Talked with match.com girl again tonight via phone. She does have a cute voice and her laugh reminds me of the laugh that a really awesome ex-girlfriend from my Ithaca days had. One of those "that's so stupid but I'm going to laugh anyways" kind of laughs. She was open to the idea of seeing roller derby this saturday, so most likely we'll be going there saturday after dinner somewhere (I know that the knockouts aren't skating, but I wonder if (e:zobar) and (e:dragonlady7) will be there?) I have absolutely no idea where this thing with the girl is going. I must remember--no eggs in one basket, at least not until after I've made the flan (which reminds me, I really should literally make flan sometime soon). She does like whiskey and mythbusters, so she can't be all bad.

On a different note, it's kinda funny, living on Richmond. It's really like an urban jungle. Which is not to say that it isn't a nice place to live, but it resemebles the kind of jungle you see in the movies where everything is quiet at night and then all of a suddenly the random, loud howling of a monkey disturbs the tranquility. Except on Richmond, it usually isn't howler monkeys but emergency vehicles, esp. police cars; it'll be 4:00AM and all of a sudden I'll hear "whoop-beep-squalk-whoop-beep-whoop". Of course, tonight there are real live monkey's, howling and disturbing the peace and playing with their own feces, except these monkeys have blue fur with yellow streaks. In another month or two, one way or the other, my jungle will be back to the way I like it.

While I can find many things funny, I rarely laugh very hard, and the few times I do it's usually at stuff other people don't find funny. I was researching stuff about usb flash drives when I came across this



I laughed at this for damn near two minutes. I think it was the imagery of the coffee table that did it.

It's finally on the market. My most favorite piece of art. It's actually going for a lot less than I thought it would.



If it wasn't for the fact that I've been searching for a cheap poster version for years, it probably wouldn't be my most favorite piece of art, though it might be a close second to Raphael's School of Athens.

Possible scenarios:

1. I somehow spend all the money I was going to spend buying a laptop on this piece of art. I laugh in the face of necessary professional expenses, (cue maniacal laughter) mu-ha-ha-ha-ha.

1a) #1, plus I find somewhere that scans ultra-high res versions of it and distribute it on the Internet via Bittorrent. Rare art that's in the public domain that might never receive attention due to poster companies not seeing a market for it should be made available to the public. Make up some bullshit story about "it's an investment and probably safer than mutual funds" to tell to friends and family who think that I've finally gone completely bonkers.

1b) #1a, but I don't have the facilities in my sweltering/freezing apartment to preserve it well, so I buy it and loan it to Albright knox where they can safely store it. I can always visit it to see the real thing.

1c) 1a for my own personal copy, but completely donate to Albright Knox, and find some way to write the $3000 off on my taxes, so I end up spending nothing as a net result and get an ultra-high quality scan for myself and anyone else who wants it.

2. Realize that at this point in my life, I'm really not professionally and financially accomplished enough yet to be buying expensive and rare works of art instead of buying things I need to buy to do my job well. End up being responsible and buying the laptop I need for work.

Last night's episode of Heroes was the most disturbing ever.

Not because of the main plotline itself, but the portrayal of Syler's mother and her relationship with Syler. It so uncannily parallels my own experiences with neurotic and overly-controlling jewish mothers who are out of touch with reality. To the point of being frightening.

The whole not-listening-to-you, telling-you-what-you-want, the lack of understanding of challenges required in obtaining a profession and the overestimating of the usefulness of barely useful or reliable professional contacts. The overwhelming feeling that their trying to "help" or "protect" is really more for their psychological benefit than that of their child and the reality they are doing a better job of hindering and making more vulnerable than helping or protecting. And then there's the violent (only verbally, in my case, thank heavens) reaction when they find out you aren't really who they were telling you who you were. And the sad feeling you experience of "why can't you just understand that I need to do what I need to do and accept that?" (the profession part, not the killing people part).

I've experienced that kind of stuff first-hand. And boy, does it suck.

If someone hasn't yet created voodoo dolls you can buy that represent programmers whose code you inherit, then someone really should. I bet they would be a best seller.

No, I haven't had a difficult day at work. Why would anyone think that?