Ain’t Bobby so cool

When I found out that Bob Dylan was going to be performing a concert at my own university, I knew I had to go. My friend Andrea had the same idea, so we got tickets together.

Okay, I’m not the biggest Bob Dylan fan in the world. I’ve listened to some of his albums, and obviously I think they’re good. But don’t treat this like a hardcore fan’s review. In fact, I wouldn’t even call this a review. I’ve hardly been to any concerts, so I don’t know how to review a concert. This is just a blog post, you guys.

Anyway, the concert was last night. Andrea and I got there pretty early, so we were sitting outside the O’Connell Center with a bunch of other people, most of whom were way older than us. Finally, we were allowed in and got to our seats. Andrea had been concerned because they were high up and off to the side, but I figured they would make pretty good seats. They weren’t really close, but they weren’t very far either; the O’Connell Center is rather cozy.

Of course, the concert didn’t start on time because nothing ever starts on time. In the meantime, concertgoers filed in, some of them checking out the overpriced Dylan merchandise on sale, and clips from Intolerance were projected above the stage.

Finally, the lights dimmed, and Bob Dylan and his band came out to thunderous applause. They launched right into “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35,” and then “Lay Lady Lay.” It was nice of them to start with songs that I knew. I didn’t know all of them, of course, but I was surprised by how many I did know.

A lot of them were from Modern Times (2006), the most recent album of his that I have. He and the band really rocked with “Thunder on the Mountain,” and people swayed their cell phones to “Workingman’s Blues #2.” In particular, I was happy to hear one of my personal favorites, “Spirit on the Water” (“I can’t go to paradise no more, I killed a man back there”).

Throughout the concert, I couldn’t help but notice that our seats were really good after all. Even though we were pretty far off to the side of the stage, Dylan played keyboards on a lot of the songs, and he actually faced us while tickling the fake ivories. (I liked the fancy footwork he employed while doing it, too.)

I had heard second- or third-hand that at one of his recent concerts, he “mumbled” the words to his songs, prompting fans to walk out en masse. I came mentally prepared not to expect singing like on the records. After all, when you sing a song you wrote 45 years ago 100 times a year for 20 years, are you really going to sing it the same every time? Plus, we are talking about Bob Dylan, a dude not quite known for his exactitude with the old pipes. In fact, Dylan practically spoke most of the words to the songs last night, but he did it in a Dylanesque way, so that was fine by me.

The musicians didn’t talk to the audience between songs; instead, the lights went out, some of the guys switched instruments, and they started the next song as soon as they could while the lights went back on. I was a little put off by it at first, but I wasn’t there for the jibba-jabba anyway.

After finishing “Ballad of a Thin Man,” Bob and the guys walked offstage, and the lights went out. I was like, This is it? That’s the end? You have to remember I don’t go to a lot of concerts. I guess it’s pretty much standard procedure for the performers to get the audience to demand an encore: “All right, twist my arm!” And twist it we did.

The crowd started making a bunch of noise for a few minutes, and finally, Bob and the band came back out for a few more songs. One of them was “Like a Rolling Stone,” which was another I had been looking forward to hearing. After the song, Dylan thanked the audience and named each of his bandmates; this was the only time any of the musicians actually spoke to the crowd. Then they played “All Along the Watchtower,” bowed, and left the stage.

I might be making it sound like I didn’t have a good time, but I really did. The music was great; it was the experience of a lifetime. When is Bob Dylan going to play a concert in my town again? He’s almost 70, after all. I’m really glad I got the chance to see him and hear his raspy, raspy voice.

In case you’re interested, here’s the set list from Bob Dylan’s official web site, and here’s Andrea’s blog post with illicit photos of the concert! And those will be your links of the day. I’ve got a football game to go to.

Adventures with Kate, part eight

Hey, that rhymes!

It was Monday, August 16, and we had just decided to go to Key West after all. We spent some time packing all of our things; the next time I would be back, it would be without Kate. The end of her visit was drawing near.

Conveniently, there was no city bus stop at the Greyhound bus station, and we wouldn’t have even had time to take the bus anyway, so we had to call a cab. Even though our Greyhound bus wouldn’t be setting off for Key West till 10:30 PM, we had to get to the station while it was still open so we could print our tickets.

The taxi was extremely late, and I made several calls to the cab agency to make sure it would be on its way soon. Finally, a van pulled up. The driver was a lively middle-aged man with an English accent. He knew we were in danger of being late and wasted no time helping us put our stuff (including Kate’s friend’s guitar) in the back. I told him there would be extra in it for him if he got us to our destination on time. (Besides a regular tip, I mean. Come on, I’m not that cheap.)

It was a long way to the bus station in spite of the rush, so pretty soon there was some chit-chat going on, mainly between the driver and me. He asked how we knew each other, and I explained it well enough to avoid further questions. He said he was from Scunthorpe, Lincolnshire, and I said I had heard of it. We talked about the guitar in its oddly-shaped case, and he revealed that he had been in a band for many years. He said he had also played guitar for the likes of Willie Nelson and Roger McGuinn.

He somehow managed to take us to the station with enough time to spare, so, true to my word, I tipped him generously. We got our tickets as the station closed and then needed to kill a few hours somewhere. I had looked up some restaurants in the immediate area, hoping to find one where we could linger and use Wi-Fi. We ended up at an inexpensive Italian restaurant where they said they might have Wi-Fi. Fortunately, they did. We were about the only people there, and we ordered from the buffet, each of us going up for a plate occasionally.

After what seemed like an eternity in the restaurant, they were getting ready to close, and it was almost time for our bus to arrive. It picked us up at the station, and we headed to Orlando and then to Miami. We also had a rest stop in the Treasure Coast area. Surprisingly, I actually seemed to sleep a little bit on the bus.

In the morning, we arrived at the Greyhound station in Miami. We had a few hours to kill and some shopping to do. Kate had collected money from family, friends, and acquaintances who wanted her to buy them stuff in the USA. Unfortunately, even though we were near the airport, there didn’t seem to be any buses going where we wanted to go. So we resolved to go shopping at the end of Kate’s trip and decided to eat breakfast.

We went inside a gas station where they actually had a small restaurant-type place that even had some tables with vases of flowers on them. It was a classy gas station restaurant. Besides having some food, we got coffee from one of those nifty Kreurig machines with the ground coffee beans in little cups. I also bought a map of the Florida Keys so I could see where we were on the long drive to Key West.

After a long wait at the bus station (which was very small for such a large city), the bus came, and we were headed to the Keys. Eventually, blue seas came into view on both sides, and endless fields of grass gave way to necessarily tiny communities with almost as many boats as people.

We had a very short lunch break at a Burger King in the Middle Keys. It seemed to be an official Greyhound stop since there was a Greyhound sign near the premises. Inside, a section of the seating area was designed to look like the inside of a boat. The bus driver chatted it up with the employees behind the counter, who knew him by name. Kate and I didn’t have a long time to eat, but we managed. It’s easier when you work as a team.

Not long after crossing the famous Seven-Mile Bridge, the bus dropped us off at Key West International Airport. We had made it. I was excited but tired. Kate was just tired. I took a picture of us that I’m not sure she’d let me post on Facebook. I’m grinning ear-to-ear, and she looks like she wants to kill me. We had just been on a bus for most of the last 17 hours. I would have killed me too if I were her.

Kate had already secured accommodations for us with CouchSurfing. Our host had said she would take a few minutes off work to pick us up and take us to her place, so we called her to say we had arrived. As we sat waiting outside the airport, I started thinking about how we could spend a precious few days in my favorite place in the world.

Here’s a video of a bunch of guys called the Fab Faux performing a fantastic cover of the medley from Abbey Road. (Via waxy.org)

Adventures with Kate, part seven

On Friday, August 13, Kate and I were at my family’s house. We didn’t do much that day; the five of us (my parents, my grandmother, Kate, and I) went out for a drive around the area that culminated in a trip to the bank. While the grown-ups were banking, Kate and I wandered up and down Main Street, taking pictures. As we were getting ready to leave, it started raining.

The next day, Kate wanted to go tubing on the Ichetucknee again, and this time, she wanted to go down more of the river. But despite our efforts to get there early, the upper entrances to the river had already closed, and we had to take the shortest route down the river, which was what we had done last time. There were also more people there. And it rained. But it was still fun.

Later, when we were back at the house, Kate and I took out a couple of bikes and rode down to the river to go swimming. Well, Kate swam for a few minutes, and that was it. We continued a little farther on our bikes, but there wasn’t much to see. I’m glad we did it, though. It was something she had wanted to do.

We went back to my apartment that night, and the next day, August 15, we decided to go to a concert on campus. Along the way, we checked out a fish store (taking pictures everywhere, of course) and then we each got a tiny carton of ice cream at the grocery store for us to eat during the concert.

We made it to campus, and it was empty, as I would expect it to be on a Sunday during the summer. We each got a copy of the program at the base of Century Tower, where the bells were. We sat on a bench nearby dug in to our ice cream during the opening number, “The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba“.

Right after that, it started to rain, so we headed for cover at Turlington Hall. We ended up sitting on a bench near a few other people. They were the only other people I saw who were there to listen to the concert. Poor carillonneur.

After about an hour, the concert was over. We returned home to make pancakes and more chicken salad. Actually, Kate made them, and she did a great job as usual.

The next day, August 16, started slowly. We had been planning to go to Key West, and we still weren’t sure if we wanted to go since our only real option would be to go by bus. Finally, we decided that a little bus ride shouldn’t get in the way of having some fun, and we bought tickets for the next bus to Key West. Then we started packing; we didn’t have much time.

Surprise? Playing classical music won’t make your baby smart! (Via mcgees.org)

Bloggers: a comparison

I’m Kirsten, from All About Me – And Then Some, and Jordon is super busy right now so he asked me to help keep his blog alive, so here I am. Today I wanted to do a comparison because I didn’t know what else to blog about on someone else’s personal blog.

Jordon: blogs about stuff
Kirsten: blogs about herself – and then some

Jordon: living the collegiate life
Kirsten: living in a cubicle

Jordon: lives in balmy Florida
Kirsten: lives in blistering Las Vegas

Jordon: is 21 and doesn’t look like he has any wrinkles or gray hairs
Kirsten: has been 29 for seven years now and while she’s avoided wrinkles so far, the gray hairs are creeping in

Jordon: knows html
Kirsten: knows html, more or less

Jordon: knows php
Kirsten: knows php when she sees it but doesn’t quite know what to do with it

Jordon: is a coding maniac
Kirsten: sucks at all kinds of coding

Jordon: knows what algorithms are
Kirsten: barely has any rhythm

Jordon: listens to The Beetles
Kirsten: listens to angsty chick music

Jordon: will graduate college with a 4-year degree and some career direction
Kirsten: graduated with a 2-year degree in liberal arts and still has no direction

Jordon: went to Europe and was able to meet all sorts of people because of years of dedicated, self-motivated Esperanto studies
Kirsten: went to Europe and was not able to speak to anyone despite 6 years of French studies

Jordon: puts interesting links at the end of nearly every post
Kirsten: stayed up way too late and couldn’t find anything link worthy, so is encouraging everyone to go to wikipedia and just keep clicking on “Random Article” until something interesting comes along

Get carded

As you may know, my parents have sold our house, and last weekend, I went there for the last time. When I wasn’t attending the Red Bull Flugtag, I was in my room, going through all my things and deciding whether to pack them, sell them, or throw them out. One of the things I came across was a brochure called “Legal Guide for New Adults,” produced by the state bar association. It consisted mainly of questions and answers such as (paraphrased):

Q: Why is the drinking age 21 and not 18?

A: The Florida Legislature has the power to set the drinking age, and that’s what they’ve decided is appropriate.

In other words, the classic because-we-said-so argument with which we are all familiar. (For the real answer, read about the National Minimum Drinking Age Act of 1984. The history of alcohol purchase age limits by state is also interesting.)

Anyway, Tuesday was my 21st birthday. After I wrote my birthday blog post, I continued studying until the exam (except for a brief study break at Taco Bell). I was gradually joined with other people in my class, and we all sort of ended up commiserating. That’s always fun. The exam itself was pretty challenging, but I don’t think it was harder than the last one, which I got a pretty good grade on, all things considered.

By the time I was done with my exam, it was already 9:30. Andy picked me up, and we went to Gainesville Ale House on Archer Road. Andrea met us there. I picked the place because it was one of the only restaurants in town I’d ever been to that was open after 11 PM (the others being the Original Pizza Palace and Chili’s). Plus, there would be a wide variety of alcoholic drinks to choose from if I so desired.

I so desired. I needed to unwind after that exam. After much deliberation, I decided to get a whiskey and soda (Jack and Pepsi, to be exact). I almost thought the waitress wasn’t going to card me, but she did. To eat, of course, I got a burger. Since this establishment was half-bar, they had a trivia contest going on, with the questions and answers being announced over the speakers. The three of us put our heads together and got most of the questions right, although we didn’t actually participate.

Andrea had the audacity to ask the waitress whether I would get a free desert. She said I could get a free slice of ice cream cake and brought one out. The three of us enjoyed it together. Andy covered my part of the check since he owed me money (it’s a good thing he remembered because I didn’t). Then, Andy and I went back to our apartment, where Andy had decorated the living room with balloons and other birthday decorations as a surprise. We threw the balloons around for a little while. After midnight had passed, I started working on homework.

I report my music listening habits to last.fm because I enjoy seeing the statistics. Here are some more statistics for last.fm users: The Obscurometer tells you how obscure your musical tastes are compared to others’. Apparently, my obscurity level is 30.1%, and my musical tastes are more obscure than 27.9% of all users.

This article does a great job of explaining how The RIAA and MPAA Have Failed to Understand a Cultural Shift. Everyone who doesn’t understand why the RIAA and MPAA’s tactics are wrong should read it.

No direction home

South Florida is vast and crowded. For years and years, my parents have wanted to sell our house and move someplace quieter. A while back, for about a year, they had the house on the market, but no one bought it. They’ve spent a lot of time fixing things up and recently put it up for sale again. They gave me the news yesterday: there’s an official buyer. We have to move out by July 29.

Well, it’s more them, really. Since starting college, I’ve only spent about 20% of my time there. According to this year’s census, I don’t live there; I live here at my apartment in Gainesville. But I only intend to have this apartment for as long as I’m in college, and I’ve always considered my home in South Florida to be my permanent address. In my heart, I do live there, and I’ve already planned to go back at least a couple more times.

Since my parents have made their intentions known for so long, I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with the move. Still, I can’t help but feel a little sad that my permanent address will be no more.

We moved in on December 6, 1997. I was eight years old. We were only moving across town, and we were able to keep our phone number, but I was still pretty distraught. I had lived in our old house for my whole eight-year-old life, and it was everything I knew. My parents had taken my sister and me along on dozens or hundreds of “house hunting” trips. I remember seeing for the first time what would eventually be our new house. I remember seeing the old big-screen TV in the corner where we would later put our Christmas tree.

I remember us having a garage sale—the only garage sale I think we’ve ever had for as long as I’ve been alive. And I remember the last time I was in the old house, when it was completely empty. We had to get rid of our dog because our old house closed in October and we couldn’t move in to the new one till December, and we would be living in a condo in the meantime. Also, at the new house there wasn’t a fence around the backyard.

I’m going to miss that backyard. I was so excited to have a real pool, even though I take it for granted now. I remember jumping into it with my sister in February and then jumping right back out again. I remember my friends and I wandering around the backyard with our guitars, my sister supervising the photo shoot with a disposable camera I bought with some money I had somehow managed to scrounge up. I remember having birthday parties there. A pool party early on. Was that the one with pie fight? Well, whipped cream in pie tins. And later, the infamous birthday dance parties on the patio. I think we had them four years in a row.

I remember the band practices in the garage or sometimes in the living room, the Driveway-A-Thon, and our secret spot at a juncture of fences behind the house. I remember the lake across the street that’s not actually a lake but part of a canal. I remember getting pushed into the lake, and I remember getting other people to run into the lake. I remember playing video games with the neighbor with the two-story house, and my other neighbors’ mom leaving a pitcher of water on the front porch overnight to make it North Pole water.

I remember sitting at the old computer, my dad and I composing an e-mail to Geocities asking how to sign up for an account. I remember declaring my latest web site ready for the world on a Sunday. I remember being lighted by artificial light as I wrote a post for a camera. I remember the wall getting painted red and the computer moving to the opposite one.

Dishes broke. I dropped taco meat on the kitchen carpet. The tiles detached themselves from the living room floor; we moved out for a week. The house weathered more hurricanes than I can try to remember. Georges, Frances, Jeanne, Katrina, Wilma. My room was repainted. My sister’s room was repainted. More carpets were replaced. Our next dog made that necessary.

But there’s still a spot on the inside of the front door where I would place my greasy, pubescent nose as I tiptoed to look through the peephole. There are still lots of holes in my bedroom walls that my dad drilled so I could hang up random stuff. And there’s still the sad-looking concrete lawn flamingo with rebar legs that we found on moving in and that I for some reason find irresistibly charming.

I remember packing up and leaving for vacations and being thrilled to come back. I’ll miss the place.

The “someplace quieter” that my parents want to move to is the same general area I’m in now. But they still haven’t found the right house. In the meantime, they’ll be living with my grandmother in her house. And I’ll be changing my address for everything.

A fake movie trailer: Weird: The Al Yankovic Story. (Via waxy.org)

Another list: 7 Totally Awesome and Totally True Ways People Quit Their Jobs. (Via The Presurfer)

The Landa Kongreso: Sunday

This is the second post in a three-part series on my trip to the 58th annual National Congress of Esperanto-USA. Here’s the previous installment in case you missed it. And for Andy’s point of view on what happened the first day, read his post, “At the National Esperanto Convention (Part 1).”

On Sunday morning, Andy and I went with some of our cohorts to Caribou Coffee. I made sure to get back to the hotel in time to listen to a lecture by the eminent Esperantist Humphrey Tonkin, who talked about the need for Esperanto organizations to adapt to today’s Internet-based society. Next, there was supposed to be a video chat with participants at the Russian Esperantists’ Congress, which was going on in St. Petersburg at the same time. For whatever reason, they weren’t able to get that going, but I managed to text Kate, who was at the Russian convention.

At the same time in another room, Andy gave a presentation about the different types of sounds in Esperanto and their representation in the International Phonetic Alphabet. Even though his lecture wasn’t listed on the program, the room filled up. I was going back and forth, trying to see if they had gotten the video chat working yet. Andy didn’t mind because what he was saying wasn’t new to me. That’s the kind of stuff we talk about in the living room on Thursday nights.

Next, it was getting to be lunchtime, so a bunch of people went to Chipotle, also a short walk away from the hotel. After that, I attended lectures about Esperanto-USA’s website, how to lecture about Esperanto, and the World Esperanto Association’s relationship with the United Nations. Those were all okay, but I was really looking forward to Darcy’s talk about her experiences starting and running an Esperanto club at a university. I think her talk was better attended than most of the others. The main bits of advice that I took away were to emphasize to people that Esperanto is fun and to make all of the club meetings fun.

After that, there were some games going on. Some of us got wrapped up in a game that involved guessing words one letter at a time. That was fun, and it seemed like a good way to build vocabulary. (Maybe we can play it at our meetings next year.) While that was going on, the rest of the youths (and some of the semi-youths) decided to go to a nearby tapas bar called Jaleo, so Andy and I joined them. I think there were 18 of us in all, sitting at two long tables. I just ordered some gazpacho, which I hadn’t had since I had first tried it in Spain last year. Ah, the memories…

After our early (or seemingly early) dinner, we went back to the hotel, and I sat in on a lecture about the 6th World Congress of Esperanto, which was held in Washington, DC, in 1910. (Its 100th anniversary was one of the factors in the decision to hold the national convention in the DC area this year.) The lecturer mainly showed contemporary newspaper articles, which described the events of each day of the congress in detail. More people were aware of Esperanto back then.

Next, there was some entertainment, including a much-hyped visit from a mysterious guest. The mysterious guest turned out to be one of the guys from the conference in drag lipsynching to Esperanto translations of “Material Girl” and “Dancing Queen.” There were also more conventional performances of bluegrass and other folk-type music, mostly in Esperanto. I especially enjoyed a performance of “Here Comes the Sun” in Esperanto on the ukulele. In between performers, we watched Conlang, a humorous short film about a power struggle in a small club for lovers of constructed languages.

After that, it was pretty late, but I and the other young types decided to go out. Some of us wanted to go out for a bite, and some of us just wanted to go out for a bit. I was all for going to the diner that they had gone to the night before. Like everything else, it was a short walk away from the hotel. It was called the Tastee Diner, and it was definitely the dineriest diner I had ever been to. We had the same waitress, a young woman with a strong Russian accent, that they had been served by the night before. I got a patty melt and chili cheese fries, but it was a tough decision to make. I wanted everything.

Back at the hotel, I was able to sleep in a bed because some people had already left. I slept better than I had the night before, when I had slept on the floor.

Watch this really, really epic TV theme song medley. I’ve only seen a few of the shows, but I still thought it was well done. (Via waxy.org)

Some guy writes about why theatre was the most important class he ever took. (Via Lifehacker)

Graffiti that dares to be erased: “COME ON PAINT ME WHITE AGAIN.” This really reminds me of my friend Brian. Brian, if you’re reading this… sarcastic graffiti makes me think of you? (Via waxy.org)

Attack of the parasites!

A few months ago, my sooth-seeking friend Andy took in a stray cat. He named him Tucker and kept him in his bedroom in our apartment. I would go in once in a while and see Tucker there. He was affectionate but unfortunately never very healthy. After about a month, Andy and his vet decided to let Tucker go to the great scratching post in the sky.

Three weeks later, Andy and his friend Scott, who was visiting, discovered that Tucker had left something to remember him by: fleas.

They took swift action, vacuuming and flea-bombing Andy’s room and the living room. They asked if they should do my room too. I said not to worry about it. Mistake of the Century. Shortly after that, I said:

Andy and Scott left on Wednesday, and I’ve been alone in the apartment. It hasn’t been so great, but not for the reasons I would have expected. I’ll go into that later.

I was left to fend off the fleas by myself. On Thursday afternoon, I went to the front office to ask for pest control to come, and I was told that they only come on Thursdays and that I had just missed them. Andy, who took responsibility for the whole situation, gave the office a call and got the pest control people to maybe come on Monday.

It was a long weekend. I called a vet’s office, and they said to put Borax onto the carpet and vacuum a week later, but I couldn’t find Borax at the grocery store. (Is that something you can get at the grocery store? I don’t want to waste my time again.) I did buy some insecticide for fleas, and it seemed to get rid of them after a few days of spraying. I also did some vacuuming to (hopefully) get rid of the flea eggs.

I don’t like spraying chemicals all over the place. It’s not due so much to my concern for the environment as it is to my tendency to accidentally spray myself (which did happen, as usual). So I made a flea trap by setting a bowl of soapy water on the floor and angling a desk lamp over it. Fleas are attracted to heat (this ordeal has made me a damn flea expert), so they jump toward the light bulb and fall into the water, where they get stuck. It’s also a fire hazard, so don’t try this at home. I won’t do it again.

Needless to say in a world where “yes” means “maybe” and “maybe” means “no,” pest control didn’t come on Monday. They called me on Tuesday and asked if the whole place had been vacuumed up because apparently they wouldn’t even come if it weren’t. I said no and asked them to come on Wednesday. They didn’t. They were definitely supposed to come on Thursday, as usual, but they didn’t even appear then. They finally showed up on Friday, but by then they could tell I had already gotten rid of the fleas, so they didn’t do anything.

(Before you say anything: no money was lost here. The management of my apartment complex hires said company to do free pest control work for residents. We had considered hiring another company, but it would have been too expensive.)

I haven’t seen any fleas in five days, so I think they’re gone for now. Then again, they hid for at least three weeks, between the time Tucker died and the time anyone noticed them. Hopefully they’re not like an STD that pops up from time to time and can never go away. I’ll have to do some more vacuuming.

This is why software is awesome. Someone wrote a Python script that does some time-stretching and -compressing on a song to change the beat. The result: everything swings. Sample tracks include “Every Breath You Take,” “Enter Sandman,” “Around the World,” and “Don’t Stop Believin’.” (Via waxy.org)

Here’s a breakdown of cable subscription fees by network, showing how much you’re paying for channels you don’t watch. (Via The Consumerist)

American kids don’t have a monopoly on stupidity: 10% of British children surveyed thought that the Queen invented the telephone. Some also thought that Luke Skywalker was the first person on the moon and that Isaac Newton discovered fire.

Installapalooza

I talked about my Thursday, but I didn’t get a chance to mention my weekend yet. It was… interesting.

For many college students, the weekend begins on Thursday, and the people living in the apartment below me are no exception. They had a party on Thursday night. I don’t mind if people have parties, but I do mind if said parties are extremely loud and preventing me from going to sleep. Usually I go downstairs with my roommate Andy and we ask them to turn the music down, but this time, Andy volunteered to go by himself. He didn’t come back; he had joined the party.

On Friday night, there was another loud party downstairs. A normal person probably would have been able to sleep through it, but I have a hard time getting to sleep unless it’s quiet. Still, I thought I should try. I did sleep for a little while, but the noise woke me up at 4:30 in the morning. That’s when I called the police.

Over the next hour or so, the noise still didn’t go away. At 6:00, I went downstairs and told one of the guys that if they didn’t turn the music down, I would call the police. He asked if I already had, so presumably some officers had paid them a visit. I said I hadn’t called, and he said that that the party was ending anyway. A half an hour later, the music stopped, and I instantly went to sleep.

I probably won’t call the police again. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now they probably know that I did it, and I don’t want them to be mad at me. There are more of them than me, after all, and they know where I live.

I always wake up early, even if I go to bed very late, so I wasn’t worried about oversleeping. Imagine my surprise when I woke up well-rested at 11:15 in the morning. I was supposed to be on campus at 11:30 for a Linux installfest!

Technically, I didn’t quite oversleep, but I came very close to it. The only time I actually did oversleep was about a year and a half ago when I was supposed to be giving a presentation for a class. Why do I only oversleep (or almost oversleep) when I have to do something important? Well, I guess if it’s not important, then you’re not really oversleeping.

My friend Mark, who was going to give me a ride to campus, had been waiting outside for a few minutes. I got ready as fast as I could, and we weren’t too late. The installfest actually went pretty well, and we had a pretty good turnout. I helped a guy dual-boot Ubuntu and Windows, and Mark got a guy’s graphics driver working. There was also a lot of food, and we got to take home what was left over.

Know Your Meme is indispensable. If you’ve seen the one with the old-fashioned painting of a guy striking a non-old-fashioned pose and saying things like “It feels most outstandingly pleasant to be involved in gang-related activities,” the site explains what that’s all about. (Via waxy.org)

British humor: How to Report the News, presented in the style of a news report. (Via waxy.org)

Do you use Last.fm? HacKey will show you the musical keys of your favorite songs. Apparently a whole 18% of my favorite songs are in B major, which I thought wasn’t a common key in popular music (well, it’s hard to play on the guitar). (Via waxy.org)

Crystal blue persuasion

I’ve been an avowed Firefox user since 2004, and I intend to stay that way. But I feel constant pressure from all sides to adopt or at least try out Google Chrome as my browser. Reasons for trying it include that it’s fast and that it’s by Google. That’s about it.

First of all, I don’t get all the Google idolatry. It’s just as bad as the hype surrounding Apple’s products. (These two companies could make the bubonic plague trendy and popular.) Within days of Chrome’s release, it had accumulated more users than Opera had managed to scrounge up in 12 years. No, I don’t have a citation for that, but I remember reading it somewhere. In any case, Chrome is now the third-most popular browser out there.

I also don’t like the user interface. It probably does make sense to have the tabs above the address bar, but they shouldn’t be where the title of the window is supposed to be. An application’s look and feel should be consistent with that of the operating system on which it runs; anything else is the result of either ignorance or sheer arrogance. Firefox can fit right in with GNOME and other Linux environments.

Google Chrome now supports extensions, a feature that Firefox users had been asking for. I depend on a lot of extensions (currently about 30) to make my browsing more convenient, and I doubt that most of them have been implemented for Chrome. In particular, NoScript, which no web surfer (has anyone said that in the past ten years?) should be without, cannot currently be made to work on Chrome.

Finally, there are privacy issues. I use Google for searching the web, but I don’t want to trust one company with that and my browser, e-mail, news, RSS feeds, documents, photos, videos, DNS service, operating system, cell phone, voicemail, web hosting, instant messaging, social networking, electricity, advertising, stats tracking, and Internet connection. And that’s just what I could think of off the top of my head. It’s just too much for one business to potentially know about me.

Advantages of Chrome over Firefox include faster JavaScript performance and keeping separate processes for separate tabs, but Firefox developers are working on those features.

TinyOgg converts Flash-based videos to the patent-free Ogg format.

For my fellow Beatles fanatics: Charting the Beatles, a series of infographics relating to the Beatles’ music and career. (Via J-Walk Blog)

More fun uses of Google’s search suggestions: What boyfriends and girlfriends search for on Google. (waxy.org)