Pick up the shampoo or toothpaste, procede to read the back.

Prove me wrong.

The thing is, there’s no excuse for doing your job poorly… but especially if you have an easy-ass job. For instance:

The movie ticket-taker person: An exhaustively simple job, free from any real stress save standing around for hours at a time. Take the tickets, tear the stub, and say “left” or “right” to direct the movie-going patrons to their respective theaters. Can’t really mess that up right? Wrong. The other day, I went to go see Wanted with Anita… and our ticket taker SUCKED. Not only did he not greet us (kindly or otherwise), he struggled to tear the tickets (slowly)… and then left it to our own deductive abilities to determine which side of the theater to go to. It was rough.

Another popular variant is the fast-food cashier that not only rings your order up incorrectly, but then seems upset when they have to get the manager’s authorization to rectify their mistake. The best is when you ask for extra ranch sauce and they act like it’s the most arduous task ever… sauntering over two feet to the “sauce rack” (or whatever) and laboriously selecting the requested flavor packets before disdainfully slamming them down on your tray.

“Will that be all?” they ask. Yes. That is all. THANKS.

It also had 4-wheel-drive (courtesy of the rock-solid NP231 transfer case) and a beefy straight-6 motor… which lent itself not only to really bad gas mileage and frequent fill-ups, but also to a respectable amount of torque and offroading abilities. I also could burn anybody off the starting line… until about the 35-40 MPH mark. And when shifting into the all-balls, crawl-licious 2.72:1 low range, the entire Jeep would lurch from the drive shafts slamming into gear and rob the planet of just a little bit of angular momentum… reminding me of what a powerful force I wielded. And who could forget nerdgasmic addition of a manual shifting circuit I built by hacking the shift-control computer.

Needless to say… I had a badass time with that piece. From offroading in remote forests in Rockwall and Rowlett, to throwing mud around and doing pointless donuts in random fields… to just driving all over the damn place in it… I loved it.

Unfortunately, I think the end of it’s glory days is in site. There’s really no reason to have two cars in college, especially when the Pathfinder is in MUCH better condition than the Jeep: The Jeep’s brakes are all but dead, there’s a loud leak from a crack in the exhaust manifold, the rear differential leaks sometimes, the AC compressor seizes when the car isn’t moving, the tint is molting off the windows, and there are tons of bumps, scratches, and broken shit on both the inside and out. There’s even a gaping wound with wires and connectors grotesquely visible where a stereo ought to be.

I never realized what a piece of junk it was until I drove it for the first time in about a month the other day. The first thing I noticed was that it felt so much more powerful than the Pathfinder… a small price to pay for better gas mileage I suppose. It also felt like it was about to fall apart… it was so loud, creaking, rattling, and old feeling. I loved it though… and felt a sense of betrayal when I reached for the shifter and missed… having become accustomed to where everything was in the Pathfinder.

It felt like the last time I would ever drive it…

I took the long route around town to where I was going, and peeled out whenever I had a chance. Using the manual shifter, I would floor it at green lights and let the familiar sensation of acceleration and a couple hundred horses wash over me. Do I really have to sell it?

I’ve always had a strong attachment to this jeep… maybe just because it was my first car and all. There’s just a lot of good memories with that beast, and it will hard to let go. Of course, the cool $K-spot or so will be nice though.

I feel like I’ll act like the concerned dog breeder selling puppies: ensuring that the new owner will love and cherish it just as I did. I don’t want this to be some old granny’s shuttle to happy-hour bingo and senior-citizen movie nights; I want it to go to somebody that will let the true spirit of the Jeep out where it belongs… in the dirt, in the mud… and in the wild.

So I guess this is goodbye for you and me, Jeep… we had a good run together. I hope that where you’re going, you can spend your last years doing what you love to do best; I only hope your new owner can give you things you could only dream of when you were with me. Maybe that lift kit we would always talk about… the after-market exhaust… a new windshield even?

Don’t think the Pathfinder is replacing you– no car could do that… especially a Nissan. There will always be a bright-blue Cherokee-sized hole in my heart that no other vehicle could fill. It’s been great.

So drive on Jeep… and don’t look back.

I hope the lack of nutrition I’ve experienced for the past 2.5 years of my life won’t have any lasting consequences extending past the short term, because all I eat is shit. The usual college limiting factors of time, money, and laziness take their greatest toll on my eating habits (mostly), and I find myself either eating way too little or way too much.

I wonder if there will come a distinct turning point in my life in which the allure of free food will cease to overcome the normal barriers erected between yummy and yucky; because everyone knows that right now, food tastes the best when it’s free.

If you haven’t guessed already from the necker-cube-esque title or the inane preceding paragraphs, this entry has absolutely no point whatsoever.

Continuing:

When I was a kid, I used to love mac and cheese loaded up with black pepper. Ever since then, I have been doing the same, but the amount of pepper required to reach my optimal level of seasoning has increased through the years.

I don’t know if this is indicative that I now have a larger area of taste buds that require more stimulation, or if I have basically fried my gustational abilities by over-saturating them a ridiculous amount of black pepper. My roommates love to think it’s the latter, and give me crap about it.

Anyway, I think I have done enough rambling. Due to cramming for an exam, my sleep schedule is out of phase by just about 180 degrees, so I might be up for a while.

Put more than two engineers in the same room for a short amount of time, and without fail, the conversation will eventually turn into the classic engineering equivalent of a penis length contest.

By that I mean, the untold competition that is having the most amount of shit to do in the next week or so. Example:

“Dude, I’m so fucked. I have a lab on Tuesday and then a test and program on Wednesday.”

“Dude, whatever man. I have three tests on Monday, a lab due Wednesday that I haven’t started, a project due Thursday that my partner won’t do shit on, and then a homework assignment due Friday.”

“You guys have it easy. I broke both of my wrists and have to type with my  toes now, my computer crashed, my apartment burned down, and I have 4 tests next week and 3 programming assignments.”

Of course, at some point a business major might chime in about how he has “work” to do that is “hard”.

However, everyone will eventually stop laughing at him and continue with their discussion as normal.

Normally, I consider myself a good programmer, but sometimes I have to take shortcuts and cut corners.

Here is a snippet from one of my recent projects in my CS 375 Compilers class:

/* Increment the index and return the next entry
   we can use as a label. New entry should be
   validated as well and safe for whomever wants
   to peek at it. */

int GetNextLabel ()
{
   return 3;
}

The amount of code like this seems to be proportional to the margin of time between the due date and the time I actually finish the assignment.

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”

This of course referring to the fact that in times of great need, the demand for innovation and scientific development swells to try and compensate for whatever society is needing.

A lesser-know variant is “Boredom is the father of innovation”. For some reason, given 2 or more bored people in an enclosed space, it is almost guaranteed that somebody will come up with a stupid game. Examples:

Water Jousting

While bouncing around a foam ball one day, my roommate and I had the brilliant idea of creating the exhilarating game of water jousting. To play, fill a cup about half-way full with water, and place it on the very edge of the counter (a bar-like counter), and take turns trying to knock the cup over by bouncing the ball off the floor.

The fun part? The person not trying to knock over the cup stands directly behind it, ensuring that if the other player successfully hits the cup, the loser gets soaked. The best part? Its also the loser that has to clean up the floor afterward.

Shuffle Phone

This game came about on a slow night during tutoring. At work, all the tutors sit around a huge conference table until a student comes in that needs help. When not many students showed up, some of the guys had the bright idea to play “shuffle phone”. Exactly like shuffleboard, except you use your phone instead of a puck, and there’s just a target circle drawn in pencil in the middle of the table. The winner walks away with pride, honor, and a phone that’s scratched as hell.

That was one of the few times in my life that I wish I had a shitbox of a phone so I could have participated…

Plate Frisbee

As another game born from late night boredom with a roommate, this example is illustrative of how even while doing work, you can still have fun. While emptying the dishwasher, we were tag-teaming the plates… but instead of just placing them back in the cabinet (boring), I found it significantly more entertaining to try an under-the-leg Frisbee toss to put them up.

It’s a lot harder than it sounds (think about the angles), and it soon became competitive. Especially with the glass dishes.

Omega

The classic boredom game, I actually got this from an episode of Malcolm In The Middle (though I’ve heard the game dates back even before the show, and is known as “The Circle Game”).

The aggressor makes the “OK” sign with his index and thumb touching, with the rest of the fingers extended. If he holds that hand below his waist and somebody else looks (the victim), then the aggressor gets to punch the victim without fear of retaliation.

I’ve been playing this game with my equally-immature friends of mine since the 8th grade, and the game has since exploded into something much more serious. With rules and regulations, as well as advanced moves such as the Around the World, the Gravy Train, the Solid Snake, and the Willy Wonka… the game only gets deeper and deeper.

I’m sure there have been plenty more, and there’s no doubt in my mind that there will be plenty more to come.

Approximately 1.3 seconds later the joyous smile has faded from your face… but with your eyes glued to the set unaware of everything but the flashing phosphorus in front of you, there remains a shitty “mouth halfway open semi smile” awkward face. Who gives a damn right? Well then you catch a slight movement out of the corner of your eye. Your animal instincts kick in! You look over to see what it was… but it was just your friend moving in his seat.

Too bad y’all made eye contact and he got a full-on view of your shitty awkward ass face. Whoops.

It happens. A corollary to this phenomenon is the “look over to the car next to you at a stop light” accidental eye contact. Do you look away quickly hoping they didn’t notice you? Do you wave? Give them the finger?

Of course a cute girl definitely deserves a wink or at least a smile… and a douche bag looking back at you deserves a mug… but what about less obvious cases? Contextual sensitive and situational evaluation is necessary.

So stop yourself from time to time… and look at your face. Does it convey the feelings of your soul? Or is it just shitty looking? Think about it.

“I Brake For Amazons, The only Bush I trust is my own, PAGAN Special Forces, Support Your Local Revolution, No War On Iraq, DEFORESTATION: The Gateway to Hell, Against Abortion? Then Don’t Have One, Who Would Jesus Bomb?, The most violent element in society is ignorance.”

And a few gay and Pagan symbols.

For those you of you unaware, I feel compelled to tell the sad tale of how I ended up going to Eastfield (~23 miles roundtrip) instead of Richland (~16 miles roundtrip).

It was my first day at Richland… I had printed out a map of the campus and my schedule off the internet…. and I was ready to go. I got there early too…. so I wouldn’t have to worry about finding my class. My classroom was N212… So I found the N building…. but apparently room 212 doesn’t exist! WTF mate? So I asked around and somebody told me there’s a government class in 210, “It was probably just a misprint”, somebody suggested.

So I sat in the class and when the teacher came and announced that this was a government 1 class (I was supposed to be in government 2), I realized I had screwed up.

So during break I went to the registrar and told them about my situation, and a large woman asked what room number my class was supposedly in. After I told her… she gave me a funny look and said, “Nope… there’s no room with that number here. What’s your professor’s name?”

After I told her I got another really weird look. She typed it into the computer and squinted at the screen to make sure she was reading it correctly. Then she told me, “Hun, that professor teaches at Eastfield. You’re at the wrong college…” Shit!

I must have accidentally registered at Eastfield somehow… even though my second summer semester was all set for Richland. Go figure!

But now I’m done and will be attending Richland, and saving an ass-load on gas money too. Lesson learned.

I guess I should be more aware of the subtle clues I seemed to get. For example… next to my class room number there was “EFC” printed. What does that mean??? I had no idea until I realized it stood, of course, for “Eastfield College.” Whoops!

I’ve been driving my jeep a lot lately… man i really missed that. I’ll have it next year in Austin too… sweeeet. Anybody who’s been without their car for a while can relate.

Driving is a mix between being in love and riding a bicycle.

Like a bicycle because… you never forget how… duh.

And like love… after not seeing each other for a while… there’s always that weird period. Nothing’s changed… the handling, the response, the power.. it’s all still there, but you’re timid. You’re not sure if you should just jump back in and drive all over town as if you were driving just yesterday… even though you want to. But then after that… it’s just perfect. Just you and the car… and not a care in the world. All the time that you were separated disappears as you and the car are now back to being just like you were before you left.

Damn… I love my jeep.

And if you think that’s weird then obviously you aren’t getting enough out of your diving experience and maybe you should consider the way you approach transportation and/or life.