Happy Prescription: Girl Medicine

Guys, don't hate me when I say this, but I think women may be smarter than us when it comes to certain things. For instance, dealing with their feelings. In particular, knowing exactly what to do to cheer themselves up. It's no secret that women are more emotionally sensitive than men. So perhaps from birth, they are instinctively given the ability and the know-how to splash a little happy in their world when they are feeling blue. To not only find, but also use the proper tools needed for such a task. Of course I am talking about chocolate and shopping. Now the chocolate and shopping therapy I've never done before and frankly I never thought it would work any miracles on me. I just couldn't see how something so girly could cheer a guy up.

I may be heterosexual, but I'll admit that I probably have a little meterosexual in me or I wouldn't be open to trying this "girly approach". Besides, what could it hurt? My tough guy image? Hah, I threw that out the window the minute I started talking about "feelings" and honestly...I'm ok with that. I am what I am. I won't cover it or make excuses for it. As a wise man...scratch that...I mean as a wise woman once said "you need to own it". So I'm going to do just that, starting right now.

Last night I received the gift of girl medicine. It traveled roughly 3,000 miles to comfort me. It came in just a plain old brown shipping box. Despite it's unpretentious outside appearance, the inside was truly beautiful. Something very kind. Something heartfelt. After my Mom had informed my sister about my recent loss, she must of felt bad for me. Bad enough that she wanted to help make me feel better. So she put together a little care package for her favorite little brother. (I should note that I'm her only brother so of course I'm her favorite!) Inside was a box of See's Chocolates (if you never had See's, you are missing out!), an AE gift card and some handwritten words of support. I don't really have a relationship with my sister where I talk about "feelings". The only time serious conversations between us take place is usually when she is talking to me about her man problems, venting, asking advice, ect. I've rarely, if ever, opened up to her and told her about any problem of mine I was ever facing. So when I read the card she sent me, I was a little surprised. It was rather touching and nothing like something she would normally say to me. Perhaps she too finds it easier to write sometimes than to verbalize what's inside?

Whatever it was, that "girl medicine" is exactly what the doctor would order. It put a much needed smile on my face. Chocolate or shopping probably won't ever be the miracle cure for me, but reading the things she said has been of great comfort. I'm not going to repeat what she wrote because I feel some things should remain private and I want to keep it discrete. I think it was meant to be that way. To stay that way. However, beyond my private thank you, a public thank you is called for as well. So thank you. Although I love the chocolates and gift card, I appreciate what you said to me the most. That will stay with me long after the candy is eaten and the money is spent.

On a somewhat unrelated note, last night while I was sleeping, I think I experienced a panic attack. I'm not really sure if that is what it was because I've never had one and I really don't know the symptoms of one. I just know that I woke up around 5AM, broke out in a cold sweat and got extremely nauseas like I was either going to throw up or pass out...which I may of, had I not been already lying down. Then as quickly as the "attack" came on, it passed. I image it was what Aleksandr Petrovsky (if you don't watch Sex And The City, you won't understand) went thru just before his big gallery opening. Of course, that was fictional, mine was not. I think it very well could of been brought on due to the fact that I've been worrying about going to DC. I was originally suppose to leave a few days ago, but now it's been pushed to first thing Monday morning. I always get nervous and question myself when I go to work there. I know I need to relax. I'm very good at what I do or they would of never hired me. Still, I feel out of place because I am so much younger than everyone else and I worry if I should make even a small mistake, that I would lose that contract. This project has been my main bread and butter, so I can't afford to slipup.

For now my focus is on boxing as I'm off to train. I have a boxing match this weekend, my first in awhile. So wish me luck! I'll have a few photos snapped from my fight and I'll try to post from DC, but I can't promise anything. Obviously blogging can't be a priority, but being happy should be.

Really, Really Bad Poetry

You should experience these dreams I have late at night. You should peer into my mind just once and see where I journey in an unconscious state. From just after midnight, up until the wee hours just before dawn, it makes no difference. My head continues to spin. I sometimes wonder if I've slept one full night in my entire life without having some kind of dream. Sometimes a nightmare. Sometimes a flashback. Sometimes just too bizarre to decipher. It's like a photo album is being flipped infront of me. A home movie is being spun before my eyes. My brain continues to pump out images, voices and video. Never before though has it produced writing...until the other night.

I'm sitting at home in my office. A small torn sheet of paper lies before me with a pen in my hand. The desk beneath my hand seems to float downward and disappears into a sea of white fog. It's like I'm writing in thin air, but I have this paper. I have this pen. I have these words pouring out of me. I write them down rapidly, like a writer does when a feeling hits them and they don't want to lose that train of thought. As I scratch the words out, I am saying them. I am repeating them outloud to myself, but yet in a whisper. Over and over again I recite the words as if I am preparing to give a speech. What I have to say seems so important that I need to write it down. I need to make a note of it because I must get this message out there. My voice must be heard. My message must be read. It echoes...

I dance around my words.
I tiptoe between the lines.
I read what I write.
Again. And Again.
And once more to get it just right...for you.

I puff my chest out proud.
Like the letter P.
Then I feel silly.
And slide down the letter V.

Your insecurities are shinning thru...

The poem does not complete. After writing in a frenzy, I suddenly get a case of writer's block. I wakeup from a dead sleep. I sit up in bed totally confused. It's bizarre. It makes no sense. It's like really, really bad poetry. Initially I think "that poem was horrible!" I am my own worst critic, but really, that was just plain bad. I expect better out of me, even in my sleep. It jumps around. It seems kind of serious at first, then it gets silly and then it gets strange. Of course that is the beauty of a dream. They often make very little sense to you at first, until you dig into the possible hidden meaning beneath it all. I get out of bed, grab a sheet of paper and jot down the "poem" I was writing in my dream. I know if I don't do that immediately, I will surely forget the exact wording. It seemed like it was very important to me in the dream and because it woke me so abruptly, then perhaps it does have some significant meaning. I feel frustrated that I didn't complete the poem, even though it was poorly written. Despite the calming atmosphere that surrounded me in the dream, I felt frantic as I wrote. I even felt urgency writing once I awoke. Now a few days later, I feel as if I want to piece the dream and the poem together - make sense of it. I may have to call on a poet and a psychologist to help me decipher this one. Although, I've given this some thought and this is what I feel the dream and the poem may be trying to say to me...

It's that little boy trapped inside of me. The little boy who stands on his tiptoes to peer out the window. To peer thru the world from behind my eyes. He's suppressed by childish fears. He sometimes suppresses them even when he writes. He writes in complete solitude. Nothing but a pen, a paper and his heart. He begins to let it out. Suddenly, he stops short and then makes light of it. He cracks a joke. He turns it into a silly game. He slips on the mask so he doesn't have to feel ashamed for what's pouring out of him. He shows a glimpse of himself from the inside out. Then quickly he pulls the curtain tightly shut. He hesitates. He doesn't put closure on things that ail him. He lets it fester like a dirty wound. He needs to own it. But he feels people will laugh at him. Make fun of him. Make light of it. He becomes embarrassed. He feels sorry for ever bringing it to people's attention. He tries to explain himself. He tries to reason his emotions. He tries to convince others he is strong. He tries to convince himself too. He secretly is seeking their reassurance. That it's ok not to be strong sometimes. They reassure him. They comfort him. However, the feeling doesn't last. He wonders if they are being truthful or just being kind. He questions the sincerity. He hates to question their heart. He hates anyone to question his.

My iPod Is Making Me Deaf? Huh? What Did You Say?

Over the last few months, there has been alot of talk about Apple's iPod earbuds making people go deaf. However, I haven't heard much of this discussion. Get it? For those that didn't already know, a congratulatory cigar is in order because not long ago I became a newly proud Papa of my first iPod! Yes, I finally gave into the peer pressure and fell victim to the much hyped #1 selling portable MP3 player, the iPod. Wanting to take my massive MP3 collection with me on the go and wanting something with a larger storing capacity then my current 128MB Muvo, the new 30GB video iPod was the prefect fit. Oh yeah, and I got it in black - sexy! Wait...I am suppose to be posting about hearing loss and not my hard-on for the iPod. Let me regain focus and get back on track here.

For those of you who have not already gone deaf from listening to your iPod, then you may of heard about the pending lawsuit Apple is currently facing. Some morons are attempting to sue Apple, claiming Apple should be responsible for their dumb ass because they don't know how to properly operate the volume button on their iPod. Therefore, they have blasted their ears out on a consistent enough basis to cause some form of hearing damage/loss. Now to compensate for their "injury", they are going after Apple's wallet. They are demanding that Apple protects the health of their customers. Never mind the common sense approach, like turning that shit down if your brain is oozing out your ear cavity. Welcome to the land of the idiot, sue happy America.

Hoping to rectify the situation, Apple has posted a press release about the recent concern of hearing loss as a result from listening to iPods. In addition to that, they released a software update (version 1.1.1) for the 5th generation iPod video and iPod Nano that enables users to configure a volume limit. The update will be nicely implemented into the iPod's already sleek interface. It will enable parents to limit the volume their kids can use on their iPod, or in the case of idiot adults, you can use is as an idiot-proof method to protecting your hearing. The volume limit can be protected via a passkey.

My main concern, is not that I will go deaf from listening to my iPod, but rather my ears will bleed from those God awful uncomfortable ear buds! Am I the only person who hates those things? Maybe I have odd shaped inner ears or something, but after 30 minutes of use, I can't wait to pull those out. Then I have to rub my ears and find a nice quiet place where I go and sob. Kidding, but those earbuds are kinda painful to wear. Sorry, I'll toughen up and remember to speak loudly when talking with my fellow iPod pals.

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? Good.

He Sleeps

When I don't feel like blogging, I moblog. It's the lazy man's method of getting his voice heard. Not thru words, but thru images. You can see what my eyes see, even when they are half asleep. This shot was taken the other night as I layed on my bed. Somewhere between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness, I snapped this shot...somewhat by accident as I leaned on my phone wrong. As you can see, it came out crappy because the lighting was low and I didn't have the flash on. The walls are actually painted a red wine/burgundy color with hardwood floors and cream colored carpeting, but the photo is deceiving. Instead it appears to look messy and brown, which is another reason I call this shot "crappy". That is the door to where my pants and the Boogieman lives, my bedroom closet.

Being sad makes one feel exhausted, literally. I hate that feeling. It's like I want to sleep all the time and that isn't healthy. It's like a giant weight on your body that keeps you down physically, makes you feel down psychologically. I want to get back up. I need to shed the gloom and get back to being me. Therefore, I decided I am going to "write" thru this state of depression I seem to find myself in. In the past, writing has often helped me feel better. It's given me an outlet for my emotions, a venue in which I am able to express myself. I think that might be good for me. I still feel like I want to be quiet and somewhat alone from the world for awhile, but I can write in solitude. Even if it's just for me, for my personal benefit, I think I will write. You may read if you like.

Think A Virtual 9-11 Can't Happen? Think Again!

Close your eyes for a minute and think what it would be like if today there was no Internet. There is no e-mail. Only white noise exists when you turn on your TV or radio for news. Your phone doesn't pickup a signal. The stock market crashes unexpectedly. Millions, even billions of dollars belonging to businesses and banks across the country have disappeared. Your SS#, drivers license and other information that identifies who you are ceases to exist anymore. The airports are shutdown. The subways are not moving. Even the city traffic lights go out. Emergency response teams (police, fire, ambulance) can't be reached. People become stranded (some injured, sick or even dying), but there is no way to help them because every hospital is closed. Makeshift triages must be built. It's a land of utter chaos. You are lost in the middle of it. Sound familiar? Much of what I just described should paint the images of 9-11 in your head. Much of what I just described should paint the images of what a Virtual 9-11 could be like!

It's been almost 5 years since the September 11th attacks and despite all the conflicting political views people have on how the attacks could of been prevented, how Americas should handle day-to-day life in the aftermath and the mixed emotions involving the war, we can all agree on one thing. That 9-11 was a giant wakeup call. I saw it as a giant slap in the face to every ignorant American (myself included) to think so highly of ourselves and our country that no harm could ever come to us. That no terrorist could ever orchestrate such an elaborate plan and pull nearly the entire act out flawlessly. It was the ultimate show of arrogance by the US for many years, until the curtain was dropped and the show was over on 9-11. These days we all believe it can happen again. The US may be the most powerful country, but we are not untouchable. We are not immortal. Evil can find us. It sounds scary, but it is reality...something we lacked prior to 9-11, a realistic mindset.

When it comes to technology and the online world, a realistic mindset is sometimes altered. What we may feel is virtual and not real or important, is in fact very real and can affect us in a very real "non-virtual" way. The technology we use is not only important, but in some cases it is vital to our existence. Vital to keeping this country operating in the manner in which we are accustom to. Today more than ever, we live in a world that is intertwined with computers. Nearly everything we do in our everyday lives is somehow tied to and dependent on computers. This applies even to those who aren't tech savvy. For this very reason, The Department of Homeland Security is worried that terrorists might try to disrupt the American economy by launching future attacks in cyberspace.

So officials staged a simulated assault last month called "Operation Cyber Storm" to see if the country is ready. In the largest cyber-exercise yet, more than 100 experts from Cabinet-level agencies, foreign governments and corporations like Microsoft and Symantec simulated the kind of cyber-attack that they believe hackers, anarchists or terrorists might be planning. The war game drew in 115 agencies from the FBI and CIA to the Red Cross. IT companies and state and foreign governments also played a role in responding to the mock attacks. The US has been accused of being unprepared for a determined attack by hackers, so this exercise gave us an excellent opportunity to enhance our nation's cyber security which is critical to protecting our nation's infrastructure. The week long simulated attack was carried out on secure computers in the basement of the Secret Service in Washington DC.

We haven't seen what they call a cyber-Pearl Harbor to date, but we know that they're capable of hitting different parts of our finance, transportation or emergency systems. Cyber Storm simulated attacks on power grids, banking systems, finance systems, retail computer systems, health care records and programs that control traffic on the land and in the air. Exercises like these are good. They teach us what the limitations are on our responses and how we can do better. This helps us prevent, or at the very least be prepared for, a Virtual 9-11 if it would ever take place. To make sure the simulated attack didn't become real, the computers used in the $3 million exercise were carefully segregated from the online world. Planners know a successful attack could have a devastating effect on the American economy because the Internet and Internet activities are the backbone of our economy. That's exactly the kind of target al Qaeda has indicated it wants to strike and the Internet might be vulnerable. If you weren't already aware, the federal government knows that the Department of Homeland Security cannot effectively function as the cyber security focal point intended by law and national policy.

Now a month later, I find myself heading back to DC this week to continue to help - to do my part in preparing for and/or preventing a Virtual 9-11. I'll do my best, so sleep well tonight. Know that your electronic world, that many of use have taken for granted, will still be here and functioning properly come morning.

When It Rains, It Pours

In my attempt not to follow up one depressing post with another one, I am withholding the fact that I somehow feel strangely "obligated" to share with the blog world what is currently going on with me. Man, just writing that sounds weird. There is absolutely no reason why I should feel obligated even in the slightest form to share personal things about my life with the public world. After all, this is just a blog. It doesn't make my world go round. It is not as vital to my existence as the air I breathe. It's simply a place I come to write. Often from the heart. Occasionally from a mask. There is so much more to me than this blog. Those that know me well, know this to be true. They see me. The real me. My blog is only a glimpse of me. A small peak into my world. A world that is often filled with bright, vivid happy colors...but lately is a world filled with much gray. A world that should be getting brighter by the day, but instead seems to be turning black as I continue to get more bad news, even just an hour ago.

Strangely enough, blogging at times can force you to feel like you have to make some sort of statement or catch up your "virtual pals/AKA loyal readers" to what is happening on your end of cyberspace. You know what? I don't like that feeling. Make no mistake about it, I do appreciate those who read and comment on my blog - who have been kind, helpful and even made me laugh on occasion. However, I don't want to feel obligated to blog if I don't want to. I don't want to feel obligated to share what I feel is too personal or too painful at the moment to express to people. In short, I don't want to let just anyone in. I hope those of you left somewhat in the dark here can understand.

The real reason I even bother to write this post is because I feel a push to inform all of you, give you a legitimate excuse why I have lapsed in posting and why I haven't been surfing on over to your blogs to say hello. Some may of noticed that I have not been leaving my usual jokey comment or attempted to give some insightful thought I have in regards to your own writing. For that, I apologize. I hope nobody takes it personal. Instead, I feel I'm better off being quiet. Yes, I know Mr. Rambles has nothing to say - a real shocker, but it's true. I don't want to talk. I don't want to blog. I don't want to interact. I need some solitude for awhile. I know the saying "this too shall pass" would fit nicely right about now, but at the moment, I can't see the happy colors. They are blurred. Good times appear to be out of focus for me and seem out of reach as well. They say "time heals all wounds" and if that is true, then I would love nothing more than to be able to speedup time so the healing could begin. A few days ago I would of done anything to slow time down, better yet rewind it, but now I want it to speed by. I want it to race faster than a tear can drop. It would be nice if rain could wash away pain and make it a distant memory. Blur the lose so you couldn't feel so sharply. So you couldn't miss so transparently.

It's amazing to me that nothing can make me smile. I mean nothing. Stretch Jennifer Lopez out naked on the back of my Ducati and that wouldn't even spark my interest right now, seriously. Even the one person who never fails to bring a smile to my face, my little 2-year-old niece, failed to bring me joy. (I'm going to be really brave here and tell a somewhat embarrassing tale.) Last night I stopped to visit her because going home makes me extremely sad right now. So I thought for sure I would feel better if I played with my niece for a couple hours. I was laying on the couch and she brings me over books to read to her. For whatever reason, I could feel a "snowflake" in my eye (yes, "a snowflake fell in my eye" is the phrase I use for that watery thing that happens, I will use that phrase in August and indoors if I have to). My niece is a perceptive kid. She looked at me a little weird, almost a shocked look on her face. Then it changed into sadness like she was going to cry. I panicked for a second because I didn't want to upset her or scare her. Then before I knew it, her expression changed and she gave me a little smile as if to say "it's ok, I won't tell". She proceeded to hand me her sketch board and said "make a fish" - my indication that we should play thru this and I should draw for her. I took the sketch board and began making my best guppy for her when she laid her head on my chest, right on top of my heart and let out a sigh.

Today I can't write from the heart. It will hurt too much to do that and without a doubt, it would make someone out there cry if I were to transform my feelings into words. Honestly, I don't think words can even begin to express how badly I feel. Part of me is a little surprised I am taking this so poorly, but I can't help it. Not to sound like a big wus here, but without a doubt it would make me cry to write about it. Yes, not pretty - a grown man crying, but my heart should be questioned if something like this wouldn't make even the toughest guy shed at least one tear. Besides, I promised the other day that my next post would not be a sad one. So this is my attempt to keep dry eyes in the house...err blog land. Today I write from a mask. Today you will have to accept that because it is all I can offer. For now, I wait for the cloud to lift and the rain to end. Then again, the month of April is not far away and that brings April showers. So this may take some time. Perhaps you'll stick around.

***UPDATE***
What's going on now is completely unrelated to my last post so I hope people don't get confused. Also, I was pleasantly surprised that a friend of mine remembered the significance of why I wrote what I did as my #74 item. So yes, you were right. #74 was his football number from grade school thru college. Thanks for picking up on that as subtle as I thought it was.

The Weight Of Winter Lifts For Spring

Winter is a period of time that is long, cold and often dismal. There is a stillness in the air. A quiet everywhere you turn. Often the silence can seem deafening. You long for the sweet song of a morning bird. The cheerful chirp of a warm night's cricket. The fluttering patter of the butterfly's wings orchestrated beautifully with the buzz of the bumble bee. I want to hear the wind blow thru tree braches that are full with leaves. I want to memorize the gurgling and gulps a babbling brook makes, as the ice begins to melt and water flows free again. I want to gaze at the glow of the moon. Watch it cast a familiar shadow off a freshly cut lawn. If I close my eyes, I can almost see it. I can almost hear it. I can almost smell it. Spring awakens the senses. I believed that Spring may awaken the heart as well.

I enjoy all 4 seasons and I feel each seasonal change brings it's own blessings, as well as curses. The calm tranquility of winter can be peaceful, but it's time to covet Spring. We are eager for the weight of snow to be lifted. In it's place, Spring. With it, a new beginning. Everything is alive again. Things begin to bloom and grow. The Earth begins to soften. Absorbing everything the winter has shed. It's replaced with the first flower. The first sign of Spring. The daffodil. I've always liked the daffodil. It's warm yellow color. How the pedals fall gracefully to the sides. It's almost like a pair of lips parting to form a smile. For a brief moment, I flashback in time to when I was a kid.

It's Springtime and I'm in the backyard playing. I can hear those birds singing. And that one woodpecker who would return each year. I search for him in the trees. Trying to locate his vivid red markings amongst a forest of green and brown. I can hear the water echo as it races downstream under the bridge. Leaving the rocks beneath it smooth and round from it's continuous pattern. I run my hand along the top of the bridge. I admire each knot in the wood and how I helped my father build it when I was just 6. In the near distance I see my sister swinging on our swing set. I hear the annoying creaking in my head. A noise that back then irritated me. Today, a noise I miss the presence of. The presence of her being close by. I feel the warm wind against my skin. Blowing from the weeping willow tree. The same tree I carved my initials into and one year tried to climb. I breathe in the fresh grass. So newly cut that the drew drops can be seen lying on each blade. The green rubs off on my tennis shoes, staining them for the day. I am not bothered that my Nikes are damp and the soles are slightly green in color. I continue to run about.

I throw a football straight up into the air and my best friend tries to catch it. I can see him in that same pale blue t-shirt like it was yesterday. I can feel him sitting beside me on my parent's front porch. Playfully nudging one another in the ribs. Sharing a grilled cheese sandwich together. He practically lived there. When we turned 18, it was almost a given that we would be roommates in college. It was a bond that nobody could break. If it hadn't been for blood, I think he would of been my brother. He felt like a brother to me. He was treated like a son by my Mom. Back then, I see her leaning over to kiss the top of each of our heads telling us to be good and that my sister was in charge while she ran to the store for a few. I wish he had only ran out to the store. He would be back by now. We would throw the football around. We would share lunch together again. We would try and relive some happy times from the past. We would plan happy times to live for the future. We would reminisce and laugh. We would makeup for all these years that we continue to lose. Years he decided to throw away one day. Time we will never get back. His life tied to mine. Him and that old faded blue t-shirt I truly miss. I wish him back, but God won't comply. Instead I am filled with memories and wishes of what "would have been". Memories and wishes that will never fade like his shirt.

It's funny that when I began to write this, the idea was that it would be happy and filled with childhood memories that I cherish. For the most part, it is. I do cherish the time I spent growing up and the time I spent with him. I wouldn't of traded it for anything. I also wouldn't trade in the pain that lingers on these days. I wouldn't do that because it would mean that the past wasn't real. I want it to be real. I love the fact that he was real. Real to me. Real to everyone around him. The weight of his death has never left me. It's been several years now since his suicide and maybe I still haven't fully grieved like I should of. Whatever it is, I wish that the weight would leave me as quickly as he left this world. I think this Spring when the first daffodils begin to bud and bloom, I will pick them. Pick half of them. The same half amount he use to help me pick for my Mom each Spring in the backyard. Perhaps he will look down and mimic each pedal by parting a smile. Perhaps I will mimic that smile too.

Too Much Time On One's Hands

Word on the street is that American's can't find enough hours in the day to do everything they need/want to do. In general, most people will claim they are pressed for time...all the time. Is a 24 hour day really not long enough or is that just something people say, use as an excuse for when they want to slack off? Sometimes it's easier to say you are busy than to tell the truth, especially if the truth consists of you not finishing those TPS Reports because you were too busy making miniature army soldiers out of CAT-5 Ethernet cable. Perhaps it's not just at work where you slack and give the "sorry, I can't, I'm busy" excuse. Maybe you do it in your personal life as well, with your family and friends. Truth be told, there are people out there that rather skip going out on a Saturday night to stay-in and make Gladiator-like helmets for their cat...out of fruit! What the...? Below are just a few of the bizarre activities that people partake in when they have too much time on their hands.

Precious Time You Will Never Get Back - The feline fruit helmet has become an online cult of sorts. I keep coming across more and more cat lovers (or maybe haters?) that are putting their buddy "Boots the Cat" into battle with nothing more than an orange peel to protect him. (FYI, that's not the same as agent orange.) It's also safe to say that I have yet to see a single kitty that looks excited and pumped up about his new fatigues. Something tells me that these cats would rather sleep than fight a war. Believe it or not, there is a feline fruit helmet tutorial.

Who's Held Responsible - Various Internet freaks, hide your face in shame...your cat already is.

My Take On Said Act - Although it's funny, it borderlines on animal cruelty and it's just a very, VERY strange hobby. I might add that it somewhat frightens me as well!

Precious Time You Will Never Get Back - A man recreated the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center out of a bunch of McDonalds "freedom fries" glued together with ketchup. Perhaps when all the grease dries, it takes on the consistency of cement? A similar theory could be applied to the fact that fast food seals up your arteries much the same way.

Who's Held Responsible - Artist Jack Daws, the title "artist" should be said with a grain of salt.

My Take On Said Act - It's pretty damn gross. Not to mention pointless and rather unimpressive. You won't see this alongside the Mona Lisa anytime soon.

Precious Time You Will Never Get Back - This Russian site is filled with pictures of detailed action figures and accessories twisted together from strands of wire unwound from CAT-5 Ethernet cable. It makes GI Joe look like a chump.

Who's Held Responsible - Well if I could speak Russian, I could tell you his name. However, I believe he calls himself "Gagarin".

My Take On Said Act - I have to admit it, I liked this one. That is the tech head/little boy in me. I thought it was clever. I'm sure it's very time consuming and I'm sure viewed as somewhat childish, but who cares.

Precious Time You Will Never Get Back - A sex toy ban upheld in Mississippi says it's a crime for responsible adults to sell vibrators to other adults there! The state law does not extend the right to privacy to the commercial sale of sexual devices. So you are asking, how did this make my "time wasting list"? Well I feel it's a waste of time that any court would not only write such a stupid law, but then sign it! I think the judge could of spent his time more wisely by browsing the local porn shop and perhaps buying a little something for the Mrs.

Who's Held Responsible - Mississippi State Court System, needs to get a clue.

My Take On Said Act - This is down right shocking! It's a blatant injustice to horny women and a sad day when she is denied her right to the coveted jackrabbit. It makes me want to donate dildos to the needy and deprived.

'Lil Luck Of The Irish

Since today is St Patty's Day, I'm just going to throw this out there and let you do with it as you please. I'm part Irish. I know, I know you've heard that pickup line many times before on March 17th, but when I say it, it's really true. So you know what that means right? That today it's mandatory that I get lots of kisses! Wait, let me reword that statement. It's mandatory that I get lots of kisses from cute single girls. There, that's better. Yes, everyday it should be governed law that random hotties make-out with me. Unofficially, some hotties do. Officially, all hotties will HAVE TO today. Let me also state for the record that you no longer need to fight off your primal urges ladies. St. Patrick's Day lasts for a full 24 hours so you have time to get into my kissing booth line. So that is the good news. Now for the bad news...

Today is suppose to be a lucky day. Well lucky at least for the Irish. If I knew my luck would run out just the day before St. Patrick's Day, then I would of started eating me Lucky Charms by the box full yesterday! I would of done whatever it took to help insure that cloud with the silver lining (err, green lining?) would last. Unfortunately, a leprecon wasn't kind to me. There was no rainbow leading to a pot of gold. There was no lucky four leaf clover at my feet. As you know, the March Madness tournament started yesterday and my little heart sank when I quickly discovered that 2 of my teams had lost in the 1st round! Of course that doesn't necessarily throw me out of the running to winning it all, so I have hope. Now if only Notre Dame was a good basketball college, then I would be dominating in the office poll! (Get it? Because Notre Dame is an Irish school, the Fighting Irish - duh.)

In other tantalizing Irish news, I'm going to have to send my apologies out to a buddy of mine. He was ever so kind to me last year when he presented me with a St. Patty's Day tee. A small tear dwelled in my eye when I read the touching words printed on the shirt "F*ck Me I'm Irish". Because it is such a classy shirt, I opted not to wear it to work today, but I just may wear it out tonight for happy hour. Everyone reading this is going to happy hour right? Come on now, it's green beer night! You don't want to miss out. So belly up to the bar and grab yourself a nice Guinness. Chug it, shout "BRILLIANT" and then be sure to do an Irish jig to finish off. Who knows, that kind of behavior may even lead to you getting "lucky" (if you know what I mean) by the time the bartender calls last round. Yes, brilliant indeed.

Now you know what to do. Go ahead and plant one on me - virtual style in the comment section, or better yet, I would prefer the real kiss. No dudes please, but I would let you buy me a beer if you want to be all affectionate, but I won't make-out with you. I'm sorry. Maybe next year.

Shh, It's A Secret

I don't know if this would ever make the front page of the PostSecret website, but it's making the front page of mine. A few minutes to spare in Photoshop and a reoccurring thought is all I needed to create this.

The Real MySpace Disgrace Is Not Seeing The Forest From The Trees

Perhaps the word "disgrace" doesn't suit the recent MySpace.com related crimes that are taking place. As you know, disgrace means loss of honor, respect or reputation. To shame. The condition of being strongly and generally disapproved. One that brings disfavor or discredit. Ok, maybe the word does fit, but I have a hard time believing that MySpace ever carried some high distinguishing marks in the reputation department. For the most part, it's a place where teenagers strive to get themselves an easy ticket into the in-crowd...virtual style. Personally, I've never jumped on the MySpace bandwagon, nor do I ever plan on hoping aboard anytime soon, or ever. To me it's just...well...cheesy and queer. Ok to use those terms? In my opinion, I think those words do fit!

I'm not trying to offend anyone who uses MySpace. I say to each their own. I am however a little offended over the ignorance displayed by the media. Their lack of understanding "the big picture". The tarnished images surrounding all these MySpace related crimes that have been in the news of late. There is a saying "you can't see the forest from the trees" and in this case, it's true. Everyone is so concerned over the minuet details that they are missing the meat and potatoes of the problem. Am I the only person alive that believes a person should be held accountable for their actions and that soul blame should not be pushed off onto some website, video game, music CD, movie, ect? You know the old routine. A kid commits suicide, Ozzy Osbourne song lyrics are to blame. A kid shoots up his school, the video game Doom is to blame. A dumb kid lays in the middle of the road and gets run over, a scene from a movie is to blame. Now when a kid goes off with a stranger and bad things happen, a website is to blame. Whatever happened to blaming the kid or better yet push some of that blame on the parents? How about a little role modeling, some education, some boundaries, that every action has a reaction? How about using better judgment to keep your butt out of trouble. Nobody ever seems to think of that because it's far easier to point the finger elsewhere.

This time all the fingers are pointing to MySpace. I say stop blaming MySpace for a second and let's look at the facts. Let's be rational. Think it thru a little first before you cast judgment. Sure MySpace was "linked" somewhat in these crimes. Example: It's true that a boy met a girl on MySpace and then later killed her parents because they didn't want him to be with her. So in that sense, MySpace provided the initial meeting grounds. Perhaps without MySpace, these 2 would of never of met and a set of parents would be alive today. Then again, who isn't to say that the young lovers wouldn't of met in a more conventional way and it may of lead to the same double murder outcome. I could list all the MySpace related crimes and play the other side of the fence showing you how MySpace isn't to blame, but I think you get the point. MySpace is taking all this heat because it's the hottest site on the web for teens with more than 60 million members. It's causing a stir, both online and off. People love a stir, especially the media. They love to get the public up in arms over anything.

Just 10 years ago, the exact same scenario was being played out with AOL. Everyone was blaming AOL chat rooms saying it was a breeding ground for pedophiles. Maybe that was true and sure it did make it easy for a perv to reach out and talk with a kid, but guess what? Those "bad guys" existed before AOL. They exist in other venues, online and off. The point is, bad people don't just live on MySpace. They are everywhere. Bad things just don't happen on MySpace. They happen everywhere. It's time for people to wakeup and look at the big picture. Stop blaming MySpace for everything. This isn't a MySpace issue. It's not even an Internet issue. It's a real world issue. MySpace is no more dangerous than the real world. If you disagree with that statement, then perhaps you need to unplug your computer and get out into the real world and have yourself a little looky-see around.

Shameless Self Plug

Just a quick FYI for those that care, I'm changing around a few things on my blog. For now all I changed is the blog title from "Blog for DIAMONDKT" to "Tech News and Random Ramblings". I'm not sure if I really like the title, but it is what it is...at least for now. The URL will remain the same www.diamondkt.blogspot.com Finally, I've updated my Profile/About Me section (see upper right hand corner). I wrote what I feel sums up my blog and me the best way I know how in roughly 10 short sentences. So if you link to my site, you may want to update your link to reflect the new blog title. If you don't already link to my site, then what the hell is wrong with you? Do so now! Ok, I'm joking...kinda.

Feel free to give me some constructive criticism on the minor changes I made. I can handle it, good or bad. However, if you are going to be really cruel in the critiquing, then give me fair warning beforehand so I can grab myself a soft Kleenex and sob silently to myself. Manly right? One day, I promise to give the whole blog a spiffy new theme. Something that will make any surfer-by "eww and ahh" in delight! Alright, enough of my ramblings and shameless self plugging. I now return you to your regularly scheduled blog reading. Go have yourself a penis peek-a-boo session in my post below.

Jockstraps Are Beneficial To EVERYONE

Unlike many other sports, in basketball a jockstrap is optional. If you don't mind your junk flailing about, then you don't need to wear one. However, as a basketball player myself, may I highly suggest if you refuse to wear a jockstrap, than please at the very least put on some tighty whities or snug fitting boxer briefs before you step onto the court. It will keep your boys in line and the spectators that fill the stands will thank you - seriously. If you don't believe me, then take a look below. This photo appeared in the Bryan-College Station Eagle newspaper this month. Click the image for a bigger version and look closely. Apparently the newspaper claims it's an "unfortunate optical illusion"...or is it?

The ball doesn't seem to be the only thing that is bouncing on the court. The photograph was taken by staff photographer Butch Ireland. The picture showed Acie Law in mid-air, prepared to launch his game-winning 3-point shot that carried Texas A&M to victory over the Longhorns. It's the type of picture photojournalists savor and sports editors expect. Plus, fans seize on such pictures because that victorious moment frozen in time carries with it universal bragging rights...until the next game. However, this picture caught readers' attention for another reason. Beyond the winning shot by Acie Law, many readers were absolutely convinced the picture showed a University of Texas player moving to block the shot and in the process, exposing himself!

Whatever the case may be, it's no surprise that many people are outraged that the photo made the cover of the paper without anyone looking closely at it to catch the penis peek-a-boo. The public is mortified, astonished, flabbergasted, outraged and disgusted. Some are asking the photographer to be fired while others are demanding that papers be removed from the premises for being inappropriate. Personally, I think people need to calm down, especially if it really is an optical illusion and not the real deal.

The newspaper is now blaming the "penis photo" on bad shadows and lighting. They say what you think you see, isn't really there at all. It's more or less "camera glare" that is creating that image. To calm the situation down, newspaper staff enlarged the photo to prove their point. The specific section of the picture in question showed nothing more than the white inside liner of the player's uniform. The color was distorted for a variety of reasons, primarily because of the angle at which the picture was taken, the lighting, orange color of the uniform on the left pant leg reflecting up into the groin area and the specific moment that was captured. It's that simple. For those looking for a cheap thrill, I may of spoiled it for you. Since the controversy hit, every single copy of the newspaper has been sold out! Perverts.

Speaking of basketball, March Madness is upon us once again. It's time for everyone to print out the basketball brackets and place your bids. This year #1 top seeds include Duke, Memphis, Connecticut and Villanova. If you are a long time reader of my blog, you may remember last year I gave out my picks and I cashed in. I was right on the money with nearly every team! How in the world I managed to do that, I don't know. Good luck perhaps? Whatever it was, I'm hoping this year I will have a repeat performance. Now I'm sure you are wanting me to tell you how I'm filling out the brackets so you can copycat me and cash in too. Well I would tell you who I am picking, but then I would have to kill you. So to keep me from getting all Tony Soprano on your ass, you are on your own this year with the company office poll. Of course I will let you know at a later date how I did and I wish you all nothing but the best of luck in your own illegal gambling endeavors. Enjoy!

Staying Open To Being Deliriously Happy

Every now and then I read something that is written without flaw. Words that not only captivate my attention, but reside with me. Their message illuminates everything I admire in another person. You relate to their naked truths. Their first-hand accounts. Experiences that you find yourself comparing your own life alongside of. I love how they string together their words so effortlessly. I love how simple and beautiful they make it sound. But most of all, I love how powerful and how heartfelt their sentiments truly are. Without a doubt, this conversation is one of them.

The face of the deliriously happy and very beautiful Claire Forlani.

Father: It's not what you say about Drew. It's what you don't say.

Daughter: Maybe you're not listening.

Father: Oh, yes, I am. There's not an ounce of excitement, not a... whisper of a thrill. And this relationship has all the passion of a pair of titmice. I want you to get swept away out there. I want you to levitate. I want you to...sing with rapture and dance like a dervish.

Daughter: Oh, that's all.

Father: Yeah. Be deliriously happy, or at least leave yourself open to be.

Daughter: Okay. "Be deliriously happy." I shall, uh...I shall do my utmost.

Father: I know it's a cornball thing. But love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. I say, fall head over heels. Find someone you can love like crazy and who will love you the same way back. How do you find him? Well, you forget your head, and you listen to your heart. And I'm not hearing any heart. 'Cause the truth is, honey, there's no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love, well, you haven't lived a life at all. But you have to try, 'cause if you haven't tried, you haven't lived.

Daughter: Bravo!

Father: Oh, you're tough.

Daughter: I'm sorry. Okay. Give it to me again, but the short version this time.

Father: Okay. Stay open. Who knows? Lightning could strike.

Daughter: Yeah?

Father: Yeah.

Although it's a scene from a Hollywood script, there is nothing fake about the message given. I've been "deliriously happy" before, so I know such a love exists. I know it to be true. Past experience has taught me so. It's opened my eyes to what I'm looking for. Why I refuse to settle until I find it. It's why I stay open. Definitely. Because you never know.

(I should note, as I am writing this post, a storm has just started here. I wonder if they are calling for any lightning?)

Feeling Food, Feeding Passion

Someone once said, you can tell alot about a person by what they eat. Another person says, you are what you eat. Yet a third someone claims the fastest way to a man's heart is thru his stomach. What do I think? I agree with all 3 of these sayings, except I don't feel the fastest way to my heart is thru food, but I certainly wouldn't say no if someone wanted to cook me dinner. All the infamous "they say..." phrases, sometimes they make alot of sense. If these phrases hold any truth, what do they say about me? Most people would agree that the most important meal of the day is breakfast, even thought most of us skip it on a regular basis. So if you can tell alot about a person by what they eat, I'm thinking my breakfast menu would say this about me...

• Wheaties - when I feel like a champion
• Count Chocula - when I feel like a kid
• OJ and NutriGrain bar in my car - when I feel most like me
• Krispy Cream (rarely eaten, my treat/punishment) - when I feel like a lazy slob and my body wants to feel regret 15 minutes later
• Nothing - when I feel empty inside and I want my stomach to relate

Now for the burning question...what did I have for breakfast this morning? Well, nothing but I did buy myself a drink - passion fruit juice. So now I'm wondering if passion fruit juice is my breakfast substitute, does that mean I will be filled with passion today or does that mean I'm on my way to becoming fruity? I'm hoping it means passion. Someone without passion is like a bird with clipped wings. They will never fly.

However, just like Romance Does Not Come In A Box, passion doesn't come packaged either. You can't buy it. You can't wrap it. However, it is fair to say you can "unwrap" it. You can release it into everything you do. You can be filled with it throughout your day. Throughout your life. It comes from deep down. In that empty pit of your stomach. It will nourish you when nothing else can. Can you feel it? Feed that hunger.

Thinking Outside The Box

After yesterday's post "You've Never Had An Interview Like This!", as promised I'm posting the answers to the Google interview questions. I think part of the weird question style is to throw the person off, but it's also to see if you can "think outside the box" and how creative you are. I've asked some odd interview questions (not as extreme as a few Google ones), but I do it just to see if someone can think fast on their feet. I want to hear an answer that isn't your standard run of the mill robotic response that most people give during interviews. I want to see how he/she does under pressure, when something out of the ordinary is throw at him/her, how well can he/she deal with the situation. I think that is also probably what Google is looking for.

If you got any of these questions right, pat yourself on the back because they weren't easy to answer. Keep in mind that although some of the questions do have a definite right or wrong answer, some of the other questions can be answered correctly in numerous ways. Consider yourself warned, you may feel like you are back in high school taking the SATs again.

1. Solve this cryptic equation, realizing of course that value for M and E could be interchanged. No leading zeros are allowed: WWWDOT - GOOGLE = DOTCOM

Answer: 777589 - 188106 = 589483 or 777589 - 188103 = 589486

2. How many different ways can you color an icosahedron with one of three colors on each face?

Answer: 58,130,055

3. Which of the following expresses Google's over-arching philosophy?

a) I'm feeling lucky
b) Don't be evil
c) Oh, I already fixed that
d) You should never be more than 50 feet from food
e) All of the above

Answer: b

4. You are shrunk to the height of a nickel and your mass is proportionally reduced so as to maintain your original density. You are then thrown into an empty glass blender. The blades will start moving in 60 seconds. What do you do?

Answer: Take off all my clothes, wedge them between the blades and the floor to prevent it from turning. Back up against the edge of the blender until the electric motor overheats and burns out. Using the notches etched in the side for measuring, climb out. If there are no such notches or they're too far apart, retrieve clothes and make a rope to hurl myself out.

5. How would you find out if a machine's stack grows up or down in memory?

Answer: Instantiate a local variable. Call another function with a local. Look at the address of that function and then compare. If the function's local is higher, the stack grows away from address location 0. If the function's local is lower, the stack grows towards address location 0. If they're the same, you did something wrong!

6. Explain a database in three sentences to your eight-year-old nephew.

Answer: A database is a way of organizing information. It's like a genie who knows where every toy in your room is. Instead of hunting for certain toys yourself and searching the whole room, you can ask the genie to find all your toy soldiers, or only X-Men action figures, or only race cars - anything you want.

7. How many gas stations would you say there are in the United States?

Answer: A business doesn't stick around for long unless it makes a profit. Let's assume that all gas stations in the US are making at least some profit over the long run. Assume that the number of people who own more than 1 car is negligibly small relative to the total American population. Figure that 20% of people are too young to drive a car, another 10% can't drive because of disability or old age, 5% of people use public transportation or carpool, another 5% choose not to drive, and another 5% of the cars are inventory sitting in lots or warehouses that a dealership owns but which no one drives.

There's about 280 million people in the US. Subtracting 50%, that means there's about 140 million automobiles and 140 million drivers for them. The busiest city or interstate gas stations probably get a customer pulling in about twice a minute, or about 120 customers per hour. A slower gas station out in an agrarian area probably sees a customer once every 10 or 15 minutes, or about 4 customers per hour. Let's take a weighted average and suppose there's about 1 customer every 90 seconds, or about 40 customers an hour. Figuring a 14 hour business day (staying open from 7 AM to 9 PM), that's about 560 customers a day.

If the average gas station services 560 customers a day, then there are 250,000 gas stations in the US. This number slightly overstates the true number of gas stations because some people are serviced by more than 1 gas station. (Actual number in 2003, according to the Journal of Petroleum Marketing: 237,284, an error of about 5%.)

You've Never Had An Interview Like This!

We've all been in the hot seat before, the job interview chair. It's never a pleasant experience, but it can go well if you've properly prepared yourself and you put your best foot forward. This isn't like "Meet The Parents". You can't easily woo your way into an employer's heart like you can with the Mom and Dad of someone you are dating. If you could, life would be easy. In the past I've done just fine when it comes to meeting the parents. You bring some flowers to dinner for the Mom and a nice bottle of wine for Dad, sit down, eat and don't say anything stupid like..."My intentions with your daughter are purely sexual. Let me tell you, she's a freak in da sheets!"

I've had the pleasure/displeasure of being on both sides of the desk. I know what it feels like to go thru a series of interviews, each guy drilling you with tough questions a little harder than the previous interviewer. I also know what it feels like to have that nervous potential would-be employee sitting across from me as I run thru his resume and hit him with my own style of questioning. At times it can feel like a bit of an interrogation, getting interviewed. Your palms may get cold and clammy. Your throat may get a lump in it. No matter how rattled you get, it's important to remember that although the person across the desk does hold the answer to whether or not you will receive a paycheck, he/she is also only human.

I can sympathize with anyone I interview. I don't want them to feel awkward or so nervous that at any second they are going to toss their cookies. I do my best to put them at ease. Yes, it is an interview and it should be somewhat formal, but at the same time - it's just me. I'm not someone scary, so they need to relax. There is nothing to fear. I've always felt uncomfortable myself if I watch someone give a speech who is a bundle of nerves. I don't know why that is, but maybe I can feel their pain. I can relate and I feel bad. Their tension somehow rubs off on me and I don't like it. Therefore, I do my best to put anyone who interviews with me at ease from the get-go. I let them know that I won't ask anything that I haven't been asked myself or I wouldn't ask of myself. It sounds nice right? Well little do they know that I've been asked some insanely tough interview questions and I ask alot out of myself. I suppose giving out that "comforting line", isn't that comforting of a thing to say after all...if they only knew.

One thing is for sure, I am willing to bet that not many people have had a series of interview questions like this before. Below are some actual questions someone was asked when they interviewed with Google. As you may or may not be aware of, Google is one of Silicon Valley's hottest tech companies and is opening up a branch in the Pittsburgh area. On average they receive 150,000 applicants a day and hire 9 out of the 150,000 each day. So as you can see, although it's a growing company, it's also a tough one to get into...which is probably even more reason why I am thinking of applying. The Pittsburgh branch won't open up for a few more years and I don't plan on living in the area for another year, so it's not like I really want to work for Google because I like running my own business. It's more that I want to see if I have what it takes for them to hire me. I'm kind of curious if I could make the cut. I like a challenge and if these odd questions below aren't challenging or weird enough for you, I don't know what is.

1. Solve this cryptic equation, realizing of course that value for M and E could be interchanged. No leading zeros are allowed: WWWDOT - GOOGLE = DOTCOM

2. How many different ways can you color an icosahedron with one of three colors on each face?

3. Which of the following expresses Google's over-arching philosophy?

a) I'm feeling lucky
b) Don't be evil
c) Oh, I already fixed that
d) You should never be more than 50 feet from food
e) All of the above

4. You are shrunk to the height of a nickel and your mass is proportionally reduced so as to maintain your original density. You are then thrown into an empty glass blender. The blades will start moving in 60 seconds. What do you do?

5. How would you find out if a machine's stack grows up or down in memory?

6. Explain a database in three sentences to your eight-year-old nephew.

7. How many gas stations would you say there are in the United States?

I have the answers to these, but I won't post them until a later date. See if you can figure any of them out. Good luck!

Question: Have You Visited Dwight Schrute's Blog?

First off, let me say if you don't know who Dwight is, then I need to smack you silly like this...Slap Your Irritating Co-Worker Day. Dwight Schrute is that loveable/annoying little geek from NBC's hit show "The Office". He's Assistant to the Regional Manager, a made-up title given to brown nosing bottom feeding employees to make them feel important, special and loved in the workplace. Apparently it works for Dwight as he isn't the least bit shy of letting the entire Dunder Mifflin Paper Company be aware of his prestigious title and power over what he refers to as "his subordinates", AKA fellow co-workers. A man by the name of Michael Scott heads up Dunder Mifflin and they say if you don't know a real-life Michael Scott in your workplace, chances are you ARE a Michael Scott. He's obnoxious, arrogant and always highly inappropriate with the lame and often derogatory/sexists jokes. It's what makes the show so funny.

The show takes place in Scranton, PA...AKA Bumfuck Idaho as they say. Sorry, offensive term? My blog has a PG-13 rating, so you'll live with the occasional obscenity. Anyway, I've never been to Scranton, but I hear it's a little hole in the wall of a town and in the middle of nowhere, which makes it the ideal setting for the show. Every character on the show was handpicked to perfection! You can feel the awkwardness and the pain in every line they deliver. It so much like the typical America office, that's the beauty of it. If you ever had to work at a job you hate, struggled to make a name for yourself or lived out of a cube for an office, then you will be able to relate to this show. Let's be serious, man wasn't made to sit in a small box for 8+ hours on end and when you force him to do that, he will act a little strange over time - it's a given.

So may I present to you Dwight Schrute's official blog titled "Dwight Schrute's Schrute-Space". It's a glimpse behind the crazed mind of one Dwight Schrute. Listen to him rant, rave and give you his worldly knowledge in the life and times of Dunder Mifflin's top salesman. It's enlightening reading material. I enjoyed...that's what she said. (If you didn't get that last sentence, then you need to set your TIVO to start recording "The Office" and catch-up on what you've been missing.)

My Dog Ate My Taxes

Don't you wish you could use the classic childhood excuse of "the dog ate my homework" to get out of turning in your taxes? Just like homework, taxes too suck! The more you make, the more they take. It's irritating, but it's part of living in America. So like everyone else, I will do my taxes. Actually I don't do my own because it's just too much of a hassle these days. Instead I will stop by to see my accountant. He's a loveable little fella that can't weigh more than a buck and a quarter. He is such the stereotypical book keeping nerd that it almost makes my visit with him comical. I can count on him to wear that ever so stylish signature short sleeve dress shirt. It will be buttoned tightly up to his throat, topped off with a tie that came out of 1988 and of course the black rimmed glasses are a must. No joke.

The guy is soft spoken, but hard when it comes to Uncle Sam squeezing an extra penny out of me. You gotta love that. I can't complain too much about tax time. It's not like I have to do much work when I have my nerd by my side. I am good at keeping my books in order when it comes to my business, so when March rolls around, all I have to do is hand all of that junk to my man Martin (that's the account's name or "Starvin' Marvin" as I've secretly nicknamed him) and he's got the rest covered. His fees are reasonable and although they seem to increase every year, I can understand that because each year I have more sh*t for him to wade thru - property, employee payroll, ect. Hey, I wonder if my dog can get me a tax break? Probably not if she eats the taxes.

Oh well. I'm not going to drag my feet and groan when I sign all those lines and seal all those envelopes. I've never owed on my taxes before, so hopefully this year I will once again get a nice check back. Then perhaps I will buy Martin a tie out of 1990...you know, upgrade the dude. He deserves something nice. Just keep in mind, there are only 2 things certain in life - death and taxes. So I suggest everyone temporally puts away that March Madness tournament poll you've been slaving over at the office and work on getting your taxes turned in before the IRS shows up for the big dance instead.

A Glimpse At Your Future PC

Technology is constantly changing, improving. New inventions to help simplify and better our lives are being developed every day. For the most part, these tech gadgets seem to be getting faster, more complex in function, larger in storing capacity, but yet smaller in physical size making them very portable to carry. They have become more user-friendly and affordably priced for the masses. In addition, most of today's hottest tech gadgets are wireless - allowing you more freedom, but still keeping you connected. The most widely used products are cell phones, digital cameras, MP3 players and of course computers. So what does your future PC look like? Well rumor has it that it may resemble something out of a James Bond movie. See for yourself...

Look closely, but that isn't a pen with a hidden camera.

You are looking at something that would replace your PC in the near future.

The virtual pen-like PC in action,
projecting a keyboard and monitor that doesn't even really exist!

It is said that these pen-like virtual computers will use the Bluetooth technology to produce your monitor and keyboard on a flat surface. With it you could perform the normal operations you do on today's standard desktop system, the only difference being that the computer doesn't really exist. It's completely stored inside the "pen", which makes laptop computers obsolete in terms of portability. Simply slip the "pen" in your pocket and go, taking your PC with you, anywhere.

About a year ago in a speech given by Microsoft's Bill Gates, he said "you haven't seen anything yet". Could it be that he was referring to these futuristic designed computers? Only time will tell. Personally, I like to "feel" the product, not just see it. I don't think I will be too thrilled if my computer of the future consists of nothing else but some neon light shinning off my desk. I see the pros and cons to the product, but at this date and time, I'm just not feeling the virtual PC thing. Sorry.

Comfortably Numb

Friday night. Wind whipping. Snow falling. Treading on thin ice beneath my feet. Outside the weather was cold. Inside I was cold. Mentally drained from a long work week. Physically exhausted from not getting much sleep the prior few nights. Emotionally on edge from the stress and strain of the chaotic day. I didn't feel like being social. I didn't want to go out, but I did. To have a couple drinks. To take the edge off. To warm up that coldness I was feeling inside. A bitter vibe I was sending off. The frigid outdoor temps matched my frozen feeling. Numb to the world outside and numb to what was taking place inside me. Why not have a drink or two to numb the mind? Not too many. Just to be comfortably numb. I wasn't too worried. I've been here before and I know...this too shall pass. The buzzed feeling in an inebriated state - it passes. The numbness a sober soul can sometimes feel - it too passes. The morning would bring a brighter day. With it, a warmer me. The true me.

Many times we are selfish. We think our bad day is far worse than a bad day anyone else could possibly have. That there is no comparison. That it is a bad day of epic proportions. We may say that, until we look. Until we listen. Watch someone with tears running down their face. To see a hopelessness in their eyes. Lips speaking of things we can't comprehend. Listening to a story being told that scares us even to hear, let alone live it. It's on a level above us. A level that I have a hard time relating too. A world very different from mine. An area where I can sympathize, but not fully understand what it must feel like to stand there. Hands covered in blood. Adrenaline rushing thru your veins. Nothing rushing thru their veins. A blue child laying lifeless. A cold metal table against the skin of his back. Bright white lights shinning down on tubes and needles. Pumps and machines. Things protruding out of a little boy's chest where the only thing on his chest should be an NFL team logo displaying his love for the game of football.

To me it was a night that wasn't out of the ordinary. A few drinks, a couple laughs and that was that. Feeling tired, I longed to just spend the remainder of the night lying in my bed catching up on sleep. When she called me it was just after midnight. I was already driving home. She was unusually quiet. She didn't seem like herself. When I asked what was up and if everything was ok, she did her best to lie. She said she was "fine" and calling just to say hi. "Tell me something funny" she said. The sentence wasn't even complete before her voice started to tremble and the words escaped her. Obviously something was wrong. "Where are you" I asked. She told me she was still at work. Waiting for a co-worker she had car pulled with to complete her rounds. Then they could both go home. I asked if she wanted me to come and get her. To take her home so she wouldn't have to stand around waiting at the hospital. Normally she would say the standard polite response. Something like "oh it's too much bother, don't worry about it". Tonight it was "really, can you please".

When I arrived I could see the distraught look on her face. Eyes were red and swollen. She looked exhausted. I had seen that look on her face before. It usually appears when she loses a patient. They aren't your typical patients. These aren't old people who are sick. Theses are perfectly healthy children who have fallen into some catastrophic event. An emergency situation that renders their parents almost powerless. They turn to doctors and nurses who have the power to help. To heal. To save. Of course that is when things go as hoped for. When life is kind and forgiving. Sometimes things aren't always "fine". Sometimes the inevitable happens. Sometimes our worst fears are met head on. Sometimes the most horrific nightmares do come true.

I greeted her with a hug. Immediately it re-wet the tears that had dried. I asked if she wanted to talk about what happened. She was holding back. I could see the wound was still too fresh. There is no re-opening something that has yet to close. The pain was on the surface. It was overflowing. I wiped the biggest tear that had formed a small puddle in the corner of her eye. I told her I would think of that "something funny" she had asked me to tell her about on the phone. By the time we reached the car, I was wishing that "something funny" had come to mind so I could tell her. Try and make her smile. Maybe even laugh. If nothing else, I wanted her mind to become distracted. The ride home was long and quiet. She starred silently out the window. I put my hand on her knee as I drove. Similar to how my Mom use to put her hand on my knee when I was hurt. Rubbing her thumb lightly against the wound as if the touch alone would heal the injury. It did always seem to help. Maybe it helped when I did it too.

The "something funny" I was suppose to think of. I never could come up with it. At my house, I drew her a bath. I thought some warm water and bubbles might help ease her mind. As the water ran, I looked for a takeout menu. I put on some music to keep her company while I left to pickup some late dinner. Before I stepped out the door, a most fitting song began to play. Frank Sinatra's "When You're Smiling". It must of been the perfect medicine for her. She finds it funny that I have a Sinatra CD. She smiled asking "did you plan this, this song to play". I swore it was on random shuffle, but it did seem rather ironic. I couldn't miss the opportunity to make her laugh so I asked her to dance with me. It's important to note, that although the song is only 3 minutes long, it's more than enough time for a bath to overflow. A mop and a few wet towels later will confirm that fact. It's ok. I had finally delivered on the "something funny" she had asked me for. When I arrived back with the takeout, I found her asleep in my living room. Stretched out on the floor. A pillow holding her head. The fireplace warming her body. She looked so peaceful. For the first time all night, she looked relaxed. I couldn't bare to wake her. So I covered her with a blanket and kissed her forehead goodnight.

The next day, she returned to work in the Children's ER. I don't know how she does it sometimes. She's strong for 24. In the past I have given her pep talks after losing a young patient. I wonder if my words help make her stronger. You can't save them all. It's the cold hard truth of the business. You can however do your best to heal those in need. It's a power not many people have. A power she has. A power I pray she never gives up on. I don't have power like that, but perhaps I have the power to make people smile. To make people laugh? I do like to believe that I have the power to comfort. To numb the pain for just one dance.

Bums Blog Too

In a different time, Michael Brown's story might have gone untold. The story of a homeless man. Thanks to the Internet, a bum can blog. 43-year-old Brown and his family were evicted from their Greensboro, NC home earlier this month. Since then he has turned to the public library and its computers for answers. Answers about what he should do with his life now that he is homeless. Once online, he couldn't find what he was looking for, advice from someone who was homeless. So he took up the task himself by creating a Bum Blog. He began posting to a Blogger account and from there he began telling his story...how he became homeless and how he was dealing with it.

That isn't Brown's photo, but it fit this story too well not to use.

Brown, who works part time at a Kohl's store, said he has been looking for other work. He was a graphic designer for 13 years until he was fired from a job in 2003 to what Brown claims as "unknown reasons" to him. He hasn't been able to find another job in his field and has worked various jobs or freelanced since. Eventually the bills began to mount and eviction came for the family, which includes a wife, 17-year-old son and 8-year-old daughter. The family packed as much as they could into a 16-foot truck and the contents of their home are now in a 10-by-20-foot storage space.

I use the term "bum" loosely. I am aware that it may sound offensive to call someone a bum and I am aware that not every homeless person's story is the same. Not everyone becomes homeless because they drank their life away, ect. However, the circumstances surrounding Michael Brown's situation sounds like the thousands of other out of work tech savvy professionals. These days nearly all the once laid off Dot-Comers are gainfully employed once again, whether it be in their field of expertise or if they had to branch out their talents and pursue other avenues in terms of career choices. Few if any are homeless. So I can't feel too bad for Brown. He attended college, he seems intelligent enough if you read his writing, but somehow he wasn't smart enough to avoid falling "victim" (another term I use loosely) to being evicted from his home and pushed to the street.

His blog is called "View From The Sidewalk" - a look at the perennial problem of homelessness from a unique perspective, from someone who is currently homeless. It has become a way for Brown to vent, rant and reflect on his problems. He reveals the day-to-day travails along with his guilt and anger about the situation, not to mention his depression. Brown says that posting to the blog has been beneficial to him and released some frustration. He states that "it's kind of a form of a therapy". His blog shows how easily the free medium can be used to get a message out, empowering the powerless. Someone with literally no resources can be published and heard. The question remains, is anyone listening though?