Surreally Seducted: Damn You Salvador Dalí!

One monkey promoting the ceaseless propagation of useless crap on the internets since a long time ago.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

The tree is ugly and wants to die...

Technology Warning... for my regular readers, you won't enjoy this

Google Base and Craigslist
I read an article today saying that Google's new Google Base project will easily crush Craigslist, because Craigslist only charges for select job postings and runs the rest of the site at a loss. Sure, that's true, but it also leaves out the intangibles. Anything google does is bound to be ad supported. It's ingenious really. Without doing much work, they can increase their ad revenues. Plus, for a lot of people who don't know about Craigslist, Base will be really easy to find. But for those that do know Craigslist, base won't provide anything that CL can't. And it won't have the Best of Craigslist, which is the reason why people come there in the first place.

Microsoft is coming out with their first new releases on their major development platforms (Windows, SQL Server, and Visual Studio). That's a really long time between releases. So what? Well, for one that gives competitors a long time to catch up or pull away from MS. So what can MS do? Well, for one thing, they'd need to drop prices on their software. What? Yes. If it costs a company $2M to upgrade their desktops to the latest and greatest Windows, they won't do it ever 5 years, or even every 3. What about development? I'd have 2 release teams working at the same time. For 2008-2009, I'd have an upgrade to Vista ready (that does something meaningful). For 2010-2011, I'd have a Vista style rewrite ready. That is, of course, as long as operating systems remain a lucrative business.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

A skewed perspective from the side of the interstate.

This is fiction.

When I was 7, my father died. Shortly before this event, he told me to take pride in, and make something of, myself. For a 7 year old, these words were difficult to understand. I began to dress as my dad did (a suit and tie everyday), but, where my dad was considered smart and savvy by most, I was his idiot offspring. The taking pride of myself took care of itself, but making something of myself, well, that was going to take some work...

It's 10:30 on a Sunday, and I'm standing here in the middle of nowhere polishing this counter for no one. I've tucked my black tie (one of seven) into the crease where my white shirt (one of seven) and black pants (one pair of seven) meet. I've already taken three vicodins today. I slipped one of them in while the area manager wasn't looking, and for the past three hours he's been off fucking Suzy a few miles up the road. I never understood my addictions until I became addicted in the physical sense. The pain of smiling, being nice to all the spoiled people who come traipsing through here on their way to the big city, standing on my feet for hours... god the smiling was the hardest part. It wasn't that I loathed them, though I did; it was that I envied them and their families, the smile that wasn't forced, the ability to decide one day to go the city. I could have killed for that or because of that. I'd had a few girlfriends, but eventually they all told me to decide between making something of us and making something of myself. I couldn't trust them as I had trusted my father, and even he had left.

Now the road weary travelers that came in, I could identify with them. Their greasy hair, drowsy eyes, the way they ran to the bathroom and then often ran back out to the car. There were people who I could understand. Come sun, rain, snow, or moon, these people were hustling from one place to another. These were the people with one thing in mind: to make something of themselves.

I had scrubbed the counters clean when a little kid came up and asked for an ice cream cone. The little shit. Sneaking in like that, wearing a Yankees hat to boot. I had ten minutes left before close, and was hoping to get everything done a little early. Now I'd have to rescrub the counter (for the ninetieth time today). His father, a fat man who would give Parcells (in his Dallas era) a run for his money in terms of weight, waddled over, asked for a large cone, and paid. My smile was plastered on. "Tough day?" For you sir, no. This day is like the last 520. It is not tough. It is an addiction, aided and fueled by other addictions. And someday, sir, I will make something of myself, and you shall know my name and remember me as the man who served you ice cream. And maybe on that day, I'll finally find peace with my demons.

Monday, October 24, 2005


Tonight on the Colbert Report during the "Bring Him Back or Leave Him Dead" sketch, you can hear someone coaching the crowd about what to say for Dave Thomas. At first I thought it was an echo or some weird looping from the recording earlier in the day, but you can hear the person say "mmmmOk..." pretty clearly, and then less than a minute later, on cue, the crowd says "mmmOk...".

Just thought that was useless and interesting only to me, which is what I here at the Surreally Seducted site am going for.

Because I don't get no sleep in a quiet room and...

Last night, I lay awake in bed for quite along time. I've been turning my alarm clock away from me so that I can't see it when I wake up in the morning (but that does no good anymore). But I couldn't see it. I just lay there, thinking about how many minutes had gone past. I wasn't worried about getting enough sleep. At some point I may have fallen asleep before 5. What I do know is that at 5 or so, I finally looked at the clock. 2 hours to go.

In college, I prided myself on working on little or no sleep. That's part of the problem with having to commute 35 minutes in the morning. You have to be awake, especially in Boston. That wouldn't get much better anywhere else (except perhaps if I worked in the city), unless I lived near where I worked (near enough to commute through under my own power). Blah... more later.

Monday, October 17, 2005

The results are in...

Went to the doc today for all my ailments. I'm healthy. Got some antibiotics for my nose. Had an EKG. Seems to have come back ok.

So all in all, not a bad doc experience.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Edumacation, Or: What we learned at Petco last week

Tweedlegirl and I went to Petco last week, just to look around. Here is what we learned:

1. Birds are cheaper than you think.
2. Petco needs to learn how to keep their cheaper fish (the Betas?) alive.
3. Fish are more expensive than you think.
4. Albino ferrets: You'd think they're cute, but their red eyes make them kind of freaky looking.
5. Ferrets love to spoon. They have spooning parties. They also sleep across one another.
6. I don't know that I'd buy a cat from Petco.

7. Male rats have giant testicles. I mean disproportionately giant. On a human, these would hang down around the knees. The testicles get dragged behind the rats everywhere they go, even the food bowl. That's just nasty.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Scars and Stiches Always Fade

Scars: I stepped through the top of a tin can as a child. It left a five inch scar on the back of my calf. I tripped over my dad's leg and fell into a coffee table. It left a small scar on my forehead. I scarred my arm canoeing, but that scar has long since faded. And now, I will probably get two more scars, courtesy of my own stupidity.

Stitches: I think part of the reason I don't like going to doctors is because I don't want to hear that there is something wrong with me, especially when it is my fault. I hate feeling as though I've done something wrong, that I'm guilty of even the slightest thing. Especially when the guilt-finding party is in a position of authority (like a doctor). That would explain why I didn't go to a doctor when I fainted, and why I didn't go to the doctor when I broke my face.

Monday, October 10, 2005


I will remember in the future that using your face to cushion a fall is not recommended. I shudder to think of the impact even now, but I think that's because the injuries should be much worse than they actually are. A large cut on my nose (in a semi-circle?), a straight cut above my lip, and a fat lip. And my chin is sore. There was a lot of blood, from both nostrils, my nose and my mouth, but never any issues breathing. Eating and drinking are still a problem because my lip feels so weird, but other than that, the greatest annoyance is that the rather large bandaid across my nose encroaches just enough into my line of sight that it throws my focus off the slightest bit. And I can't really remove it, as I don't know that my nose is business casual enough for the office. Maybe I'll go look at it in the mirror and decide. But special props to the awesome tweedlegirl, for taking care of me and my nose.

After all, the nose knows.

UPDATE: I'm now thinking of calling my soon-to-be-primary-care physician tomorrow, and seeing if he can recommend someone near work to look at it. Why? Because my nose is still sore, and even though there doesn't appear to be a deviated septum or anything, it has been three days and it still hurts.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Quack quack quack

Watching the snow fall under the lights
We were standing at the window
Our noses pressed flat
Leaving puddles of breaths on the pane
You wrote I love you
I drew a duck and quacked
You laughed and said I was crazy
Maybe I am
I just felt like a kid again
Finally five years old

Monday, October 03, 2005

well, I'm not sure its ok to just sit there and dream all day long

I can't see a window from where I sit. I know it's sunny outside, but from what I could see from here, it could just as easily be raining really hard.

I thought I was just tired. I thought, hey maybe if I get some sleep I'll be ok. After all, we were moving today, and surely I'd be invigorated for the new digs. I wasn't. I get to the office and I'm even farther away from everyone than I used to be. Which wouldn't be so bad if I had work. But I don't really have all that much to do, and now it's harder for people to see that I'm here and able to do things for them. So the move has been rather disappointing as well. To top it off, I'm back here in Boston. A city with which I feel no connection. In a state that, despite the good job that it does in treating everyone well, leaves me expecting the worst for myself. In short, I feel very uncomfortable here. I feel anxious.

I thought that when I got tired and pensive that I got depressed. Now I'm wondering if it's the other way around.