Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Really cool housing search website
Someone hacked together a web page to glue together Google Maps and Craigslist apartment listings. Interface has some quirks, but otherwise it's very cool.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
A minimally-covered scary precedent
This _should_ scare the shit out of most people, but I suspect most haven't heard about it. As you may remember from your high school civics class, the government is granted the power of "eminent domain" to seize property so long as the seizure is for public use and the residents are given fair market value. The point is to be able to grab land for things like military bases, public utilities, etc. But the Supreme Court just ruled that land could be seized under eminent domain for commercial development. As in, a community in Connecticut was uprooted to make room for office buildings.
Think about that. It's fucking scary. The rationale here is that the economic benefit to the community as a whole by removing the homes and re-zoning the area commercially constitutes a justifiable public good. But Jesus...you can make that argument about just about anything. Economics is a sufficiently hazy pseudo-science that you can make a case that's compelling to at least some people to justify almost anything. Just ask the Bush Administration. So, effectively, now government can legally claim any private property they want to at any time. Scary.
Interestingly, it was the conservatives who were in the minority on this one. Makes sense if you think about it...conservatives are all about limited government, and liberals generally are in favor of allowing the government broad power.
Think about that. It's fucking scary. The rationale here is that the economic benefit to the community as a whole by removing the homes and re-zoning the area commercially constitutes a justifiable public good. But Jesus...you can make that argument about just about anything. Economics is a sufficiently hazy pseudo-science that you can make a case that's compelling to at least some people to justify almost anything. Just ask the Bush Administration. So, effectively, now government can legally claim any private property they want to at any time. Scary.
Interestingly, it was the conservatives who were in the minority on this one. Makes sense if you think about it...conservatives are all about limited government, and liberals generally are in favor of allowing the government broad power.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Didn't go into this with an agenda my ass
Come on guys...at least be a little more subtle about your smear campaign. I'm disappointed in you.
Monday, June 20, 2005
I am the king of getting around paying for shit
Latest Craigslist post:
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I am a goddamn genius, you know that? A god. Damn. Genius.
So, the idea of actually paying people like match good money, especially $30/month, pisses me off. It's stupid, especially when it's so easy to do the same thing free on craigslist. Yay Craigslist.
Ok...here's what you do. And mind you, this is completely within the rules (no hacking required), even if it does stretch the intent a bit.
1) Create your profile. This is usually free. For tips on making a decent one (you retards), see another one of my posts.
2) Create a second profile. This is also free. You might need a second email to do this, but that's also free (hotmail, gmail, etc.). Name this profile something that obviously relates to the first profile (e.g., by appending "_email" to the end of the first one or something). Put no interesting information in this profile except, in some form or another, your email address. To avoid spammers, you can do something like "I'm hotgurl32@gmail.com, except replace the u with an i."
3) Ok, got that done? Awesome. Now, go happily browsing through the personals. Find someone who isn't so boring you want to stab yourself in the eyes with the fork and might actually want to talk to.
4) Here's the fun part. Winks are almost always free, right? Ok. Wink at the person with your first profile.
5) Immediately wink at them with your second profile.
Any reasonably intelligent person should be able to figure it out and email you. Or, if they're dumb, they'll pay money to talk to you.
Ok, so you might object that the service will screen profiles for emails and such. In that case, you'll have to be a bit more clever. You might, for instance, note in your first profile at the bottom that "you'll find something interesting in the first letter of each sentence of other profiles." Then encode your email address in the second profile. Slightly harder to figure out, but if they can't figure it out, do you really want to date them anyway? I thought not.
Yay covert channels! My parents would be so happy I'm putting my CS degree to such good use.
Special added bonus: Netflix!
I recently figured out that if you switch your subscription up to the, say, 8-at-a-time level, they will pretty much immediately send you the extra DVDs. But they won't charge you until your next billing cycle. So, as far as I can tell, they'll bill you for whatever your subscription level is set to on your billing day regardless of what the subscription level has been for the rest of the month. 8 for the price of 2, anyone?
-----
I am a goddamn genius, you know that? A god. Damn. Genius.
So, the idea of actually paying people like match good money, especially $30/month, pisses me off. It's stupid, especially when it's so easy to do the same thing free on craigslist. Yay Craigslist.
Ok...here's what you do. And mind you, this is completely within the rules (no hacking required), even if it does stretch the intent a bit.
1) Create your profile. This is usually free. For tips on making a decent one (you retards), see another one of my posts.
2) Create a second profile. This is also free. You might need a second email to do this, but that's also free (hotmail, gmail, etc.). Name this profile something that obviously relates to the first profile (e.g., by appending "_email" to the end of the first one or something). Put no interesting information in this profile except, in some form or another, your email address. To avoid spammers, you can do something like "I'm hotgurl32@gmail.com, except replace the u with an i."
3) Ok, got that done? Awesome. Now, go happily browsing through the personals. Find someone who isn't so boring you want to stab yourself in the eyes with the fork and might actually want to talk to.
4) Here's the fun part. Winks are almost always free, right? Ok. Wink at the person with your first profile.
5) Immediately wink at them with your second profile.
Any reasonably intelligent person should be able to figure it out and email you. Or, if they're dumb, they'll pay money to talk to you.
Ok, so you might object that the service will screen profiles for emails and such. In that case, you'll have to be a bit more clever. You might, for instance, note in your first profile at the bottom that "you'll find something interesting in the first letter of each sentence of other profiles." Then encode your email address in the second profile. Slightly harder to figure out, but if they can't figure it out, do you really want to date them anyway? I thought not.
Yay covert channels! My parents would be so happy I'm putting my CS degree to such good use.
Special added bonus: Netflix!
I recently figured out that if you switch your subscription up to the, say, 8-at-a-time level, they will pretty much immediately send you the extra DVDs. But they won't charge you until your next billing cycle. So, as far as I can tell, they'll bill you for whatever your subscription level is set to on your billing day regardless of what the subscription level has been for the rest of the month. 8 for the price of 2, anyone?
Primer
If you haven't seen it, see Primer. It's the best science fiction movie I have seen in a very, very long time, perhaps ever. Seriously, if you like movies that make you think, it is fantastic.
And the even more amazing thing is that it was made on a budget of about $7,000.
And the even more amazing thing is that it was made on a budget of about $7,000.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Jesus fucking Christ
...did I really write that? Good lord...potent shit. I don't even remember writing half that shit. Scary.
Posting under the influence
I figure I had to try this. I took a somewhat heavy dose of Ambien to try to get my dumb ass to sleep, and it just kicked in hardcore. I feel...very weird. There keep being shadows on the edges of the screen, and all the windows are fluttering and undulating between swinging far away from me and swinging back towards me. Every so often if you catch the sides of the frame, they'll bend every so slightly. Fuckers. All the icons are floating around each other a bit...interestingly, the top words seems to be pushing the bottom words forward like bleacher seats. The words almost feel like they need to expand outside of the page. And the desktop seems like it really is 3 dimensional
I feel like I could put my hand behind what's being typed on the page and feel something fuzzy.
I don't know...it's like writing on a tight bubble or something. And sometimes it feels like I'm writing far away, and other times the screen is much closer. At the moment, for instance, the screen feels like it is bending clockwise...just a tendency. If I don't focus, it moves.
That entire paragraph undulates if you look at it. Words float together and away...according to some kind of tide I don't know about. and stream. They look like a floating armada of words. Bending. Floating. Shifting shades. This is fucking crazy. Have to land...have to land. Ground the page. Need to sleep. bleh
I feel like I could put my hand behind what's being typed on the page and feel something fuzzy.
I don't know...it's like writing on a tight bubble or something. And sometimes it feels like I'm writing far away, and other times the screen is much closer. At the moment, for instance, the screen feels like it is bending clockwise...just a tendency. If I don't focus, it moves.
That entire paragraph undulates if you look at it. Words float together and away...according to some kind of tide I don't know about. and stream. They look like a floating armada of words. Bending. Floating. Shifting shades. This is fucking crazy. Have to land...have to land. Ground the page. Need to sleep. bleh
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Virtual property
People are fucking retarded.
Let me explain some basic economics to you, Sparky: value is created by scarcity. Good waterfront property is worth a lot because, relative to the number of people who want it, there ain't much of it. Now, in contrast (you fucktards), the only scarcity in virtual worlds is completely arbitrary. If the universe creator wants to, they can probably add another server and instantly add a million more of whatever valuable thing you have, making your precious little virtual thingy worthless. Now, does that seem like a good investment to you?
Let me explain some basic economics to you, Sparky: value is created by scarcity. Good waterfront property is worth a lot because, relative to the number of people who want it, there ain't much of it. Now, in contrast (you fucktards), the only scarcity in virtual worlds is completely arbitrary. If the universe creator wants to, they can probably add another server and instantly add a million more of whatever valuable thing you have, making your precious little virtual thingy worthless. Now, does that seem like a good investment to you?
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Comments from a public defender
From Craigslist...this needs to be preserved:
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Reply to: anon-70300494@craigslist.org
Date: Tue Apr 26 10:49:28 2005
First, let me say I love my job and it is a privilege to work for my clients. I wish I could do more for them. That being said, there are a few things that need to be discussed.
You have the right to remain silent. So SHUT THE FUCK UP. Those cops are completely serious when they say your statements can and will be used against you. There’s just no need to babble on like it’s a drink and dial session. They are just pretending to like you and be interested in you.
When you come to court, consider your dress. If you’re charged with a DUI, don’t wear a Budweiser shirt. If you have some miscellaneous drug charge, think twice about clothing with a marijuana leaf on it or a t-shirt with the “UniBonger” on it. Long sleeves are very nice for covering tattoos and track marks. Try not to be visibly drunk when you show up.
Consider bathing and brushing your teeth. This is just as a courtesy to me who has to stand by you in court. Smoking 5 generic cigarettes to cover up your bad breath is not the same as brushing. Try not to cough and spit on my while you speak and further transmit your strep, flu, and hepatitis A through Z.
I’m a lawyer, not your fairy godmother. I probably won’t find a loophole or technicality for you, so don’t be pissed off. I didn’t beat up your girlfriend, steal that car, rob that liquor store, sell that crystal meth, or rape that 13 year old. By the time we meet, much of your fate has been sealed, so don’t be too surprised by your limited options and that I’m the one telling you about them.
Don’t think you’ll improve my interest in your case by yelling at me, telling me I’m not doing anything for you, calling me a public pretender or complaining to my supervisor. This does not inspire me, it makes me hate you and want to work with you even less.
It does not help if you leave me nine messages in 17 minutes. Especially if you leave them all on Saturday night and early Sunday morning. This just makes me want to stab you in the eye when we finally meet.
For the guys: Don’t think I’m amused when you flirt or offer to “do me.” You can’t successfully rob a convenience store, forge a signature, pawn stolen merchandise, get through a day without drinking, control your temper, or talk your way out of a routine traffic stop. I figure your performance in other areas is just as spectacular, and the thought of your shriveled unwashed body near me makes me want to kill you and then myself.
For the girls: I know your life is rougher than mine and you have no resources. I’m not going to insult you by suggesting you leave your abusive pimp/boyfriend, that you stop taking meth, or that your stop stealing shit. I do wish you’d stop beating the crap out of your kids and leaving your needles out for them to play with because you aren’t allowing them to have a life that is any better than yours.
For the morons: Your second grade teacher was right – neatness counts. Just clean up! When you rob the store, don’t leave your wallet. When you drive into the front of the bank, don’t leave the front license plate. When you rape/assault/rob a woman on the street, don’t leave behind your cell phone. After you abuse your girlfriend, don’t leave a note saying that you’re sorry.
If you are being chased by the cops and you have dope in your pocket – dump it. These cops are not geniuses. They are out of shape and want to go to Krispy Kreme and most of all go home. They will not scour the woods or the streets for your 2 grams of meth. But they will check your pockets, idiot. 2 grams is not worth six months of jail.
Don’t be offended and say you were harassed because the security was following you all over the store. Girl, you were wearing an electronic ankle bracelet with your mini skirt. And you were stealing. That’s not harassment, that’s good store security.
And those kids you churn out: how is it possible? You’re out there breeding like feral cats. What exactly is the attraction of having sex with other meth addicts? You are lacking in the most basic aspects of hygiene, deathly pale, greasy, grey-toothed, twitchy and covered with open sores. How can you be having sex? You make my baby-whoring crack head clients look positively radiant by comparison.
"I didn't put it all the way in." Not a defense.
"All the money is gone now." Not a defense
"The bitch deserved it." Not a defense.
"But that dope was so stepped on, I barely got high." Not a defense.
"She didn't look thirteen." Possibly a defense; it depends.
"She didn't look six." Never a defense, you just need to die.
For those rare clients that say thank-you, leave a voice mail, send a card or flowers, you are very welcome. I keep them all, and they keep me going more than my pitiful COLA increase.
For the idiots who ask me how I sleep at night: I sleep just fine, thank you. There's nothing wrong with any of my clients that could not have been fixed with money or the presence of at least one caring adult in their lives. But that window has closed, and that loss diminishes us all.
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Some Advice From Your Public Defender
Reply to: anon-70300494@craigslist.org
Date: Tue Apr 26 10:49:28 2005
First, let me say I love my job and it is a privilege to work for my clients. I wish I could do more for them. That being said, there are a few things that need to be discussed.
You have the right to remain silent. So SHUT THE FUCK UP. Those cops are completely serious when they say your statements can and will be used against you. There’s just no need to babble on like it’s a drink and dial session. They are just pretending to like you and be interested in you.
When you come to court, consider your dress. If you’re charged with a DUI, don’t wear a Budweiser shirt. If you have some miscellaneous drug charge, think twice about clothing with a marijuana leaf on it or a t-shirt with the “UniBonger” on it. Long sleeves are very nice for covering tattoos and track marks. Try not to be visibly drunk when you show up.
Consider bathing and brushing your teeth. This is just as a courtesy to me who has to stand by you in court. Smoking 5 generic cigarettes to cover up your bad breath is not the same as brushing. Try not to cough and spit on my while you speak and further transmit your strep, flu, and hepatitis A through Z.
I’m a lawyer, not your fairy godmother. I probably won’t find a loophole or technicality for you, so don’t be pissed off. I didn’t beat up your girlfriend, steal that car, rob that liquor store, sell that crystal meth, or rape that 13 year old. By the time we meet, much of your fate has been sealed, so don’t be too surprised by your limited options and that I’m the one telling you about them.
Don’t think you’ll improve my interest in your case by yelling at me, telling me I’m not doing anything for you, calling me a public pretender or complaining to my supervisor. This does not inspire me, it makes me hate you and want to work with you even less.
It does not help if you leave me nine messages in 17 minutes. Especially if you leave them all on Saturday night and early Sunday morning. This just makes me want to stab you in the eye when we finally meet.
For the guys: Don’t think I’m amused when you flirt or offer to “do me.” You can’t successfully rob a convenience store, forge a signature, pawn stolen merchandise, get through a day without drinking, control your temper, or talk your way out of a routine traffic stop. I figure your performance in other areas is just as spectacular, and the thought of your shriveled unwashed body near me makes me want to kill you and then myself.
For the girls: I know your life is rougher than mine and you have no resources. I’m not going to insult you by suggesting you leave your abusive pimp/boyfriend, that you stop taking meth, or that your stop stealing shit. I do wish you’d stop beating the crap out of your kids and leaving your needles out for them to play with because you aren’t allowing them to have a life that is any better than yours.
For the morons: Your second grade teacher was right – neatness counts. Just clean up! When you rob the store, don’t leave your wallet. When you drive into the front of the bank, don’t leave the front license plate. When you rape/assault/rob a woman on the street, don’t leave behind your cell phone. After you abuse your girlfriend, don’t leave a note saying that you’re sorry.
If you are being chased by the cops and you have dope in your pocket – dump it. These cops are not geniuses. They are out of shape and want to go to Krispy Kreme and most of all go home. They will not scour the woods or the streets for your 2 grams of meth. But they will check your pockets, idiot. 2 grams is not worth six months of jail.
Don’t be offended and say you were harassed because the security was following you all over the store. Girl, you were wearing an electronic ankle bracelet with your mini skirt. And you were stealing. That’s not harassment, that’s good store security.
And those kids you churn out: how is it possible? You’re out there breeding like feral cats. What exactly is the attraction of having sex with other meth addicts? You are lacking in the most basic aspects of hygiene, deathly pale, greasy, grey-toothed, twitchy and covered with open sores. How can you be having sex? You make my baby-whoring crack head clients look positively radiant by comparison.
"I didn't put it all the way in." Not a defense.
"All the money is gone now." Not a defense
"The bitch deserved it." Not a defense.
"But that dope was so stepped on, I barely got high." Not a defense.
"She didn't look thirteen." Possibly a defense; it depends.
"She didn't look six." Never a defense, you just need to die.
For those rare clients that say thank-you, leave a voice mail, send a card or flowers, you are very welcome. I keep them all, and they keep me going more than my pitiful COLA increase.
For the idiots who ask me how I sleep at night: I sleep just fine, thank you. There's nothing wrong with any of my clients that could not have been fixed with money or the presence of at least one caring adult in their lives. But that window has closed, and that loss diminishes us all.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Treatise on proper karaoke technique
...from my dear friend Jewmanji, who is of course an expert on the topic.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Guide to Better Personals Posts from Uncle Jaded McSarcasm!
Apparently we've figured out what I'll be doing in the short term with more free time.
-----
Okay: once more, with feeling. I know this has been posted a thousand times before by a hundred different posters, but from what I can see you're not listening, so we're going to go through this one more time. Please follow the bouncing ball.
Ladies. I know you are the scarce commodity in these here parts. I understand that. Really. I realize that you can afford to be pickier than the guys, and that you could probably post something in all caps that said, "I HAVE WITHERED BOOBS AND FART A LOT!" and have about a thousand replies in the next 40 minutes. I get it.
That said, for the love of whatever deity you believe in, let's put a little thought and a little marketing into those personals posts. If you want any hope of actually catching the attention of a guy who does not keep a folder full of pictures of his own wang, who has not (at least recently) had a discussion about whether the Enterprise or a Star Destroyer would win in a fight, and who will not ask you to "touch his wookie" on the first date, you're going to need to do better.
Rule #1: The phrase "I'm so tired of" should not appear in your post unless followed by "riding naked and alone in my extra ferrari."
Nothing brings out those commitment and support urges like sustained and detailed whining about previous dating experiences! We love them. It makes us fantasize about standing in front of that ramshackle, heavily mortgaged house with maladjusted children screaming across the yard while listening to you explain to us how the yard still needs mowing and we never take you anywhere special any more. And that's soooo hot. We immediately begin composing email demanding to be allowed to take you to Europe and marry you on the Italian Riviera.
Seriously though...how do you feel when you read a guy's post about how there aren't any decent women in the bay area and how all the girls he's met are fake? Is this attractive? Do you get good feelings about this clown? No, of course you don't. You feel like you're being whined at. You don't like it, and neither will your Perfect Boy. Don't do it.
Rule #2: There is no one on Craigslist who is 6'2", in perfect physical condition, mysterious eyes, confident, successful, witty, driven, supportive, understanding, has a perfect butt, rock-hard thighs and calves, broad, muscular shoulders, and a deep, knee-melting voice with a slight accent.
He doesn't exist, and he sure as hell isn't browsing online personals. And psst...I'll tell you a secret: you don't actually want that anyway. Interesting people always have a certain set of "flaws" that make them distinctive, and the person you fall in love with will inevitably not match your preconceived notions.
So, ditch the detailed laundry list of desirable traits in your Perfect Boy. This one also falls under the heading of "you don't like it when we do it, so why the hell are you doing it?" I realize boys are somewhat alien, but believe it or not we do have feelings too and have vaguely human reactions to things. If you create this detailed list, we think you're just going to be sitting there ticking off points for the ways in which we don't measure up. We all have our flaws, and we all get evaluated too much as it is anyway. Isn't the whole point of being in a relationship with someone that you can rely on them _not_ to judge you and be supportive no matter what kind of fucked up thing you do? All right then. If physical appearance is important and you don't want to waste your time with someone you will never be attracted to, fine. Ask for a picture. This is reasonable. But we are not applying for a job. We're trying to find someone we'd actually like to hang out with and might have a connection to.
That said, describing _your_ physical traits is perfectly fine and indeed probably recommended. Us boys are very simple and very visual creatures, and you're more likely to get our attention if we can form a picture of you in our heads. The nice part about words is that they're never complete, and we tend to fill in any missing details to our own particular liking. You might think this could be dangerous as we will eventually be "disappointed," but so long as you are (vaguely) honest, it's fine. Creating interest is an important first step. The rest will take care of itself. You never know; he might be pleasantly surprised, and even if he isn't, by the time he sees what you actually look like, he'll probably have more than physical appearance to go off of, and as you girls well know, that can account for a remarkable portion of a person's overall attractiveness when it comes to relationships. There are some damn ugly people out there dating some damn hot ones, and it happens for a reason.
Rule #3: Everyone thinks they're kind of cute, likes movies, snuggling, travelling, going to restaurants, loves to laugh, and wants someone cool to hang out with. FUCKING EVERYONE.
Seriously. Everyone. Ted Kazynski likes snuggling. Goebels liked snuggling. Pol Pot liked to laugh. The Wicked Witch of the West liked travelling. Even James Dobson likes to snuggle while he's busy hating gay people and plotting the resurrection of his dark master. But you know what? They're all very different, very unique, and very scary fuckers that I would never want to date. And having you tell me you possess these traits gives me absolutely no new information and does not differentiate you in any way from the demented fucktards previously mentioned. Please, please, PLEASE tell me about yourself. Spend at least a little bit of time describing yourself in a way that gives me a picture of who you actually are. What you like doing. What you don't. What pisses you off. What you love. What you find funny. What kind of fucked up shit you've done. Even the specific ways in which your job sucks balls would be progress. But damn...tell me something about YOU. Read the other "women looking for men" posts and then DON'T SOUND LIKE THAT. Ask yourself why any guy would want to reply to you in particular out of the myriad of personals postings. Will it be because you like to watch movies on the couch and go to good restaurants? No, because that's what the last 912 postings said too. Be unique. If you like kicking puppies, well damnit, I want to know about it. Tell me what you _think_...don't just give me a laundry list of activities. I want to know how you look at the world and what makes you tick, and the fact that you plan tennis and read books just doesn't cut it. Oh, and by the way, describing yourself should hopefully take more than a few lines. If it doesn't, you are boring, and we have no interest in talking to you.
All right, a couple of final, minor rules:
Rule #4: If I want an unsmiling stare, I will peer intently at my mother's cat
If providing a picture, take a decent one of yourself. Try not to take a poorly lit webcam photo at 3 am. And smile. The impression I want to get is, "Hey, you should come hang out with me because I'm fun!" not, "Look into my eyes so that I may use my mental powers to make your brain explode!!" Smiling good. Brain exploding bad.
Rule #5: The caps lock is not that hard to figure out
You look retarded when you type all in caps and misspell all of your words. Frankly, I'm surprised you were able to actually post anything. Is chewing gum and walking at the same time a challenge as well? Here. Take this bag of M&Ms and remove all the W's. Let me know when you're done.
Rule #6: When you say, "I am a 9 and you should be a 9 too, and men find me intimidating," I hear, "I am a self-involved, shallow, and insecure bitch that no man should go near with a borrowed dick"
Get over yourself. What kind of banchee succubus intimidates people into dating them? And what kind of fucked-up relationship does that result in? And are the children of those people the idiots who buy shit from spammers? And does this explain Karl Rove?
That's all I have for now. 6 easy to follow rules to better and more fulfilling personals postings from you friendly local bitter and sarcastic recently-single mid-twenties male. I wish you the best of luck, and I look forward to the drastic improvement in postings that will inevitably now result. Excuse me while I return to being pissed off at world events mixed with intermittent masturbation.
-----
Okay: once more, with feeling. I know this has been posted a thousand times before by a hundred different posters, but from what I can see you're not listening, so we're going to go through this one more time. Please follow the bouncing ball.
Ladies. I know you are the scarce commodity in these here parts. I understand that. Really. I realize that you can afford to be pickier than the guys, and that you could probably post something in all caps that said, "I HAVE WITHERED BOOBS AND FART A LOT!" and have about a thousand replies in the next 40 minutes. I get it.
That said, for the love of whatever deity you believe in, let's put a little thought and a little marketing into those personals posts. If you want any hope of actually catching the attention of a guy who does not keep a folder full of pictures of his own wang, who has not (at least recently) had a discussion about whether the Enterprise or a Star Destroyer would win in a fight, and who will not ask you to "touch his wookie" on the first date, you're going to need to do better.
Rule #1: The phrase "I'm so tired of" should not appear in your post unless followed by "riding naked and alone in my extra ferrari."
Nothing brings out those commitment and support urges like sustained and detailed whining about previous dating experiences! We love them. It makes us fantasize about standing in front of that ramshackle, heavily mortgaged house with maladjusted children screaming across the yard while listening to you explain to us how the yard still needs mowing and we never take you anywhere special any more. And that's soooo hot. We immediately begin composing email demanding to be allowed to take you to Europe and marry you on the Italian Riviera.
Seriously though...how do you feel when you read a guy's post about how there aren't any decent women in the bay area and how all the girls he's met are fake? Is this attractive? Do you get good feelings about this clown? No, of course you don't. You feel like you're being whined at. You don't like it, and neither will your Perfect Boy. Don't do it.
Rule #2: There is no one on Craigslist who is 6'2", in perfect physical condition, mysterious eyes, confident, successful, witty, driven, supportive, understanding, has a perfect butt, rock-hard thighs and calves, broad, muscular shoulders, and a deep, knee-melting voice with a slight
He doesn't exist, and he sure as hell isn't browsing online personals. And psst...I'll tell you a secret: you don't actually want that anyway. Interesting people always have a certain set of "flaws" that make them distinctive, and the person you fall in love with will inevitably not match your preconceived notions.
So, ditch the detailed laundry list of desirable traits in your Perfect Boy. This one also falls under the heading of "you don't like it when we do it, so why the hell are you doing it?" I realize boys are somewhat alien, but believe it or not we do have feelings too and have vaguely human reactions to things. If you create this detailed list, we think you're just going to be sitting there ticking off points for the ways in which we don't measure up. We all have our flaws, and we all get evaluated too much as it is anyway. Isn't the whole point of being in a relationship with someone that you can rely on them _not_ to judge you and be supportive no matter what kind of fucked up thing you do? All right then. If physical appearance is important and you don't want to waste your time with someone you will never be attracted to, fine. Ask for a picture. This is reasonable. But we are not applying for a job. We're trying to find someone we'd actually like to hang out with and might have a connection to.
That said, describing _your_ physical traits is perfectly fine and indeed probably recommended. Us boys are very simple and very visual creatures, and you're more likely to get our attention if we can form a picture of you in our heads. The nice part about words is that they're never complete, and we tend to fill in any missing details to our own particular liking. You might think this could be dangerous as we will eventually be "disappointed," but so long as you are (vaguely) honest, it's fine. Creating interest is an important first step. The rest will take care of itself. You never know; he might be pleasantly surprised, and even if he isn't, by the time he sees what you actually look like, he'll probably have more than physical appearance to go off of, and as you girls well know, that can account for a remarkable portion of a person's overall attractiveness when it comes to relationships. There are some damn ugly people out there dating some damn hot ones, and it happens for a reason.
Rule #3: Everyone thinks they're kind of cute, likes movies, snuggling, travelling, going to restaurants, loves to laugh, and wants someone cool to hang out with. FUCKING EVERYONE.
Seriously. Everyone. Ted Kazynski likes snuggling. Goebels liked snuggling. Pol Pot liked to laugh. The Wicked Witch of the West liked travelling. Even James Dobson likes to snuggle while he's busy hating gay people and plotting the resurrection of his dark master. But you know what? They're all very different, very unique, and very scary fuckers that I would never want to date. And having you tell me you possess these traits gives me absolutely no new information and does not differentiate you in any way from the demented fucktards previously mentioned. Please, please, PLEASE tell me about yourself. Spend at least a little bit of time describing yourself in a way that gives me a picture of who you actually are. What you like doing. What you don't. What pisses you off. What you love. What you find funny. What kind of fucked up shit you've done. Even the specific ways in which your job sucks balls would be progress. But damn...tell me something about YOU. Read the other "women looking for men" posts and then DON'T SOUND LIKE THAT. Ask yourself why any guy would want to reply to you in particular out of the myriad of personals postings. Will it be because you like to watch movies on the couch and go to good restaurants? No, because that's what the last 912 postings said too. Be unique. If you like kicking puppies, well damnit, I want to know about it. Tell me what you _think_...don't just give me a laundry list of activities. I want to know how you look at the world and what makes you tick, and the fact that you plan tennis and read books just doesn't cut it. Oh, and by the way, describing yourself should hopefully take more than a few lines. If it doesn't, you are boring, and we have no interest in talking to you.
All right, a couple of final, minor rules:
Rule #4: If I want an unsmiling stare, I will peer intently at my mother's cat
If providing a picture, take a decent one of yourself. Try not to take a poorly lit webcam photo at 3 am. And smile. The impression I want to get is, "Hey, you should come hang out with me because I'm fun!" not, "Look into my eyes so that I may use my mental powers to make your brain explode!!" Smiling good. Brain exploding bad.
Rule #5: The caps lock is not that hard to figure out
You look retarded when you type all in caps and misspell all of your words. Frankly, I'm surprised you were able to actually post anything. Is chewing gum and walking at the same time a challenge as well? Here. Take this bag of M&Ms and remove all the W's. Let me know when you're done.
Rule #6: When you say, "I am a 9 and you should be a 9 too, and men find me intimidating," I hear, "I am a self-involved, shallow, and insecure bitch that no man should go near with a borrowed dick"
Get over yourself. What kind of banchee succubus intimidates people into dating them? And what kind of fucked-up relationship does that result in? And are the children of those people the idiots who buy shit from spammers? And does this explain Karl Rove?
That's all I have for now. 6 easy to follow rules to better and more fulfilling personals postings from you friendly local bitter and sarcastic recently-single mid-twenties male. I wish you the best of luck, and I look forward to the drastic improvement in postings that will inevitably now result. Excuse me while I return to being pissed off at world events mixed with intermittent masturbation.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
transportation disasters = fun
I wrote up my "thoughts" on a recent television program I watched into a Craigslist rant & rave.
Update: since it will eventually be deleted, I thought I'd repost here:
I know there will come a day sometime in the future, karma being the unavoidable bitch that she is, when I will find myself the heavily used Preparation H tube of a truck driver with Irritable Bowel Syndrome for thinking this, but that documentary on major transportation disasters I was watching today was goddamn funny.
I'm serious. Have you watched that shit? People seem to have the common sense of an autistic koala and, to quote George Carlin, the reflexes of an aging panda, and in the midst of disaster do the most profoundly retarded things. And people die because of it! And damned if it isn't fucking entertainment.
Case #1: Titled, I shit you not, "Flying with One Wing." Now, that alone is funny. You don't really fly with one wing in my experience. It's really more of a falling to your doom kind of thing. Or perhaps spinning to your doom. That second wing...really not so much optional. Not a backup. Prerequisite to the whole staying in the air thing, wouldn't you say?
But, anyway, Flying with One Wing. Apparently, there was some plane that, if I may spoil the ending for you, had a fucked up propeller that had broken off, destabilized the engine, fucked it up, and thrown it out of its mounting, thus contorting a wing, and making the plane not fly so good. Ok, so that sucks. But it turns out the pilots were so busy trying to control the plane that they don't bother to look back and see that, hey, the engine's all fucked up. All they knew was that the plane was veering sharply to the left and losing altitude. Which is fine. They were busy. But when they finally got it stable enough to call the stewardess, she apparently didn't feel the need to mention that she had, you know, noticed the engine was all fucked up.
Now, you'd think that would come up. At least a, "Hey, you know, I couldn't help but notice the engine's all fucked up, smoking, on fire, and about to fall off. I don't mean to be a bother, being a simple flight attendant and all, but it just seemed to me a rather important detail." But no, nothing. Not a peep. Not even a, "Hey, have you looked at the engine lately? I'm pretty sure it didn't look like that when we took off." Nope. Back to serving crappy pretzels.
Moving on. The final amusement of this episode was the announcer. Just before the plane crashed (in the re-enactment, of course...there wasn't another plane flying alongside full of insensitive pricks who just wanted to make a documentary), they said the pilot finally glanced back and looked at the fucked up engine. The reaction was properly overacted with the faux-pilot turning white, looking horrified, and generally giving the impression of impending doom. That wasn't what was funny. What was funny was that the voiceover said,
"...Only then did the pilot look back at the smoldering wreckage of the engine. He had no idea the extent of the damage. None of his instruments had told him."
Really. You know, because I could have sworn they put an "Engine All Fucked Up and Kinda Hanging Off the Side of the Plane" warning light SOMEWHERE on the dashboard. Seriously though, what fucking indicator would you put in to indicate THAT? I mean, among other things, I think the engineers would have assumed, rightly, that the point at which that light came on is roughly the point at which the plane had become intimate with a cornfield somewhere. What the fuck did the producers want? A giant warning message to pop up on the cockpit display that said, "HEY LOOK AT THE LEFT ENGINE IT'S ALL FUCKED"?
But the hillarity didn't stop with the plane with one wing. Oh no. Next up was a German rail disaster. Now, let's say you're riding happily along at 150 mph towards Hamburg facing your wife and daughter. You're enjoying some kind of funny-sounding sausage, drinking non-crappy, non-American beer, and feeling very efficient and stuff with only a hint of a memory of being bombed to shit at one point in your history. Now, let's say that interrupting this German bliss is an object that suddenly protrudes from between your wife's and daughter's seats. For the sake of argument, and because it's just plain factually correct, let's say it's...oh, I don't know...a giant metal beam.
That's right. A giant metal beam. Like the ones that sleepwalking cartoons seem to stumble upon as they're being lifted up a building? One of those. Sticking up between the seats.
Now, I'll give you two options at this point. It'll be like a choose your own adventure!
Option A) Realizing that travelling at 150 mph with a giant beam sticking through the floor is probably neither safe nor healthy, you run to the nearest emergency break handle and pull the fucker. Other train passengers arrive in Hamburg late but alive. You are yelled at and then praised in German. You can't tell the difference.
Option B) Having the common sense of a parent who sits their small child in front of a wall socket with metal forks in each of its hands, you decide to take a leisurely stroll back 3 cars to find the conductor and mention the minor but recent aesthetic annoyance of having a giant metal beam stick up between your wife and child. You fear your child will give the beam too much metaphorical significance and will become estranged from her mother.
Now, lest you jump at option B, allow me to make you aware of a further complication: IF you successfully tell the conductor about the giant metal beam sticking out of the floor, he will claim that company policy demands that he investigate the issue before pulling the emergency break. You know, because as a conductor, you see a lot of giant metal beams sticking out of the floor, and the stupid passengers will freak out at any old beam whether it's in danger of metastacizing into other giant metal beams or not. It might be one of those giant metal beams that jumps out of the floor as part of normal train operation. He doesn't know! He has to check it out!
Needless to say, this clever young chap went with option B. And wouldn't you know it, but before the conductor could pull the emergency break, the train derailed, slammed into a bridge, and killed most of the passengers. Ain't that a bitch?
All right, all right...final episode. This one is quick, but still worth mention. The last episode was on the Boxing Day tsunami. I know, too soon, not funny. Except that this particular (immensely entertaining) documentary taught me the answer to the following question:
Q) What's worse than being caught in a tsunami?
A) Having a phobia about getting caught in a tsunami and THEN being caught in a tsunami.
I shit you not. They interviewed some poor woman who had a long-standing fear of tsunamis, went on vacation, and was caught in the tsunami. What are the chances? Seriously. And when she came home, did she storm into her shrink's office and yell, "SEE?! I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO! Oh no...you said I was craaaaazy. 'Sure sure Helen...unstoppable wall of water. Widespread death and destruction. Yada yada yada. Whatever. Sit down and shut up Crazy McCrazyson.' Well FUCK you! I was right! Now give me my tinfoil hat back, you overpaid fucktard!"
Anyway, that's how it went in my head. Because it's funnier that way.
So yeah...transportation disasters. Hours of entertainment. Strangely apropos after breaking up with a long term girlfriend, but still...fun!
Update: since it will eventually be deleted, I thought I'd repost here:
I know there will come a day sometime in the future, karma being the unavoidable bitch that she is, when I will find myself the heavily used Preparation H tube of a truck driver with Irritable Bowel Syndrome for thinking this, but that documentary on major transportation disasters I was watching today was goddamn funny.
I'm serious. Have you watched that shit? People seem to have the common sense of an autistic koala and, to quote George Carlin, the reflexes of an aging panda, and in the midst of disaster do the most profoundly retarded things. And people die because of it! And damned if it isn't fucking entertainment.
Case #1: Titled, I shit you not, "Flying with One Wing." Now, that alone is funny. You don't really fly with one wing in my experience. It's really more of a falling to your doom kind of thing. Or perhaps spinning to your doom. That second wing...really not so much optional. Not a backup. Prerequisite to the whole staying in the air thing, wouldn't you say?
But, anyway, Flying with One Wing. Apparently, there was some plane that, if I may spoil the ending for you, had a fucked up propeller that had broken off, destabilized the engine, fucked it up, and thrown it out of its mounting, thus contorting a wing, and making the plane not fly so good. Ok, so that sucks. But it turns out the pilots were so busy trying to control the plane that they don't bother to look back and see that, hey, the engine's all fucked up. All they knew was that the plane was veering sharply to the left and losing altitude. Which is fine. They were busy. But when they finally got it stable enough to call the stewardess, she apparently didn't feel the need to mention that she had, you know, noticed the engine was all fucked up.
Now, you'd think that would come up. At least a, "Hey, you know, I couldn't help but notice the engine's all fucked up, smoking, on fire, and about to fall off. I don't mean to be a bother, being a simple flight attendant and all, but it just seemed to me a rather important detail." But no, nothing. Not a peep. Not even a, "Hey, have you looked at the engine lately? I'm pretty sure it didn't look like that when we took off." Nope. Back to serving crappy pretzels.
Moving on. The final amusement of this episode was the announcer. Just before the plane crashed (in the re-enactment, of course...there wasn't another plane flying alongside full of insensitive pricks who just wanted to make a documentary), they said the pilot finally glanced back and looked at the fucked up engine. The reaction was properly overacted with the faux-pilot turning white, looking horrified, and generally giving the impression of impending doom. That wasn't what was funny. What was funny was that the voiceover said,
"...Only then did the pilot look back at the smoldering wreckage of the engine. He had no idea the extent of the damage. None of his instruments had told him."
Really. You know, because I could have sworn they put an "Engine All Fucked Up and Kinda Hanging Off the Side of the Plane" warning light SOMEWHERE on the dashboard. Seriously though, what fucking indicator would you put in to indicate THAT? I mean, among other things, I think the engineers would have assumed, rightly, that the point at which that light came on is roughly the point at which the plane had become intimate with a cornfield somewhere. What the fuck did the producers want? A giant warning message to pop up on the cockpit display that said, "HEY LOOK AT THE LEFT ENGINE IT'S ALL FUCKED"?
But the hillarity didn't stop with the plane with one wing. Oh no. Next up was a German rail disaster. Now, let's say you're riding happily along at 150 mph towards Hamburg facing your wife and daughter. You're enjoying some kind of funny-sounding sausage, drinking non-crappy, non-American beer, and feeling very efficient and stuff with only a hint of a memory of being bombed to shit at one point in your history. Now, let's say that interrupting this German bliss is an object that suddenly protrudes from between your wife's and daughter's seats. For the sake of argument, and because it's just plain factually correct, let's say it's...oh, I don't know...a giant metal beam.
That's right. A giant metal beam. Like the ones that sleepwalking cartoons seem to stumble upon as they're being lifted up a building? One of those. Sticking up between the seats.
Now, I'll give you two options at this point. It'll be like a choose your own adventure!
Option A) Realizing that travelling at 150 mph with a giant beam sticking through the floor is probably neither safe nor healthy, you run to the nearest emergency break handle and pull the fucker. Other train passengers arrive in Hamburg late but alive. You are yelled at and then praised in German. You can't tell the difference.
Option B) Having the common sense of a parent who sits their small child in front of a wall socket with metal forks in each of its hands, you decide to take a leisurely stroll back 3 cars to find the conductor and mention the minor but recent aesthetic annoyance of having a giant metal beam stick up between your wife and child. You fear your child will give the beam too much metaphorical significance and will become estranged from her mother.
Now, lest you jump at option B, allow me to make you aware of a further complication: IF you successfully tell the conductor about the giant metal beam sticking out of the floor, he will claim that company policy demands that he investigate the issue before pulling the emergency break. You know, because as a conductor, you see a lot of giant metal beams sticking out of the floor, and the stupid passengers will freak out at any old beam whether it's in danger of metastacizing into other giant metal beams or not. It might be one of those giant metal beams that jumps out of the floor as part of normal train operation. He doesn't know! He has to check it out!
Needless to say, this clever young chap went with option B. And wouldn't you know it, but before the conductor could pull the emergency break, the train derailed, slammed into a bridge, and killed most of the passengers. Ain't that a bitch?
All right, all right...final episode. This one is quick, but still worth mention. The last episode was on the Boxing Day tsunami. I know, too soon, not funny. Except that this particular (immensely entertaining) documentary taught me the answer to the following question:
Q) What's worse than being caught in a tsunami?
A) Having a phobia about getting caught in a tsunami and THEN being caught in a tsunami.
I shit you not. They interviewed some poor woman who had a long-standing fear of tsunamis, went on vacation, and was caught in the tsunami. What are the chances? Seriously. And when she came home, did she storm into her shrink's office and yell, "SEE?! I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO! Oh no...you said I was craaaaazy. 'Sure sure Helen...unstoppable wall of water. Widespread death and destruction. Yada yada yada. Whatever. Sit down and shut up Crazy McCrazyson.' Well FUCK you! I was right! Now give me my tinfoil hat back, you overpaid fucktard!"
Anyway, that's how it went in my head. Because it's funnier that way.
So yeah...transportation disasters. Hours of entertainment. Strangely apropos after breaking up with a long term girlfriend, but still...fun!
Friday, June 03, 2005
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
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