I am not interesting enough to have a blog.

A Centralia map

May 21, 2010 at 1736 · Filed under exploring, misc

I’ve been more than a little curious about Centralia, PA for ages now. Discovering that it’s only about a three hour drive from my home hasn’t helped curb that curiosity. I’ve decided that I’ll take a trip out there some time this summer; to facilitate finding the most interesting spots, I created a Google Map based on all the information I’ve been able to find. Hopefully this will let me explore the place without getting swallowed up into a firey chasm.

View Centralia in a larger map

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An Open Letter to Geeks and Nerds (Part 2)

May 21, 2010 at 1640 · Filed under commentary, nerding out

Your “got root?” or “i read your email” tshirt is lame and tacky. They weren’t cute when they started showing up ten years ago, and they’re only getting more hackneyed and tired with age. You’re essentially wearing the comedic and cultural equivalent of a Garfield comic on your chest. You might as well make a shirt that says “LINUX! AMIRITE?” or “HEY GUYSE! COMPUTERS!” At the very least, it’d be less pretentious.

We get it– you hate Apple/Adobe/Microsoft/Google/Tandy. Their products’ flaws cost you a lot of extra work, their latest widget wasn’t what you hoped for, they’ve acted unethically, etc. It’s perfectly normal to get upset and fire off an angry blog post or tweet when a company does something moronic. However, going on a tirade every time Steve Jobs shifts in his chair makes you look immature at best, like a psychopath who needs sedation and anger management therapy at worst. There is nothing edgy or cool about excessive, unwarranted rage. Chill the fuck out before you have a stroke.

On a related note, labeling your abusive shit-talking “trolling” will never make being an asshole excusable. It also makes you a pussy without the backbone to take ownership of what you say. Stop pretending that your hateful brain-vomit is some sort of revolutionary insight or public service; we’d all respect you a lot more if you just admitted that you’re an attention whore who thrives on ruffling people’s feathers. “Telling it like it is” is pretty much a sugar-coated way of saying you’re a douchebag with no concept of tact or decorum.

Is your facebook status “hacking and trolling IRC over a glass of wine?” Do you look for and take every opportunity to work in a (vague, yet obvious) mention that you’re a hacker? Then put up or shut up. Lots of people manage to be involved in Information Security without feeling compelled to constantly advertise the color of their hat. Do you see the guys at matasato or iSEC constantly tweeting about their ‘m4d 5ki11z?’ Nope, and there’s a reason for that; their work speaks for itself. People producing shit that matters either have something worthwhile to share and show it, or keep it under wraps and generally don’t advertise themselves at all. If you have over a thousand followers on twitter and haven’t released anything more insightful than “lol penetration testing” then congrats– you’re the Tila Tequila of InfoSec.

Being intelligent does not make social ineptitude forgivable. Bitch all you want about the good jobs being less “what you know” and more “who you know,” but humans are, at their core, social creatures. Networking, social interaction, and competent writing skills are important. It’s impossible for anyone to acknowledge your talents if nobody knows you exist; it’s improbable that anyone will recognize them if you’re incapable of communicating knowledge articulately. Newton and Tesla may have been dicks, but until you produce something on the level of the law of universal gravitation or the AC motor, you don’t get the same passes they did.

All the best to you and yours,
aloria.

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An Open Letter to Geeks and Nerds

May 9, 2010 at 1209 · Filed under commentary, nerding out

I don’t want to hear about your “good ol’ days” of coding in FORTRAN or changing out the vacuum tubes on the Colossus. Most people I run into who brag about popping boxes back in the glory days of CompuServe or the fact that they have been coding since they were six usually do so to conceal the fact that they haven’t accomplished anything notable in the last decade.

xkcd stopped being good years ago. The fact that it addressed a subject that comes up in conversation doesn’t make your referencing it funny, nor does it give you carte blanche to link to it. I know it feels great when something you’re into gets mentioned, but anyone not into computational linguistics or python or whatnot aren’t going to share that same thrill.

Girl nerds: You don’t need to keep pointing out your minority status at every opportunity. Wow, there aren’t a lot of females at this coding seminar? SURPRISE! In other groundbreaking observations, water is wet and Bruce Schneier has bitchin’ facial hair. Your making being a girl nerd into such a big deal is part of the reason why non-attention-seeking gals get weirded out at social outings. Most people, especially us shy types, want to be treated like humans, not rare, exotic creatures.

I don’t care about the subtle nuances between the words “geek” and “nerd.” It is not worthy of a 3-page debate. Trying to revert usage of the word “hacker” back to its original meaning is an exercise in futility.

Arguing over which programming language is the best is intellectual masturbation.

Arguing over which Linux distribution is the best is intellectual masturbation.

If you eschew basic hygiene and snub your nose at proper diet and exercise, you lose the right to complain about your lack of attractiveness to the opposite sex. The fact that you were taunted in gym class isn’t a valid excuse for neglecting your health, and surely you can take a break from your gaming or coding marathon to wash your hair.

I may add more to this in the future, but in the interim– flame on.

Love always,
aloria.

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I dream like a psycho.

February 13, 2010 at 1258 · Filed under dreams

I’m at my mother’s pet store and have been tasked with transporting a lizard and a frog back home. The lizard, who has the personality of my college Discrete Mathematics professor, keeps escaping from its box, as does the frog. After several frantic attempts to reinforce the box with tape and secure the frog in a container of dog biscuits, I am on my way.

Somewhere through the trip (my father, played by Danny DeVito, has appeared out of nowhere to take over driving) I go to give the two animals some water and discover the frog has died. We pull into a Dunkin Donuts drive through. While waiting to order, I spot a friend of mine with whom I have had a bit of a row (in both the dream and in reality.) He is living out of a van and comes out to berate me for something. I begin screaming at him and he walks off towards a grassy, hilly area.

The next day I find a bunch of old receipts with cryptic numbers written on them blowing through the grass, as well as his blood-soaked flannel shirt. After a short debate with a companion over the crime scene layout of murders versus suicides, I realize he has been murdered, though there is no body. I take the receipts and head to a nearby payphone with some friends.

The payphone is located inside the stall of an old public bathroom. The adjacent stall is stripped of its door and toilet and has only a few wires coming up from a hole in the floor. I open the door of the payphone booth to find another door, and behind this, another. I open about ten doors, each painted a different, bright color, before I finally reach the phone. After asking a friend to hold the doors open for me– I am afraid of being trapped inside– I dial one of the cryptic numbers. Despite the number only having 5 digits, the call goes through. On the other end is the voice of my dead friend, who tells me he has been murdered by his stalker.

I discover that there is another room around the corner from the bathroom, and I find inside a desk filled with old medical files. The files have been written by a doctor I once went on a date with about a year and a half ago, who has recently gotten back in touch with me (again, in real life.) One of the files is on my friend, and another on his murderer.

Going back to the empty stall, I realize someone has written something with ballpoint pen using a piece of soft wood hanging on the wall as a writing surface. The impression of what was written is in the wood, and it is instructions on how to use the wires to communicate with the doctor. The handwriting is of the murderer. I call the doctor through the wires and whisper “I know everything.”

I run through the grass towards the murderer’s mansion. The grass sparkles with discarded jewelry; I drag my hand through the weeds and pick up several bracelets and barrettes, which I pocket. My friends are chasing after me, warning me not to confront her. She soon discovers my presence and chases us, brandishing first a pistol and then a switchblade, through a maze-like servant’s cabin. We finally escape by cutting through the wire screen of the porch window. Somehow she realizes that she is doomed to be exposed and collapses in the grass. Fireworks go off, spelling her name in the sky.

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