Miscellany
A few random thoughts before I head to work.
---
I just found out from the sweet old lady who runs the dry cleaner on Speedway that one should always go with medium starch when the clothes are for an interview. This holds especially true in cold weather as the starch prevents one's jacket from wilting the shirt.
---
After the snow storm a few weeks ago, Danny told me that the snowball fight was one of the funnest things he's done in years. Not surprisingly, it reminded him of being a kid. His comments for me highlighted what should have been an obvious point: It's fun to play. I'm not sure when, but at some point, as we grew up, we stopped playing just for the sake of playing — and I'm using the childhood term specifically. The snowball fight was a mindless romp, in which we enjoyed simply being outside, in the snow, running everywhere, yelling, cursing, freezing our fingers off, competing and cooperating with others in unplanned and fluctuating arrangements. It was a playground.
What made it so fun was the physical activity. After a certain age, we seem to only get together to play in ridigly structured settings. We forget that our bodies enjoy the state of being in motion, of expending energy, of tired muscles and racing hearts. I think people would be a lot happier if they remembered that exercise for the sake of fun — and not just fitness — can and should play a huge role in improving one's mood.
I remember a couple years ago, during Trimble's class, when my life was spent at the editing table, I had a similar revelation. Christa and I were at one of our low points. There was a lot of tension between us because of the uncertain and unhappy state of our relationship. We were sitting at the tables in the UGL together, and she was nitpicking apart one of my papers that the rest of the class responded very positively to. We started bickering and snipping at each other until we both got tired of talking to one another. After a pause, she turned to me and said, "Let's have a race."
She talked me into racing her around the UGL, with her getting a head start because she didn't have sneakers. We went outside, lined up, waiting until there was no one walking by, and took off. As I came to a full sprint, I realized I hadn't run — just full-out run as fast as I could go — in months, maybe years. Feeling the balls of my feet barely tap the ground before lifting off again rushed me back to the elementary school courtyard, when the wind in my face and the roar in my ears the lightness of my feet skipping over the ground made me feel like I could take off and fly at any moment.
We came back into the UGL, panting and laughing. It hardly solved our problems, but for that day at least, it let us forget for a moment all the friction between us.
---
One of the best things about Bourbon street was the party atmosphere. Whereas on Sixth, there's a lecherous sexual element to the showing (and grabbing) of breasts, in New Orleans both the men and the women truly enjoyed themselves. In addition, there wasn't the contrived fantasy feel of a strip club, with its fake breasts and fake hot breath in your ear. Of course there was some nastiness going around, but for the most part, the girls looked like they were having as much fun exerting control over the mindless drones around them as the guys were ogling.
The large number of thirtysomething women showing off fake breasts and larger girls getting to flaunt what they got could be cynically seen as a pathetic reinforcement of a low self-image. I, however, saw it as good old fashioned fun, because everyone, after all, likes at least a little bit to be lusted after.
---
A while back Kriston posited a piece of software that would check all the blogs one reads regularly and alert you every time they had been updated. I thought this was a great idea, but the code would have to come from a disinterested third party, as advertisers with Blogspot, et al., obviously want you coming back as frequently as possible, content be damned.
This reminded me of what was supposed to be my Plan II thesis when I was still a comp. sci. major. I was going to develop a computer based, bar-code tracked system for film processing. After working Wal-Mart's one hour photo, I saw many, many opportunities to improve efficiency and convenience to customer. This seems to be the one universal about every new job me and my friends get — its defficiences and remedies become quickly obvious.
In my case, each Wal-Mart would have a localized computer that stored the contact information of people who frequently dropped their film off with us. The computer would be where the envelopes are now at any photo lab. Customers would enter their name, address, phone number, etc., one time, and then it would be there whenever they wanted to access it. A specialized printer would then automatically print up the envelopes with all their contact info and assign to them a number matched to a barcode, which is very close to Wal-Mart's current proceduce, minus the automation. The bar code feature would make checking in and out the packages of film and thousand times easier. The money saved in daily labor costs alone would pay for the entire system within the first year. In addition, the relatively small amount of data needed to track the film could easily be made available online, so customers could simply check a website and see the status of their order. The monumentally difficult part about this would have been implementing it into Wal-Mart's existing, and probably outdated, data network.
I used to be pretty good at optimizing the entry and organization of data. I'm almost certain these kind of user-based applications are what I would've gone into had I stuck with programming.
Since I've been talking about lust, I should mention my great internet money making idea, which relies, of course, on porn. Every man here has probably downloaded a clip of some big name starlet, only to wonder who is her dashing, unnamed co-star, since file names are usually more descriptive about the acts than the people involved. My idea was to compile a database of the clips readily available on file-sharing networks and cross-index the names of all the second-tier and harder-to-track foreign pornstars for the inquisitive, um, connoisseur. And if you don't think every guy hasn't at sometime wanted to use such a resource, then you're probably a girl.
Now that I've completely alienated my female audience, I should point out how much sense this makes. You get the information for free as it is, and researching it is not exactly backbreaking work. Visitors to your site are already a captive audience, which makes it more likely that they'll click through the (numerous) ads to other pay porn sites. Considering how huge the porn market is, you're guaranteed to make a pretty penny off your banner ads alone. Just a thought.
---
Last night as I walked home from the Texan, a guy in the middle of the street called out to me. His voice was effmeminate, so at first I thought he was a woman, but as he approached I saw he was a short, roundish black man with a beard. I waited for him to cross the street. He wore a sweatsuit and a beanie and his eyes were bloodshot and watery.
"Hey, excuse me," he said, "I'm not a robber or anything. I just got out of the shelter, and I got the HIV. That's my lover over there." He indicated another black man at the bus stop across the street. "We had to sleep out in the cold last night, and we've only got like five bucks or so for a hotel. I was wondering if you could spare a dollar or just three quarters or something."
I shrugged as I told him that I didn't think I had anything on me, but I found a handful of change in my pocket. "Oh, wait," I told him. "I got some." As I dug around in my pocket, the lover jogged across the street. He came walking up as I dumped the change into the first man's hand." The lover smiled and held out his fist. We did the fist-fist-knuckles handshake, like basketball teammates. They both said thanks, and I told them good luck.
Then the lover put his arm around the other guy, and the first guy said, "It's tough out here. I don't know how I'd make it through these cold nights without him next to me." It was very sincere and quite touching.
Then the lover asked me if any of my relatives "were in any of them movies. You know, like American Pie?" I laughed and shook my head. I wanted to tell him I thought Chris Klein was a douchebag, but it didn't seem appropriate. They smiled and walked off together.
Coming on the day Bush unleashed his "compassionate" anti-gay rhetoric, they seemed like an unreal amalgamation of so many of society's problems. I really don't care if they were lying to me, or if they took my change and put it toward booze or drugs. I'm willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, to trust them at their word, if all that's on the line is my 75 cents. I can't solve their problems for them, if they have any, but I can at least help them if they really are just on hard times. And to see the genuine affection between those two, and how it helped them get over all this shit life had dealt, well, it all reinforced my earlier thoughts on loneliness, or rather its inverse, love. I walked home that night smiling, indulging in the optimistic fantasy of what I hoped those two men had. It didn't solve any problems, but it did let me forget for a while the indifferent reality of the world.
---
"Kevin's Sunglasses"
Somewhere between New Orleans and Houston, Feb. 21, 2004.
A few random thoughts before I head to work.
---
I just found out from the sweet old lady who runs the dry cleaner on Speedway that one should always go with medium starch when the clothes are for an interview. This holds especially true in cold weather as the starch prevents one's jacket from wilting the shirt.
---
After the snow storm a few weeks ago, Danny told me that the snowball fight was one of the funnest things he's done in years. Not surprisingly, it reminded him of being a kid. His comments for me highlighted what should have been an obvious point: It's fun to play. I'm not sure when, but at some point, as we grew up, we stopped playing just for the sake of playing — and I'm using the childhood term specifically. The snowball fight was a mindless romp, in which we enjoyed simply being outside, in the snow, running everywhere, yelling, cursing, freezing our fingers off, competing and cooperating with others in unplanned and fluctuating arrangements. It was a playground.
What made it so fun was the physical activity. After a certain age, we seem to only get together to play in ridigly structured settings. We forget that our bodies enjoy the state of being in motion, of expending energy, of tired muscles and racing hearts. I think people would be a lot happier if they remembered that exercise for the sake of fun — and not just fitness — can and should play a huge role in improving one's mood.
I remember a couple years ago, during Trimble's class, when my life was spent at the editing table, I had a similar revelation. Christa and I were at one of our low points. There was a lot of tension between us because of the uncertain and unhappy state of our relationship. We were sitting at the tables in the UGL together, and she was nitpicking apart one of my papers that the rest of the class responded very positively to. We started bickering and snipping at each other until we both got tired of talking to one another. After a pause, she turned to me and said, "Let's have a race."
She talked me into racing her around the UGL, with her getting a head start because she didn't have sneakers. We went outside, lined up, waiting until there was no one walking by, and took off. As I came to a full sprint, I realized I hadn't run — just full-out run as fast as I could go — in months, maybe years. Feeling the balls of my feet barely tap the ground before lifting off again rushed me back to the elementary school courtyard, when the wind in my face and the roar in my ears the lightness of my feet skipping over the ground made me feel like I could take off and fly at any moment.
We came back into the UGL, panting and laughing. It hardly solved our problems, but for that day at least, it let us forget for a moment all the friction between us.
---
One of the best things about Bourbon street was the party atmosphere. Whereas on Sixth, there's a lecherous sexual element to the showing (and grabbing) of breasts, in New Orleans both the men and the women truly enjoyed themselves. In addition, there wasn't the contrived fantasy feel of a strip club, with its fake breasts and fake hot breath in your ear. Of course there was some nastiness going around, but for the most part, the girls looked like they were having as much fun exerting control over the mindless drones around them as the guys were ogling.
The large number of thirtysomething women showing off fake breasts and larger girls getting to flaunt what they got could be cynically seen as a pathetic reinforcement of a low self-image. I, however, saw it as good old fashioned fun, because everyone, after all, likes at least a little bit to be lusted after.
---
A while back Kriston posited a piece of software that would check all the blogs one reads regularly and alert you every time they had been updated. I thought this was a great idea, but the code would have to come from a disinterested third party, as advertisers with Blogspot, et al., obviously want you coming back as frequently as possible, content be damned.
This reminded me of what was supposed to be my Plan II thesis when I was still a comp. sci. major. I was going to develop a computer based, bar-code tracked system for film processing. After working Wal-Mart's one hour photo, I saw many, many opportunities to improve efficiency and convenience to customer. This seems to be the one universal about every new job me and my friends get — its defficiences and remedies become quickly obvious.
In my case, each Wal-Mart would have a localized computer that stored the contact information of people who frequently dropped their film off with us. The computer would be where the envelopes are now at any photo lab. Customers would enter their name, address, phone number, etc., one time, and then it would be there whenever they wanted to access it. A specialized printer would then automatically print up the envelopes with all their contact info and assign to them a number matched to a barcode, which is very close to Wal-Mart's current proceduce, minus the automation. The bar code feature would make checking in and out the packages of film and thousand times easier. The money saved in daily labor costs alone would pay for the entire system within the first year. In addition, the relatively small amount of data needed to track the film could easily be made available online, so customers could simply check a website and see the status of their order. The monumentally difficult part about this would have been implementing it into Wal-Mart's existing, and probably outdated, data network.
I used to be pretty good at optimizing the entry and organization of data. I'm almost certain these kind of user-based applications are what I would've gone into had I stuck with programming.
Since I've been talking about lust, I should mention my great internet money making idea, which relies, of course, on porn. Every man here has probably downloaded a clip of some big name starlet, only to wonder who is her dashing, unnamed co-star, since file names are usually more descriptive about the acts than the people involved. My idea was to compile a database of the clips readily available on file-sharing networks and cross-index the names of all the second-tier and harder-to-track foreign pornstars for the inquisitive, um, connoisseur. And if you don't think every guy hasn't at sometime wanted to use such a resource, then you're probably a girl.
Now that I've completely alienated my female audience, I should point out how much sense this makes. You get the information for free as it is, and researching it is not exactly backbreaking work. Visitors to your site are already a captive audience, which makes it more likely that they'll click through the (numerous) ads to other pay porn sites. Considering how huge the porn market is, you're guaranteed to make a pretty penny off your banner ads alone. Just a thought.
---
Last night as I walked home from the Texan, a guy in the middle of the street called out to me. His voice was effmeminate, so at first I thought he was a woman, but as he approached I saw he was a short, roundish black man with a beard. I waited for him to cross the street. He wore a sweatsuit and a beanie and his eyes were bloodshot and watery.
"Hey, excuse me," he said, "I'm not a robber or anything. I just got out of the shelter, and I got the HIV. That's my lover over there." He indicated another black man at the bus stop across the street. "We had to sleep out in the cold last night, and we've only got like five bucks or so for a hotel. I was wondering if you could spare a dollar or just three quarters or something."
I shrugged as I told him that I didn't think I had anything on me, but I found a handful of change in my pocket. "Oh, wait," I told him. "I got some." As I dug around in my pocket, the lover jogged across the street. He came walking up as I dumped the change into the first man's hand." The lover smiled and held out his fist. We did the fist-fist-knuckles handshake, like basketball teammates. They both said thanks, and I told them good luck.
Then the lover put his arm around the other guy, and the first guy said, "It's tough out here. I don't know how I'd make it through these cold nights without him next to me." It was very sincere and quite touching.
Then the lover asked me if any of my relatives "were in any of them movies. You know, like American Pie?" I laughed and shook my head. I wanted to tell him I thought Chris Klein was a douchebag, but it didn't seem appropriate. They smiled and walked off together.
Coming on the day Bush unleashed his "compassionate" anti-gay rhetoric, they seemed like an unreal amalgamation of so many of society's problems. I really don't care if they were lying to me, or if they took my change and put it toward booze or drugs. I'm willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, to trust them at their word, if all that's on the line is my 75 cents. I can't solve their problems for them, if they have any, but I can at least help them if they really are just on hard times. And to see the genuine affection between those two, and how it helped them get over all this shit life had dealt, well, it all reinforced my earlier thoughts on loneliness, or rather its inverse, love. I walked home that night smiling, indulging in the optimistic fantasy of what I hoped those two men had. It didn't solve any problems, but it did let me forget for a while the indifferent reality of the world.
---
"Kevin's Sunglasses"
Somewhere between New Orleans and Houston, Feb. 21, 2004.
posted by Matt at 11:21 AM
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