Support Ticket #11578: The Adventure of the Muddled Mail Copied unedited from our tech support queue. I love my job. -B
It was a singularly warm day in the foothills; July sunshine had chased the weekend's unseasonal clouds away, and neither fan nor air conditioner could reduce the dry heat that always put me in a mind of Afghanistan. Perspiring under my summer cottons, I trudged into the upstairs office at 416B Baker Street, to be greeted by an all-too-familiar tuneless scraping upon a violin.
"Holmes," I cried with some exasperation, "Will that infernal racket never cease to entertain you in your idle moments?"
"Idle? Come, Watson," Sureclaw Holmes replied reproachfully, clicking "pause" on the YouTube video of the unfortunately talentless music student. "You cannot tell me that you are so unobservant as to have not deduced the pattern behind my musical habits by now."
"But of course," I replied, dabbing the sweat from my brow and glancing at my pocket-watch. "It indicates that you are deep in thought over some baffling case of grave import. I would wager pf on nccn3 is continuing its vexatious ways."
"Ah, Watson," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. "You would do well to rely upon the evidence of your senses over such trifling hunches! For upon my screen you observe no InterMapper console, nor any terminal windows but one! How then could one of our servers be having issues? No, the case that has my mind so engaged -- like all of the best adventures we've shared -- is one of trifling importance, one I perhaps should not even be dealing with on tech support time, and yet one that drove one of our customers so to madness that he should seek out professional assistance."
BOFHer wars* Our story starts about seven weeks ago. roaminrob had just joined me at Yubanet, and the two of us were working tech support together; me on a Mac, him on a PC. I gave him crap about his computer, and he retaliated by secretly installing this. One day, while we were working, the screen saver came on (it even pauses iTunes for total verisimilitude) -- and punked me good.
Behind the link is a tale of harmless yet lavishly detailed root login hijacking. Including ninjas, and cats. And ASCII art of both. This is what happens when sysadmins duel ...
He will get me back. Oh, yes, he will get me back. But I've set the bar high. ]B=8D
While I'm linking to roaminrob, by the way, I agree with his recent "Society By Example" post. If he's not on your friends list, his recent entries are worth a skim.
-- * I think this is a pun I can justifiably be proud of, considering that the prank combined the deep systems ownership of a BOFH with the harmless foam-padded whackery of boffing.
AMAQ: (Talkin' bout) Death on the Fourth of July* Here in America, today was Independence Day. Tonight's the night with the boom and the flash and the smoke and the wtf music. I went to an early July 4 party over the weekend at childe_dirk's, and I got my US RDA of fireworks then; as such, I'm skipping tonight's festivities in favor of getting home from work and resting.
But while I'm at it, I can offer some reading material for those who (like me) aren't doing anything special for the night -- a long overdue story! That's right -- the average reader might think that I forgot about my aging meme in which I promised to write things based on reader input, but I'm finally getting off my butt and doing something about it!
... "Yay!" I hear you shout. "Ambitious Cat stories!" And, indeed, there is shiny new TTU content so close as to be almost tasteable! But at this point, careful readers of my journal might now be remembering my previous head fake, and wondering whether all this lead-in has a similar intent.
Dammit, careful readers! You are too clever for me. But if you'll stop gloating for a few seconds, I'll give you the never before revealed story of last summer's Dramatic Brush With Death --
-- No, this doesn't count. I merely promised to tell the story. That's not at all the same thing as revealing it. Would you shut up for a moment, clever readers? Because here we go ... with
Ask Me A Question: The Late But Epic Edition!
> "Have you ever felt the terror of death grip you?"
Contrary to popular belief, staring your imminent death in the face is a very grounding experience.
The popular notion of "your life flashing before your eyes"? Total bunk. I'll grant its utility as a literary device, sure -- but outside of the world of fiction, nobody's brain uses impending doom as an excuse for autobiography. The brain's response to imminent danger is to actually try to solve the problem. As unromantic as it is, people's real final thoughts are things like "I'll be safe from that bear up this tree." Or "I hope pulling back on this stick works like it does in the movies." Or "Where's the air? Which direction do I swim to reach the surface?"
In my case, it was "If I find a way to brace myself properly, I might not get thrown out until the truck crashes."
Then a jolt, a shudder, an uproar of dust as the passenger-side wheels drifted off the road. And a mental footnote: "I'm glad I've been taking pictures; it might help the investigators figure out who the guy in the back was."
No good deed goes unreworded* Imagine my disappointment when I came home and the top search results all pointed to waitstaff.
...
... No. That's an intriguing punchline, but kicking off with it and then telling the story backward is going to be unsatisfying. So let's start over, from the top:
I stopped at a gas station tonight on my way home and bought $6.66 worth of regular unleaded (just enough to get me to the cheap gas station on my way to pick up kadyg tomorrow). My windshield looked a little grimy. So I wandered forward to where the squeegees were stored, about two feet away from an elderly woman pumping gas into her old Volkswagen van.
"Can I get your windows for you?" I asked, and smiled. "Just the front, and rear," she said.
I walked around to her rear window and wiped. It took her a few seconds to process this; then she walked over. "Do you ... work here?"
"Nope, just passing through."
She was silent for several moments. Thanked me, finished pumping her gas, and then caught up to me as I was wiping down my own windshield's grime.
"So to what do I owe this little random act of kindness?" she asked.
I considered. An honest answer would have included the measure of self-consciousness at approaching her to get the squeegee; she had looked up, uncertain, at the stranger's approach, and I had wanted to transform the encounter into one a little more positive.**
"That's a pretty good phrase for it," I answered.
We chatted some. Exchanged introductions, though not names. Talked about our cars, digressed into a little history. She asked where I worked, and I fumbled through an explanation. Then:
Seemingly out of nowhere -- "Are you a server?"
Am i a server?
I had absolutely no context for this line.
"I, um," I fumbled, "ah, that's one way to put it ... I like helping people ..."
"Me, too," she said. Then confided: "I think being a server is the best way to end up where you should be in life." Or something of the sort; my brain was still trying to process the idea. Server. Like at an Internet company? ... Hosting web pages for destiny? ... Or, maybe, this has got to be some sort of Christian metaphor. The way that conversation took a screaming left turn it must be something religious. I'll have to look it up when I get home.
I shrugged at her. "Well, it's already gotten me this far."
We parted ways; I drove off with my $6.66 worth of gasoline, and ...
Imagine my disappointment when I came home and the top search results all pointed to waitstaff.
I'm not certain I'm convinced. It did come up in the context of work, but some of the other things she was saying around it made it seem far deeper than a mere job description.
So has anyone here heard of the term "server" in a religious context (presumably conservative Christian; she lived in Penn Valley and so odds are good that way)? Are there people who use that as a self-description besides the Workers Formerly Known As Waitstaff?
-- * Pun intentional.
** It occurs to me, hours later, that another subconscious influence on my impromptu good deed was probably my viewing yesterday of this video via bradhickshere. It's actually pretty cool. Go watch.
The things that seem awesome at 2 AM The scene: Sunday morning, 4-1-2007. Early sunlight shines on an ungainly pile of blankets in a second-story bedroom. The sounds: Traffic noises, and the moaning of someone trying to block them out with a pillow over the ears. The cat: Steering well clear of the tipped bottle at the foot of the bed. A patch of dark-stained carpet reeks of wine cooler. The conversation:
4-1-07: My second tattoo! It seemed like a good idea at the time.
The topographic map of my elbow. Note Bonespur Peak at left; Surgery Way atop the scar; and the llama farm.
Bax: Get off my arm. Kady: I'm not on your arm. Bax: Yes you are. It hurts. Kady: So does my head, sweetie. So please shut up. Bax: I'm telling you, you're ... oh, never mind. Kady: (mutters) I knew I should have drank more water. Bax: What time is it? Kady: Your watch is on the bedside table. Bax: *gropes for it* Kady: What's that on your arm? Bax: What's what on my arm? Kady: Oh, shit. Bax: What? Kady: You didn't. Bax: Oh, shit. Kady: Where did you even find a tattoo parlor? Bax: I don't know! Rob drove me home. Kady: ... Bax: I distinctly remember us laughing about this idea last night. I don't remember anything about actually doing it. Kady: *giggles* Bax: What? Kady: You know, it is still pretty funny. Bax: ... I sure hope so. Kady: (still laughing) At least you'll get a good LJ post out of this.
And at least I'm never going to get lost if I go hiking on my elbow. ;-p
It is done! And so back to the shorter stuff ... To: "CB Fox" <cbf@feralnet.net> From: "claw n fang" <redwolves@therimail.com> Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2006, 04:13:44 GMT -0800 Subject: Re: Well, THIS sure takes me back
Good to hear from you too, vixy. ;-) We should get together sometime. Want to jump up here next weekend? We could hang out in the UDist some and then catch a movie. _Holding Fire_ just started.
On Fri, 20 Oct 2006, cbf@feralnet.net wrote: > How's Claw? Is he still overseas on that Atlantis project?
They're going to be out there for ... I don't know. Years, probably. :-( He comes home every time the boat hits port, but things are getting kind of dicey out there and they're spending a lot more time holed up at sea. I see the weariness in his eyes more and more every time he returns and I just don't know what to do.
Claw keeps trying to convince me to go along -- I always was the better mage, and he just doesn't think he's doing a good enough job. But it scares me to see where this is going. I read things like that big feature Vanity Parade just ran (copy attached -- Claw's even in the story; he's "Ben") and the secrecy and paranoia give me flashbacks.
This is a dream he needs to follow. I can't and won't stop him. But after all we've been through, I just want some peace and quiet. Is that so wrong?
- Fang
p.s. Re the job - oh my GODS is that cool. Magically assisted Web searches? Time for me to get a trial subscription. Hee hee ... maybe that'll even help us track down Kiasu for you. ;-)
Seriously. All true and unembellished. I couldn't make this stuff up.
The bottom line is -- after the continual foot woes, the Memorial Day break, the giardia slowdown and the unexpected sick days, and the tenuous progress I've been finally making -- I backtracked to the freeway (day 51 = negative trail miles!) and hitched back into town, and now I'm stuck here in this area until Monday, when my replacement frame should be arriving in Mojave.
Every time I think I'm going to start making some real progress, some new and creative disaster strikes. This time, though, it's just gone over the top straight into absurdity.
Thru-hiking southern California: A day in the life It's time to step back for a moment. Enough about town stops, daily mileages, and foot problems. Enough links to out-of-context photos. The big question I haven't really had a chance to answer yet is --
(The following is sung to the tune of "Hello Mudda, Hello Faddah")
Hello Anne and hello Larry,
Here I am in Agua Dulce.
Town is neat and food is filling,
But the heat is on the verge of hiker-killing.
You've seen pictures of the Saufleys,
They keep hikers on their property
In a guest house, tents and RVs,
There were 60 there last week. Now that's a party!
There are things I've heard since stopping,
Hikers from the trail are dropping.
You remember poor No Way Ray?
The memorial will be two weeks after Monday.
Now I don't want this should freak youse,
Ladybird got bit by a recluse.
Pinhead's shin splints still aren't healing,
And believe me, I have felt that broken feeling!
Let me stay,
Oh Jeff and Donna,
Let me stay,
'Cause I don't wanna
Go out to the scary desert
Where I might get heat stroke and fall down.
Let me stay,
I promise I will pat the dogs,
And smell nice in my clean new togs
Oh please let me sleep in,
I need to zero again!
Darling Mudder, Dearest Fadder,
The Mojave's growing hotter
And the Saufleys' is so shady
There are so many excuses to keep waiting.
Wait a minute, clouds just blew in,
Cooler weather might be brewin'
I can't stop or I'll be bailin'
So Mudder, Fadder, kindly disregard this mailin'!
(DUM dum dum dum-dum-dum dum DA DA dum plink plink!)”
"Odysseus!: The Musical," or what Kady and I talk about late at night Tell me, o muse, of the time kadyg and I were lying there, snuggling and bantering about her sheepskin rug ...
We came to the conclusion that she needed more of them. Or, Kady suggested, perhaps a herd of sheep. Spurred by a passing moment of classical homage, I added, "And a cyclops."
"And a dog named Dave," she countered, which sent us both into fits of giggles.
"He'd have to have only one eye."
"Dave the cyclops dog."
"I don't remember the cyclops dog in the Odyssey. Maybe I need to go back to the Lattimore translation?"
The discussion somehow tangented into having missed making pancakes for Shrove Tuesday, which led to talk of making a Jerry Liberation Day holiday as an excuse to cook pancakes, but that's neither here nor there.
"We should do that," I said some short time later, then clarified -- since my brain was stuck on an idea about four tangents back -- "rewrite the Odyssey, I mean. Put a dog named Dave in it. Go back to the ancient Greek, translate it ourselves. It's in the public domain."
"We need to make it a musical," Kady suggested.
I was silent for a moment.
"What rhymes with 'Peloponnesian'?" I asked.
And that, dear reader, broke my brain. We climbed into bed with me making up snippets of "Odysseus!: The Musical" show tunes off of the top of my head. I continued to do so until I was *ahem* properly distracted, and even now I can't get some of the rhymes out of my head without writing them down.
So!
Odysseus!: The Musical
Act I, Scene I
SPOTLIGHT comes up on dark stage, illuminating THE POET HOMER for his introductory solo.
HOMER: You can go talk to the Cretans
If you want some good light readin'
Or go take a walk to Sparta
If you want some nice wars started
Athens has its mathematicians,
Thebes has all those patricians,
But those young upstarts can't capture our hearts
Like the tale I now will start preachin'!
SECOND SPOTLIGHT illuminates ODYSSEUS, who poses heroically.
HOMER: Odysseus hails from Ithaca
Which is kind of a tongue-twithica
So let's just call him ...
STAGE LIGHTS come on, revealing a BIG BOAT with the word "ARGOS" fancily written on the prow, scratched out hastily, and the words "ITHACAN NAVY" scrawled underneath. The boat is full of ODYSSEUS' CREW.
OARSMEN: Peloponnesian!
FULL BAND strikes up into opening song.
OARSMEN: He sails the seven seas, an'
He's our favorite Peloponnesian!
For he's known throughout the region
As a wily Peloponnesian!
Even in abysses Stee-gee-an
They sing of our Peloponnesian!
Yes, he's known throughout the region
As a wily Peloponnesian!
HOMER:(spoken) A wily fellow? You don't say!
OARSMAN 1:(spoken) Sure as nighttime follows day!
OARSMAN 2:(spoken) He'll get us killed without delay
OARSMEN: But we still love him anyway!
HOMER:(spoken) So just how wily is he?
OARSMEN:(spoken in a ragged chorus) Boss! Tell him about the cyclops!
ODYSSEUS:(spoken) Oh, alright ...
LIGHTS DIM for ODYSSEUS' solo.
ODYSSEUS: We'd all sailed straight off the map
When Polyphemus set his trap
We all went to the big guy's home
Then found his door was solid stone
So we were stuck in his deep, dark cave
With a cyclops and a dog named Dave
And we were all afraid we would get eaten ...
OARSMEN: Which doesn't really rhyme with Peloponnesian!
ODYSSEUS: But I made myself a cunning plan
With a bad pun on the name "no man"
So I offered the monster some free gin --
MUSIC swells to a crescendo, OARSMEN jump out of boat and pose in a chorus line.
OARSMEN: That's our wily Peloponnesian!
ODYSSEUS bows, MUSIC stops.
HOMER:(spoken) On second thought, let's just call him Greek.
As long as we're straggling back in from Rabbit Hole Day ... ... let me toss out a quick Baxil's Greatest Hits post from the deep, dark past: An alternate reality that I'm sure as heck glad I haven't wandered into.
This is an idea for a hypothetical game show I fleshed out for a challenge for Antwon's "Survivorerer" (an on-the-cheap satire of the now-long-dead "Survivorer" parody of the popular reality show "Lord of the Flies: Grown-Up Edition") back in December 2000. It still seems fresh after four years, so heck, here goes nothing.
HOUSE GUESTS!!
The game where EVERYONE'S a contestant!
The scene: A 1984-esque dark future of humanity. "Big Brother" really is watching you. A whole bunch of stuff is illegal. Maybe even more than today, but that seems physically impossible.
The show: "Welcome, citizens, to House Guests! Today's game will start shortly. The police squad is warming up -- let's go talk to them."
A short bit of taped footage showing cops arming in full riot gear and with fully automatic weaponry. "Who knows what we'll find today? Just last week, it turned into a shootout. And then there was that guy with the drug lab. You really live for excitement like that."
Back to the announcer. "And we're ready to roll! Today's lucky contestant lives in --" he opens a little envelope from his pocket -- "Guildenstern, Wyoming. Now, live and on camera, it's ... TIME TO KNOCK!"
WHAM. WHAM. BLAM! A shotgun blast sends splinters flying everywhere. BASH! An army boot kicks in the remnants of the door. "FREEZE! POLICE!" Two wide-eyed children jump up and down and shriek in joy. "We win! We win!" Their father looks like he's just wet himself.
The announcer does his typical voice-over, even though everyone knows the rules. "Once the inhabitants are subdued, the police have ONLY FIVE MINUTES to search the premises! It's going to be a race against time, folks. What will they find? That's one of the two things that determine just how fantastic of a prize today's contestant will take home. If he's good enough at hiding his wrongs, and honest enough to admit them ... he might even get ... the GRAND PRIZE."
Cameras frantically follow the policemen through the house. Every few moments, they hack objects apart with huge, official-looking axes. One policeman grabs the family cat and sticks a drug wand up its anus. "MRAOOW!" *beep beep* *beep beep* "It's clean."
"WAIT A MINUTE!" the announcer cries. "What's this? THEY'VE FOUND A BOOK ON CIVIL LIBERTIES IN THE HEATING DUCTS! Oh, that's going to hurt his chances. In order to win the grand prize now --" the camera cuts back to the studio, where a huge "thermometer" on the wall has just risen from "0-degree offender" to "7th-degree offender" -- "he's going to need to beat his Offender Rating by 10 points. That means ... he needs to show proof that he's responsible for an act of international terrorism. A tough nut to crack. We've only ever had two of those on our show."
"Of course," adds the announcer, "you also win a grand prize if the cops don't find ANYTHING in your house -- but admit it. Everybody's guilty of SOMETHING." He smiles disarmingly.
It's the moment of truth. The cops haven't found anything more incriminating than the book. The father is manhandled in front of the cameras. He's bruised, bleeding, and has an arm twisted behind his back, bent nearly in two. He also has a smile plastered, incongruously, across his face.
"Our search puts you at level 7, Mr. Binkles," says an offscreen voice. "How much more can you reveal? What sort of prizes will we be giving your family tonight?"
"I ..." he says, then goes for broke. His smile falls away, and he starts trembling. "The registration on my handgun is counterfeit."
"Wow!" the announcer's eyes bug out in the studio. "Firearm ownership AND forgery! Level 12! If we can confirm that documentation, that means the Binkles family will get a FIFTH PRIZE! Charley, tell them what that means."
"A two-day all-expenses-paid vacation to Happy Happy Fun Land, a new set of virtual reality vids for the children, and all charges against him will be waived!"
"Fantastic! Well, that's all the time we have for now. Join us in two hours as we continue our 'round-the-clock competitions, here on ...
"HOUSE GUESTS!"
(Note: All contestants are shot through the head right after the show ends.)
Current Mood: random Current Music: Pink Floyd, "The Great Gig in the Sky" Tags:best of baxil
Vegas, Part I: The city streets (I wrote this on Tuesday when I returned from my trip. It took me a few days to polish it, and I'm posting it now because if I don't get it done before NaNoWriMo, it will never be posted ever. So ... a travelogue in two parts. Enjoy. -B)
I'm now sitting in the Las Vegas airport, waiting to go home after 48 hours on "the Strip." Said stretch of road -- technically Las Vegas Boulevard -- is, quite arguably, the epicenter of Vegas; if nothing else, it's what everyone associates with the city. It's about three miles of some of the world's largest and most ostentatious casinos. It's a miscrocosm of famous world landmarks -- a faux New York skyline, a replica Eiffel Tower, an imposing Egyptian pyramid. It's a place where dreams are made and hopes are crushed.
It's also the world's biggest infomercial, advertising itself at full volume 24 hours a day.
They DEFEND this stuff?! Our paper is running Walter Williams' syndicated column in defense of price gouging on Sunday. As a recent ex-Libertarian, I still have sympathy for several of their basic economic arguments. This, however, is not one of them.
Williams argues that the Virginia legislature's new "post-disaster anti-gouging" law is immoral (well, okay, maybe not; I'm not sure why he's arguing it's bad, other than it's against libertarian "invisible-hand-solves-all" principles) because ... ready for this? ... not as many people will be willing to provide disaster relief services if they can't make gross profits off of it. Not just profit, but huge windfall profits of the sort created by naked opportunism.
( Rant rant rant ... [cut for length] ) ... And I just have to leave one closing thought: Walter Williams, I hate you. I'm a social liberal, damn it. I never thought I'd have to seriously play the "breakdown of society" card. I feel all unclean now.
Current Mood: disgusted Current Music: STM 200, "PARANOiA Eternal" Tags:best of baxil, politics
My crushes -- in rhyme! (Worksafe, but naughty) raki's challenge to subvert the Crush Meme got my mind going ...
That, and a little too much of Edward Gorey's "Gashlycrumb Tinies" (from which I shamelessly borrowed the basic idea and cribbed the rhyme scheme), had me sifting through my friends list for the people who most make my mind drift into the gutter.
And, of course, you're going to click on the cut tag and read the rest, either because you love poetry or because you just need to know how I'm scandalously misusing your LJ username.
(Copied and pasted from my response to someone else's journal entry. I'm not reposting it here for any particular reason; it doesn't mean I'm doing any significant thinking about death. Rather, just because it just seemed so profound.)
I think I've made my peace with the idea of physical death as return to the void. (Of course, there's no way to test that short of staring it in the face. I can only offer the best results of my introspection here.)
And, having made my peace with the possibility (or likelihood) that the void awaits and anything to the contrary really might be a tidy piece of evolutionary psychology, I have embraced said "evolutionary psychology" (or at least one particular and deeply felt interpretation of it) with a passion.
It's the only sane choice.
Staring at the void is transformative; living on the edge is not. If what we do in this life matters even a whit, then we have a moral duty to ourselves to get as much out of life as we can. And you just can't live when the smelly demon dog of darkness is pissing on your leg all the time. Even if he really is sitting in the corner, grinning patiently and waving his fecal-smelling tentacles, the only sane course of action is to ignore him. Run, shout, devour, fly, fuck; take awe from the sacred, take pleasure from the profane, endure pain from the unholy.
And then, when he catches up to you, one night, in some dark alley, smile and say, "If you're here for me, then you catch everyone, sooner or later. I couldn't have escaped you if I'd spent my life running, or deterred you if I'd spent it begging. So I did the best I could, and, dammit, you may not be keeping score, but as far as I'm concerned, I won."
Current Mood: thoughtful Current Music: Final Fantasy Tactics soundtrack, "Count's Anger" Tags:best of baxil
A thought for the hurting As for feeling like a 'failure': You don't have to justify yourself, not
to me, not to yourself, not to anyone. The mere fact you're here gives you
a right to keep being here, no matter how badly you might screw it up.
You're allowed to kill yourself, but you're not obligated to
do so by failing. The world is full of killers and thieves and blind
rabid ideologues and mindless consumer drones -- and if they can get a
free pass to keep breathing, so can you.
Current Mood: hopeful Current Music: Ubik - "FF3j The Dark World (Crystal Abyss) OC ReMix" Tags:best of baxil
Hey, you. Yes, you. The one sitting at the computer, right now,
reading my Livejournal.
I've got something for you.
I went to a Mongolian grill in downtown Auburn today for lunch. They
handed out fortune cookies after the meal. They gave us (my coworkers and
I) an extra fortune cookie. I grabbed it, because I knew you'd want one.
This is what your fortune said:
You know something?
It's right.
Current Mood: thankful Current Music: Souls in the System soundtrack, "Beyond All Fear of Doom" Tags:best of baxil
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
devious
hot
conversational
hung over
accomplished
sublimely ridiculous
restless
creative
random
disgusted
curious![];=8)](http://www.tomorrowlands.org/forum/images/smiles/dragonwink.gif){kind=small}
thoughtful
hopeful