Thursday, March 30, 2006


Did I mention I'm tired? And I mean tired. Maybe one of these days, when my brain doesn't feel like a pile of goo at the end of the day from the work/school/life super-combo, I'll be able to form a coherent post. In the meantime, my apologies.

Oh, one more comment just for kicks, regarding "Purple Monkey Dishwasher." My boy T-Rapper pointed out that the gibberish is to get the e-mail past the spam filter, which sounds logical, but what's curious is that I used to see the gibberish only because I keep my monitor on a light blue setting (as opposed to white; it's easier on my eyes), and I'd see the gibberish in white, "hidden" text. So I'm still a little curious as to why, if they at least used to make small attempts to make said e-mails look somewhat reasonable, they are just throwing caution to the wind and now flagrantly spewing pure nonsense? It's pretty pathetic when lazy internet scammers turn from lazy deadbeats to really lazy deadbeats. Get a life, assholes.

"Force Ten Gale."

Those three words, featured in "Scatterbrain" the song, were whirling around my head all day today. It's unbelievably windy outside. Walking outside at work today, I almost got knocked over by intermittent gusts. I just got back from playing tennis, and the racket almost blew out of my hand a few times. I've drawn a diagram for your viewing pleasure:

Purple Monkey Dishwasher.

I get at least 4 e-mails per day containing "stock tips n' gibberish." The format:

1. Gibberish
2. A copied/pasted picture of a stock that I HAVE TO BUY NOW.
3. More gibberish

An example of said gibberish:

"whodunit teakettle as cheese marquee in pocketful
covers, singsong a that align American Indian!!!
legalize to was maid of honor a acceptability"

…It goes on and on. Attention internet idiots: not only do I not want your BS stock tips, but how am I going to be more inclined to act on them when you surround them with nonsense, only further bolstering my opinion that you are a completely insane? What’s even more depressing is that these freaks probably make money off these e-mails. Er…

conflagration fornication retaliation donkey antidisestablishmentarianism flux inverted send scatterbrain all your money hulk dysfunction eating headphone cash or checks accepted

Wednesday, March 29, 2006


Article here.

"This is a new take on pro-life. Pro-lifers normally promote bloody images of abortion. This is the image of birth," Daniel Edwards, the artist, says.

If this is supposed to glorify birth, then why not depict the position a woman actually assumes when she’s giving birth? This looks like Britney is about to get a piece of Kevin Federline’s hot sausage. Am I the only one that sees this?! She’s clenching a bear rug, for God’s sake!!!

It’s times like this when I question the meaning of the word “art.” On one hand, the piece is obviously art in the strictest interpretation of the word, because the artist created something to make a statement. In this case, I think the piece was skillfully done as well.

However, when interpretations start getting overblown, I start getting disgruntled.

Everyone has seen the piece of “art” that is essentially a toilet. Just…a toilet. And that’s supposed to represent what – the oppression of defecation?

“I was inspired one night while taking a dump. As I watched my fat turds drop into the bowl, one by one, I felt them say, ‘I can’t believe he just drops me in that cold, white prison, and flushes me away like I’m nothing!’ This toilet is an expression of my love for my huge dumps. I flush you away, but it’s only because I care.”

So, "Monument to Pro-Life: The Birth of Sean Preston": pro-life? Not so much. I think Edwards just wanted to start some shit. And speaking of which, I think it’s time to incarcerate a few big ones...

Saturday, March 25, 2006

End of the Road.

...for this year, at least.

That was a high intensity game, but we were simply outplayed in OT. Plus, when the opponent's 300-lb monster truck nails a 3, it's a clear indicator you're in trouble.

I thought the Longhorns had a very respectable tournament, though, and they actually went one round further than I thought they would. Good work, guys.

'Till next year...

Friday, March 24, 2006

5 Things.

The preview for next Wednesday’s Lost revealed that 5 things from the next episode will blow our minds. Here are a couple different versions of what I think will happen:

1. Jack will be totally convinced that Henry isn’t one of the Others, and will let him go. On his way out the door, Henry will say “PWN3D!” (however you pronounce that) and then run away while muttering “muaaaahahahaha!” and twiddling his fingers.

2. Hurley will come to the revelation that since he’s so much richer than the other island inhabitants, he has to start walking around with a “crunk goblet.”

3. Locke, totally convinced that he’ll forever remain in Jack’s shadow, will return to Deltron-5.

4. Sawyer and Kate will make sweet, sweet love.

5. During 4, Sawyer will discover that indeed, Kate has a huge rod up her ass.


1. We’ll find out that Henry isn’t actually one of the others. However, Sayid will be convinced that he is, and that he’s indirectly responsible for Shannon’s death, and kill him.

2. During the commotion caused by 1, the gang totally forgets to enter “the numbers” into the computer. Locke makes a mad dash, but he’s too late.

3. During the commotion caused by 2, Sun will be kidnapped by the Others (for the baby)...

4. …Walt and/or Michael will do the kidnapping.

5. Finally, we’ll discover that indeed, Kate has a huge rod up her ass.

Thursday, March 23, 2006


58-58. This is ridiculous. I mean, WVU has hit what, 428 3-pointers since the beginning of the 2nd half? Fine, more like 7 or 8. But still. That's insane. It's like college basketball is the "who can be the streaky 3-pointer team" game. The 3-pointer is not a rarity, but an expectation. Sigh...

I've decided that Dick Enberg is a good commentator. If anything, it's because (ha! I think he just said WVU has 39 points off of 3's, out of 58 total points) I'm an avid tennis-watcher, and he does a great job during tennis matches, so it's surprising yet satisfying to hear him comment so competently for basketball games as well. At the beginning of the second half, I noticed that he actually calculated UT's shooting percentage in his head based on their field and 3-pointer attempts (my deduction is from the fact that he actually read the stats aloud and then said " that comes out to 33%"). I know this is no feat of myth and legend, but half the commentators we have to listen to on a regular basis (see: Brent Musburger) sound like total jackasses just reading the stats off a sheet.

Enough rambling for now, though. Time to curl up in the fetal position and continually panic until this game is over...


Watching the UT/WVU Game...

Holy shit. How many 3's is WVU going to hit in the first 5 minutes of the second half? COME ON!!!

"V for Vendetta"

V for Vendetta is a thinly-veiled commentary on the state of the nation by the Wachowski brothers of Matrix fame. It's also adapted from a graphic novel that I have not read. However, I'm glad I haven't; the movie rarely stands up to the quality of the original work, and frankly, I liked the movie. For one, you've got to love a movie where the hero is the beacon of eloquence, including an introduction with more v-words strung together than I've ever heard. Second, you've got to at least be intrigued by his dedication to his ideals, regardless of whether you agree with him or not. Third, it always helps to have Natalie Portman back in top form and away from "hold me like you did on Naboo" form. John Hurt is also fantastic as the fire-spitting chancellor.

Although I found the not-so-subtleties a bit over-the-top, I still thought the movie was a lot of fun, and recommend you check it out.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006



However, I cannot deny that now that I try to update Scatterbrain as often as possible, I can't help but wonder if people actually read it. As a result, Scatterbrain now features a Sitemeter so I can at least have the piece of mind that people read it on occasion. I have to admit, the tool is very cool. I think someone from Japan stumbled upon my blog once (first international visitor!); it was through clicking the "next blog" button at the top of a different, random blog they had been searching for.

Additionally, as the author of a blog named Scatterbrain, I've become a bit disgruntled that upon searching for "Scatterbrain," my blog didn't appear in any of the first 5 Google search result pages (and let's get real; if you're not on the first page, you're so uncool). In fact, I was taken aback by the fact that a different "Scatterbrain" blog popped up (page 3 or so), also hosted by Blogger, about celebrity gossip. My Father the Wise told me that I should try to cut down on the profanity, so (insert profanity here).

So, Scatterbrain is now going to begin a new quest to push itself up through the ranks of "Scatterbrain" searches. Here are a few different ways to type the word "Scatterbrain":


...Yeah, yeah, the gig's up, and I'm not very funny, but you don't have to actually raise your middle finger (while uttering profanity) at my blog! The nerve! Plus, this is such a complete ripoff of one of Chad's posts from a few months ago that I'm now hanging my head in shame (in retrospect, at least he provided a photo!) and hoping that he doesn't "unlink"me.



Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Quote of the Day.

What we've got here is... failure to communicate. Some men you just can't reach. So you get what we had here last week, which is the way he wants it... well, he gets it. I don't like it any more than you men. - "Cool Hand Luke"

One of the 4 key points to communicating effectively is knowing your audience. What can I do, then, when I do know my audience, and feel like they are about as receptive as a brick wall?

You walk into a bar and ask the bartender for a Jack and Coke. He says "we've got no Jack here." You say, "okay, how about a beer." "We've got no Jack here."

"Um...I must have made a mistake and was unclear. Can I have a beer?"

"Listen, buddy, I told you we have no Jack here. Just accept it!"



Today's "you've got to be kidding me" sight on the road: I'm in the left lane approaching a stoplight. As the stoplight draws near, I notice a car stopped in the right lane approximately 10 feet past the light. Cars are merging into the right lane accordingly. The light turns red just as I reach it, so I'm the first car in the left lane, and the stopped car is ten feet in front of me in the right lane.

Of course, I had assumed that said car was stalled, but on come the reverse lights, and the car starts backing up (!!!) toward the car beside me. This begs the question: had this person missed their left turn, and actually had the audacity to stop in the middle of the road, and was waiting to slowly back up in the middle of rush-hour traffic so that they could eventually make their precious left-hand turn?!? The light eventually turned green, and I passed by this person with a glance that rekindled Scatterbrain's declaration that once you're 75 years old, you need to take a driving test to stay on the road. I'm sure a lot of people will be driving well into their 90s, but many will not. And I won't even dignify the the bass-ackwards logic of "but people have to have a way to get around."

If you don't know what you're doing on the road any more, put the car keys down.

Yes, I'm aware of the fact that these statements probably refer to 50% of all drivers on the road, regardless of age, but you know what I mean...

Monday, March 20, 2006


A new Rob Zombie album comes out the 28th, so today I brought in White Zombie’s Astro-Creep 2000 to prepare myself.

If you like metal, and you’ve never heard "Electric Head, Pt. 1 (The Agony)," you’re missing out – big-time. It not only stands up as an amazing song on the album, but one of the best live songs I’ve ever seen…

“Perhaps you had better start from the beginning.”

Creepy laughter. Creepy organ sounds.

The sound of some sort of mechanical device that’s about to process you into a metal-maniac.

The drums. You know what’s coming…crank it up…you’ve got to hear it to believe it.

As a band that’s typically classified as “metal,” one of the coolest aspects of Zombie’s music is its swagger – despite the fact that it is hard music, most songs have a great beat. I’ve actually heard “More Human Than Human” played in a dance club before.

Additionally, you’ve got to admire someone that’s the antithesis of pre-packaged corporate filth. Zombie is an artist – it’s not just the music, he creates the artwork and directs the videos. Whether or not you like the final product, you’ve got to admit that he is extremely creative. On a side-note, he also gets bonus points for creating the first movie I’ve ever attended that had people walking out in disgust within minutes (House of 1,000 Corpses).

Support good music – go buy a White Zombie/Rob Zombie album.

Sunday, March 19, 2006


Monika and I just finished dinner, which was delicious.

Today marks 2 years from the day we met, which marks the 2 best years of my life. How did I end up with such an amazing girl? Beats me, but I'm not complaining.

To love and happiness...

(This is a picture from last year, but I like it, so that's what you get!)

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Playing Both Sides.

I lost earlier today. My opponent was ambidextrous. Not "sort of" ambidextrous, he literally hit wicked slice serves wide to both sides (that I had to step 3 feet off the side of the court to return). He even occasionally switched from righty to lefty between 1st and 2nd serves. Topspin, nasty slice shots, dropshots, rally shots, everything...both sides. If your jaw is dropped right now, so was mine. I couldn't find any rhythm.

That's all I have to say about it for now.

Last Night.

Before my match, I chatting with a couple guys about the #3 seed, who was on-court, who was the #2 seed in the last tournament I played, who I managed to beat in said tournament. When my name was called, it turned out I was playing against one of the guys I was chatting with - the other was his son.

One aspect of the older guys (I'm guessing mid-40s for this one) that never fails to amuse me are the "theatrical responses;" when I get mad, I sound mad. When this guy screwed up, it was followed by great reactions like "GUUHH--AAAAHHHHHHHNNNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!," only not really stated in a furious sort of way, more like a "hearty chuckle" sort of way. He was a very nice guy, though; typically all-smiles during changeovers, and liked to chat.

He was a pusher. And a really scrappy one, at that. Note: the definition of "scrappy" in my mind is really fast, and retrieves 1-2 "I cannot fucking believe he got that" balls per point. Interestingly, he hit to my forehand almost exclusively over the course of the match. This obviously annoyed me since I usually prefer my backhand, but it also has the dual effect of throwing off my rhythm, and I'm a rhythm player. If I receive 20 forehands in a row, and then a backhand, my backhand stroke feels "off" to me when the time comes. Also of note were my volleys, which somehow were at their best-ever last night. For one, I almost never volley; I'm a baseliner. In order to close out points last night, though, I was forced to hit ad-corner, deuce-corner, repeat that 3 or 4 times until he returned a shallower ball, then I'd pound an approach down the ad-side, which he'd slice back with his backhand (as I mentioned, he got to almost all of them), which I was sometimes able to put away with a volley, but oftentimes he'd get to the freaking putaway volley as well, and I'd have to hit an overhead to finish the point. As you can imagine, this was an exhausting process, and my opponent never ran out of energy.

It took 3 hours, but I managed to win, 3-6, 6-2, 6-4.

My next match is against the #2 seed at 1 p.m. Because it's raining right now and there are limited indoor courts available, I imagine that the tournament will be running behind schedule. I'll provide updates when they happen. Wish me luck!

The Double Whammy.

On the way home from work yesterday, Monika and I witnessed an idiot driving a suburban not only talking on his cell phone, but WRITING ON A NOTE PAD, placed on his steering wheel. As we approached a right-hand curve, Super-Dumbass managed to swerve over the center line into oncoming traffic a couple times, but failed to actually hit anyone. You can do it, buddy!

Friday, March 17, 2006


A slow, deliberate walk takes me from the fence to the baseline. I place my leading foot about an inch over the baseline because when I’m finished bouncing the ball (3 or 4 times typically), I pivot that foot about 45 degrees so that it will no longer touch the line. I typically toss the ball a good foot behind me, and a foot in front of me, and with a western grip I snap through the ball to maximize the kick. The amount of force I exert with my legs, and particularly my abs, are the bulk of the reason I get very sore, very fast, when playing matches. Finally, since the serve is the shot that harnesses the most explosive energy, it’s also the one that brutalizes my hand the most and creates the mine-field of calluses. My thumb is in pretty good shape right now, but I’ve bought a box of heavy-duty band-aids for preventative maintenance, just in case I start to get a blister.

I’m still sore from last weekend, actually, so it’ll be interesting to see how the body holds up this weekend. It’s supposed to rain continuously, so I predict massive amounts of wasted time as the tournament coordinators shuffle between running the tournament and letting the club members hoard the majority of time on the indoor courts.

I’ll let you all know how it goes…

Thursday, March 16, 2006

"We need Cheetos - NOW!"

Article here.

"The 23-year-old Roddick, who finished 2003 at No. 1 and now is ranked No. 3, may simply be trying too hard.

"It's just weird because, I don't know, I used to hit for a half-hour and then go eat Cheetos the rest of the day, come out and drill forehands," he said.

"Now I'm really trying to make it happen, being professional, really going for it -- and I miss my Cheetos.""

Since I'm a player that's also had my share of "playing against myself" at times, I feel for Andy. Particularly because he's the centerpiece of American tennis at this point, he feels a lot of pressure. I do think that there is a lot of merit to the argument that he's trying too hard and taking everything too seriously, though. The last time I saw Roddick play was in Houston for the Masters 2003 tournament (I think that was it), back when he still had Brad Gilbert on his team. They hit some balls for a while, and at the end of practice, Roddick ran over to his bag to get an unstrung frame, gripping it at the head, and swung it baseball-style while Brad fed balls to him...they were cracking up and having a great time.

It's too bad that all the sports writers say that Roddick and Gilbert will get back together "when hell freezes over," because it sounds like Andy could use some batting practice.


Article here.

Our friend 50 Cent says "I don't ever receive the credit I'm supposed to receive for my music. I receive all the checks I'm supposed to receive, I just don't receive all the trophies. But I'm cool with it. I just look at it like I should continue to dominate with it more. I'll get lifetime-achievement awards opposed to best-new-artist awards, so it's cool."

Later in the interview, he triple-dog-dares Kanye West to top that level of arrogance.

Monday, March 13, 2006

Tagged Again!

Let’s do this:

My Nicknames: Which ones to choose? There have been so many over the years. “The Badger” is the most recent, but there were some classics back in the day – “Feeber” was a longtime nickname coined by Justin (my older brother) that was a play on the word “feeble.” Amusingly, my next nickname was “Beefy,” which he somehow decided on since I was fat when I was a little kid…even though today we think of someone “beefy” as being ripped. See also: A-Mack, Mack-Daddy, Big Mack, and every other obnoxious combination of "Mack" people could come up with.

My Hometown: Houston, TX.

My Teams: Astros and Rangers baseball (one NL, one AL, and hell will freeze over before they play against each other in the Series), and Texas Longhorn athletics, particularly football.

My Theme Song: anything by Radiohead.

My Drinks: Water, skim milk, protein shakes made with skim milk, and cranberry juice.

My Occupations: embedded software engineer, student.

My Spare Time: spare……time??? The top 3 are tennis, weightlifting, and music.

My Guilty Pleasure: Any TV I get to watch – Lost, Simpsons, Desperate Housewives. I’d say Monika’s baked goods, but let’s be serious – I don’t feel guilty at all about eating them! It’s also a great motivator for the never-ending-work-out.

My Hiding Place: music.

My Books: I wish I were even 1% as literate as some of my family and friends, but I do enjoy anything by Bret Easton Ellis, and a myriad of sci-fi books. Also, I’m a big fan of mysteries.

My Hero: I'm going to have to cop out on this for now...until I have time to write a lengthy response.

My Tags: Monika, Robby, and Chanan.

Fort Worth Spring Open.

I played in a tennis tournament this past weekend (it had been almost a year since the last one). I played in the 4.5 division instead of the usual 5.0 for a myriad of reasons, chief among them being that I need to get back into tournament shape before I can have a respectable showing in 5.0 again. Here’s the general breakdown:

Round of 8 (Saturday, 8:00 a.m.): My opponent was mid-40’s, lefty. His serve was a bit weak, and his game was basically consistency. I ran him corner-to-corner quite a bit in the first set to tire him out, which was pretty effective. 6-1. For the second set, in classic Adam-fashion, I started thinking about how this match was in the bag, and how I needed to conserve energy for what could potentially be three matches that day. Predictably, I started playing like crap and gave the guy 4 games in the second set, and ended up having to exert more energy at the back end of the set than I would have staying consistent throughout the match. Final score: 6-1, 6-4.

Quarters (Saturday, 11:00 a.m.): I was matched against the #2 seed, who turned out to be 65 (!!) years old. However, the guy was really good. He played an extremely aggressive game, serving-and-volleying and chipping-and-charging the entire match. I don’t believe any point lasted more than 6 shots. However, the match was incredibly draining. The guy played Jimmy Connors tennis big-time; his shots had zero topspin, and not much backspin – they were flat, brick-like shots. A typical characteristic of these balls is a tendency to hover about a foot or two off the ground after the first bounce. Since I have a two-handed backhand, I have to squat incredibly low to return the ball. Many points consisted of his serve, my return down the middle, and then he’d hit one of these nasty strokes ad-side, I’d scramble to the corner and duck to where my left knee was practically hitting the ground, and either rip a passing shot, lob or miss either of those shots by a few inches.

The entire match was pretty even and consistent. I broke him once during the first set; 6-3. We each got one break during the second set, and it went to a tiebreaker, which I lost (4). The third set was more of the same; he actually jumped up a break on me, and had a chance to serve out the match at 5-4, but I broke back (must…resist!) and held to gain a 6-5 advantage. On his serve in the final game, we toggled deuce point wins a few times, and his undoing was the third deuce point in that game, where he gained the offensive and dumped an easy backhand slice down the line into the net. I won the next point, and the match.

Semis (Saturday, 4:00 p.m.): Predictably, I was throttled at this point. I had already played 5 sets of tennis, about 4 total hours’ worth. Enough whining, though – I wanted to get the match over with. If I were to theoretically win and make the finals, I wanted the final match to be the only match that day.

My opponent was a nice guy, who had chatted with Monika during the finale of my previous match. It turned out that he and his wife were of Monika and I flipped around (in terms of education and jobs). During the warm-up, I realized that the guy possessed a fairly similar game to mine, and knew it was going to be a brutal experience.

I slept through the first 5 games of the first set, and went down 0-5. Realizing that I hadn’t been bagel-ed in year, even by a freaking touring pro a couple years ago, I convinced myself to get my shit together and got back to 3-5, before he held serve and won the set 6-3.

Starting the second set, I felt a bit rejuvenated, and knew that as long as I left everything I had on the court, I wouldn’t be too disappointed at the end of the match. We stayed even until 4-4, where I was broken for the first time that set; which, I might add, I couldn’t complain too much about because he had great shots that game, and there wasn’t much I could do.

I went back to the bench for the changeover, had a couple Scooby-Doo fruit snacks (hell yes, the mid-match weapon of choice), a chug of water, and decided I was going to break his serve the next game.

Now, over the course of my tennis career, my dad, among others, has been disgruntled with me for my negative temperament on the court. What can I say? As my friend Brandon (see “Ten” below) says, “If it isn’t perfect…” Needless to say, I often hit shots that are far from perfect, which leads to copious amounts of self-depreciation and wasted energy during the match. However, I have gotten better with age, and conducted myself appropriately this weekend, and didn’t yell in disgust once…except for the final game.

As I mentioned, I was determined and ready to give everything I had in the last game. 15-0, I dumped his serve in the net. 15-15, unforced error on his part. At 15-all, he serves, I hit a pretty good return down the ad-side line and rush into the net. He lunges for the ball and tosses up an pretty easy lob which I’m expecting to drop in the vicinity of 3-4 feet in front of the net on my side for an easy overhead.

But somehow, when that ball shot up in the air, it must have gotten caught in a jet stream, or a bunch of birds farted at the same time, or the bugs that I’d been swatting decided it was time for sweet, sweet revenge, because that freaking ball moved back, and back, and back…I found myself backpedaling from 4 feet behind the net to the service line, a few more steps…frantic now…and basically lunged to hit the ball behind me, whacking the top of the frame, shanking the ball to the next court. At that point, I managed to restrain myself to what I’d describe as a very loud “GRRR,” a what-are-the-odds-that-would-have-happened-GRRR. That was the most obnoxious I was that day.

And that was the shot that sealed the deal on that match. My legs were a combination of Jello infused with nails that would clamp down on my bones when I stooped down to dig up low balls, my core was like an old tree trunk that would snap-crackle-pop with each turn or bend, and I had zero energy left. I’m not even sure how the last couple points went.

I have great respect for my last opponent, though, not only because he was a nice guy, but also because he was the most gracious winner I’ve ever encountered in my tennis career; I’m known for overuse of the superlative, but I’m serious about this one. We exchanged business cards, and hopefully we’ll get to play again in the future. I sent him a congratulatory e-mail this morning because he indeed won the tournament the next day, which doesn’t surprise me.

I weaseled my way into another tournament this weekend, even though the entry deadline had passed. It will be particularly interesting since I doubt I’ll be able to hit the practice court until Wednesday, because I am so sore. Stay tuned.

Sunday, March 12, 2006


One of my good friends, Brandon, just opened (as of last Thursday) a bar near downtown Fort Worth, called “Ten.” Come on by, and tell all your friends about it!

The bar is located just south of the intersection of 7th and Foch, near the Montgomery Ward building, in the same strip center as La Familia and Bikram Yoga.

Here is the street address:

835 Foch Street
Fort Worth, TX 76107

Friday, March 10, 2006

My Workspace.

In front of me, there are two fairly large monitors; the right monitor has two pieces of paper folded in half taped to the top so that the sun doesn’t smack me in the face between 7-8 a.m. The other monitor has no such requirement because the cube wall extends beyond it. There is a Dilbert desk calendar directly in front of the monitors, 17 pennies that I have no use for, my business card, and hand sanitizer. To the left of the monitors are 2 empty 5-lb jugs of protein that have been long conquered, a small Dogbert stuffed animal with a Christmas hat, a card that Monika surprised me with in my lunch a few months ago (that always cheer me up when I look at it at work), and a stack of CDs: The Arcade Fire, The Damage Manual, Depeche Mode, The Dresden Dolls, Badly Drawn Boy, The Mars Volta, a couple mix CD’s that Nando made for me. Pin-ups: Z06 #1, Z06 #2, a printout of my AA frequent flyer number, the Tepper FlexMode AY 2004-2005 calendar (unsurprisingly, this calendar is both outdated and fairly out of sight). Ergo keyboard tray, keyboard, and mousepad. Scroller mouse.

To the left (take a deep breath): Sennheiser HD212Pro headphones, USB extension cable held in place my copious amounts of tape, phone, headset for phone, bottle of water (Dasani, but filled with Ozarka from the community water cooler), stray yellow highlighter, 5-lb jug of EAS 100% Whey Protein (chocolate), protein shaker overturned on top of paper towels (it’s used daily, washed, then left in this position to dry), a package of earplugs, scissors, Shur-Wipes, tape, Windex, my lunch (today: Scooby-Doo fruit snacks, Promax Cookies & Cream protein bar, banana, Peanut Butter sandwich (ran out of chicken at home; will also consume a protein shake, of course), grey Polo hoodie (a bit chilly this morning), crumpled-up Target bag (accidentally left my insulated container at work a couple days ago, had to improvise, haven’t throw it away), hole-puncher, scattered Radiohead 2005 calendar cut-outs that I have no room for behind me (where 8 are pinned-up), and an air-duster (just noticed duster was there, decided to use on keyboard. Now keyboard is slightly wet, and sub-zero. I thought this thing was supposed to blast air, not ice).

Wait, there’s more! Voltron (metal, not plastic), Snoopy with a night cap, a beanie Stegosaurus, a Halo action figure, container of paper clips, Strut, Transformers (Camaro, Porsche 928, Lamborghini Countach Police Cruiser), Superman, globe paperweight, Yoda, the Hulk, Batman, 1988 Lamborghini Countach model. Pin-ups: business cards (me, the CMU admin, Asia Bowl), pictures and note from my love, pictures of me and the boys, picture of Royal Memorial Stadium in Austin, Tepper AY 2005-2006 calendar, LM 2006 planning calendar, large Longhorn magnet, The Hulk magnet. On top of my hutch, there is a Tepper mouse pad, a really mean-looking Spawn action figure, a UT football bobblehead, and Al, a freaking huge ball of aluminum foil on which I’ve drawn a happy face.

Sunday, March 05, 2006


Okay, I was in the midst of writing about how Hollywood is the real definition of irony since the whole charade is a complete facade...


"Crash" just won best picture, and I am temporarily happy with the whole charade. Awesome.

"Crash" was a great freaking movie. It's been the source of a lot of controversy as well, which you can read all about at Roger Ebert's site. The gist is that some people think it was amazing, and some think that it shamelessly uses "the race card" to tug at our emotions.

I saw the movie back when it first came out, and the most complimentary thing I can say about it is that it made me uncomfortable. I thought, "do I have some of these biases? Would I have done differently? Would I have said something in that situation?" The bottom line is that it made me think about who I am and what I believe, and any film that leads to introspection is a good thing.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Sigur Ros

Last Monday night was the fruition of months of anticipation, and the boys from Iceland delivered the goods. Here is the set list, which I found on a SR messageboard:

Ny Batteri
Gong (strings)/Gitardjamm/Gong (song)
Meo Bloanasir
Olsen Olsen
Svo Hljott
Vidrar Vel Til Loftarasa

What does this mean to you? Probably nothing. I was very surprised, though, because the set was different than I expected it to be. How so? It’s difficult to say, but I might say that it was a little more “aggressive” than I thought it would be. Apparently the guys were having sound problems in the venues leading up to the Bass and changed the setlist as a result. I’m guessing that these changes focused on shifting away from the more complex, layered songs, and toward the more straightforward, rocking-out songs.

Did I mention it was loud? Not just loud - fucking loud. Thank God I brought earplugs. I was going to hold out on putting them in until the band played my favorite song, which I expected to appear within the first few they played, but after two songs I popped those suckers in before my ears exploded. It was a good thing, too, because they never did play my favorite song (the streak continues! *shakes fist*).

I could probably ramble on for pages about various things, but I’m too exhausted to do so right now, so I’ll leave it at this, the overall verdict: awesome. It was everything I was hoping it would be.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

It takes hard work to stay in shape.

This story is great. I like her at least 34.847% more now.

It's also refreshing to see a political story that asserts that politicians are at least partially human, for once.

Yes, by the way, I'll post something about Sigur Ros eventually...busy busy busy....