Yesterday when I should have been working on homework I went to see Pretty Persuasion and have tapas sabrosas! Solera was fucking delicious!
When I got home I spent the entire night twiddling bits. No, I don’t mean the five knuckle shuffle, I mean applying bitmasks and cursing bitwise operations left and right. Somewhere around the time that Stan got up I went downstairs to pee.
“Hey, Jesse, why are you up so early?”
“I’m still up.”
“Oh, maybe going to the movie last night wasn’t such a good idea.”
Possibly, although the movie and food consumed like three and a half hours and the homework took… nine. Nine grueling hours of C. However, I did learn useful skills, like how to count the bits in an integer without using loops. What am I saying? That will never be useful.
I bought a couple of watts in the powersurge. So did Zach. Two of my four favorite DJs were on the air (and King Kwong is on the air now, which makes three out of four). David Hill from the Whole downstairs was on the air, so it was like a big party full of awesomeness and joy. We totally blew up their goals for their shift, so rock on, K. Rock on with your bad self.
If you want to play a game along with your Radio K listening experience, you could try out DJ Bingo. If you have ever been involved with college radio (or just listened to it) you might enjoy the experience. It was inspired by the Strong Bad radio bit. If I ever take a day off of work to… uh… drink, I will listen to Radio K and use the DJ Bingo game, although such activities are actually absolutely contraindicated on the page.
I may have purchased a new walking around lens for my good camera. Ahem.
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Time for me to board that train
The booze train?
And that about sums up the night. I kind of wanted to go to see John Vanderslice at the entry, but I’m just too fucking tired from a week full of homework, midterms, and apparently making a minor ass out of myself on thefacebook.com.
you must let up on the come ons, please you are killing me. Just act like a normal person
I wasn’t so much hitting on her as acting like I was hitting on her for our mutual amusement, but I can understand the confusion. My personal rule is that if someone doesn’t get a joke, it’s my fault, not theirs.
At least she understands that I am not a normal person, just an abnormal person occasionally acting like a normal person.
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Riding keeps you warm, except for certain parts: any pasty white flesh that gets exposed to the wind and your nuts, which, upon a two degree drop in temperature, will retract back into your body. I thought that I was having an asthma attack until I got inside and felt my nuts drop back out of my throat. As my claws melted I regretted not grabbing any of my ten pairs of gloves. I’m not sure how I’m going to solve the hat issue - maybe I will try a bandana or putting tape over the holes in my helmet. I just don’t want to be bandana guy. He’s not me. Really.
I did not fix my walkin’ around camera. I am sorely tempted to buy a brand new camera. I’ve got the shakes from camera withdrawl.
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Honestly, I would do a lot for unfettered access to a foosball table. I love foosball and I need to practice my snake shot. Mind you, I’m not like the semi-pro players at Mortimers with their rosin bags and special wrap for the foosball handles, but I used to be pretty good. I coulda been a contender.
Anyway, I went to Sally’s with Paul and Victoria from work tonight. Victoria is one of the designers and let slip that there is a foosball table at her house. I am smitten!
I’ve said too much! I blame the Summit Oktoberfest, which was delicious.
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Zach has been having a series of orgasms on the other side of our shared desk, so I guess that script.aculo.us is the amazingest of amazing. I’m not having the same response that Zach is, but then I haven’t been playing with it all day for two days like he has.
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So you may have read my post about needing a wingman, in which I referred to needing a professional. If not, here’s a refresher:
So I’m going out tonight and I need a wingman. My boss (Zabe 1) suggested that I hire a professional, and that the professional should be female, since that is all the rage. Unfortunately, there is only one professional wingperson in the Twin Cities metro area (that I could find in thirty seconds of googling), and since she is cute I’d probably just spend the whole time checking her out.
All well and good, the post was longer than that, but you get the idea. Anyway, I linked to this lady: http://girlfriday.typepad.com/ in that post, and she found her way to my site. She left this message:
I strongly support this.
Which, honestly, is confusing as hell. Seriously, what the fuck? I left a comment on my own blog and then eventually emailed it to her as well, because what was the likelihood that she would come back to check?
Wait, which do you support — me hiring you and spending the whole time checking you out, my friend Lisa embarrassing me, or me shaving on Gerg’s benefit?
That makes a lot more sense if you read the previous post in its entirety. It’s okay if you didn’t.
Thanks for writing.
Hey, if you want to pay $25.00/hour to check me out, I won’t stop you. You’d also have the option of paying me $25.00/hour to wingman for you.
Question: Do you think that women will eventually become both suspicious and aware of the wingman concept after they experience it in the bar a few times?
Okay, now this is where I ask you: funny or crazy?
A friend of mine (who theoretically volunteered to wing for free) told me that I should just spend $25 an hour buying women drinks.
As to whether or not women will become suspicious and aware, I say “yes” — once the concept is featured on a television show. If Sex and the City were still in production I would expect it to have a show or a minor story arc revolving around a guy who maybe seems to have his life a little bit too much together. Who is that female friend who always seems to be hanging around? Ultimately, things would fall apart not because this guy hired an assistant (since having that kind of money would have its own kind of appeal) but because he lied about her role in his life and he wasn’t the sort of person who couldn’t maintain a friendship with a woman on his own.
After that, the whole wingman/girl Friday thing would be played out until Kate Hudson dyes her hair black and plays you in a romantic comedy. In a plot loosely borrowed from Hatch (and I’m only guessing here because I didn’t see that movie) she helps a series of men become increasingly perfect for other women before helping the one man she always loved land some random woman. Hmm. This might be better ripping off Cyrano directly, but I don’t know how they would work in the sword fighting. I don’t think that Kate Hudson’s character could die at the end after being hit by a log pushed from a window, either — that would never make it past the focus groups.
I’m not seriously considering hiring a wingman — I was just posting about it to play up my singleness for the amusement of my friends. Hmm. Maybe I could put the professional wingman service in my five year plan to get a date.
Okay, never mind, I’ve got to get going on some painful homework.
I hadn’t been getting a lot of sleep. I sure hope it was funny, because I’m tired of being crazy. Seeming crazy. You know what I mean. Well, off to enjoy my meds. I mean, uh, Lost. I’m gonna watch Lost.
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There is a rumor that Dashboard Confessional will be playing Northrup some time in the future, so I helped the designers come up with ideas. The Visine was Zach’s idea, the broken glasses and jailhouse tattoos were mine.
Hey, maybe I should get a tattoo like that for my first tattoo.
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This weekend was strange. My bike rendered me mostly unwilling to walk around, so I didn’t make it to the MIA at all. I didn’t really leave the house except for some light shopping for stuff.
If you’re the dating type, you might check out OKCupid. That site has soaked up some of my undirected-free-play hours when I have been too zombified to do anything useful but too awake to crawl into bed. I went there after googling someone from personals.fark.com, that place from where my summer dating leads came. It has a very different approach to matching potential mates that involves an MMPI-style series of user-submitted questions.
Monday night Jeremy and Marsha came around for their usual reasons. Jeremy took a minute to calm my fears about random and possibly imaginary clicks that I have been hearing while riding my bike. Give me some more time on the bike and reading Zinn and the Art of Road Bike Maintenance and I’ll be able to talk to him in the appropriate bike language.
Tonight I went to my mom’s house because her husband needed help putting together his big black monster box.
AMD 64 Dual Core 3800+ 2 gigs of ram, ATI x800 pro
Yes, I’m jealous of that thing. It’s an monolith stuffed with computing power. So I’m a nerd. I don’t care.
Oh yeah, I think that I fixed the little camera again.
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Would a post merely cataloging the women on whom I have near crushes be interesting? How about if I refer to them by humorous nicknames like the Fox, Woman In My Art Class, Radio K Listener,Woman With Boyfriend Who Nonetheless Gives Me That Vibe, and Cute Woman Who Paul Does Not Think Is All That Cute? Oops, I think that I left out Cute Woman With Cute Sister, Neither of Whom Would Likely Date Me And I Doubt That Any Of Us Would Be Happy If We Did.
Actually, that amused me. I wish that I had more to write about besides the crawl of the semester and the status of the television shows to which I am addicted. Yesterday I got a ride to school and back from Lisa because I am lazy with a capital Z. Today I’m back on the bike because I can’t seem to punish my legs enough. I don’t know how endurance riders do it — four miles of hard biking wipes me out.
Speaking of bikes, I want a speedometer, and I think that I will budget for one. I need to get some lube for my bike chain. Also, I might convert from a backback to panniers. My experiment with not carrying all of my schoolbooks has been working okay, so maybe I don’t need a giant rucksack full of all the comforts of home.
I still want a helper robot to follow me around campus. Maybe that is how I will finish out this lecture, just doodling my killer robot. HELPER robot. I mean helper. Ahem. Forget I said anything.
Oops, I forgot to mention that drinking stout on Thursday nights is wonderful, but the burgers at Stub and Herbs are way too expensive. Oh well.
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My legs feel like raw meat. No, they feel like carne asada, pounded into oblivion. On the other hand, Lisa and Stan keep saying that I am noticably losing weight. What they don’t know is that I ran over a gypsy woman with my bike and her husband cursed me with a single word: “THINNER!”
I really should pack a camera again soon.
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