Freezerpants.com

The Clock Wasn't Stopping So I Had To Get Tough

Tue, 09 Nov 2010 19:47:00 +0000

Most people are part of a close knit group of friends in high school. Then, as the years catch up, they tend to drift apart.

From my observations, it seems college is the typical catalyst. People go to different schools, begin new careers in different places, meet their future husbands and wives...it's an old story.

I consider myself lucky that I've managed to maintain the same friends I've had since I was 18. Admittedly, some of those high-school compatriots have drifted far enough out that I've lost sight.

Proximity and life in general keeps me away from seeing the old gang as often as I would like. Thankfully, we have a mailing list that does a pretty good job of keeping the bonds intact, albeit a bit strained at times.

Something I used to hate was the reminiscing. We had a lot of good, granted irresponsible, times in our youth. Without fail, if you collected more than three of us in a room, the conversation invariably returned to our "glory days". It grew so tedious, I felt like we weren't moving on, our friendships built on the drinking and partying of our youth.

In the past few years, the reminiscing has largely stopped, or at least I've stopped partaking. This wasn't a conscious decision, it just seemed like we finally grew tired of beating the horse.

Tonight, I was talking to one of the few folks from the Old Gang that I'm still in frequent contact with. In our earlier days, he was always the person to cross the line, the instigator. The topic of drinking came up, specifically relating to this article . For the first time in a while, the crimes and tribulations of our deviant youth came up.

I guess the timing was perfect, because I actually enjoyed reminiscing. As a responsible adult, I can't possibly admit the nature of ribald excess we reveled in as early 20-somethings. But it was nice to revisit those hazy alcohol fueled days and nights.

On one hand, it's clear in retrospect that we are lucky we didn't do any serious jail time or end up dead or at least maimed and diseased.

On the other hand, I can say without an ounce of vanity that our wild nights are the things of movies. People not present during those days would shake their head and silently call you a liar, were you to try and actually recount some of the events.

Perhaps I should feel ashamed for some of the things I/we did, but I can't help but feel a bit proud that few people have a "wild story" that holds a candle to our misadventures.

And for better or worse, they were almost always fueled by copious alcohol consumption and a fearless, instigators attitude. We played off each other, escalating situations from inappropriate to ridiculous, to mythic.

I won't claim that we lived harder or faster than anyone else, but we were more alive than most of our peers.

I realized the best part of this pit-stop on memory lane: I was able to reminisce with a person who barely resembles the same person ten years ago. And we are still friends. We've grown, we have careers and have fully entered "life". We don't need the tales of yesteryear to keep our friendship relevant, but we also share the bond of drunken depravity.

I'll Drink to That.

A Scabby Ketchup Bottle and a Two Dollar Bill

Sat, 06 Nov 2010 16:46:00 +0000

I don't like dogs. Never have.

I realize that I live in the minority on this one, so I try to be accepting of other people's preferred pet.

But in my home, I don't want the smelly beasts. There has been only one dog that I even remotely liked, and she was no larger than a cat and smarter than most people.

Unfortunately for me, my cousin has two of these animals. Which means that when she comes to visit, so do her four legged monsters. Generally speaking, they are fairly well behaved, but I feel like I walk around febreezing and vacuuming every surface in my home after they leave.

Through no invitation of my own, my cousin and her boyfriend are staying at my house tonight. It wasn't an invitation I extended, but I love my cousin and I couldn't say no.

I thought it might not be too bad, after all, they were planning on dropping of their stuff and then heading to Columbia for the Gamecocks game. Hell, I probably wouldn't even see them until Sunday as I was spending the day at work and they wouldn't be back until very late.

Except I didn't realize that dropping their stuff off included the dogs.

To be fair, they did put the one dog in a crate and the other is pretty well mannered, both were confined to the "bonus" room.

When I got home after a long day at work, I was surprised with instructions directing me to take the dogs (!) for a walk. Annoyed, I did this very thing. Grudgingly, I scooped dog feces up with a plastic bag. I muttered and bitched the whole time.

Well, apparently, I didn't let them poop enough. I thought I would check in on them, mostly to make sure the room wasn't getting destroyed.

Guess what I found? More dog shit.

Which I've just finished scrubbing from my carpet.

I really don't like dogs. They rate equally with fucking house guests.

A Familiar Taste

Wed, 03 Nov 2010 12:35:00 +0000

I spent a bit of time tonight sitting alone in the dark listening to the 5.1 mix of The Social Network soundtrack.

Like Ghosts it's an acoustic album. While Ghosts is an amalgamation of rich textures, aurally touring a lush environment evoking thoughts of rain-forests and angry industrial sites, The Social Network OST feels like it's telling a story.

Having no desire to see the movie, I can't be certain that it actually jives with the movies tale. As a creation taken in it's own right, the soundtrack spins yarn of near chip-tune sounds, lending it's story a vintage technology feel.

And it's depressing. Parts seem to try and suggest hope and even conquest, but outright happiness is missing.

----

Sitting in the dark, exploring my minds narrative of the music, it occurred to me that this isn't the story of the album so much as my own mental state, superimposed on 8-bit ambient music.

Is happiness a general state of being? I certainly feel happy. Sometimes. But it's fleeting, a rush that fades away when logic and reality creeps in on the edges.

I'm not unhappy either. But as a generalized situation report, I don't feel like I can honestly state that I'm just happy. My happiness happens in manic bursts. Moments of extreme elation and contentment.

Moments that seem to temporarily blind me to the truth of my particular lot. The optimism I feel during these peaks is quickly replaced by a sober truth: You can't be optimistic about something that is impossible.

Wishing and hoping simply doesn't get you anywhere. At some point you have to face facts. Armed with this knowledge, it seems to rob the highs. All of the sudden you can't just ignore the truth of the whole affair.

Self actualization shouldn't be our goal. Realizing your potential means accepting your shortcomings, life's road-blocks. Blissful, willful denial grants you moments of unwarranted hyper-happiness.

"The Truth Shall Set You Free" is something people say without fully understanding the truth about the truth. Knowing the truth means you acknowledge that life has plateaus. Points where you simply can't elevate any further.

"Ignorance is Bliss", in my opinion, approaches the horizon of fact. A more perfect statement might be "Willful Ignorance is Bliss". By simply not knowing, or acknowledging, my own limits in life I can feel positive about the potential.

The problem with all of this, of course, is by ignoring the reality of your situation, you're destined to fail to reach those wonderful heights. You aren't going to be rich. Or famous. Or marry the person you love. So how do you cope? Anti-depressants? Suicide? Resign yourself to reality and your fate therein?

Or just find a way to delude yourself even further. Push the niggling facts deep down and ignore the cancer they inspire.

-----

Tonight I listened to "The Social Network" soundtrack.

But this morning I stayed in bed until mid-day, I ate banana blueberry pancakes and I ignored the realities of my life.

And I felt happy.

Can the people on the TV see me

Tue, 12 Oct 2010 20:48:00 +0000

I tend to write things on this here blag with the understanding that there will only be two types of readers. People I know in real life that I know read it, and random strangers.

I realize that the entire idea of plastering my random thoughts on the wide world of web is in and of itself an act of narcissism. Private journals are a place to collect your thoughts for yourself. Possibly even for posterity.

Blogs, on the other hand, are places you post your thoughts in the vain hope that someone actually gives enough of a damn to read your drivel.

So why then was I surprised to learn that a friend actually reads this?

Out of left field today, my friend asked a question about the sunflower seeds post. To be fair, we work together, so she knew the players in the "that shit will kill you" conversation, giving her a particular insight in to the whole thing.

One would expect I would just take it in stride. After all, I sign all my email with the URL. Hell, my email is on the same domain. It's not like I take any great pains to hide it from the public. But at the same time, I immediately felt embarrassed.

It was like being 30 and your mom finding condoms on the dresser in your house.

My mind started racing "Have I posted anything potentially embarrassing? Have I said anything about her or my other co-workers? Jesus, what kind of light does that site put me in?"

In short, I went momentarily retarded. I could actually feel my face flush red hot. Of course, I've always taken great care not to name The Company. I seldom address anyone by their given name. Which isn't to say it would take any great detective to put two and two together. But still.

Of course, the entire thing was ridiculous. I put this stuff out for the public for all the self-serving vain reasons anyone does it. I want people to read, to comment. But the convergence of on and off-line was rather jarring.

Now of course, there is a part of me that wonders: Just how meta will the entire experience be if she decides to read this post? Reading an article written about you reading an article.

It's like aiming a camcorder at the tv it's connected to.

She's Got The Radio Active And It Makes Me Feel OK

Fri, 08 Oct 2010 23:28:00 +0000

The wonderful thing about having your own blog is you can post the most inane shit with no one to stop you.

Hell, it's even expected.

So, on to my particular brand of inanity.

For years I wore Armani's "Acqua di Gio" cologne. I don't remember who exactly recommended it to me, it was either Alynnk or CJ. In either event, it was an excellent call. I loved the stuff. Still do.

Two years ago (or so) I realized that it was incredibly common. Worse, it was common among all the people I don't want to be like. That is to say, high school boys and their frat party counterparts. It was time for change.

Tyler and I embarked on the great cologne challenge. We sniffed and snorted more fragrances than anyone should ever endure. Giving ourselves headaches over multiple trips to the mega perfume counters in the Abu Dhabi mall.

A decision was finally reached. Sort of.
I opted for a bottle of Hugo Boss "XY" and Joop's "Jump". Funny thing about the XY, I hemmed and hawed, ultimately deciding against it. So I thought.

On the way home from the olfactory outing, I kept smelling something wonderful. Tyler smelled it as well. It was my arm, where I tested the XY. 'lo and Behold, it was a great fragrance. It just took a little time to react to my body (or our noses were too burnt..). We did a U-Turn and bought a bottle.

All was not well for long, however. A few months later, the XY broke on a trip back to the US, rendering every toiletry I owned ruined and turning me off of the smell. The Joop was an abject failure, turns out there is something about it that gives me fierce headaches. I was back to the Armani.

Last year, I started sniffing mens magazines. I happened across Givenchy's "Play". It was an instant hit. I ended up opting for the evening version, "Play Intense", and have worn it (mostly) since then. Occasionally I will flip back to the Acqua di Gio or Boss.

But it's time for something new. I'm not fully out of the "Play Intense", but it really doesn't please me for a good every-day wear. In fact, I've reached the point where I don't particularly care for it at all.

So, I'm on the hunt again. Sadly, sunny Sumter doesn't have anything better than a Wal-Mart for your perfume needs, and I really don't know where to start. I've given thought to buying another bottle of XY, and I seem to recall liking Lacoste "Essential"...but that's all I can come up with.

Which is why I ask you, dear internet- Based on what you like and what I've admitted to liking, does anyone have any suggestions? I don't have the time or inclination to spend multiple trips at a mega perfume counter, much less a suitable cohort.

Extra credit if you recognized the lyrics in the post title. Physical pain if you recommend "Chaps" or "Grey Flannel".

Sunflower Seeds

Mon, 27 Sep 2010 12:41:00 +0000

Quitting smoking is a disgustingly difficult task.

I did well for a few months, and then I fell off the wagon. It's predictable, really. The moment things get really stressful or I go out drinking with other smokers... well, out the window my smoking "sobriety" goes.

During my (numerous) quitting phases, I used snus as a sort of cessation aid. From a nicotine perspective, it really doesn't do a whole lot. But it's enough to curb the craving and it gave me something to do, an active act to replace lighting up.

I realize, of course, that snus isn't any safer. It is, however, far less disgusting than regular chewing tobacco (no spitting).

In addition to stress and proximity (eg drinking with smokers), another trigger is boredom. Or concentration.

People have recommended nicotine gum, but that's just chewing gum. I did that anyways, there is no "act" involved. Even less so for "the patch" or Chantix.

But I also didn't want to substitute one nasty addiction with the other, so after this round of weaning, I started looking for another "active" substitute.

And I found sunflower seeds.

Or rather, they found me. One of the gents I play golf with on a regular basis quit smoking with sunflower seeds, as did a number of co-workers. "What the hell" I thought. I gave it a whirl.

It still doesn't quite fill that hole in my life that craves a cigarette, but it's a good distraction. And cheap, a $1.50 bag will last me an entire work week.

The past few weeks have been fairly stressful, so at my desk I've been seeding away.

Today, focused on a particularly troublesome issue, I was tearing through palmful after palmful. A co-worker, noticing my seedy fury, initiated this conversation:

"Trying to quit smoking?"
Sort of, yeah
"You know those seeds have a ton of salt on them, right?"
Uh, yeah, I guess so. I don't really like the unsalted kind though...
"You should really quit eating those, all that salt will kill you man."
What..really?
"Oh yeah, salt is the quickest way to heart attacks and shit.."
No, I mean are you fucking kidding me that you're going to warn me about the dangers of salted sunflower seeds when I am using them to quit a 15 year smoking habit.
"Yeah man, that shit is DANGEROUS. You should eat healthier, unless you want to die early"

It's times like this when I wish I were allowed one act of brutal violence a day.

Bet I wouldn't need the sunflower seeds then.

Crystal Head Long Exposure Vodka

Thu, 23 Sep 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Bored, but not wanting to go to bed at 9:30 at night, I decided to have a cocktail.

Or two. Who's counting!?

Which polished off the last of my Crystal Head Vodka . What to do?

Take long exposure pictures, of course.

And take pictures I did. I diligently set up my camera, tripod and empty bottle in the kitchen. I killed as many light sources as possible, which is no easy task in the home of a nerd. Status LEDs abound.

And then I set about taking "interesting" photos of the bottle. Unfortunately, I could only source an LED flashlight thing and a (dying) laser pointer.

Nonetheless, I think the results speak for themselves.

Code Monkey like Fritos

Tue, 21 Sep 2010 09:37:00 +0000

I used to write code all the damned time.

I was constantly tinkering with something. I wrote two different CMS's while trying to teach myself PHP/MySQL.

Then I got a job where I was supposed to actually write code in exchange for a laughable stipend called a "salary".

And it just seemed to...stop.

Sure, I still did stuff from time to time

But my output over the last year has dropped to basically nil.

I still have idea for projects. Things I really want to see happen, that I actually lay awake at night thinking about. They seem like such good ideas. Fun ideas.

Recently, a Co-Worker has been learning PHP. Mostly so that he can create a handy-dandy tool for our internal use. The tool itself is ridiculously simple, I could probably write it in a weekend.

The objective for this co-worker is to learn PHP/MySQL. While I certainly wouldn't consider myself a resident expert. Or any sort of expert. Or resident for that matter....
This co-worker seeks me out to pick my brain every day or so. I've even been helping with design patterns and code-review.

And I'm shocked with myself. Not that I am helping a co-worker. I like this guy, and he's razor sharp, so they are never dumb questions.

It's how much I remember. Which got me thinking about tackling some of these long standing ideas...

So tonight I fired up my favorite IDE and started the familiar chore of laying out my project skeleton. And then I lost steam. I started reading random strangers twitter feeds. Thinking about mind-mapping.

Drinking beer.

And writing this.
I just can't seem to find it in my self to motivate to create. Which is depressing, because lately I've been feeling like I have all this pent-up creativity with no outlet.

Except I do. I'm just too lazy to make myself happy.

Dream Home

Sun, 19 Sep 2010 12:23:00 +0000

In my dream home, there will be conduit everywhere.

Running a wire from any one room in the house to any other will be a piece of cake. I don't care if this means hiding giant access panels behind garishly large victorian portraits, I'll do it. I hate seeing wires snaking down my hallway.

Hell, for that matter, I hate the sight of wires in general, if you can believe it.
I think I want a desk that has a lift top, like the hood of a car. Throughout the "hood" there could be holes to snake the cables in to, and then they can all collect underneath.

That and it would be funny to break out a hanging worklight and a pair of greasy coveralls when you did a computer upgrade.

But why do I care right now?
I have "things" in my house that I want to connect to my network. My XBox. A webcam. A kegerator.
The usual.

But the only way I have of doing any of this is by crawling in the attic crawlspace (thus the name), running fish-tape through the wall, using a drywall saw to hack out the appropriate spot, pulling said cable back through the wall, etc etc rinse repeat.

This is a time consuming, dirty, hot process. And not in the sexy sort of fashion. And damnit, it's not even my house.

Until I live in my dream house, I have three solutions:

"Upgrade" the houses internal network to provide drops at all the places I need them
Snake cables down the hallways / across the ceiling / etc, making my house look like shit
Do nothing, accepting that somethings just don't really need to be on the network

"Why not just make everything wireless?"

A number of reasons, actually. First and foremost, I don't like wireless. It's prone to interference, slower than a wired connection.

There is also the money involved. To make some of my wired devices wireless would involve an investment in a wired to wireless adapter. Which is expensive. At least, compared to the cost of Cat5.

And it gives me something to complain about.

Adventures in Framing

Fri, 17 Sep 2010 09:00:00 +0000

So, sometime forever ago (seriously, it's been like a month) I took some prints in to be framed.

I've never used these folks before, so I always feel al little nervous. I've discovered that when it comes to framing, some places completely rip you off. Or do a shitty job (as I would discover).

Fortunately, I've had enough stuff framed by different people / places that I now have a concept for just how much money it should really cost.

After spending almost an hour working out the details (the hardest part was explaining the "floating" concept I wanted for the print from J.R. Goldberg I felt like we were finally on the same wave-length.

So, just what are you going to charge me Mister Framer guy? "I don't know how much to charge.. I need to talk to my wife. She handles that stuff..and she isn't around. Can you leave your prints, and we'll call you?"

I didn't like it, but I cautiously surrendered the work. Three odd days later, he finally got back to me. Expecting something ridiculous, I was pleasantly surprised when he told me the real amount. "Sounds good- go for it."

Fast-forward to today, I got the call. They were done! When I arrived at the shop, they were trying to close up for the day. Feeling a bit rushed, I gave only a cursory glance. Both seemed to be well done. I was immediately drawn to the hangar wire on the Goldberg print. It wasn't what we talked about, and it ruined a bit of the effect.

Noticing that I was not terribly thrilled, Mister Framer spoke up "Yeah, turns out it's too heavy to hang it the way you want. It would break the frame. It pretty much has to be this way. I think it still looks pretty good though!"

Hefting it, I could see that he might be right. And let's face it, I don't really know shit about this stuff. So I paid and went on my way home.

Once home, I had a bit more time to scrutinize the work. The Jhonen Vasquez print turned out exactly as I imagined.

I will confess, I was initially uncertain using such a plain frame, but I think the end result turned out quite nicely.

The Goldberg print on the other hand...
Well, the more I look at it, the less satisfied I am. The concept was pretty straight-forward. She used to lovely vellum as the print media. As such, it's a semi-opaque, and I thought it might be interesting to riff on this and do a "floating" frame. No matte or backing, just surrounded by copious glass and frame.

As a rule of personal taste, I hate metal frames. I can think of times when one might want to use them, but for this type of stuff I prefer to use something interesting in wood.
After explaining (and re-explaining at length) the exact idea behind this frame, Mister Framer went to great lengths to talk me out of a wooden frame.

Turns out, according to him, the double glass concept I wanted would be extremely difficult (and costly) in a wooden frame. I still don't know that I buy this- but he was quite insistent.

So when I got the work home today, I noticed something annoying. To keep the two pieces of glass firmly sandwiched together, there are metal spring clips on the backside, to keep pressure between the frame back and the glass.

Fine. But the public facing portion of the frame is maybe 1/8" "shorter" than the back. The net result is the ability to see these silver spring clips all around the frame. Even looking straight on.

Fortunately, I think this is something I can fix myself with a grinder (or replacement clips). Still annoying, but nothing earth-shattering.

The part I hate is the hangar wire. You see, it spans the back, as you would expect it would on a normal picture frame. But, there is no paper-matte or backing. It's just glass.

So you can see the damned wire.

You can see the spring clips and wire pretty clearly in the above photo.
Those irritations aside, I still think the floating concept works for this piece.

For the curious these prints are
Mutiny of the Flesh by J.R. Goldberg, two color screen print on heavy vellum, signed/numbered in silver ink by artist.

J's Not J by Jhonen Vaquez, four color screen print on thick stock, signed/numbered by artist.