Yes? What? Yes?

Kate is back home, but I haven't made it to my apartment yet. In the meantime, here's a skit I wrote when I was in the sixth grade. As I recall, my friends and I actually acted it out for a class. According to the script, which is dated March 17, 2001, Brian played the narrator, Mark played Brian, Sean played Yes, Nick played What, and I played You. Abbott and Costello were duly credited.

Narrator: It was a dark, gloomy, bright, sunny day at the McFlooglebooglesnoogle house. Two people named What and Yes walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. Brian McFlooglebooglesnoogle opened the door.
Brian McFlooglebooglesnoogle: Yes?
Yes: What?
What: Yes?
Yes: What?
What: Yes?
Brian: You guys are confusing me. What do you want?
What: Want what?
Brian (to himself): Yes, you're nuts.
Yes: Pardon?
What (to Brian): Don't worry, he's always like this.
Brian: Like what?
What: He's not like me at all! We're two different people.
Brian: Yes, you are.
Yes: I'm what?
(You walks up to the door and listens in.)
What: You're not me, you're you!
You: He isn't me!
(pause)
Brian (to You): Who are you?
You: Yes.
Yes: What?
What: Yes?
Yes: Yes?
What: You are Yes.
You: Once and for all, I'm not Yes! (looks at Yes) I'm You!
Yes: I'm yes, no?
Brian: What?
What: Yes?
Yes: What?
Brian: Will you stop that!
You: Stop what?
What: I'm not doing anything!
(pause)
You: I'm getting confused.
Brian: Who's getting confused?
Yes: Hey, leave Who out of this. He's a nice guy.
Brian: Who's Who?
What: I'm What (points to Yes), this is Yes (points to You), and this is You.
Brian: I'm right here.
Yes: We know. You's over there.
What: Yes he is.
Yes: I know he is!
(pause)
Brian (to Yes): What's your name?
Yes: No, Yes.
Brian: What?
What: Yes?
Yes: What?
What: I don't know!
(pause)
Brian: Okay, okay, let's start over. What did you want to say?
What: Want to say what?
You: You wanted to say yourself?
Yes: I'm baffled. (to What) Are you baffled?
You: I'm You, and my name isn't Baffled!
Brian (to himself): But your name is baffling.
(pause)
What: Where were we?
Yes: I don't know.
You: What about him?
What: Me about him what?
Brian: Stop it!
You: Stop what?
What: But I'm not doing anything!
(pause)
Brian: Alright already! The man's name standing on the left is...?
Yes: What.
Brian: His name.
Yes: What.
Brian: The man's name!
Yes: What.
Brian: The fellow standing next to you!
Yes: What.
Brian: You call him what?
You: Yes, and so does Yes.
Yes: What?
What: Yes?
(pause)
Brian: Now, stop that. Who's there on the right?
You: Which right?
Brian: My right.
You: That would be my left, right?
Brian: Right. What's his name?
What: Yes.
Brian (points to Yes): No, his name is Yes! So what's your name?
What: Yesiree.
You (to Brian): His name is What!
Brian: Apparently, it's Yesiree.
You: No, What!
Brian: I don't follow.
What: He lives down the block.
(pause)
Brian: That fellow in the back, what's his name?
Yes: I told you (points to What), What is over here!
Brian: I don't know.
What: He lives across the street.
(pause)
Brian: What is the name of the person behind you?
Yes: What is over here, and there's no one behind You!
Brian: I know!
You: That's I Don't Know's sister.
(pause)
Brian: So, why did you come here in the first place?
You: To accompany Yes and What.
Brian (to Yes and What): Well then, why are you here?
Yes and What: To accompany You.
Brian: Me?
What (pointing to You): No, him.
Brian: You make up your mind!!
You: About what?
What: Me?
Brian (angrily): GO AWAY!! (Slams door on You, Yes, and What.)
You (yelling to Brian): That's my next-door neighbor!

The End

Seven links

I don't usually participate in these memes, but I thought I'd take the 7 Link Challenge (thanks, Kirsten). These answers aren't necessarily authoritative since I've written over a thousand posts and can't be bothered to go back and look at all of them except in special circumstances.

1. Your first post: The World of Stuff Opens, April 6, 2003.
2. A post you enjoyed writing the most: [sic]. You could say I started writing this one in junior high, when I would keep track of my teachers' many slips of the tongue. In the post, I listed some of my favorites.
3. A post which had a great discussion: Tough one. We usually don't have those around here. The discussion on Brain Damage went on for a while, though.
4. A post on someone else's blog that you wish you'd written: That would have to be The Ultimate "0.999… = 1" Guide over at Greatplay.net.
5. Your most helpful post: My Sony DSC-H55 Digital Camera Review seems to have helped a fair number of people so far.
6. A post with a title that you are proud of: Man, what post title am I not proud of? Half the time they're clever as hell. Sometimes I think of them ages in advance. I was going through some old titles, and this one made me chuckle: A Turtle (And Also the Meaning of Life).
7. A post you wish more people had read: Any post with no comments. Seriously, I think if my every post generated a huge discussion, it would compel me to write more often. Not that I don't write a lot, but I used to write more often than I do now. One post I like that seemed to go under everyone's radar was By the Way... It brings back a lot of memories for me.

I guess this post should be called "Nine Links" because here are TWO MORE LINKS!!

Here are some Useless Fliers. (Via waxy.org)

Here's a pretty extensive article about the guy Nintendo named Mario after.

Let them eat cake (and let me eat pie)

You know what I have done in a while? Some Ask Jordon!

Kate: What are the main problems of the US, which really affect people's lives and need to be solved as soon as possible, in your opinion?

Well, we finally got universal health care (or health insurance, or whatever), so check that one off the list. I'll admit that I'm having a hard time thinking of other things. A lot of the things I care about don't have a direct impact on people's lives.

Are they still giving tax cuts to rich people? If they are, that's going to have to stop. If anyone needs tax cuts, it's the people who, you know, have nothing.

Eh. I don't know. Obesity, maybe? We have a lot of fat people here. But there's not much you can do about that. You can tell people that they ought to exercise, but you can't drop them onto a treadmill and make them run all day. You can tell them they should eat more vegetables, but you can't tie them up and force-feed them brussels sprouts. And anyway, it doesn't bother me that other people are eating however they want, and it shouldn't. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg, as they say.

I hate brussels sprouts, by the way. I would empathize.

So, I guess I don't really have a good answer to your question.

Kate: What do you like most for dessert? :)

What don't I like for dessert? I'll eat pretty much anything. That said, I like pies. I think pecan pie is my favorite. My mom made one for my birthday, and it was great. Blueberry pie is also good too.

I had no idea green screens were used so much in TV and movies. Here's a four-minute video showing many a green screen scene. (Via The Presurfer)

Some guy spent 24 hours in a Super Walmart. (Before you get too confused, he replaces profanity with other random words.) (Via The Consumerist)

Falling with style

It's been a while since my friends decided to participate as Team Kiss in the Red Bull Flugtag in Miami. The big day was Saturday, and I went down there just to see them. (Well, mostly.)

I took the train to Bayfront Park and got there a little late but before Team Kiss went on. During this time (I found out later), they and some of the other groups were posing for photos with audience members. My friend Nick (a.k.a. Gene Simmons) said that they were probably the most photographed team, a fact that didn't escape the notice of the other teams: "You guys know they're not really Kiss, right?"

After a series of silly dances, impressive flights, and epic fails, Team Kiss with their giant flying bass guitar had their moment in the spotlight. After a brief introduction in which the guys pretend to chug some Red Bulls and then pretend to rock out on fake guitars, they pushed their craft over the edge with one of them staying on as the pilot. He actually got pretty good distance. The rest of the guys jumped into the water for good measure.

After a few more teams' flights and a finale that involved a flyover by a Coast Guard helicopter, the crowd thinned, and I found not only Team Kiss but also the rest of their posse. We stuck around for the awards ceremony (they didn't win), and then followed the team up to their room in the swanky InterContinental Hotel, just footsteps away from where the Flugtag was.

In their room, we congratulated them on a job well done and then left them to rest. They deserved it.

I was busy recording a video, so I didn't get to take pictures of their actual flight, but I've found some on Flickr: 1, 2, 3. Check 'em out.

Via Andy: Some guy gets really, really inappropriately excited about a double rainbow.

New house

I'm coming off the tail end of a long Fourth of July weekend. I guess I've never thought about it, but it seems that we get a long Fourth of July weekend more often than not: whenever the day falls on a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, or Monday. That's a majority of days! (This is the first July I've ever gone to school, which is why I've never realized it before.)

On Saturday, Andy and I went to a fireworks show on campus. As we got there, it was drizzling, and the community orchestra had just started playing the national anthem. When they finished, it was raining harder, so we turned around and left. We had dinner at a Singaporean restaurant called Merlion before going back home. I hadn't been to one since I was in Berlin last year. Good stuff!

This weekend, my parents were looking at houses in the area (since they've sold theirs). On Sunday, I met up with them, and they took me and my grandmother to see the one they liked the most. They called the real estate agent, who let us in to look around. It's a portable, but it doesn't look like one inside (or outside, for that matter). An enclosed porch has been added on in front. It's sort of secluded, with tall trees and stuff all around. It's near Fort White (pop. 531) and the Santa Fe River, so my dad would still be able to go boating.

Today, my parents told me that their offer on the house had been accepted. Within a month, the place will be ours. Well, I'll have a room there, but I don't know if I'll make it my permanent residence after college or what. That's something I've been trying to think about. I'm graduating in less than a year, but it seems like a long way off.

Vittana is similar to Kiva in that it allows you to make microloans to people around the world. The difference is that with Vittana, the loans are used to help people go to college. I can't vouch for the service, but it's a cool idea.

I wish all my lectures were as interesting as this April Fool's Day prank. (via waxy.org)

Here are some fun facts about Nintendo in cheesy infographic form. (Via The Presurfer)

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)

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.

Seeking validation

I have a web site. (No, wait, I know that's really obvious. There's more.) I also run several other web sites as a job. At work, I spend a lot of time making sure that the sites adhere to web standards by using HTML tags properly and the like. On my personal site, not so much. I don't check it quite as compulsively, and for a long time I was content for this site to be invalid XHTML due to the Creative Commons licensing bit at the bottom.

Well, no more. I actually changed each page's doctype from XHTML 1.0 Strict to XHTML + RDFa 1.0 so that each page would validate. But there was more to it than that. By historical accident, the doctype and head tag for each page was on the page itself rather than in the header file common to all pages, so I had to create a new header file and update almost every page on the site to use it. At the same time, I decided to switch each page's character encoding to UTF-8 wherever feasible (most were ISO-8859-1). The blog posts in WordPress (all posts since 2005) remain ISO-8859-1; that's a task for another day.

Among the dozens of pages I had to update were the blog archives for 2003 and 2004. Digging back through my old (X)HTML, I found some interesting things. For example, a November 2004 post titled "Is Blogging Old Hat?" had a paragraph tag that wasn't closed. The interesting part is that the sentence contained in the paragraph wasn't even finished:

TWoS can be found on the first page of the search results, which just goes to show you

Show you what? Such a cliffhanger! I thought that this error might have been introduced by a later edit to the page, but the Wayback Machine's archived version from a week after the post was written also contains the error. (If for nothing else, check it out to see what the site looked like back then.) Anyway, I just closed the tag. I wasn't making editorial changes, after all. As much as I would like not to have bandied about phrases like "old hat," it just wouldn't be right.

An infographic about the Internet: The State of the Internet. (Via J-Walk Blog)

30 Bizarre Examples of Defacing Money. There are a lot of nerdy references there; cool points for not understanding them. Also, I have to point out that it must be more fun to deface British money because the Queen is, like, alive and stuff. (Via The Presurfer)

And finally, find out what it was like to be Helen Keller with the online Helen Keller Simulator.

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)

What to say, what not to say

Yeah, so I've been pretty busy. I know, I tend to start a lot of posts with that, but it is true. Sometimes I actually have (gasp) homework.

But in between homework sessions, there's this little thing called life, and things do happen to me. Some of them are interesting or even blogworthy. Those things often end up here in the blog. Often, but not always.

As I get older and more people I know are aware of my blog, I feel that there are more things I can't say.

"What?!" you ask. "You just wrote a five-part series detailing every waking hour you spent with your special friend Kate. You kissed and told. You even mentioned that you cried."

Okay, first of all, crying is okay sometimes, especially if it's one's party and one wants to. Second of all, more things happened than I mentioned in my blog posts, either because I momentarily forgot about them (for example, Kate and I played some eight-ball at the student union one day—I forget which day it was, but I remember the TVs were all tuned to sports channels, which were announcing the news of Lane Kiffin's move to USC) or because they just aren't things I want to share with the world. You know?

You've probably heard about bloggers who got fired from their jobs because of something they said on their blog. It's kind of like that as well. I don't want to say anything that will make me look bad to potential employers (although I think I kind of have already, though I won't link to any examples for obvious reasons), and once I get a full-time job, I probably won't mention it very much as a precaution. It might also be very boring as well.

Also, have a look at the archives for September 2003, won't you? There are a lot of minutiae in there. I don't bother too much with the little things about my day anymore. Maybe they no longer interest me, but I think it's mainly because I just tend toward longer, less frequent blog posts. I guess I prefer them that way because I want each of them to have a lot of substance. I want them to really be good reading.

What brought this about? My friend Andy recently mentioned in his new blog that he admired my "ability to censor [my]self enough so that [my] blog is not just random thoughts" but also "to be open enough so that [my] blog is interesting." My initial reaction was: He doesn't know the half of it! Boy, do I ever censor myself. I probably censor myself more than not... whatever that means. Or something like that.

What really brought this about was that last night I had a dream that one of my female friends was smooching me. I wanted to talk about it with someone to try to see what it meant, but how best to go about that? I certainly wouldn't mention it to the girl herself. (Creep-a-leepy.) And, of course, I ruled out the blog as well. (Sort of.) I ended up talking about it with Andy.

There are many reasons for me not to mention certain things here, but if they're really interesting, I try to remove any sensitive details (see the previous paragraph for an example). A pretty good story is better than none at all, and you deserve a good story.

Here's a handy chart showing How the Health Care Overhaul Could Affect You. (Via Lifehacker)

The Bouba/Kiki effect suggests that people might not attach sounds to shapes arbitrarily. Interesting stuff.

Failure Magazine (yes, really) presents a three-part series: Quirkiest Basketball Failures, Parts One, Two, and Three. Related: quirky football injuries.