Thursday, April 28, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
Case of the Mondays
Woke up at 1PM PST today and jumped on a conference call in which I was accused of failing to perform certain specified tasks. As a result these said specified tasks will be "put on the back burner" until we get another FTE. Fuck you punk ass project manager. If these said specified tasks were clearly stated and requested properly through the proper buearacratic channels they would've been completed. Eat a dick you faggity ass loser.
Didn't leave this 700 ft (but 350k-valued) condo. Not once. Fuck the Bay Area real estate market.
Got my balls busted for one wrong prediction I made (see previous post). Jeah, so I'm wrong once in my life. Jordan missed more shots in his best game than I've been wrong this year. When you get some nuts and quit following popular opinion because it makes you right 50% of the time you can say something, you fuckin' tool.
Wifey bitched about unwashed dishes in the sink after she got home. *smirk*. Woman, you try entertaining the defiant one while sweating the Rockets game and trying to decrypt ssl passwords for loser dba's.
To the defiant one: I love you. You're such a darling angel. I take all this shit for you. Any day. Fuck the rest.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Favre's Successor
It would've been impossible to avoid reading about this week's hot sports topic: The dismal decline of Aaron Rodgers' draft position. Here was a guy who was projected as the Niners number one guy a couple weeks ago. Fittingly so too as the kid grew up a 49'ers fan in nearby Chico and even donned a Montana jersey underneath his Cal jersey.
Then something happened.
His value dropped like a whore's panties. Critics busted his balls. He has poor mechanics. He holds the ball too high. He'll be another one of Tedford's busts. He's a system QB. He can't make the deep throw. He's less intelligent than Alex Smith.
I just find it strange that analysts and scouts who were absolutely enamored with the guy can suddenly turn on him so quickly. What happened down there at the Santa Clara workout?
I can't help but feel for the guy though. It's gotta be extremely dishearting. One week you're the next Montana or Young and the next week you're Boller or Leaf. Everything happens for a reason however and I think it worked out for the best. He's a Green Bay Packer, he gets to develop under the tutelage of Brett Favre, and most importantly, he's got a bone to pick.
Then something happened.
His value dropped like a whore's panties. Critics busted his balls. He has poor mechanics. He holds the ball too high. He'll be another one of Tedford's busts. He's a system QB. He can't make the deep throw. He's less intelligent than Alex Smith.
I just find it strange that analysts and scouts who were absolutely enamored with the guy can suddenly turn on him so quickly. What happened down there at the Santa Clara workout?
I can't help but feel for the guy though. It's gotta be extremely dishearting. One week you're the next Montana or Young and the next week you're Boller or Leaf. Everything happens for a reason however and I think it worked out for the best. He's a Green Bay Packer, he gets to develop under the tutelage of Brett Favre, and most importantly, he's got a bone to pick.
Ayo Fo Yayo
Man I retired from blow, honestly. That chet don't do nuthin for me no more. I have nothing against it tho. If you can keep it in check that is...
But that playa sun iz still who he his. I understand peeps. Especially the brilliant but unheard...
And that unheard prodigy is my boy Andre Nickatina... cmon man. Is he not the baddest nuga in hiphop? And, yes, I call it hiphop. That's right, that homie formerly known as Dre Dog who's been revered for over a decade by intelligent hoodlums (and for some reason skaters and snowboarders) in the know. I'm talkin' about a gangsta that coulda been up ther wit the best of them, Pac, Biggie, Nas, Scarface, etc but for his own reasons he decided to keep it real as fuck.
i should buy a cemetery and get much bigger
and make money off you dead ass niggas
but fool you don't hear me, niggas fear me
but they wanna get near me
the six five devil's son, I said the devil's son
can you find a more wicked one?
that can creep through the night like a wicked witch
smokin thai stick, on a broomstick
or my favorite line:
...bumpin c-bo on the way to way to tahoe
And on the reaaaal, this cat never got his video on BET or MTV cuz he spits game about one taboo subject: cocaine. Come on biatch... But i digress. What if he spat soley about gun clappin and platinum grills like these insipid rappers on TV? What if he he was from LA or NY instead of da Frisco City? What if 50 and Eminem fans didn't have a problem digesting the unique sound and unorthodox technique? He'd be up there with the best of them. Take a listen and tell me when's the last time you heard someone spit like this.
But that playa sun iz still who he his. I understand peeps. Especially the brilliant but unheard...
And that unheard prodigy is my boy Andre Nickatina... cmon man. Is he not the baddest nuga in hiphop? And, yes, I call it hiphop. That's right, that homie formerly known as Dre Dog who's been revered for over a decade by intelligent hoodlums (and for some reason skaters and snowboarders) in the know. I'm talkin' about a gangsta that coulda been up ther wit the best of them, Pac, Biggie, Nas, Scarface, etc but for his own reasons he decided to keep it real as fuck.
i should buy a cemetery and get much bigger
and make money off you dead ass niggas
but fool you don't hear me, niggas fear me
but they wanna get near me
the six five devil's son, I said the devil's son
can you find a more wicked one?
that can creep through the night like a wicked witch
smokin thai stick, on a broomstick
or my favorite line:
...bumpin c-bo on the way to way to tahoe
And on the reaaaal, this cat never got his video on BET or MTV cuz he spits game about one taboo subject: cocaine. Come on biatch... But i digress. What if he spat soley about gun clappin and platinum grills like these insipid rappers on TV? What if he he was from LA or NY instead of da Frisco City? What if 50 and Eminem fans didn't have a problem digesting the unique sound and unorthodox technique? He'd be up there with the best of them. Take a listen and tell me when's the last time you heard someone spit like this.
Munchkin Pacified
Today marks the first day wifey went to work (for over 8 hours) and left me at home with the defiant one. And guess what... yours truly emerged unscathed, victorious.
I'll admit, however, that my MVP performance required hours of preparation. I set up her Baby Genius, checked the fuel supply, queued up the right songs, pumped some iron, and showered. I got off to a strong start as she slept through the first hour and a half. When she awoke I bumped some Spoon, Aretha Franklin, and my ace in the hole: Marvin Gaye. That kept her soothed and more importantly, groovin. Fed her three ounces until she passed out (after several loud trucker sounding burbs) then I dropped her into the Einstein. The Einstein crapped out and started looping the same song over and over. Piece of chet. Yup she was livid and raised some hell, but daddy, unpreturbed picked her up and danced to Linkin Park's "Faint". Man I was on. She absolutely loved that song. She was in such a playful and amicable mood I decided it was time for a photo op.
After snapping about twenty or so adorable pictures she wanted to ZZZZZ. And ZZZZZ she did, long enough to allow daddy to call the man who hates daddy, daddy's bookie. After the man reluctantly accepted my POD's I had time to spare. Birds were conveniently online to get gamed ;-).
After she rose, I decided since I was up (in more ways than one) I might as well take some chances and do some research. Would I call it research if I knew what I was doing? I discovered a new chill technique: the lil' angel didn't necessarily need you to hold her all the time. You could actually put her in the vibrating chair and pretend to hold her. To add effect I got hella animated. I did jumping jacks, push ups and pimp-azz Tony-Montana-dance-moves. She ate it up and her "waaaaas" slowly turned into "daaaaaym... my dad is gangstas". She was way beyond stoked, she was absolutely awestruck. It's like she was thinkin' wow, daddy has wack early nineties dance moves.. but he doesn't give a shit. He truly loves me...
After all that, it was all gravy. I could do no wrong. We chilled. With thirty minutes left to spare til her mama returned she sat on my lap and helped me critique new pimp-tight songs from the download queue... She and I both agreed, Elvis Costello's "Tart" is probably one of the most underrated song in the past few decades.
Til manana...
I'll admit, however, that my MVP performance required hours of preparation. I set up her Baby Genius, checked the fuel supply, queued up the right songs, pumped some iron, and showered. I got off to a strong start as she slept through the first hour and a half. When she awoke I bumped some Spoon, Aretha Franklin, and my ace in the hole: Marvin Gaye. That kept her soothed and more importantly, groovin. Fed her three ounces until she passed out (after several loud trucker sounding burbs) then I dropped her into the Einstein. The Einstein crapped out and started looping the same song over and over. Piece of chet. Yup she was livid and raised some hell, but daddy, unpreturbed picked her up and danced to Linkin Park's "Faint". Man I was on. She absolutely loved that song. She was in such a playful and amicable mood I decided it was time for a photo op.
After snapping about twenty or so adorable pictures she wanted to ZZZZZ. And ZZZZZ she did, long enough to allow daddy to call the man who hates daddy, daddy's bookie. After the man reluctantly accepted my POD's I had time to spare. Birds were conveniently online to get gamed ;-).
After she rose, I decided since I was up (in more ways than one) I might as well take some chances and do some research. Would I call it research if I knew what I was doing? I discovered a new chill technique: the lil' angel didn't necessarily need you to hold her all the time. You could actually put her in the vibrating chair and pretend to hold her. To add effect I got hella animated. I did jumping jacks, push ups and pimp-azz Tony-Montana-dance-moves. She ate it up and her "waaaaas" slowly turned into "daaaaaym... my dad is gangstas". She was way beyond stoked, she was absolutely awestruck. It's like she was thinkin' wow, daddy has wack early nineties dance moves.. but he doesn't give a shit. He truly loves me...
After all that, it was all gravy. I could do no wrong. We chilled. With thirty minutes left to spare til her mama returned she sat on my lap and helped me critique new pimp-tight songs from the download queue... She and I both agreed, Elvis Costello's "Tart" is probably one of the most underrated song in the past few decades.
Til manana...
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Today Was A Good Day
Today was one of those rare days I got to do a little of everything. Wifey had a doctor appointment in the morning so I was left to take care of the little hellraiser (from heaven). After changing and feeding her I queued up some New Order and Andre Nickatina and danced around with her for an hour or so. There's nothing better than to start your day off with some good ol' new wave and vintage gangsta rap. Besides, I figure it's good to change things up a bit. She already gets a heavy dosage of Chopin and Mozart in the evening hours.
K's running late and I'm getting sweaty from my workout so I put the munchkin in her little Baby Enstein. She's diggin it... staring at the flashing lights and prehistoric birds hanging from the rings. I'm diggin it since I finally get to cool off and eat some cereal. As I grub I watch my little bundle of joy become enlightened by the funny contraption. I also get to do some email and return various phone calls.
Finally K gets home and I bart into the city around 2:45. Swweeet!! A couple of my coworkers are in. They don't really notice I arrive. They don't really care as they probably just arrived themselves. We all hang out and shoot the shit while working on various low pressure tasks. Around 5:45, I'm bored. I got a ton of shit done. And since it's all about results and not visibility I'm out the door.
I meet up with G for a quick dinner and a couple of beers (ok- two beers and three jamesons). I don't get out much often any more so I guess I've learned to make the most of these elusive opportunities. I'm ordering drinks effiecently (two at a time). I'm striking up quick coversations with women here for a company function (none worth blogging about). And, I eat fast while watching five different games on the big screens. G's got a 7:30 pool tourney so we're out of there around 7:15 buzzed and happily content. I hop on bart and by the time I arrive at my stop the alcohol has worn off yet I feel surprisingly refreshed. Ready for whatever the munchkin wants to do...
K's running late and I'm getting sweaty from my workout so I put the munchkin in her little Baby Enstein. She's diggin it... staring at the flashing lights and prehistoric birds hanging from the rings. I'm diggin it since I finally get to cool off and eat some cereal. As I grub I watch my little bundle of joy become enlightened by the funny contraption. I also get to do some email and return various phone calls.
Finally K gets home and I bart into the city around 2:45. Swweeet!! A couple of my coworkers are in. They don't really notice I arrive. They don't really care as they probably just arrived themselves. We all hang out and shoot the shit while working on various low pressure tasks. Around 5:45, I'm bored. I got a ton of shit done. And since it's all about results and not visibility I'm out the door.
I meet up with G for a quick dinner and a couple of beers (ok- two beers and three jamesons). I don't get out much often any more so I guess I've learned to make the most of these elusive opportunities. I'm ordering drinks effiecently (two at a time). I'm striking up quick coversations with women here for a company function (none worth blogging about). And, I eat fast while watching five different games on the big screens. G's got a 7:30 pool tourney so we're out of there around 7:15 buzzed and happily content. I hop on bart and by the time I arrive at my stop the alcohol has worn off yet I feel surprisingly refreshed. Ready for whatever the munchkin wants to do...
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
I can dream right
These days are the happiest of my young life. I've found energy and tunnel vision I've never knew existed. Problem is it just feels sooo different. I'm used to a routine. And I'm used to deviating from it whenever I fuckin feel like it as well.
Unfortunately, I don't have either luxury. I've got hella shit to process but no time to devote to the tasks. And since I'm backed up like Oprah's fat ass I can't afford to hesitate much less blink. Ever.
I'm surrounded by chaos. A chaos that knows no bounds and even worse, there's no time to develop a system of caging up new information to parse and collate. I can't process results of the neverending logs and debug output. There's just no time. Not enough man power. Sometimes you think you have time to spare to straighten it up but its all an illusion.
But what's ironic is... I truly enjoy it more than anything. It's far from mundane. It keeps me on my toes. Regardless of the fact that I really work around twenty hours a week, and I haven't had thiry minutes to catch an entire broadcast of Sportcenter, and the fact that I haven't had spare time to shoot a relaxing game of 9-ball, it's completely and utterly worth it. Her smile can attest to that.
Unfortunately, I don't have either luxury. I've got hella shit to process but no time to devote to the tasks. And since I'm backed up like Oprah's fat ass I can't afford to hesitate much less blink. Ever.
I'm surrounded by chaos. A chaos that knows no bounds and even worse, there's no time to develop a system of caging up new information to parse and collate. I can't process results of the neverending logs and debug output. There's just no time. Not enough man power. Sometimes you think you have time to spare to straighten it up but its all an illusion.
But what's ironic is... I truly enjoy it more than anything. It's far from mundane. It keeps me on my toes. Regardless of the fact that I really work around twenty hours a week, and I haven't had thiry minutes to catch an entire broadcast of Sportcenter, and the fact that I haven't had spare time to shoot a relaxing game of 9-ball, it's completely and utterly worth it. Her smile can attest to that.
Truest of the True
Yeah i don't have much since insomnia's got me buggin
got drank that a i cant drank
smoke i cant smoke
bitches on my jock that i cant poke
but jeah i gotta keep it real and keep my hand on the steel
and let yall mutha fuckas know the deal...
another day.
got drank that a i cant drank
smoke i cant smoke
bitches on my jock that i cant poke
but jeah i gotta keep it real and keep my hand on the steel
and let yall mutha fuckas know the deal...
another day.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Wired News: U.S. Military's Elite Hacker Crew
Just imagine the 0-day toolz at the disposal of these guys:Wired News: U.S. Military's Elite Hacker Crew
Back In Action
Thats right... I'm back. After a two month hiatus to help care for and bond with my beautiful baby daughter, the original man, or should I say the father, of leisure returns. To celebrate my return and monumental change in my life I've decided to change the template to something geekier, less gruesome. After all, i gotta start acting my age and transform into a more bidness-like disciplinarian father. Yikes.
But don't fret playa cuz I'mma keep it gully for you and yours. No matter how incoherent and ebonic-laden these first few entries may appear (I need time to warm up and get used to writing again) I'mma flow since I'm much more relaxed than I was a couple months ago before the little hellraiser from heaven was born.
Yeah... I'll be busier than a one-legged-man in an ass kicking contest but I will post gosh darnit.
Looks like this blog's gotten beaurecratic as heck too as this is the second post about posting. It reminds me of how we have meetings about having meetings at work.
Check out what I've been listening to here.
But don't fret playa cuz I'mma keep it gully for you and yours. No matter how incoherent and ebonic-laden these first few entries may appear (I need time to warm up and get used to writing again) I'mma flow since I'm much more relaxed than I was a couple months ago before the little hellraiser from heaven was born.
Yeah... I'll be busier than a one-legged-man in an ass kicking contest but I will post gosh darnit.
Looks like this blog's gotten beaurecratic as heck too as this is the second post about posting. It reminds me of how we have meetings about having meetings at work.
Check out what I've been listening to here.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
I plan on posting again in the very near future. As I sail through uncharted waters with freshly discovered energy and enthusiasm I expect it all to be reflected in forthcoming posts. Until that day I leave you with this valuable quote:
"An idiot repeats his mistakes. A smart man learns from his mistakes. A genius learns from the mistake of others. The more you read, the more you learn and the more you can figure out how life works and what to do and not do without having to fuck up first." --TuckerMax
suntzu
"An idiot repeats his mistakes. A smart man learns from his mistakes. A genius learns from the mistake of others. The more you read, the more you learn and the more you can figure out how life works and what to do and not do without having to fuck up first." --TuckerMax
suntzu
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Yes, I Was Wrong
Yes, I was gravely wrong about TMac and his heart.
Even Schwab from Stump the Schwab is wrong once in a while.
However, all that other smack was talking was right on the money. We've got a complete team now, something we lacked going into the season.
That said, let's hope I don't jinx them...
GO ROX!!!
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