bytex64.net/blog

I have officially decided that if I ever make a techno heavy metal band, I will call it:

And we'll have the best commercial for our concerts:

We will be, quite possibly, the most bad-ass motherfuckers on the planet. Except maybe a band of supergeeks consisting of Brian Kernighan, Dennis Ritchie, Larry Wall, and Donald Knuth. Their band will be called INFINITE STATE MACHINE, and it will consist of a PDP-11 with four terminals and a stereo sound device. If that ever happened, we'd have to have a battle of the bands... TO THE DEATH.

This SUNDAY (Sunday Sunday...), we bring you an event that has never been paralleled in the history of man. A meeting so colossal that we had to bribe half the Mexican government to get it done. A meeting that will NEVER. HAPPEN. AGAIN. Prepare for... SOUNDRAPE vs. INFINITE STATE MACHINE In a battle-of-the-bands ELECTRIFIED CAGEMATCH in the middle of the BAJA DESERT. 1.5 BILLION WATTS of sound are on tap in an event that is sure to leave you DEAF. Tickets are available for only $1499.99, or you can watch it on pay-per-view for only $149.99...

It would rock, and would quite possibly rock harder than anything has ever rocked before or ever will rock. Oh, yes.

A small room is filled by people sitting in a circle. One man stands up, and addresses the others.

Hi, my name is byte...

"Hi byte," echoes back

...and I'm an Oxytocin Addict. I like to cuddle. I like it when a pretty girl smiles at me. *feet shift nervously* It takes me no time at all to fall for someone. All they have to do is laugh at a few of my jokes, and smile while looking me in the eye. Hook, line, and sinker. *smiles weakly*. Like this one girl...

A man at the front of the room holds a clipboard. He speaks up.

That's good, byte. Tell us why you're here.

Byte looks down at his shoes, swallows, and looks up again.

I'm here because I realize that I have a problem. Just because a girl is interested in me is no reason to start planning the wedding. I have to take things one step at a time. And I can't just ride the high and expect everything to fall in place. I'm going to change.

The rest of the room applauds. Byte sits down.

---

Ok, so maybe it's not as bad as the above (or maybe I'm not willing to admit that it is), but I did some reading on the web about oxytocin. Apparently it's the human reproductive wonder-drug in just about all stages. Behold: Oxytocin.

The part I'm addicted to is the pair bonding part. Chemical Love. I guess most people would describe it as infatuation, but it's part of what makes it fun to hang out with friends, and what bonds a mother and her children.

Ha. And I thought I was antisocial.

So I nearly wrecked my car tonight.

Groans from the audience. People can be heard muttering "Not again..."

Ok, I deserve that. My driving style is... less than defensive. It's not even offensive, it's more like paranoid schizophrenic. I drive pretty sanely in a straight line, but I also try to take the corners as fast as possible. I accelerate from a stop faster than most (I'm sorry *your* car doesn't rev up to 7000 RPM...), but then do the speed limit, leaving most people confused. ("Isn't that guy in a sports car? Why's he going so slow?" I can't afford to go fast, my car is freaking cop-bait.)

So after dropping off Yan at his place and Mike at Chrissy's, I decided to take the interstate to my favorite little on-ramp at the junction of I-74 and University. You know the one I'm talking about, the one that's one continuous curve from the overpass to the merging lane. In fact, here's a picture:

Oh, yeah, that's the stuff, from University going NE to I-74 going NW. So, anyway, I was blasting down the ramp, and I get to the part where it curves a little more, and I brake to swing out the rear end. It did, went too far, I let off the gas, the car regained traction, and I wound up careening along the inside of the onramp. I narrowly missed a lightpost by dumb luck, and hit one of the reflective markers on the side of the road on my way back onto it, which by the way, was perpendicular to the direction of the road. The car stopped. It's a good thing nobody was around, or I could have caused something nasty. There was smoke (or steam, probably, from hot engine parts and all the long, wet, grass I plowed through), but it cleared quickly. I got back on the road, parked on the side of the interstate, and checked things out. To my surprise, the only damage I could find was a white mark where I'd hit the reflective marker (which has since washed off in the rain). Let me be the first to say that I'm one lucky fucker, and I deserved a lot worse for being so reckless. (Aside: Maybe this is the reason I'm so unlucky in love. I keep using up all my luck on stupid shit like this.)

So I made it back, paid respects to the relevant deities, and I'm thankful I didn't wreck my car before I had it paid off. That would, as they say, suck.

I was about to go out and buy clothes today, when I realized that I should probably research them online. Of course, as I was about to do this, I realized that if I can research clothes online, why can't I buy them online? Of course.

So, as a part of my life-long goal of never paying full price for clothing, I'm going to attempt to get clothes online for (hopefully) less than retail, or at least on sale. I've found that eBay has very useful search features for finding clothing. For example, I can search for cargo pants in my size, *and* filter out all the annoying crap I'd never buy, then save the search, plus get email alerts if something new shows up. That's pretty slick. *cheezy salesman thumbs-up*. Also, I've found that Amazon.com has ballooned into something of an online department store. Browsing their site is like going to the mall, except they have sales. Plus, free shipping on orders over $25. Not to plug them or anything, but I just spent 10 minutes looking for pants, and I think I might have enjoyed it.

Yes... pants. I've decided that I need some new pants. Something a little less... sweatpants. Not that I've given in to social pressure or anything, just that I'd like to try something new. I asked Chrissy a long time ago to help me shop for new pants, but I think I have a deep-seated fear that she'd take me to Old Navy, and the whole thing would end with me maniacally waving a lighter under some Old Navy Fleece and threatening to burn the place down. I think most people are scared of the idea of buying clothes without trying them on, or at least seeing a picture larger than 320x240. These people are also probably concerned with their appearance, and don't know the magical wonders of duct tape. The online thing works for me. And if it doesn't, I can resell it on eBay. :)

After watching "Mean Girls", I got into a discussion about insecurity. Here goes my take:

1. Insecurity stems from an inherent inability of humans to understand each other. When you feel uncomfortable around someone, it is because you do not understand how to approach them, how to speak to them, or how they are going to react. Note that understanding is not the same thing as knowing. When you understand a person, at least at some level, insecurities dissapear because your fear dissapears. Now, this is probably at least vaguely obvious to most people. I'm slow, give me a break.
2. Everyone is insecure. The rub comes in when you realize that you can never understand everyone. No, you can't, it's combinatorially impossible. You can make generalizations, and *think* you understand everyone, but the truth of it is, you will probably only ever truly understand one other person in your life. Maybe. Probably not. Since it is impossible to understand everyone, it follows that everyone is, in at least some situation, insecure. Anyone who believes themselves to be completely secure is misunderstanding how much they understand the world around them.
3. Irony. If everyone realized this, we would be closer to understanding each other, and would all be a little less insecure. Moral of the story: You will never completely overcome your insecurities, but it is worthwhile to try.

Of course, this is just my view, and I just made it up, so it's likely complete bullshit. In other news, I CAN'T STOP EATING THESE COCONUT-COVERED MINI DONUTS! *gobble gobble*

I went to my cousin's wedding today. The wedding itself was pretty standard Irish Catholic: very traditional without being long and boring, with copious amounts of prayer thrown in. They're sort of an interesting couple because the bride is joining the military in a few months, and my cousin will actually be her dependent. I believe the women's rights activists should take this time to pause and reflect on that. (Read: Shut up about equal rights already.) The reception was pretty weak, though.

The thing that's bothering me (And compels me to write to the world about it) is that there was someone I knew from high school there. It went something like this:

Her: Hey, how are you doing?
Me: *blink* *blink*
Her: Do you remember me from High School? Stacey Keen?
Me: *blink* *blink*

At this point, I'm wondering if this is what it's like when you have a one night stand, sneak out of her apartment in the middle of the night to avoid getting involved, and then accidentally run into her later. It was an "Oh, shit." moment.

Me: Vaguely...
Her: Vaguely?
Me: Yeah, I'm sorry. I think I've kinda blocked most of those memories.
Her: Yeah, I know what you mean.

At this point she left. Now, that was a pretty asinine thing to say. I really feel bad about it, too, since I *do* remember her now, and she was (and is) a really nice girl (who has apparently gotten considerably more attractive in the past 4 years). I really do think it's because she looked different than she did back in high school, and that's why I couldn't make the connection. Stacey, if you ever read this, I apologize. I didn't mean to imply that you weren't worth remembering. The really ironic part is that shortly afterwards, the DJ played "Unforgettable".

In other news, VOTE CHIMICHANGA AND A MILKSHAKE!

Yes, I got a GMail account. I think it's pretty nice, actually, especially with great hacks like libgmail and GmailFS. So, I've got these invites (GMail is contagious; you can only get it from someone who has it themselves), and if anybody wants them, let me know. I'm bytex64 at either bytex64.net, gmail.com, yahoo.com, or freeshell.org, but don't use the last two, since I rarely check them.

Is it strange how there are girls that make my heart beat faster every time I see them? Ok, no. What about girls that I know I'll never be more than friends with? How about girls I've only met once (or never met at all)? What about both?

Try as I might, it seems that I have an inevitable reaction (or, arguably, an incurable psychosis) in relation to certain girls. Case in point: last saturday. Yan and I went to the Union Late Night thing, to impress some people with Yan's DDR skills. There was this girl there who was nothing extraordinary: wavy dishwater blonde hair to the middle of her back, grey UofI t-shirt, and black glasses. The black glasses do me in every time. I think Kylie Minogue says it best: "can't get you out of my head." I've been thinking about her ever since, but somehow, I don't regret not talking to her.

I know I'm not the only one...

Today I had to wake up at 7:30am, so that I could be at the Atmos department's MISR meeting. This meeting is apparently a get-together for meterological big-wigs to discuss something about satellite image analysis. There was even a guy who looked just like Jay from The Critic. The reason I was there was to make sure the wireless network I set up didn't explode when everybody "plugged in". "I guess that's pretty early in the morning for a hacker," my boss said yesterday. You're darn tootin. Well, it didn't explode, and I went back home at 1pm and slept 'till 7pm.

Waking up in the evening is always the most disorienting experience. Psychologically, you're well rested, and it should be a new day, but it's not. This was further complicated by a phone call I recieved shortly after fixing myself some food. It was Chrissy. She was in Strawn, and she'd be at the apartment soon. At this point, I started to wonder, since she wasn't supposed to be here 'till tomorrow, assuming that today was still ... today.

Me: Wait. Is today Thursday or Friday?
Chrissy: It's Thursday, you're not losing your mind.
Me: ... Good.

She got a friend to haul some of her stuff down, and she arrives with a pickup hauling a U-Haul trailer, filled with furniture. We have to back this getup down into the parking area in order to move the stuff into the storage area. Chrissy gives it a few tries, with me barking orders at her. She can't really see a thing. Frustrated, I grabbed the steering wheel, and steered it down from the outside. "Trust me." I said.

She did. :)

After that I said, "I've played too many video games for this to not work." It did work, but I veered over to the opposite side. Still, it was a lot faster, even if we did have to lug the stuff further. She went back home, and will be bringing the rest of her stuff here tomorrow, in the Astro. Did I mention her apartment is unfurnished?

So, anyway, I was doing my nightly drive, and while sitting at a stop sign, pondering the road construction, my mind lapsed into European Mode, and I shifted into the gear farthest away from me. For those not keeping track, That's 1st gear if you're sitting on the right, but 5th gear on left-drive vehicles. As soon as I let out the clutch to go, I killed the car instantly.

See how messed up my mind is right now? Stupid getting up early.

Tonight I pulled out onto the interstate doing like 85. That's not odd, or hard to do, but this time I wound up merging like a hundred feet in front of a cop. I was decelerating when he caught me; it's not my nature to blast down the highway doing 90. He was an OK cop, strictly business. He let me off with a warning. I'd like to think that I got off easy because I really wasn't going that fast (he only marked me going 74), or that he felt some compassion towards a man enjoying the cool night air in a car that he loves. I mean, he was young once, right? In reality, it was probably just because it was my first time.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hold a grudge against the guy. He was just doing his job, which is to keep people from messing themselves up all over the pavement. Had it been some drunken frat boy in a V6 Camaro coming off the on-ramp doing 90 (Which, from his perspective, would have looked pretty similar...), I sure hope he would have gotten stopped. Hats off to you, Highway Patrol, and let's hope we never meet again...