcorn kernels going off almost the same time. Brendan thought he was going to be free to enjoy the last twenty minutes of his break, but then the bum fished out a half cigarette from a shirt pocket, and sat back down again.

Sighing, Brendan looked the man next to him in the eyes.

“I don’t have a light. Maybe you should ask that guy over there for some matches, I think I saw him smoking when I sat…”

The bum popped a match on his thumbnail, and lit the half-cig in one motion. Brendan wondered how he missed the match.

“Secrets, son, are not meant to be kept. Pandora knew that, so did Benedict Arnold, and Richard Nixon. I’ll lay a big’un on you now, even though you are a snot nosed prick who doesn’t deserve the light. “

Brendan snorted, but his retoirt died in the back of his throat with the stare the bum fixed him with. Something slid over the mans face – a hard look came to his eyes, and suddenly his eyebrows seemed like wild kudzu, hiding all sorts of man-eating beasts in their overgrown tangles.

“Son, when someone is gonna tell you a secret, you shut the fuck up.”

“Yes sir.”

Brendan paused, considering why he said that, as the bum took a drag on his cigarette. He only ever responded in that way to his father, who had drilled it in to him with repetition and a 4” black leather strap.

The bum shifted on the bench, farted, and started speaking as he flapped his shirttails, fanning the stench off the back of the bench.

“There is a gun under that rock yonder. Same gun that killed the mayor three days ago. Got fingerprints on it too, cuz the hider, he didn’t have no gloves on when he put it there. I seen the whole thing from the bushes when I was takin a shit.”

The bum pointed vaguely to a large stone sitting just at the edge of the overgrowth, near the path the benches sat on. The childrens’ teacher blew a whistle to line them up to go back to school. Brendan thought he heard the maple tree above him sigh in the breeze.

“Get the fuck out mister. They’ve been looking for that guy since Monday, and there is no way he made it all the way up here after that shoot-up. You are so full of it it is comin out your…”

The bum stood up, and Brendan felt the rough caress of macadam on his cheekbone before he realized the man had slapped him hard across the face, knocking him off the bench. Between the swimming white spots, and the whistling in his ears, he could barely make out anything but the looming shape of the man striding away. As he found his feet, Brendan made out

“Look fo yourself, fuckin dumbass honky.”

Brendan shook off the spots, but the whistling remained. He touched his fingers to his bottom lip, and they came back red. He wondered why he wasn’t surging with adrenalin, or rage. He just hurt, and felt like he was apart from his body in a way.

Looking sideways, he found a seat on the bench from his knees, Brendan realized he was as alone in Central Park as he ever had been. He couldn’t see anyone, even the bum. The whistling in his ears bothered him worse than the telltale tingle of pain starting deep in his face.

“That bum had a goddamn big mitt.”

Brendan grabbed his half-empty Snapple, and held it to his face as he stood up from the bench. Looking around, he saw a jogger in the distance, noone else around.

Wincing at how much sharper the whistle got when he stood up, Brendan took a few steps, leaving his unopened bag of chips on the bench. Witha deep breath, he started over towards the rock the bum had pointed to.

Dear Brain,
The next time you think any of the below are a “great” idea:
1-Getting smashed at a party, among friends, but staying out way late after a totally exhausting week
2-Splitting a cab back to Manhattan from Bkln
3-Taking a green train after midnight
4-Sleeping on any subway, at any time, for any reason. This counts doubly for subways that move at express speeds, due to construction, to corners of the earth which are far away from your abode.
5a-Deciding that, the best time to start complying with #4 is right after the experience which caused it’s codification.
5b-Deciding that the best way to comply with #4 is to walk home.
6-Getting in, realizing you need to be up and moving in three hours, and that you spent the evening probably making an ass of yourself in front of a gall who you think is the bees knees, but who prolly thinks you are an ass.

You will be shot. No warnings will be issued at that time. Consider yourself informed.

Thanks,
-TM

(PS threw a fantastic gig last night – there were more lj peeps there than I care to link [for fear of burning out my lil”U” button thinge] but she was the hostess with the mostess, so she gets some prop-linkage)

I have about 134625623 things to do this weekend.

I have a friend in from out of town. There is ‘s party tonight, there is a viewing of the new pad of , and possible hanging with .

Tomorrow, hanging out with said friend from out of town. Re-seeing “I <3 Huckabees" or seeing "Team America". I hope. Maybe? Sunday, couch-getting, hopefully, if all the stars line up right, and I can get my bro to NOT flake on me. Somewhere in there, I need to write 12 pages worth of citations for a paper I've bene working onthe last month, to get it out the door by the Oct 25th deadline. I am probably going to have to go to far-Weschewster to troubleshoot my internet-dead client. Lastly, I want to try and help with her move prep on Sunday – probably in the morning. Anyone bored and wanna do a brunch with boxes?

Im tired. I just got home. The dog managed not to pee when I came in.
Public service announcement: if you like zombies or comics you should go here and pay 4$ for something that will be well worth the money you spend on it, garunteed.

In other news, one of my sites had a major power failure today, that looks to have taken the cable modem out. My server was doa all day – I may be having power problems too?

I am too exhausted to deal with this shit right now.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow….

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/nm/health_chip_dc

I think I am just about ready to go become a screaming, rock throwing, tree hugging Luddite now. That, or a true reformer starting a techno-commune.

See, if the FDA approves this technology use, that means, like most other things the us gov’t puts it’s stamp on, that it is well in use elsewhere. To the best of my knowledge, the FDA has never pioneered anything new – they are, however, really good at squelching things under huge requirements and beurocracratic processes. FDA stads for Funneling Dollars Away.

Here is my thing: I love this kind of technology, and the “miracles” applying it properly could create. This only becomes a reality at the sharp loss of privacy. Personally, I am willing to forgo my personal “privacy” and make every detail of my life a matter of public record, providing that everyone has equal access to all the data.

Fuck reality TV – lets make reality life.

Jack everyone with rfid, chips that record their whereabouts, sattelite cross feeds, thermographic transponders – when the tech is available, store live video feed 24×7. Instead of all this information going into covert hands, put it in public libraries. Anyone can look up anything about anyone anytime. The data your transponder records can and will be used against you in a court of law, if you get nailed for something.

I got into this tangle a little bit over the weekend. This is something I really believe in, wholeheartedly. Right now, the tech exists to strip all the privacy from a person, but only certain people have those keys. Put all those keys into everyone’s hands, and, in a generation or two, the changes will be so widespread, people will wonder how we ever lived in the before times.

Think of it as the jump from outhouses to waterclosets. Same amount of shit, many more social ramifications.

No more secrets. No more lies. No more blackmail.

The forced ethical evolution implementing something like this would create: unavoidable.

Oh yeah, and, of course, the fascist element – everyone is in, and if you fuck with the tech, you go to jail as if you were tampering with evidence on a federal case we kill you.


Clicky Me

This exposition brought to you by Fat Bart – Fat Bart, when you need to wash yourself with a stick, there is noone better to show you how.


The evening fell just like a star
Left a trail behind
You spit as you slammed out the door
If this is love we’re crazy
As we fight like cats and dogs
But I just know there’s got to be more

So please call me, baby
Wherever you are
It’s too cold to be out walking in the streets
We do crazy things when we’re wounded
Everyone’s a bit insane
I don’t want you catching your death of cold
Out walking in the rain

And I admit that I ain’t no angel
I admit that I ain’t no saint
I’m selfish and I’m cruel but you’re blind
If I exorcise my devils
Well my angels may leave too
When they leave they’re so hard to find

And we’re always at each other’s throats
You know it drives me up the wall
But most of the time I’m just blowing off steam
And I wish to God you’d leave me
Baby I wish to God you’d stay
Life’s so different than it is in your dreams

Worked on The Other Thing last night for a bit. Definitely need to get rolling on that.
I also signed up for NaNoWriMo

Kill me.

If my dreams can’t find a voice, they’ll go mute howling in the wind before they die. I am excited and intimidated by the prospects on my table – I sit before a feast of fantastic fruit, more than half of which I know to be poison, just not which pieces specifically.

Hope everyone’s week is swimming by happily.

                                A        
U + C + I * (10 - S)     ----------------
--------------------  *           / F   
        20               1 - sin | ---- |
                                   10 /

where urgency (U), complexity (C), importance (I), skill (S) and frequency (F) are each given a rating between one and nine and aggravation (A) gets a number between 0 and 1.

thanks to for offering meaning to my life

This missive is brought to you by my weekend activities. Some good, some bad, but at least it wasn’t work. Honestly, had some wonderfulness with some wonderful people, some awfulness with some wonderful people, some wonderfulness with some awful people, and some awfulness with myself in my head. Scary thing is, you never beat the yin-yang, love it or leave it.

This is one of those posts that most of you will probably zone out on. I have not been my normal entertaining self of late, largely because my life has resembled more of a cow pie than a planetoid. Last night, I realized the problem was not life, but rather my glasses. I promise this is not to be the finite state of things, but I need to work out some kinks.

The last week, I have been on cold medicine so i can sleep at tonight. While this does allow for sleep, it completely defeats any of the control I have exerted over my subconscious through exorcises in lucid dreaming. Last night was my first night off the juice, and man was it a tough one mentally.

What I have come to realize is that through a startling turn of events, I have become my father, in 1/10th the time it took him to pull it off. I am in a mediocre job which pays the bills, but, moreso, fulfills the financial obligations I have created for myself in leading the life I live. I was willing to contend with this balance of the formula in pursuit of a gold ring (literally and figuratively), but, after recently falling off my horse, all the work put into that quest is now being called up for review.

My father, for those of you who don’t know, is a circus tent of a man. He makes me look small, 3 inches taller, and a buck-forty on the scales. He has gotten softer in his 40+ years, but there was a time where his forearms were the size of my thighs. My dad has done a little bit of a lot of things, and lived his life by a code he had handed to him from his parents. He adhered to it as well as he could, and life still took a shit on him when his wife decided to bugger off in my early teenage years. It was one of those fights that I could never win with him over the years. Move on, start over, get a divorce, etc. He was just making himself miserable while he indulged in his wife’s ability to take advantage of his code and good nature.

I have taken the short road to China.

I skipped the 20 years, kids, etc, but went right to that last bit.

My parents eventually did get back together, mostly cuz i think my mom was tired of paying rent, and looking towards working 9-5 until she died.

I don’t have any other options to offer =)

I need to metamorphose. I need to find new direction, new activity, and i need to make vestige the parts of my life which are central for so long. I have to make that metamorphosis without the shroud of separation of time, space, and place so many others are afforded.

I have to do these things, lest I find myself living for the next smile, the next phone call, the next lame kiss and apologies.

I just hope I can maintain my life in the process.

well, it was loco
I just got home, and i left before 11.
My bother;s car got towed.
Lets hear it for NYPD!
Fuckin a, I gotta work soon.

Hooray for half-priced drinks and good friends.
Love to all who came out.
I hope got home ok!

Emergen-C and Beverly’s Tea Merchant’s “Apple Spice” flavored tea make your burps smell like a fucking Yankee Candle Shoppe.

JT Money’s rendition of “Who Dat” does very little to improve one’s outlook on life.
I’m feeling a little better. I think my fever burned itself off – nyquil and sleep soon.
Thanks to all who sent well wishin, in person or otherwise.

“When we decode a cookbook, every one of us is a practicing chemist. Cooking is really the oldest, most basic application of physical and chemical forces to natural materials.”

Welcome to my lab, . Not much there yet, but there will be more, oh yes, there will be.

If anyone has any requests, join and ask, or reply here.

http://home.earthlink.net/~houval/gopconstrm.mov

EDIT
Also mirrored at:
http://zero.imt.uwm.edu/gopconstrm.mov
http://nodata.com/mug/gopconstrm.mov
by
and
http://citynoise.org/upload/gopbrainwash.mov
by

You need quicktime, but it is worth it to watch. , , you defintiely want to scope this out.

Things to keep in perspective:
I have my health
I have a home
I have a job

Despite that, I’m feeling totally antisocial, and being at work is draining my already depleted reserves.

Sorry that all of you have to put up with my moping, I am sure I will be back to my normal, pestering, sarcastic self once I scab up a little.