Topher's Self-Prognosis

Annoying Ads

2006-08-08T10:13:00.000-07:00

Let he who has an ear to hear listen to my words that they may not be scattered by the winds before they can take root in fertile ground. Advertisers, read:

I have nothing against advertising on web-sites. In fact, I think it's a Very Good thing. It allows web-sites to be supported by chosen sponsors, or even a big group of sponsors. Great, that! It encourages people to build web-sites that provide real value. I'm all about real value.

Thus I do not arbitrarily block ads. I do not seek to eliminate all advertising from my web experience. But I do use selective ad blockers.

There is one thing and one thing only that causes me to add a new rule to my ad blocker. ANNOYANCE.

If your ad prohibits me from seeing the web page I'm trying to view until I pay attention to it, I'll block it.

If your ad blinks or flashes in a epileptic-enducing pattern, I'll block it.

If your ad pops up another window that I then have to manually close, I'll block it.

These are a few examples, and the most common causes of blockage. But that doesn't preclude other annoyances from winning an ad a slot on my block list. And one single ad can cause me to axe an entire ad service.

I don't relish my ad blocking capabilities. I don't flaunt them or swing them around my head like a morning star ready to take out any who come within arms-reach. I'm just a bit selfish. I just want to be able to get at the web-sites I'm trying to get at. Is that so wrong?

. Topher

Angel's Camp

2006-07-31T18:02:00.000-07:00

A few weeks back we wandered up to Calevaras County with my parents. We stayed in a nice little time-share condo in Angel's Camp. It was pretty nice, that time-share thingy. Better than I expected anyhow.

Samual Clemens (nom de plum, Mark Twain, yes that guy who wrote about Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn) apparently stayed in Angel's Camp for a few months on a personal pocket-mining adventure. He wrote a story about a jumping frog which was based in Angel's Camp. Now the town is a living, breathing tourist shrine to Mark Twain and the Jumping Frog's he made so famous.

There's even now an annual Frog Jumping Contest. Yap. They call it the Frog Jumping Jubilee. They put the frogs on a launch pad in a circle, then try to get them to jump in any direction. The one that jumps the farthest wins. I'm not making this up!

All in all, we had a good time. We went up to the Big Trees forest. We went to the Stanislaus river. We wandered around Angel's Camp and Murphy's and Columbia. We saw a play. We went wine tasting. We descended into the Moaning Cavern. We ate, drank and were merry.

Pictures ensue:

The Pine Cone of DOOM!

Big Pine Cone, Big Pine Cone Maker

Topher Viewing Trees

Mom Hiding in Trees

Serene Making the River Look Good

Father and Son Getting Ready To Empty Them Barrels

Mom and Dad Slightly Tipsy

Serene in My Hat Va-Va-Va-Voom!

"Video Games Ate My ..."

2006-07-28T15:37:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I accidentally gave a chubby Mexican kid who couldn't put more than 2 words together at a time $10 in quarters to play a video game in a laundrymat because his curvacious mom was wearing a low-cut top. It's ok because the quarters weren't mine.

Serene laughed for about 20 minutes then gave me a big snuggling hug that made me blush all the way up to the top of my bald head. I think she likes doing that, but I haven't figured out if it's because of the bright red blush or the snuggling.

. Topher

Whiteboards Whiteboards Everywhere But All "Do Not Erase"

2006-07-11T17:45:00.000-07:00

Ight, this just kills me. Are you ready for this? Heh heh.

Yeah, so, in this one building I frequent there is a conference room with a VLW (Very Large Whiteboard). On that whiteboard are all kinds of boxes and squiggles with little blurbs that must be significant to somebody scrawled near, around and over them. Standard fare for a VLW, don't you think?

Yeah, so, splattered over all of this scrawling are 20 or 30 post-it notes stuck to the whiteboard with more scrawlings on them. Yes, post-it notes stuck to the whiteboard.

And of course, just to add that finishing touch, a nice "Do Not Erase" in the middle.

Ha! That kills me.

JUMP!

2006-06-15T10:41:00.000-07:00

So, Leigh had an "Oh My God I Get To Go To Singapore For A Whole Month" party a few weeks back. As usual, she was in hot pursuit of jumping pictures of all sorts.

She's there now. In Singapore, I mean, wandering around, taking pictures, I dunno what all.

It seems I can't jump without making a really dorky face.

My Superman Moment. I FLEW! For about 1/3rd of a second.

Katie and Serene performing the Kick Out and Bonk Heads Amidst Raucous Laughter Jump.

"Yeah. I'm coo. So coo. I'm gonna land right here."

Cutest. Thing. EVAR!

This Honky White Boy

2006-06-14T16:17:00.000-07:00

I often refer to myself as a "Honky White Boy." Thus, my ass is, quite understandably, often quiped as my "Honky White Ass."

I attribute my fond embracement of my Honkiness to my father. See, my dad was born a poor white boy in Texas, working the farms and praising the Lord. I guess you learn to value those unique qualities that get you razed in some circles, because no matter how much we teased him, he has never lost his fondness for cowboy boots. (Though we have managed to get them gallon hats toned down to a fedora or a John Deere cap.) And he often referred to himself as "just a poor honky white boy."

So there I am, thirty-something years along in life, thinking I'm the definition of "Honkiness." I'm sitting in some cheesey rice place (that is to say, a place which serves rice covered in cheese) under the Petronas Twin Towers in Kuala Lumpur, a happy honky white boy. My oh-so-lovely girlfriend, a Chinese-Malaysian who speaks English better than many Americans, points out a table of rather loud and racous Chinese and says, "See them, they're all Honky's."

"Ruhr?" I elloquently grunted. "They're what?"

She giggled, "We call them Honky's because they're from Hong Kong."

And there I was, amazed again at how ego-centric I so often am, and realizing that Americans often are. Which, of course, made me realize that I'm the definition of "American." ... Woe.

Yeah. For those of you thinking about elk, burritos and other such things, just keep on thinking.

Smile :) Summarized

2006-06-09T18:21:00.000-07:00

Alright. Enough of my babbling. The short of this whole smile business: The single, most impactful, most significant thing you can do to make you a better person is to smile. Smile to be pretty, smile to be smart, smile to get girls and smile for your heart.

Smile :) part seven: Live

2006-06-09T18:14:00.000-07:00

They say laughter is the best medicine. Well it may not be the best, we have some pretty good stuff these days, but still. Did you know that laughter actually boosts the human immune system?

After exposure to humor, there is a general increase in activity within the immune system, including an increase in the number and activity level of natural killer cells that attack viral infected cells and some types of cancer and tumor cells, an increase in activated T cells (T lymphocytes) [...], an increase in the antibody IgA (immunoglobulin A), which fights upper respiratory tract insults and infections, [... and it keeps going!]

[ source: Holistic Online ]

The Archives of Internal Medicine recently published a study by a team of Dutch researches which found that being optimistic significantly reduced the risk of demise by heart disease in men. A blurb from a brief of the report:

Among men ages 64 to 84 who were free of cardiovascular disease and cancer, those who consistently looked at the bright side of life and had generally positive expectations had a 55% lower risk for cardiovascular mortality compared with gloomy pessimistic men.

[ source: MedPage Today ]

"Just the facts, Ma'am."

How To Be A Sexy Man

2006-06-05T14:33:00.000-07:00

Gentlemen, I've learned a secret. Not just any secret. I've learned a secret that gets girls HOT. There's no ingestion of any pharmecueticals of any sort involved here and no shrubries, herberies or highly concentrated powders. It has nothing to do with chocolate or diamonds, the number of cylinders your truck has, or the size of your... hands.

Girls LOVE it, they actually think it's SEXY (I'm not exaggerating here) when a guy washes their dishes!

So there we were at this party in Seattle this past weekend. There were several women there. One particular guy, a guest, kept ending up in the kitchen washing dishes. I said, "You know, I've heard that girls think one of the sexiest things a guy can do is her dishes."

The girlfriend of this guy suddenly appeared at his elbow, "Oh no," she said, "Don't you go doing my dishes for me. Those are my dishes."

I gotta admit, I was a bit confused. So out I went to the main room. In a nice loud voice I said, "I've heard that girls like it when a guy does the dishes for her. Is that true?"

Every woman in that room got all bright-eyed and perky. "Oh that's so hot," they said. One girl piped in, "Oh, and mowing the lawn... soooo hot!"

I know what you think. You think maybe they were just using a nice little psychological trick to get their guys to do a few chores around the house, right? Heh. Yeah maybe, but I'd bet if you were to conduct your own little empiricle study you will find a direct correlation between doing the dishes and doing the girl.

I accept PayPal donations.

Smile :) part six: Toothy Dating

2006-05-31T16:52:00.000-07:00

Again, the most consistent advice given by guys who are good with women to guys who aren't: relax and smile. Oh, but what's more: make her smile.

Don Diebel, publisher of a self-proclaiming newletter on dating, says, "Single women love a man with a good sense of humor. If you can make her laugh, she will really be attracted to you."

Tip #3 in the Top 6 Dating Tips To Help You Date Women And Succeed At It! at EzineArticles quips, "If you can make her laugh half your battle is already won."

I think there's really no mystery here: People like to laugh. Not only that but they like to share their laughter too. In a dating environment, these two things work together quite well to form and strengthen attractions. Of course having a good sense of humor in dating is no guarantee of anything, but if things don't work out at least you got a laugh out of it.

I almost stepped on a hummingbird!

2006-05-22T10:52:00.000-07:00

I was just walking around the building in which I work. It's something I do sometimes on nice days to keep my brain from getting too irradiated from the 3 monitors which bombard it with all those speeding photons throughout the day.

Walking through the foliage between the one parking lot and the other, there was suddenly something flopping around right where I was about to plunk my foot. I'm proud to say that I didn't scream like a girl! It was really more of a man's scream.

Anyhow, so there was this cute little green hummingbird flopping around like it had a broken wing. I crouched down and looked at it. It looked at me, then flopped again.

I'm sure there's something sage to say about this little incident, but the thing my simple little mind keeps spiraling back on is: I almost stepped on a hummingbird!

I'm pretty sure it didn't really have a broken wing. I could be wrong, in which case I must wonder if the beak would irritate the cat's stomach. At any rate, I left it there to flop for the next poor soul to wander through.

. Topher

Smile :) part five: Smiling for Profit

2006-05-17T10:22:00.000-07:00

The most consistent advice given by self-help professionals around the world on how to interact with other people in any given situation is to smile.

A great quote by Henry Miller:

When you speak to people -- smile. It is a wonderful thing when you meet someone and they just instinctively smile and say "I am mighty glad to know you." There is power in a smile. It is one of the best relaxation exercises of which I know.

"Mighty glad!" Love that.

Go to any career advising site and look up their interviewing tips and tricks or whatever similar. They'll have it listed right there, just like CareerOne in Australia:

On the way to the interview, walk tall and smile. Strangers will smile back at you and the receptionist at the interview firm will be nice to you. By the time you hit the interview, you'll feel good.

The short of it: It is profitable to smile.

Smile :) part four: Pictures Don't Lie

2006-05-10T16:15:00.000-07:00

Say, "Cheeeeeeeeze."

Yes, it's true! You can be more photogenic just by smiling. Look at this:

Now look at this:

I think the evidence speaks for itself on this one.

The Ghost In The Men's Room

2006-05-08T11:47:00.000-07:00

The building in which I work has all automatic bathrooms. Like at the airport. You walk up to the toilet, do your thing and walk away. It flushes after you. You walk up to the sink, wave your hands under the faucet and it turns on. Wave your hands under the soap thingy, wave them again with a flourish and you might get some soap out.

Of course, then you have to touch the door handle to get out, spreading germs and contamination to every single person in one foul step. How can we live in such filth?! But nevermind that for now.

So, there I was just this very morning, standing there doing my thing all alone. Suddenly the urinal next to me flushed. I looked over wide-eyed as it drained it's contents and refilled. Then one of the sink faucets turned on. I looked behind me at the sink; nobody was there. I finished up quickly, took my own turn at the sink and headed back to my cubical muttering under my breath about haunted office buildings and bathroom necromancy.

. Topher

Smile :) part three: Sing-along

2006-05-02T17:50:00.000-07:00

Alright, so enough with my antics already. Let's get down to business. I think you've already figured out what I'm trying to say, "Smile." The defiant among you might respond with a flippant, "Why should I?"

I could just say it makes me feel good if you smile, but we all know that Copernicus was wrong, that each of our respective universes really does center upon ourselves. So what I think really isn't much of a motivator for you. Instead, let me ask you a few questions. We can all sing-along the answer.

Do you want to be more photogenic? Smile.
Do you want to get a new job? Smile.
Do you want to better success in your dating life? Smile.
Do you want to be healthier? Smile.

Smile :) part two: Attitude Is To The Bone

2006-04-28T09:24:00.000-07:00

I have this particular friend. He was always willing to appreciate the beauty around us in all shapes and sizes, if you know what I mean (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).

He had a rare and peculiar wisdom. One might even call it obscure at times. But on one particular day when his wisdom was more obvious, a woman passed him by. The woman was gorgeous by our American standards. Lovely eyes... blond hair styled oh-so-right... with those well-proportioned... hands! (What did you think I was going to say?!) But she had this scowl on her face that could crack open a bank vault. This wise man turned to another friend of mine and said, "Beauty is skin deep; Attitude is to the bone."

Personally, I think he was quoting a song.

Smile :) part one: A Better Me

2006-04-24T17:37:00.000-07:00

I'm not a bad person. Really. Well, ok, I might have a few moments of evil chuckling at the sight of a cat being chased by a cute little rotweiler, but that's only because I know the cat won't get caught. Probably.

But I want to be better. I want to be one of those people who everybody is happy to see. I want to be one of those people who light up the room when they walk in, one of those people who looks happy even in those strangely lit surprise pictures. You know the ones I mean, those pictures taken when you were busy minding your own business picking the nuts out of a brownie, pretending you understand what auntie Jane is blabbing on about when you mother suddenly yells your name causing you to look around only to be blinded by the flash of her camera as she memorializes that precious moment for all eternity.

And I think I've found the secret. It's almost too slight a thing to believe it could be so key. In fact, it almost feels like one of those dream ideas that seems so great while you're asleep... but no, this one is real. I've tried it, tested it, proved it. It's surprising sometimes, but it works.

Just smile.

Mango Tortilla Chips: Huh?!

2006-04-03T15:03:00.000-07:00

We're a small crew at the place I'm working nowadays. There are only 8 of us on the R & D team. We sit in a sort of bull-pen type area, all around the edges.

In the middle of our bull-pen is a table with a bunch of snacks on it. We buy bags of chips and crackers and trail mixes and what-have-you and throw them all on the table to share.

At some point over the weekend a bag of Mango Tortilla Chips has magically appeared. Yes, you heard me correctly, Magically appeared. It must have been magical because nobody is admitting to bringing them. And yes, you heard me correctly, Mango Tortilla Chips.

It was a few hours before anybody got up the nerve to open the bag.

If I can take a moment here to reflect: After spending some time in Southeast Asia I can honestly say I've had some very delicious savory mango-based dishes, like chicken in a mango sauce, and a fantastic mango chutney. And I can certainly imagine a yummy mango salsa type dish. Mmm. This is making my mouth water.

But mango corn tortilla chips just sounds wrong. Wrong. Indeed, it tastes wrong too. It's a strange combination of undefined sweet overlaying otherwise plain corn tortillas. Even as a novelty, it's pretty weak.

The Dog in the Bay

2006-03-23T16:09:00.000-08:00

There we were strolling along the bay at Seal Point Park. There was a couple down by the water with their 2 black labrador retrievers. The man was throwing a big honking stick out into the bay, and one of the dogs was plunging into the water after it, swimming all the way out to it and dragging it all the way back to shore.

For those of you who don't know I have a dog, a cross between a black lab and a boxer. Chip is a beautiful mutt with a fantastic temperment. He's a mid-sized dog but he's a bit on the beefy side, weighing in at about 70 pounds. He still thinks he can fit in my lap. And he loves to chase down thrown tennis balls.

But I'm pretty sure that if I threw a tennis ball into the bay he'd look up at me with those big brown doggie eyes and say, "Now what'd you go and do that for?"

He'd try to find a way, though, because... well... he's a dog. He'd go right up to the edge of the water and look at it, maybe test it to see if it really was wet. Then he'd run over to another spot and check there. And after a few times he'd look up at me and say, "I can't get to it. It's out there in all that water."

And after a while, I think we'd go home sans one tennis ball.

One

2006-03-22T12:15:00.000-08:00

We had just finished polishing off a stir-fry dish with some rice. We have rice a lot these days. I guess that happens when you live with an Asian woman.

"Is there any more rice?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, "One."

"One?" I echoed, not quite sure I'd heard correctly.

"One," she repeated looking intently at a single grain of rice on her plate.

The Bondage of Thought

2006-03-16T13:12:00.000-08:00

I ran across this phrase in a book the other day:

The funniest thing about time is when it doesn't.

I must have re-read that line 20 times. It's on of those linquistical twists which feel good to say, have an elloquent flavor and even sound like they must be profound... but just elude the grasp of the brain like a squirmy, wiggly, slimy fish flopping around trying to get back into the water.

In fact, I don't think that phrase even belongs in a brain. It's a phrase which cannot be contained. It cannot be confined to the prison cell of one's limited rationalizing ego-centric intellect. It blongs out there, in the free, in the wild, where no constraints of comprehension can bind it to reality.

Because to comprehend something is to shackle it to this world. Take a thought, formulate a phrase that describes that thought, conscribe that phrase to paper, and you have just chained that thought. Everytime somebody reads those glyphs and comprehends the thought they represent, they reinforce the bonds which cleave that thought to us. They enforce the bondage of thought.

And that's my thought for the day.

. Topher

PS: The book was Yendi by Steven Brust, a fun read for those who enjoy a good sarcastic fantasy.

So Much So Much -- The Recap

2006-03-15T21:50:00.000-08:00

Oy! So much has happened! Of course, it's been so long, so I guess that's only to be expected.

Ok, so a quick synopsis:

I moved to Malaysia. (Actually, all yall should already know this since I was writing about it for a while.) I had a great time living there, and really enjoyed the local culture. I lived in Kuala Lumpur, which is a nice big city. I lived in a high-rise building, on the 20th floor. To go to work I walked through 2 malls and an underground light-rail station, then went up in another high-rise building to the 34th floor.

You remember that movie with Catherine Zeta-Jones (drool) and that guy where they jumped off the top of these two huge towers and parachutted down, as part of some grander scheme of course... That was Kuala Lumpur. Those towers are the Petronas Twin Towers. I could see those from my living room window.

Over time, my job degraded me into a puddle of drooling stress. So, about eight months later I moved back to California. It wasn't my choice, but it was by far the best possibile thing for me right then. Well, getting out of that cesspool of a job was, anyhow. I do miss Malaysia, though.

And here we are today! That wasn't so bad, huh? Yeah, ok, I glossed over all kinds of good stuff, but maybe that will just have to be fodder for a future post! Cheers.

. Topher

Liza

2005-05-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

You have not lived until you've seen a Malay Liza Minnelli Look-Alike.

. Topher

Napkins

2005-05-11T17:09:00.000-07:00

It seems that Malaysians are afraid of napkins. Almost every non-western influenced resturant (which means any place with Good Food) does not provide napkins or tissues with the meal. Perhaps they think that their country will become a swampland of partially used servlets, with bits of thin white paper smudged with greasey lip marks being blown around the palm oil plantations by a brisk tropical breeze.

I have learned to carry a little pocket pouch of tissues with me everywhere I go. What insanity!

. Topher

Malaysian Pizza

2005-04-27T01:49:00.000-07:00

You know that jarring stumble that happens when you get to the bottom of the stairs one step sooner than you expected? Yeah, so...

There's this little stall place nearby that makes pizza. It's a nice looking place in a mall, not like the roadside stalls, or the car trunk stalls. And they make the dough right there in front of you, so you can see that it should be good.

After passing by it several times in favor of more local cuisine, I finally tried it. I ordered a chicken sausage pizza with pineapple on it. Apparently all their pizzas have pineapple on them.

The faltering step, though? The "chicken sausage" turned out to be balogne.

I staggered for a moment.

Dish Soap

2005-03-20T15:49:00.000-08:00

Remember that time back in college when you ran out of soap but you really needed a shower? You know the time I'm talking about, right? The time when you used the shampoo because it was all you had.

Yeah. Remember that one time when you were out of shampoo AND soap at the same time? Hoo! And the only soapy type thing you could find in the house was the dish soap, so you showered with the dish soap?

Heh heh heh.

Why am I bringing this up now, you ask? Uhm... No reason.

. Topher

Ee-Eye-Ee-Eye-Oh

2005-03-05T19:14:00.000-08:00

Old Mac Donald had a farm
Ee-Eye-Ee-Eye-Oh
And on tha-

"Mommy, what does Ee-Eye-Ee-Eye-Oh mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

And on tha-

"But it's in the song."

"Yes, but it doesn't mean anything."

"Then why is it in the song?"

"It just is, ok?"

"But what does it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything at all. It's just in the song, Christopher. We just sing it."

And on that far-

"Why do we sing something that doesn't mean anything?"

"It's just a song. Are you going to sing it or not?!"

And on that farm he had a...

Watcha Gonna Do When They Come For You

2005-03-01T14:43:00.000-08:00

My neighbor's son got arrested the other day.

I didn't know what was going on. I was trying to take a dump. (You know... poop.) I had created a nice pleasant environment, one that would encourage the relaxation one must attain to complete such tasks. I had music on in the background and a good book in my lap. But my dog kept growling and barking like a raving, rabid, mad... uh... dog, completely disrupting my tranquility, and thus the job I was endeavering to complete. Chip doesn't growl and bark aggressively very often, but when he does it sounds like he's about to rip right through the very fabric of reality to get at his quary.

Oh, I tried to salvage the situation. I tried to calm the dog from my throne so I could get back to business. Obviously there was no chance that would work. So there we were, dog going nuts, Topher peering around the corner of the bathroom door with his pants around his ankles, several cops in front of my house grouped around the hand-cuffed guy. At the time the whole scene didn't seem very funny to me.

Anyhow... Yeah, so the 19-year old son of my neighbor, who has been living in her garage since I moved in, who often has lots of people over for freestyle rap sessions and general carousing, was busily getting arrested. By the time I got cleaned up and to the window to spy like a good busy-body neighbor, they were pretty much done with the talking part of the show. They shoved him in the back of the car and drove off.

A few hours later I saw that his sister was out on the front porch having a smoke, so I moseyed over to get the story. She tried to tell me what had happened. She used all english words, and I din't understand any of what she said. It was bit like she was talking in Cockney. (Don't know what that is? The wikipedia knows.)

I wish I could remember what she said, though. It'd be a fun study in San Jose Inner City Slang. Anyhow, she stared at me for a few minutes after she reached the end of her schpiel. And I stared blankly back. So she finally said, "Oooo-kaaaay," and laughed.

"White boy," I said laughing with her. So then she restated everything in simple white-boy terms so even I could understand. He was allegedly had a little side business going dealing drugs (I wasn't clear about what drugs). Actually, I don't think he had a job, so I guess it was more of a "main staple." And he also apparently was high when they picked him up.

Yap. I live next door to a drug dealer. WOOHOO!

Good times.

. Topher

Belch!

2005-02-22T22:02:00.000-08:00

Do you burp after lunch? Of course you do.

I don't mean big loud obnoxious blats, or reciting poetry in a burping rumble, or anything like that (though I'm not exclusing it either). I just mean: ope, got a little bubble -- aaaaah.

Yeah, so then you're surrounded with a little cloud of fumes (a rather fitting word, methinks). People near you notice but politely pretend not to, while they step away for a moment. Or maybe they say, "Oooph! What'd you have for lunch?!" as they step away.

But sometimes you can fend off such comments by making one yourself, "Mmmm. Garlic and onion pizza. I love those little reminders." Or, "Curry chicken! Better the 2nd time around." But you have to know, you're not fooling anybody.

Or you can let it out then try to blow it away from the populated areas. Just be prepared for people to look at you strangely. And for the paint to peel off the wall you just blew it towards. And for cows to die in Coalinga. Even if you blew it the other way, eventually it will reach them.

. Topher

Malaysian Mayhem

2005-01-19T01:30:00.000-08:00

I'm in Malaysia. (Malaysia, Baybee!)

I have every intention of writing about it my Malaysian Mayhem blog. Really, I do.

. Topher

The Beauty and the Stink

2005-01-05T19:11:00.000-08:00

I posted this on the MySpace blog a long time ago. And it still makes me laugh my ass off. So now I'm propagating it here!

She commanded my attention as soon as she walked into the room. How could she not with those voluptous hips under that floor-length jean skirt, that long hair flowing down her back, and those lovely lips quirked up at the corners? She new I was riveted by her and she made the most of it, using that wicked hair-toss that just makes long hair look like it's a flowing river. I think she was enjoying the obvious effect she was having on me. She tossed some envelope or something equally mundane in my lap, turned around with a flip of her hair that left the scent of flowers wafting over me, and walked back out again.

I was still watching that skirt walk away from me when the stench hit me. I didn't realize at first what it was. The stink, I mean. It was disorienting. It was wrong. It didn't belong there. It was from some other world, some other plane of existence, not the one where that beautiful thing had just teased me into a stupor, but one of public porta-potty's on the side of the road in the middle of August. It took me another few moments to associate that stench with its source. Her ass. Yes, that sexy butt I had just watched dumb-founded as it walked away from me stank to high heaven. Did she take a crap right there in the skirt?

I was marred. I was scarred. I was distraught. What did this mean? How could this be? It haunted my dreams at night. First the fresh flowers of her hair teasing, then the stench of smeared shit smacking me in the face. I would wake up holding sweat covered sheets over my nose. I could never watch her strut her stuff again, as much as I loved her voluptous form, without a phantom whiff of that scent tickling my nostrils.

But it made me think: Boys and Girls, how do you keep the shit off your fine collective asses? Paper doesn't always do it. What's your trick?

. Topher

An Example of Gravity

2005-01-04T20:27:00.000-08:00

You know something I really hate? When I'm standing in a public restroom, doing business with a urinal, mid-transaction, and my pants start falling down.

Grrrr.

. Topher

My First Date with Serene

2005-01-01T18:50:00.000-08:00

I was getting set up and I din't even know it. Or at least, they were planning to set me up. It didn't quite work out the way they had planned though. I met the girl they were trying to set me up with all by myself, started hanging out with her all by myself, and asked her out all by myself.

Her laugh captivated me. It was delightful, musical, a sound that joy should make. And it seemed she was always laughing. Or smiling profusely. I think I knew her a whole week, going to lunch and dinner with a group of people almost every night, before I saw her without a smile on her face.

So when I finally asked her out on a date, I knew it had to be something with lots of laughter. A play, I thought. That would be perfect. A comedy of some sort. With cleverness and laughter. But that particular weekend there was a strange vacuum of plays in the greater San Jose area.

Funniness! I thought to myself frantically, I need funniness! Where can I find funniness? I looked for other live shows, maybe the Blue Men or something. I looked for musical acts that might be funny. I even considered going to a (shudder) movie.

Then I found it. The Improv. Yes, The Improv. The one on Comedy Central. Turns out there's a one of those just a few blocks from my house. No kidding! What's more? Sinbad was playing there that weekend and that weekend only. It was exactly what I was looking for!

It was a wonderful evening, pretty much the most perfect First Date I've ever had. I took the afternoon off work and made dinner, then went to fetch her from work. We dined and chit-chatted, then headed over to the Improv for a smattering of Sinbad. We held hands and laughed so hard our faces hurt. Had some fruit and chocolate, then I took her home hoping all the while for a chance to see her the next day.

And that was my first date with Serene.

. Topher

The Day of Arg!

2004-11-26T22:57:00.000-08:00

The wind was blowing a cold wind even though the day was sunny and clear. That wind leached away any hope of warmth from my bald and bare head. I hustled out to my truck, to the cab that offered protection from the wind.

It usually takes a few tries to start my truck on cold days. I think if you could know the exact amount of gas-peddle pumping it needed, you could start it up the first time every time. But there's no way to tell if it's going to need 5 or 25 pumps of the peddle. And if you pump it too much you flood the engine. So, I pump it 5 times then turn the key. The engine cranks a few times, and if it's gonna start it'll start right up. If it doesn't, 5 more times, turn the key to crank the engine. 5 more, turn.

It's a pattern I've used for 10 years with that beast of a truck. But on that sunny, clear, windy, cold day I pumped the gas peddle 5 times and turned the key and got nothing but a click. The engine didn't even try to turn over.

I checked the lights; they looked strong. So I thought maybe the battery terminals just needed to be cleaned. My tools are in the garage. The garage door is an old-fashioned hanging sliding door, like a sliding closet door. So when I say it came off the track and slammed down on the ground, I don't mean that it fell over. Nope. It stayed completely upright as it hit the ground, held in place by the track guards.

Once I got done cussing out the door, the garage, the driveway, the gate next to the garage, and anything else that seemed even remotely connected to the garage in any way (except my bike; there is no cussing out the bike) I managed to wrestle the door back onto its track. I really wanted to kick and punch the door a few times, just to remind it that I could. Somehow I refrained.

I got my tools and started working the battery cables off the terminals. It's a slow process of wiggle-twist-pry. The positive side seemed very easy when I wiggle-twist-pried it and the cable popped right up. But once it came free, it wouldn't move anymore. It was very strange. It took my brain a few moments to have the thought that maybe something was wrong. Once that thought made it into my head though, the realization of what had happened was right behind it. The case of the battery had cracked around the terminal post, and the entire terminal post had come loose and was sliding up and down.

Now I had a real problem. Batteries go boom. And when they do, it's acid everywhere. The battery cable was still fused with corrosion to the terminal post, but I could no longer wiggle-twist-pry it, because the whole terminal was loose. After more cursing at the battery, corosion in general, the wind for being so cold, the battery cable, the terminal post, and all things acidic, I finally found a way to wedge the post into the battery casing so that it wouldn't move so much. That allowed me to wiggle-twist-wiggle-twist, but not to pry. Still, eventually I got the cable free... for real this time.

Needless to say, I had to get a new battery. And I did. And I put it in. And I cleaned all the corosion off the cables before attaching them to this new battery. And my truck still would not start. I didn't even try to pull out the starter solenoid on this day. But this time, it was clear to me....

...This was the Day of Arg!

. Topher

La Cucaracha, La Cucaracha

2004-11-15T16:44:00.000-08:00

So there I was, riding my trusty steed in to work. I was only a few blocks from my house when I pulled up behind an old custom van. You know the kind I mean? With mini-blinds in the windows, plush carpeting, a leather couch-cum-foldout bed as the back seat and shiney disco dingle-balls hanging from the christmas-light-framed rear-view mirror... Ok, maybe it didn't have a christmas-light-framed rear-view mirror... And maybe that keen 25 year-old setup was a bit run-down.

Anyhow, this custom van had a whole front-yard's worth of leaves on its roof all trapped in place by the once-chromed luggage rack. As I was sitting there, my bike making a nice rumble under me, I thought, "As soon as that thing starts moving, all those leaves are going to blow right off the top of that van and right into my face."

I was busy being slightly annoyed when I noticed a black beetle-like form crawl out from that resevoir of leaves and so a scuttle-run across the back of the custom van. Yes, ladies and gentlement, there was a blatta orientalis, a cucaracha, a cockroach nesting in those leaves.

The light turned green, the van accelerated, I followed unable to deviate from my foreshadowed fate. Sure enough, the leaves started blowing around, swirling up, around and down onto me and my bike. And sure enough, moments later a small black dot flew off the back of the van directly towards me.

All my years of training and practical experience in kicked in. I did several things simultaneously. 1) I screamed in disgust. 2) I brought my left fist up to my ear and dodged my head to the right in a classic martial-arts shoulder block. 3) I swerved my bike to the right in a modified push-push; I only had one hand on the handlebar, so I did a push-pull instead. Then I spent the next several miles flicking every spec of anything off my jacket and jumping at every wisp of air that felt like it might be crawling up my neck.

I do not know the fate of that cockroach. But I do hope that it's future (if it still lives) is in no way related to mine.

. Topher

But You Never Post

2004-11-13T10:32:00.000-08:00

I decided last week that I need an X-Box. Yes, I said, "Need." Truly!

See, I was planning to use a Linux-based MythTV box as my PVR, juke-box, and all-around house system. But see... that plan isn't working out so well.

Building that box has turned out to be rather expensive. And getting all the hardware working together is a rather large project, even with the leaps and bounds the Linux community have made in making stuff Just Work over the past few years.

I don't have a video feed (cable or dish), and am really not intending to get one at this point. I can get everything I want to see on DVD, either renting or buying, and even buying them it's cheaper than getting a dish or cable.

The game support for my MythTV box will always be lacking, and that's something I've always enjoyed.

So... I need an X-Box. I hate Microsoft. But I need an X-Box.

Oh! And I started a new blog to talk about beliefs. It's the Hunt for Blue February. I don't expect to be able to have any more time to write in that one than I do in this one... but I din't want to muddle this light-hearted little ditty with such heavy subjects.

. Topher

Where Did You Learn The Word Orgy?

2004-11-07T20:56:00.000-08:00

I was young very young the first time I heard the word Orgy. I don't remember how young, but prolly around 4 or 5 years old. I was in church at the time. Through some odd fluke of acoustics and my child's attention span, I actually heard something the pastor said. And in that something the pastor used that little word. He was talking about something horrible and evil, a sin.

Of course, I didn't know what an orgy was, let alone why it would be a dark evil sin. But I was a good kid. I knew what to do when there was the threat of an unguarded sin looming on the horizon of my life. I went straight to my parents!

As we were leaving the church, I said, "Mom, what's an orgy?"

"What?!" she exclaimed as only a full-blooded Italian mother could. She used that same tone she had used when she caught me stealing candy, "Where did you hear that?"

The confident courage I had mustered to ask the question was flooded out by a surge of fear. Whatever this orgy thing was, it was so bad that I wasn't even supposed to know the word existed! Ooooh, I was in trouble now! But what could I do? I had already opened the topic up for a general discussion with one of the two most authoritative people in my life. There was nothing to do but succumb to the interogation.

I managed to find my voice enough to answer her, "In church just now." My voice quavered a little.

"Oh," she said simply. Then, "Ask your father."

It was strange. All that attention she had been focusing on me, on digging out the roots of my transgressions suddenly vanished. No, not vanished, it inverted. Instead of directing all her divining attention on me, she was actually trying to divert my attention away from her. And I, being but a child, had no choice but to be diverted.

"Dad?" I said as we were walking out to the car, "What's an orgy?"

"What?" he said comparitively calmly. "Where did you hear that?" he demanded with a calm intensity that was somehow even more intimidating than my mother's boiling exclamations.

"Uh," I stammered, "In church."

"You heard that word in church?" he asked incredulously, clearly not buying my story, which is really not surprising considering how often my stories were much more real in my head than out.

"Yes. From the pastor," I said quickly, then quoted to him the phrase that the pastor had used.

"Oh," he said. Really, he should have been impressed at how closely I had been paying attention, and how clearly I had remembered the sermon! Instead he seemed a little concerned that now he actually had to answer the question. He put on his best educational tone, then plunged right in, "An orgy is when several people all get together and have sex."

"At the same time?" I asked incorrigibly.

"Yes, at the same time," he answered stiffly.

And that's the story of how I learned the word Orgy from church. Well where did you first hear the word Orgy?

. Topher

My New Snapshot Taker

2004-10-20T15:54:00.000-07:00

Wow! Am I ever a bad photographer! I mean, horrid! Really bad!

I finally got a digital camera, since the ex-wife kept the "joint" digital camera we had. Oh, I can't really complain about that, seeing as how it was a gift from her daddy and all. But really, it's amazing how much stuff ended up in her hands. But I wasn't waxing bitter about my divorce, no sir! I was telling you about my camera!

It's a DSC-P93. Here's Sony's Buy Me Buy Me info site.

But really, I was talking about what a horrible photographer I am. I always thought that the art of photography was basically pretty simple. To get really good pictures, you had spend lots of money and understand how to work all this expensive equipment you just bought. But really almost anybody could do it. I just figured that point-and-shoot pictures are never that good because it's all automated and the algorithms to make everything work really aren't that great.

Well, it turns out that I'm wrong. Fancy that. Me! Wrong! Pah! Yeah, seems to be true though. See -- my camera is actually pretty good about doing mostly the right thing in most circumstances. I just don't know what I'm doing with it!

My friend Leigh, though, is actually a pretty good photographer. So, right after getting my fancy little camera (which I've named Clopson) I had a little dinner party and invited a few people over. Among the people were this adorable little family, and Leigh, of course. (It's from "cyclops" and "sony" if you really must know -- now pay attention!) At one point I tried to take a picture of this cute little family because they were all bunched up and looking... yeah, cute. I took a couple shots of them then handed the camera to Leigh while I ran off and did something else. And she took a single shot of them.

I was reviewing the pictures the next day. My shots all sucked. Her one shot was fanfuggingtastic. Same camera, same point of view, same lighting. I'll add the pics in here when I get a chance.

So... I apparently have a lot to learn about taking decent pictures. Yap.

. Topher

Xephyrus Xephyrus Everywhere!

2004-10-08T16:15:00.000-07:00

How did my handle suddenly become so popular??? Apparently there are a couple other people who also call themselves Xephyrus floating around out there now.

One of them seems to have a crush on that cute little blondie tennis player, Anna Kuawhozziewhatsit. Another seems to be an online game junkie, slapping his (or her) arm for a new injection of EverQuest or whatever the latest addiction is. Another apparently thinks he (or she) is a poet.

Of course, I think I'm a poet... so maybe that was me...

. Topher