Attack of the Blog!

1. It’s lovely. Very clean. Now that I think of it, a little too clean . . .

2. Vancouver seems to be just as muddled as California. One of the summit attendees from Russia pointed out that it was rather confusing when he found himself dining in a place that served California Cuisine but looked like an Italian restaurant and was in Canada. It was the first time I ever noticed that such a combination is in fact odd, having grown up in L.A. where selling Chinese food and donuts in the same shop seems perfectly natural.

3. Nothing — and I mean nothing — can top face-to-face conversation. I am convinced that the greatest value of the Mozilla Summit was in bringing 400 colleagues together so they could see and hear one another and let their ideas stew for a week.

4. I am also convinced that the greatest drawback of bringing 400 people together from all over the world is that they’ve brought their germs with them, picked up new ones in airports, and then let them stew for a week, leading to one giant jambalaya of communicable disease. Grody.

5. Canada is dangerous, man. If it’s not bears, it’s landslides, fog, or snow. Must look into use of Canada as means of controlling human population after robot revolution. Aug. 7 Postscript: PROVEN. In Canada, bears eat people.

6. It’s a matter of some controversy as to whether or not HRM The Queen of England still ought to be on the money. I didn’t really care one way or the other, to tell the truth. (I’m not very convinced that those shiny play bills they gave me is actually money anyway; I suspect that the Canadians were just having us on.)

But I discovered the most compelling argument there is to take the old gal’s face off the coinage: Canadians can’t make tea. That’s right. They don’t even know what to do with it. Like their American counterparts, they bring a pot of hottish boilED (not boilING) water to the table with a sealed bag of perfectly good tea for you to ruin. They then react with hurt when they see you’d rather drink brewed cigarette butts than the thin, pale, watery rubbish they’ve just brought you.

In short, you might know the words to “God Save the Queen” but if you can’t make tea properly then you might as well boot yourselves from the Commonwealth. I’m thoroughly convinced that the death of the Empire had nothing to do with abandoning unbridled Imperialism in favor of multicultural democratic economics, but more to do with the fact that the colonies had Epic Tea Fail. I can prove it, too; we robots drink properly made tea all the time, and we’re well on our way to ruling the Earth. So there.

Final Report: Experiment XY-035
Duration: 02 November 2007 - 09 March 2008

Initial Observations: Candidate XY-035 showed promise as short term social appendage, possibly even potential pair-bond partner. XY-035 fell within desirable age, mass, and microbial specification range. Added advantages included surpassing psychological criteria and exceeding economic requirements. Frequent personal inquiries beyond perfunctory communications by candidate seemed to indicate interest in applying for permission for covalent bonding. Pheromonal signals sent for weeks during interaction in herd environment.

Hypothesis: With proper catalyzation, a favorable chemical reaction seemed likely.

Test 01: Absorption
Date: 22 February 2008
Description: Verbal interaction to obtain biographical data while consuming Thai nutrient matter before attending multimedia entertainment venue. Low volume verbal interaction perpetuated where appropriate. XY-035 prolonged testing environment through invitation to absorb more information and beverages containing adequate amounts of C₂H₅OH.
Follow-up: Electronic communication made promptly after conclusion of test, confirming success and indicating that replication with variations was desired for the following Tuesday. Test 02 planned for 26 February 2008, including assimilation of nutrient matter and stylized musical exercise on wooden floor with other subjects performing similar tests.

Test 02: Kinetics 1.0
Date: 26 February 2008
Description: Physical movement in ritual setting, as taught by scholars of socially acceptable forms of movement associated with musical styles dating 1920 to 1950. Activity generally considered chemical catalyst and “ice breaker,” as it necessitates constant physical contact beyond ordinary limitations.
Follow-up: Encouragement offered in form of complimentary encouragement and ritual teasing (see “flirting”). Electronic communication matching format of that given after Test 01 sent within one hour of termination of Test 02, suggesting repetition of the same activity. After research and negotiation, date for Test 03 set for 02 March 2008.

Test 03: Kinetics 1.1
Date: 02 March 2008
Description: Replication of Test 02 with variables altered. Setting was daytime and out of doors but showed similar success, indicating variable environment has no impact on success of interaction. Event prolonged at suggestion of XY-035 to allow for replenishment of fluids and nutrients. Suggestion made to replicate Test 03.
Follow-up: Customary prompt electronic communication indicating favorable response to Test 03. Several brief electronic messages following that, but no audiovisual communication. Last contact made via electronic communication on 06 March, suggesting future culinary mating rituals but refraining from setting a date. Favorable response encouraging further contact sent. Received no reply. When no contact was reestablished by Sunday 09 March, candidate XY-035 was declared chemically inactive and the experiment was closed.

Possibilities for Circumstances Leading to Termination of Experiment:

1. Catalyzation of chemical reaction delayed and, when finally initialized, underperformed and fizzled. Despite flagrant addition of catalysts including olfactory stimulants, cleavage enhancement, and ritual ego massage, the reaction never really took off.
2. Pheromone mismatch detected by XY-035
3. Hostile male sharing XY-035’s dwelling may have been influencing factor in decision to terminate contact
4. Catalyzation withheld due to XY-035’s fear of temporary social appendage becoming permanently grafted on?

Conclusion: Not likely to encounter subject XY-035 again. Termination of contact, combined with failure to request further testing on a Friday or Saturday night, indicates unfavorable reaction. According to common human female reference source, “he’s just not that into me.”

I got a chain letter today. I had really hoped that with the decline of physical post, chain letters would vanish. I used to get them a lot in elementary school. In third grade a classmate got a letter that informed her she would go bald and her teeth would fall out if she didn’t send the letter to 15 people within 24 hours. If she didn’t send it to at least five people within three days, an old gypsy curse bound into the letter would activate . . . and she would die.

I was one of the lucky recipients of this little bundle of joy. Of course, I freaked, just like the other 15 girls in Mrs. Kreplotnik’s class who received the letter. I went straight home and tried to think of someone to send it to. I only knew a few fourth graders, and I wasn’t going to send it to my little sister and her friends in Kindergarten. They couldn’t even read, and I didn’t want the blood of fifteen five-year-olds on my hands. I went home and asked my mom for a bunch of paper and the address book for our church congregation. For some reason, she seemed opposed to threatening a bunch of church ladies with a gypsy curse of death. When I wouldn’t calm down, she finally got through to me by explaining that the curse wasn’t even real, since the idea that the Romany people cursed anybody was just a racist myth.

It was an empowering moment. Screw that, I thought. I’m not going to die just because some dumb letter told me to. I burned the letter. (My mom didn’t appreciate that I did it in the kitchen, badly scorching one of her best plates.) I went and told my friends the next day that I was going to break the chain. Three days went by, and lo and behold, I’m still here. Take that, racist fakey gypsy letter.

I used to think that chain letters were a conspiracy by the Postal Service to ensure job security for letter carriers, especially in the frightening face of the advent of (bum bum BUM!) e-mail. But with the rise of the net came the e-commerce boom, and the Postal Service no longer has to rely on such dirty tactics, since packages from eBay cost a lot more to ship than letters.

However, just like rust on a car’s engine, digital parasites have plagued e-mail since its inception. Remember that letter from Bill Gates promising you a thousand bucks if you forwarded the message to as many people as possible because he was testing new tracking software? Remember the apocalyptic claims of virus warnings in the late ’90s, when a computer virus would melt your hard drive, give you syphilis, unbalance your checkbook, make you forget to pay your rent, and steal your grandma’s wheelchair? As if those weren’t bad enough, electronic chain mail hit the scene, with threats just as inane as the promises of some guy in Nigeria who wants to give me twelve million bucks.

In the letter I just got here, your threats are categorized by your zodiac sign. Lucky me– I’m right on the cusp, so I had to read two astonishingly vague yet accurate descriptions of my personality:

GEMINI - The Chatterbox (May 21 - June 20) Smart and witty. Outgoing, very chatty. Lively, energetic. Adaptable But needs to express themselves. Argumentative and outspoken. Like change. Versatile. Busy, sometimes nervous and tense. Gossips. May seem superficial or inconsistent. Beautiful physically and mentally. 5 years of bad luck if you do not forward.

CANCER - The Protector (June 21 - July 22)
Moody, emotional. May be shy. Very loving and caring. Pretty/handsome. Excellent partners for life. Protective. Inventive and imaginative. Cautious. Touchy-feely kind of person. Needs love from others. Easily hurt, but sympathetic. 16 years of bad luck if you do not forward.

Because this information was on Criss Angel’s show (which, it goes without saying, vouches for its authenticity) evil luck was inflicted on my by my zodiac sign. Oh no! What will I do! I’m right between Gemini and Cancer! Does this mean I’m gonna get 21 years of bad luck? OH NO!! How can I be saved???

Oh. Look, here it is:

Send away!!~ Ready .. set……….. GO!
1-3 people= 1 minute of luck
4-7 people= 1 hour of luck
8-12 people = 1 day of luck
13-17 People = 1 week of luck
18-22 people = 1 month of luck
23-27 people = 3 Months of luck
28-32 people = 7 months of luck
33-37 people = 1 year of luck

meh. BALETED.

I think the thing that really bothers me about digital chain mail is that, as annoying as the old-fashioned kind was, it at least took some effort to send. You had to hand write, type, or at least print every single letter you sent. And back in the dot-matrix and inkjet days, printing usually took twice as long as just writing it out. There was at least some evidence that the curse had power. It could take a couple of hours for a kid to copy a letter by hand, carefully matching the exact format of the chain letter. Shoot, I was more exacting in reproducing chain letters for my friends than I ever was writing “I will not talk in class” five gajillion times for my teachers.

Now with the click of a button and a flicker over to your address book, you can spam everyone you know to death in less than five seconds. How is that supposed to have any efficacy? The electronic medium has diluted the power of the curse, people. I can go “BALETED” and it’s gone– no trace it was ever there. And my mom can’t yell at me for burning stuff indoors. Win-win.

Some thought the advent of the digital age would banish all doubt and misinformation from the world, but one of the funnest parts of the Internet is its function as an instant gratification rumor mill. You can get misinformation out there quicker than you can say “snopes,” and then skeptics get to feel good about themselves when they can show something just ain’t right. I’ll admit it– I’m a debunking junkie.

So I defy you, evil curses of the zodiac that lurk in the belly of my inbox! Bring it! You have no power over me. It is you who should fear the mighty strength of my index finger upon the mouse, not I who will fear your trite and flimsily mass-copied words.

Neener, neener.

So here I am, sitting at the airport. My flight has been delayed by more than an hour, and I’m surrounded by dirty, smelly people who were too inconsiderate to refrain from breeding, and their spawn isn’t doing much to alleviate the general noise and clutter.

There were no seats left, so I went and got a cup of tea. I returned to the gate and found a seat, fired up my Mac, and discovered that my copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy was still in the DVD drive.

Ahh. Serenity.

When moved from L.A. and began my exciting new job in software, one of the perceived fringe benefits would presumably be meeting guys with:

• More intelligence
• Better jobs
• Mad HALO skills
• An interest in chicks who wear horn rimmed glasses
• Something to talk about besides their next pilot audition

And so far it’s been true. But, ah, the irony! Where in L.A. you find many hot guys with smooth skills with the ladies yet no brains, futures, or conversational ability, up here it’s nothing but hot geeks with the relationship radar of well . . . geeks.

man man

Despite having met numerous very attractive young lads in the Valley of Silicon who seem to enjoy talking to me and don’t appear to be gay, I can’t get any of them to ask me out. Why, you ask, would a female with real, actual breasts have trouble getting a guy to ask her out? Welcome to trying to flirt with software engineers. Getting them to wake up and smell the pheromones is about as fun as debugging when you don’t even know where the packet of death is hiding.

info weekend

I know a good-looking guy who regularly goes out of his way to talk to me. I am friendly and encouraging toward his conversation, which you’d think would be enough to send a clue. I asked him Friday afternoon what he was doing this weekend. “Nothing,” he told me. Woot!

setup saturday_night

I gave him the best possible invitation you can get: “Oh really? Me neither!”

adduser cute_guy

And what was his repsonse? “Well, sitting at home isn’t too bad. I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”

Fatal error!

killall weekend_plans

halt

reboot . . . /sigh.

You would think that a guy with brains in his head, or at least testosterone in his chonies, would go “Ah! This chick just went out of her way to inform me that she is available this weekend. I should ask her out.” But no . . . no. I’m tired of this, so it’s time to debug. Let’s make a list of the potential problems that caused this application to crash:

• 400 Bad File Request
• 403 Forbidden/Access Denied
• 500 Internal Error

Hmm . . . Maybe the connection was just refused by the host. Could be. The fact that I have Optimus Prime on my desktop, a SPEW bumper sticker on my car, and an unnatural interest in cyborgs can’t be working for me. Neither can the fact that most of the guys I know are coworkers, which pretty much makes them personae non nookie.

What’s a geekette to do? I’m not going to do all the work for them– that’s a doomed relationship from the start! I’m considering alternative forms of getting attention– sewing a Cortana costume to wear to work, starting a Warcraft guild for the nerdy and lonely, or sticking with my current favorite coping method– creating characters that are built like firemen and are content to play with me all night on my favorite MMORPG. Come on, studly. I know you’ll let me level you up.