October 14, 2004

Cycles and Plans

Today Nathan began his journey back to the South Pole for the season.

My friend Brian, who just recently returned from a trip to the west coast, will once again be spending his winter in the woods, sleeping in a canvas wall tent near Duluth. Ryan has reawakened plans to start his own internet software business. Mr. O’Shay has announced his intent to attend this year’s Yukon Days, much to the delight of campers and counselors everywhere. Other people have scattered to the four winds and I hear little of their goings-on, but I am certain that we are all putting forth our own little plans.

My future has finally crystallized to the point where discussing it makes sense. A few months ago the wanderlust awoke, and I knew that once again I needed a change of scenery. I have entertained numerous possibilities and ideas, and have finally settled on a course of action.

This November I will have lived in Bend for a full year, and in January I will have worked at my current job for a full year. It’s amazing how quickly time has gone, how bones have been broken and healed, how mountains and coasts and rivers have been conquered, how many friendships have been made and strengthened.

In December I will fly back to Minnesota to spend the holidays with my family, who I missed last year while I was working at the mountain. I will also be able to attend Yukon Days, where I will be able to catch up with my friends from camp. In February I will take off to Los Barilles, Baja for a twelve day kiteboarding trip. I will live right on the coast, drink margaritas with friends from Hood River, and kiteboard in lovely turquoise waters.

Come mid-winter (which for Minnesotans means anywhere from January to June) I will pack up my tools and move back to Hood River, to ramp up for another hot season of wind, women and work. I plan to spend the spring and summer working for my windsurfing shop, working as a web programmer/developer/slacker. As a side note, if anyone is looking for some great summer work out west, and loves working hard in the wind and sun, I can recommend a place.

Again, the path goes dark at the end of the summer. That is becoming our traditional way of running things. We do a lot of careful planning to set these gears in motion, but true finesse asks that we willfully surrender control after a certain point. A year ago today I knew hardly anything of Bend, and nothing of a sweet ski nook out that way. Two years ago today I knew little of the Columbia Gorge, beyond the fact that I knew that I needed to live way out there at some point in my life. Three years ago today, windsurfing and snowboarding were both sports where I owned all the gear, but possessed none of the knowledge to be successful at either.

It’s fun to watch as all this stuff coalesces out of nothing. I wish a safe and happy journey to all of you embarking on journeys in pursuit of your personal dreams. It is possible and it can be done, but keep in mind that the scenery changes as you fight for it. You may not get what you bargained for, but if you tilt your head just right you can always make do with what you get.


October 11, 2004

PBRs for Ed

Dane, Jim and Morgan, enjoying Pabst Blue Ribbon at Ed's Flag near the Deschutes River, October 2004

In anticipation of Great and Horrible Things to Come, I resurrected the Audio/Visual section of Brainside Out. There’s nothing new, nothing yet, but if you’ve never seen it before, then it’s new to you.

I did this out of respect for Brian Perez, who contacted me wondering where he could download the Spontaneous Combustion hit You Don’t Know Brian Perez. He wasn’t the actual Brian Perez, of which there is one, who plays tenor sax like a madman, wears classy shirts, and makes the occasional “phert” sound. He was a different Brian Perez entirely, but just as I respect all those who are in the Dane Petersen clan, so I respect all whose names start and end with Brian Perez.

And before you caw and spit at me for my videos not working, please follow the instructions at the bottom of the page. I was way high on snortin’ Pixy Stix when I made that video, and I encoded it in some archaic multimedia moon language that can only be deciphered by the codec equivalent of the Rosetta Stone. Soon enough, you’ll get to see me caw and spit at something else entirely. Like George Zimmer, I guarantee it.

Anyways. Our river trip down the Deschutes was freakin’ sweet. Jody and I shot our fair share of class four rapids in a two-person inflatable kayak, and Jim paddled our Monster Raft as Morgan drank cans of Guinness. Whitehorse was definitely the burliest rapid we hit, a huge and snarling drop that roared around rocks the size of sunken Volkswagen buses.

On Friday night a huge windstorm whipped up and tried to steal our camp out from under us. It managed to pick up Jody’s tent and roll it 50 feet downwind, even though it was weighed down with eighty pounds of gear. The wind ripped out multiple grommets and shredded the tarp we were trying to set up to protect ourselves from the Impending Rainstorm of Doom, and anything that weighed less than twenty pounds was sent pin-wheeling across the ground. I got kicked all over the place as I was cooking up our Italian sausages, which ultimately had the best meat to grit ratio I have ever tasted.

We took Saturday as a layover day, and spent the morning hiking to Ed’s Flag way up on the cliffs. The view was spectacular, and we could just barely make out Broken Top peaking out from the clouds. Instead of hiking all the way down Jim led us on a rock skiing expedition. Following Jim’s leaps and shouts of enthusiasm, we jumped, shuffled and slid down a steep scree field, all the way into the valley.

After a dinner of steak and potatoes, and a good night’s rest, we hit the river again on Sunday. Jody and I were noticeably more comfortable in the kayak this time around, and we started playing with the ol’ girl a little bit, surfing behind rocks, standing up and balancing through rapids, and snoozing through patches of whitewater. For lunch we went ashore near some basalt pinnacles that rose out of the middle of the river, and we scrambled to the top of them and leaped off into the current.

The two tough patches of water that day were Buckskin Mary and Boxcar. Buckskin Mary had a freaky approach, as Jody and I watched a boat go over the rapid and completely disappear from view. As we got closer we saw that it was a huge and glassy drop that dumped into a boiling white hole, so we paddled our fool arms off and shot right through the middle of the sucker.

Then there was Boxcar. We asked Jim, our seasoned guide, if it would be worth our while to get out and scout it like we did White Horse. “Nah, we’re just gonna flip, anyway,” he said. Jim’s assurances were reinforced by another guide, who shouted at us as we passed the last landing before the rapid. He saw our kayak and yelled, “You’re gonna need more boat than that!”

Boxcar is a large drop with a twist to the right. If you don’t line up the twist correctly and end up too far left, you’ll pitch over the rock and end up in a huge hole, which will suck back and keep recycling until you’re a gooey red mess. As we went face to face with the rapid we paddled like crazy, and after getting kicked around in the whitewater we shot out the far side unscathed. We didn’t need a bigger boat, and that guide needs to grow a set. Wuss.

We finally came ashore in Maupin at 5:00 Sunday evening, wet and cold and exhausted. Jody still had enough energy to flip out at the landing’s $3.00 per boat take-out fee, and he asked Jim for a sledgehammer so he could be sure to inflict our six dollars worth of damage to their precious pavement.

All things told, it was a wonderful weekend. We couldn’t have asked for better October weather or more bees at our campsite. Jody confessed that in his life he has been getting angrier every day, so on any given day that you see him, that is his angriest day. Morgan seduced bees into his Nalgene bottle, and dunked them in the cold river so they would hibernate and he could have his way with them. Jim was an excellent river host, supplying beer and whiskey and meat in such great quantities, and he said something about mangos that I will not soon forget.

And me? I decided that the only thing I want in life is 118 acres of land, so I can drive around drunk all I want and never be “humbled” with by anybody.


October 7, 2004

DBOT REPORTING

Captured! By Robots: Live at the Grove in Bend, Oregon

I’m freakin’ exhausted, and tomorrow morning I leave for a weekend trip down the Deschutes River. I need to start sleeping again.

Captured! By Robots was most excellent, and was everything you would think a band named Captured! By Robots should be. The Headless Hornsmen were dressed up as Bush, Cheney and Bush, and they played trumpets that stuck out of their chests. GTRBOT played one of those freakin’ cool guitars that are, like, double guitars, only one of the guitars was, like, a bass guitar. Whatever it was, it had FLAMES.

There were also talking apes and blown fuses and leather masks and moshing geeks and exercise videos featuring pregnant women. The evening could have been rivaled only by the earlier evening, where there were bloggers and Swiss chocolate and Donkey Kong and celebrity drunk-dialing.

Jesse’s account of the evening is much more thorough than mine, the quality of which I can only blame on my sheer amount of blood loss.


October 6, 2004

Busy, Busy, Busy

Lots to do this evening. First, at 7:00 we have a Bend Blogger Bash at the Cascade Lakes Brewery. Meet by the pool tables and I’ll challenge you to a FIGHT TO THE DEATH in Donkey Kong. Bring quarters. I’m not payin’ for your whooped ass.

Next, at 10:00 we’ve got Captured! By Robots playing at the Grove. Cover is five grubby dollars. I have no idea what to expect from these guys, only that we tried to recruit them for Geek Prom last year.


October 4, 2004

From New to Old

South Sister, Middle Sister, North Sister and Broken Top, seen from the summit of Mount Bachelor

It’s been a weekend balanced between playing outside and playing video games. I picked up Doom 3 the other day and I’ve made a habit of playing it late at night with all the lights turned off. The game is super dark and scary as hell. You’ll walk through an equipment room when you hear something growling above you, and when you look up a vent cover falls down and a dead body flops out. Suddenly all the lights cut out and freaky-ass imps teleport in on all sides, and the only way you can see them is when they’re lit up by the crackling fireballs that they hurl at your ass.

Doom 3 by far the most detailed game I’ve ever played, and I can’t believe how immersive the world is. I need to work up the nerve to load it up, because the game is so intense it completely consumes me when I play it. Last night I was sneaking around a dark server room with pentagrams burned in the floor and walls oozing with pulsating veins and organs, and when I realized that my roommate was watching over my shoulder I jumped and completely freaked out. Trying to keep the mood light, Shane and I resurrected Total Annihilation (the best strategy game ever created) and playing against each other until 2:00 in the morning.

Now, while video games and other forms of digital sedation are excellent ways to spend the weekend, the weather has been too gorgeous to not get out and take advantage of it. Saturday afternoon I ducked into the Cascades and climbed to the summit of Mount Bachelor. The climb itself isn’t too much of an undertaking; you park at 6,000 feet and follow a trail to the summit at 9,065 feet. The whole thing took me four hours, including a half hour of dilly-dallying on the summit.

It’s not a big deal, but it is. Consider it’s the fall of 2002, and you tell me that on a particular afternoon two years from now, I will look at my watch. You tell me that I will look at my watch, and upon realizing that I still have five hours of daylight left, I will pack some Clif bars and water, and climb a mountain. I probably wouldn’t have doubted you (seeing as how most of my time in college was spent at the edge of delirium and I would have had trouble doubting the possibilities of anything), but I’m certain that I would not have been able to draw the causal connection between then and now. I’m still not certain I can.

It has been a slow change for this Minnesotan come Oregonian, and it is a change that I have only recently realized. I’m growing into these volcanoes, into these old-growths, into this wild, untamed landscape. The emotions are different. I no longer get the absolute drop-jaw awe I used to get every time I rounded a bend in the road. I still find the mountains extremely exciting, but the mere sight of mountains is no longer as satisfying as it used to be. I’ve done all the looking I care to do, and now when I dash into the woods, I do so with purpose.

Each of my excursions has a goal, whether it’s a bike ride along Swede Ridge, a series of bouldering problems near Widgi Creek, or the summit of Mount Bachelor. The excursions have goals, and the goals have names. The familiarity, both with the terrain and with myself, is something that I had never anticipated when I left Minnesota a year and a half ago. At that time, Oregon was nothing but a huge forest slashed with mountains, and that vague notion was good enough for me. It was more than enough to pull me out here, but it wasn’t enough to make me stay. In order to stay I needed to find substance, which, like a lost set of car keys, I can never find when I’m looking for it.

Ultimately, there is only one reason that I’ve been in Oregon as long as I have, and that is because I am not in complete control of this life. For how much I may wax poetic about Minnesota, I have no regrets about moving to Oregon. I have no regrets about staying in Oregon, and I would have no regrets about growing old and planting my body in Oregon.

That being said, exactly one year ago I went through great pains to figure out how to gracefully move back to Minnesota, paving the runway with glowing resumes and a birthday vacation to the motherland. None of these attempts bore any fruit that would have improved on the life I was already living out in Hood River, so they were abandoned. The next plan was to work as a lift operator for a ski resort in Utah, but the cold reception I got from the resorts down there signalled that I was following another red herring.

However, I got a lot of encouragement to come down and interview for a rental technician job at Mount Bachelor. I would have gotten hooked up with this job, too, had I not gotten lost in the woods and given some homeless fellows a ride back into town. I finally ended up at the job fair two hours late, and I waited in line for three hours only to be told that all the positions I was applying for, from rental technician to lift operator to ticket attendant, were already full.

Already full. Beyond full. As in, each department had already had their arms twisted so grotesquely to hire beyond their needs, that it would have been absolutely ridiculous for them to hire me. Heck, it would have made more sense for them to put me on payroll and insist that I never come within a hundred miles of the mountain, than to hire me into an already overstaffed position.

Call it fate or call it dumb luck, but it was only because of these messy events that I got to spend my winter as a snowboard instructor, a job that was beyond my wildest dreams of mountain living. I wouldn’t be fixing bindings, I would be strapping them on. I wouldn’t be grabbing lift chairs all day, I would be riding them. I wouldn’t stand around and scan lift tickets, I would scan my season pass every workday. And all this I did until March, when I broke my leg in the terrain park.

Mount Bachelor is one of many locales that have played a huge role in shaping my west coast existence, and thus I don’t feel like I climbed a mountain yesterday so much as I revisited a period of my life. All this time I had expected the mountains to remain nothing more than pretty things, so to have so much of my soul wrapped up in at least one of them is an unfamiliar feeling. Over the past year, the relationship between the mountains and I has shifted from new to old love.

And old love isn’t as bad as it sounds.


September 29, 2004

A Hard Freeze Would Kill ’em

I’ve been mopping the floors tonight. I fixed a display issue in my previous entry, that was blowing up my blog index in a web browser that despite widespread popularlity, I choose not to use. I also cleaned up the navigation on the left, removing a few things that I felt inessential. The Weblog archives are still accessible through a link at the bottom of the index, and the Coolio archives can be accessed by clicking the Coolio header. Neat stuff.

I also added some color to form elements, cleaned up the contact page, and made some slight changes to contrast here and there to enhance legibility. Ya’ll probably won’t notice most of it. I spent the evening nursing a bad case of code head, which I resolved by going for a long run with Shane.

"Do you know what Roundup is?"

"Of course I know what Roundup is. I had an entire gallon of Roundup at my old place."

"That’s a lot of Roundup."

"I mixed it in a shallow pan with some milk, and left it out for stray cats."

"Why didn’t you just set out some anti-freeze?"

"Everyone suspects the anti-freeze. No one suspects the milk."

"Oh."


Two Columns, Quick and Dirty in CSS

I have seen many solutions for creating tableless, two-column designs in CSS, but most of them lack in one way or another. Either they are static width when I’m looking for liquid, or liquid when I need static, and often times if the code isn’t sufficiently tortured, they don’t even achieve the look of the two-column design. You know the look I’m talking about. It’s the one where both columns appear to be the same length. You have one in front of you right now.

How did I do this? First off, let’s work backwards. Assume that I have no solution to the CSS two-column design, and instead let us start with a sensible, semantic structure for our XHTML code. Let us take this logical, flexible and reusable block of code, and see how we can make it work as a two-column design.

Here is the code structure we will work from, free from any style whatsoever. We see all the familiar elements of any basic website: header, footer, content area, and primary navigation. For the most common applications, there’s hardly any more structure you need. How to go about designing it, then?

The first thing I always do when starting a new design is zero my margin and padding styles for every single HTML element, so there is no ambiguity about how the browser should treat spacing. Each browser has its own idea on how much padding to apply to a paragraph tag, how much to use for indenting a list item, and since I am a control freak, I prefer to manually define all my styles. This leaves no room for subjectivity on the part of the browser, and I know that any errors in rendering are my own. So, I always start with the following CSS:

* {

margin: 0;

padding: 0;

}

See the result. Ain’t that beautiful? Every single browser I have tested plays by this rule without any need for hacks.

Next, let’s center a box in our page that will contain all our content. The name I have always used for this outer block is “Whopper”, and the whopper always wraps around all my other elements, including the header, footer, content and navigation areas. You can call it anything you want; something that makes more sense or less sense, depending on your personal coding style.

body {

text-align: center; /* this centers the whopper in IE */

}

div#whopper {

width: 700px;

margin: 20px auto 20px auto; /* this centers the whopper »

in compliant browsers */

text-align: left; /* this returns alignment to normal */

}

Now, according to the W3C’s CSS spec, the only thing we should need to do to center our whopper is to give it a width (so it knows what size element is being centered) and declare “auto” on our left and right margins. However, Internet Explorer ignores auto margins, so this won’t work as a complete solution. Fortunately, Internet Explorer will (wrongly) center block level elements if their containing element declares {text-align: center;}. So that is what we do, and our result is thus (with some color to help differentiate areas).

Now, let’s make our headers and footers take up some space:

div#header {

height: 25px;

background: #9EA671;

}

div#footer {

height: 50px;

background: #9EA671;

}

Check it out. Depending on your browser, you may be witnessing another hang-up, here. As we discussed earlier, Internet Explorer improperly treats the height property like min-height, and will stretch an element if the stuff it contains is bigger than the element itself. Thus, even though we declared a 25 pixel height on our header, the default font size for the h1 tag is taller than 25 pixels, and is pushing out the height of our header. This problem does not affect compliant browsers, as they properly overflow content that doesn’t fit.

The best way that I have found to fix this problem is to simply be disciplined in what you put in boxes with static heights. Make sure you don’t try to jam a giant squid in your refrigerator. This is what we will do:

div#header h1 {

font: bold 15px/1.2em arial, helvetica, verdana, sans-serif;

color: #C0C69F;

text-decoration: none;

}

And this is the result. Next, let’s position our navigation and content areas so they are next to each other:

div#content {

float: right;

width: 500px;

background: #97A199;

}

div#nav {

width: 200px;

float: left;

background: #7F9794;

}

div#footer {

clear: both;

height: 50px;

background: #9EA671;

}

There we are. We have given the navigation area a width of 200 pixels and have floated it to the left. This can cause the content area to do any number of things that we don’t want it to do, like have its text reflow around the navigation area, so we do the same thing to it on the right side. Finally, to keep the footer from trying to bunch itself up in whatever space is available between the navigation and content, we clear both floats so it always flows to the bottom.

Again, we didn’t need any hacks to get this to work in nearly all modern browsers, but I have taken a few preventative steps to avoid potential problems. IE5.2/Mac adheres to the CSS spec very closely when it comes to floats and widths, and will choke if you assign a float to an element without also giving it a width. Most browsers are much more forgiving, but you can save yourself a few headaches by taking the extra step.

Also, flow control seems to be a problem when floating elements in some browsers. Whenever I plan on floating an element to the right, I always make sure that in my HTML code, that element comes before the content that will appear on the left. Too often I will float an element to the right of something, only to have it appear below the content I wanted it to be next to. This is the reason our content element (which floats right) appears before our navigation element (which floats left) in the HTML code for our template.

There are other semantic arguments about why content should appear above navigation in the code flow, or why everything should be absolutely positioned so the code flow has no effect whatsoever on content order, but these considerations are beyond the scope of this tutorial. Again, these are preventative decisions I make when coding a design. Some superstitious people have a lucky horseshoe, others have a lucky rabbit’s foot, and me, I have a lucky code flow.

Now comes the fun part. A major wrankle for many people getting their feet wet in CSS is that it’s impossible to simulate a two (or more) column layout without resorting to tables. I myself was fairly convinced that this was the case, until I reexamined what it was I really needed to accomplish.

Notice how the background on our navigation element falls far short of filling up the column next to the content area. I had always approached the problem by looking at these two areas (in our case, the navigation and content areas) as columns in a table. How can I get this area to be the same height as the one right next to it, even though it doesn’t have enough content to push itself to that height? More dead content? Images that are 6000 pixels tall? Scripts that dynamically write height values? What?

I had all but given up, having decided that this ugliness was just another thing to work around with CSS designs, when it suddenly hit me that I was going at it all wrong. The solution had nothing to do with the elements in question, but with their containing element. The containing element runs from corner to corner of the entire area I want to columnize. If I could somehow give it a background that looked exactly how I want my columns to appear… Eureka.

Let us then use our containing element, the Whopper, to create our two column design. We will need to create one image which will serve as the repeating background for the entire whopper area. Mine is 700 pixels wide, 10 pixels tall, and looks exactly as you would expect. We write the following code:

div#whopper {

background: #C0C69F url(dirty_whopper_bg_01.gif) top left repeat-y;

width: 700px;

margin: 20px auto 20px auto;

text-align: left;

}

div#content {

float: right;

width: 500px;

/* background: #97A199; */ /* no longer necessary */

}

div#nav {

width: 200px;

float: left;

/* background: #7F9794;*/ /* no longer necessary */

}

Whammo. Two columns that automatically fill up the dead space with color.

Now that we're done with the hard stuff, we can actually start to have some fun with this design. Fun will have to wait for another time, however, as this designer is plum tuckered after racing the neighborhood kids all evening on Big Wheels and girlie bikes.


September 27, 2004

Anti-Narcoleptic Transient

Bike Crank

Alright, kiddies. Gather ’round as uncle Dane tells another story from his musical ass. First off, we’ve cooked up two new photo galleries tonight, one from May when I went to Yachats, Oregon to play on the coast for a weekend, and another from the String Cheese Incident music festival at Horning’s Hideout in June. Enjoy.

Today I turned over the keys to Lava House, so now someone else gets the opportunity to drive our old digs around for awhile. I told the property manager that while the bay windows have great views, especially in the winter when the Elm on Nightmare Street is bare, and the off-street parking is delightful, and the house has a lovely indoor breeze when you open up the front and back doors, and the fireplace makes you cozy and the lukewarm showers make you rugged, the key renting point of this property is none of the above.

No, with the neighborhood becoming overrun with yappy dogs and stray cats and construction sites and drunk traffic, there are two reasons why someone should want to live at Lava House:

  1. It is within stumbling distance from all the downtown bars
  2. When the McMenamins across the street opens in November, it will be within wheelbarrow distance from that

Funny thing is, I don’t particularly miss Lava House. Since leaving for college in ’99 I haven’t lived in any one place for more than six months at a time, and having lived there for nearly a year, Lava House has been my most permanent residence since childhood. Erik moved out in August and it was fun spending most of September rattling around my own place, but really, without the soul of the occupants, Lava House didn’t have much of a soul at all.

Lava House does mark a point where I needed to flesh out my belongings beyond what I can reasonably carry on my back. Through college and into my exodus to Hood River, I have typically tried to cull my belongings to only the reasonable necessities; that which I can dump at the cabin in trips to visit the folks, or just enough that I can stuff in my car and still live for an undetermined amount of time, 1,600 miles away from familiarity.

I knew I needed to buy a mattress when I moved into Lava House, and for nearly two weeks I resisted, spending nights in my sleeping bag on the floor in my room. I finally broke down and got one, and felt absolutely sick about my sudden loss of mobility. If it wasn’t for the fact that the mattress salesman was the nicest grandfather in the world, I don’t think I would have survived.

But I did, and through subsequent trips to the Goodwill I built myself a frugal living environ. A computer desk for $40. A night stand for $8. A dresser (which is actually a piece of office furniture with locking drawers) for $20. A computer chair for $2. Thanks to Goodwill I’m one step up from the plywood and cinder blocks of college. Up, but not too far up, and I like it that way. I enjoy knowing that if it comes down to it, I can give all my large objects to the goats, hit the open road, and only be out a couple hundred bucks. I hate moving. I’ll throw everything away before I’ll go through the trouble of moving it.

I have accumulated other things, however, that I would not be comfortable parting with, and they are the things that allow me to pursue the hobbies that I enjoy. A computer or three, a bass guitar and amp, a bike, a new kite, a Subaru. None of these are ends, but means. They are merely enablers. Pretty freakin’ rad enablers at that, but enablers nonetheless.

If there’s one thing I hate more than moving it’s unpacking, and that’s where I’m at right now in my new place. I’m at a point in my life where I still starve for agility, and I hate looking at all these boxes of junk. Each one is an anchor. If I take the time to unpack everything I can fill up my shelves and make it look like someone lives here, but then again I’m just going to need to pack it all up in a few months and shove it to a new corner of the globe.

What a pain. Sometimes I wish a wildfire would just come along and burn it all away so I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore, and then I could worry about something new like third degree burns and lost social security cards and stuff.

Then again, maybe I’m just extremely tired and stressed from moving, and I need to lighten up, get some rest, drink more beer, and go clubbing. If it comes down to it, I can always put everything in the front yard with a free sign. Or better yet, a $20 sign. Cuz if it’s free people will think there’s something wrong with it, like it smells like pee or something. But if it costs twenty bucks, people are much more apt to buy it.

Or better yet, steal it.


Too Much Heaven

We’re back online. I’m just gonna jab my fingers at the keyboard for a few minutes, because that sort of thing helps my mind shuffle things back into place. I’ve been wiggin’ out for the last couple weeks and there is much to say and many plans afoot, but I can hardly lay into those right now. It’s midnight, I work tomorrow, and I’ve gotten a total of eight hours of sleep this entire weekend.

Been busy. The Jack Johnson and G. Love concert was lovely but way more mellow than what I was expecting, so I spent a good part of the show making up games for myself… like playing the “shell game” with the stage lights, making shadow puppets with the moon shining on someone’s back, and telling stories about napalm attacks at outdoor music festivals.

We dug trenches for the sprinkler system at our new house. Shane borrowed the trencher from his work, which chews and spits out rocks and legs without discrimination.

I finally got all my crap cleaned out of Lava House, and I’m looking forward to the fact that I will never need to park under that elm tree again. I parked under it for a mere two hours yesterday, and not only did it fill up my car with its sickly yellow leaves, but the birds sitting in it managed to fill up my car with crap.

I switched the email client on my home computer over to Thunderbird, which was great except that the message filters don’t seem to execute properly on the local folder. In trying to get everything to work, I accidentally deleted all of my mail from the last month. I do have backups at work, though, and Thunderbird imports and exports existing mail easier than any Microsoft product I have ever used.

I finally got Apache Server working on my Windows computer, and I have it set up with PHP in a development environment. Now I am able to execute and test all my PHP scripts locally, before uploading them to a live site. I brought down a tarball of Brainside Out and blew it up under my Apache web server, so now I have a fully functioning local copy of my website that I can build and maintain, and push live whenever I am satisfied with my changes.

After a lot of trial and error, I got Slackware Linux installed on my old computer. Once I figure out what I’m going to do with Linux, I’m gonna need to learn how to do it with Linux. Right now the installation is more a proof of concept than anything else, as my l33t l1nux 5k1llz are exhausted by ‘ls’ and ‘cd’.

I know how to view a file in vi, but I can’t figure out how to quit vi without mangling the file beyond recognition. I am sure to spend a lot of time in Linux working as a user with very, very limited access. If you don’t understand my frustration with Linux, think of trying to paint landscapes along with that guy on PBS. While wearing oven mitts.

More later.


September 21, 2004

Better than Matching Sweaters

Rumor has it that internet access at our new house will be installed this Friday. My original plan was to sniff the air and borrow a neighbor’s unsecured wireless connection, but no one in our neighborhood appears to be that tech-savvy. Currently we have:

  • The 80-year-old man who loves working in the yard
  • The woman with an SUV that looks suspiciously like a sex toy
  • The kids who drive their Jeep Cherokees 50 feet down the street to hang with their friends
  • The fellow who wears red and yellow Zubas and says goodbye to his wife every morning at 7:45
  • The cop
  • The ugly kid
  • The chickens
  • The goats
  • The dog that will tear your face off
  • The bright pink ski suit

I’ll be at the Jack Johnson and G. Love concert Friday night, so we won’t be returning to our irregular updating schedule until this weekend.