Showing posts with label Serious Schitt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Serious Schitt. Show all posts

Munchie machines and poverty

Hello my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers.


One day I decided I needed some munchies to fuel my thinking furnace. Promptly, I made my way to the munchie machine located outside the office building and, for an agreeable amount of money, paid for a bag of chips on the top row of items. As my now paid munchies were making their way down, they got stuck. Bummer.


Forgotten traumas of old arcade-pinball in days of yore must have made me afraid of tilting the machine and losing my quarters; thus I shook the munchie machine gently. Alas, no go. My munchies were still stuck in there. So I shook the machine a little bit harder; they didn't bulge. It seemed as if by some unknown force the munchie machine was taking a zealous hold on my food in a kind of perverted man vs. machine tug o' war.


Like most of us civilized humans do when we become frustrated, I began shaking the munchie machine like a raving, maniac wild monkey on a mission. I would not be surprised if foam actually came out of my mouth. Finally, after the epic struggle, the munchies fell as I stood triumphant before that inert monolith. Following act I went to my office and ate them; I'm not sure why, but they were sweeter. The taste of victory.


But then I thought if I had ever wanted to behave like a wild monkey in the first place, I would not be living on a Northern Hemisphere country/state and would be living in a Southern country/state were people are blessed enough to have actual, real fruit trees on their backyards to which they can go and shake wildly at their leisure and food just falls at their feet. But no, I live in a civilized society up here north where what we do have are munchie machines to which you conveniently put hard-earned money in exchange for food.


Now, I sat to think about this ridiculous thought and figured that oddly, there is some truth to it. I have never quite put my finger on it but it somehow seems countries in the Northern Hemisphere are more "civilized" and "advanced" - if there is such a thing - than out Southern Hemisphere counterparts. I cannot speak for the whole world, but at least in my country it so happens that people from northern states are known for being more greedy than people from the south. Going on a hunch, I think it has to do with the fact that the north is more barren and arid; thus the first settlers had to bust their butts and fight with nail, tooth, blood and sweat for food and whatever wealth they could manage while people on the south had it easy just shaking trees when they felt like it.


Call me crazy, but actually the Southern Hemisphere is known for having more mild climates, forests and tropical paradises; and I do not claim to know much on economy, but they also seem to be poverty stricken countries; there's actually this concept called the North-South Divide to the point were these "uncivilized", southern countries become exotic and touristic attractions that must be exploited.


Now, I am not saying all people from the south are lazy bums expecting food to fall from above and that all people from the north are greedy sons-of-a-gun; surely there are greedy Southerners and lazy northerners. Actually I think there should be a way to end this "divide" and, thank The Powers that Be, there are some like The South Project. I hope the come to fruition so that eventually either we all can have fruit trees on our backyard or you can find munchie machines all over the world.


As for me, well, I am off to get some more munchies to feed my belly.

Fools + crimes + technology = digital natural selection?

Mellow greetings Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers, I hope you are having a day full of joy-joy.

A few days ago I saw Demolition Man on some DirecTV channel. I must say that now, 16 years after it was originally released, the movie looks very anachronic and far-fetched to the point of laughter - though oddly prophetic in some instances. Taco Bell is not the supreme franchise, Dahmer is dead, Schwarzenegger has not become President of the US, no phaser guns, profanity is now more accepted, we still have sex the old fashioned way, some "bad-for-you" stuff is still considered legal and we still use toilet paper - thank God for small favors!

One of the things that stood out to me as particularly funny was the concept of a pacifist police force. When Simon Phoenix -Wesley Snipe's character - goes on his first "non-sanctioned life termination" spree, one of the cops - I believe it was a young Rob Schneider in an uncredited role, way before he turned gigolo - says: "We're police officers! We're not trained to handle this kind of violence!" I laughed. Just before that, Phoenix repeatedly says "bad words", to which a Morale Statute Machine replies: "Your repeated violation of the Verbal Morality Statute has caused me to notify the San Angeles Police Department. Please remain where you are for a reprimand."

Well, how very BDS&M of you! Of course I'll stay right here to be reprimanded... not! San Angeles had been turned into a boring, Japanese fashioned Utopia thanks to some self-help book ideas taken to the extreme by Dr. Raymond Cocteau as well as a spice of Big Brother thrown in just in case. I must say I laughed, hard; the idea that somehow people would be either responsible enough to stay in place and be accountable for their actions or that this whole big RFID system to locate people whatever they are and reprimand them was too much for me not to laugh at.

Then, today, I find a particular piece of news about some kids putting pictures of themselves vandalizing a public pool. What the hell?! And it is not the only case, there have been many others of people posting the crimes they have or are about to commit in Facebook or MySpace profiles; and damn it, I would not be surprised if some idiot even Twittered it just as he does the crime! Someone there in the back corner actually wrote a very detailed blog about his Grand Theft Auto project. Bummer. We might not need police in the future, people will just turn in.

So maybe, just maybe, we don't need no stinking Dr. Cocteau to come and mind wipe us, we are doing it ourselves. I am really surprised to the point that I do not know if I should laugh or cry about it; will face-palm about it for sure! I understand we all want to share the cool stuff we do on our life through this magnificent technology called The Internet, be if we do something illegal I guess it is best if we leave it for ourselves. Maybe I should blame in on the Joker. People want to emulate this "better kind of criminal" the world needs and publish their evil schemes in order to inject some chaos into this world. Yeah. Right.

Here's some food for thought on how not to use Facebook status.

On the other hand, I believe in the notions of a self-regulating society, pretty much in the same vein as Wikipedia or some mature - if rare - forums out there regulate their own users towards the common good and betterment of the community. This comes to prove that some people out there are willing to let authorities know when they find an illegal activity going on; and though the idea that all these camera-phones are out there eying on us might seems scary, at least the regulation is actually done by us, the people, not some tyrant government's idea of right or wrong. With that said, I do hope the Twitters can find Mr. Armstrong's bike.

As for me, well, I am off to commit serious crimes against the post-apocalyptic Washington D.C.'s Wasteland's population armed with my Pip-Boy and a teddy bear loaded Rock-It Launcher.

Oreo stealing Shaolin!

Hello Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

Someone suggested that I should post more "serious and diverse stuff" in the blog. So I will begin with these interesting links:

Now, let me begin by telling you I began my computing endeavors when I was around 5 years old, and they involved a Mac Classic II, Math Blaster and a very early version of Wheel of Fortune that back then I dreamed the money I won in-game could be printed. My next computer was a Power Mac 7200 in which I had the joy of popping my "Hello World" cherry, learned about object oriented programming with Java, flirted with Doom and got acquainted with Usenet. There's also a Power Mac 7500, 9600 and a 3G MT in the repertoire of computers I had before I touched my first Windows computer. Back then I was an Apple Evangelist.


It's time people realize Apple is not a goody-two-shoes company. Yeah, they produce excellent and revolutionary products, I will not deny that one bit. I also believe their OS has always been ahead of the curve and tailored toward a certain market such as artists, snobs, designers... and all around people looking for a powerful yet simple computing experience. But I have to also confess somewhere along the line I became more interested in the open architecture of the "PC" - which Macs are too... PC stands for Personal Computer, and it is my understanding Macs are also computers intended for personal use... but who am I to argue against most people, huh? I've also more interested in gaming, which Apple has been promising since they old days of yore... I remember a MacAddict magazine which promised how "serious" Apple was about gaming... and we know the truth behind that now.


Get over it people. Apple can also fail. At least Microsoft shows their face, apologize and assure they'll look into the matter even if they take months to do it. *eyes you, Windows Home Server*


Now for the not so "serious" part. I'm really concerned about the Chinese. Their Olympics opening ceremony was more than more than amazing. I personally didn't see it, yet they say it the view of more than 2000 synchronized Chinese fellows was awe-inspiring. Yet all I'm thinking about was... it's all a friggin' show! Of course they're trying really hard to make everything beautiful to hide all their horrifying government politics. Since I'm a computer technology minded fellow, I'm more worried about the Great Firewall of China than anything.


Okay, that's a lie. I'm more concerned about the Oreos.


Let me tell you, I really think people have the government and society that their actions or omissions deserve. So if they're the way they are, it's because they like it that way. Now, there's around 1,321,851,888 Chinese over there. That means that roughly, 1% of the population means 132 million people. If suddenly just 1% of the Chinese population suddenly had a car with a 50 lts. gas thank, that means 6,600,000,000 gas lts. If out of the blue 1% of the Chinese population began taking an average shower of 5 minutes using 3 gallons of water a minute that's 1,980,000,000 gallons of water. The day that 1% of the Chinese population start eating 3 times a day there's not gonna be enough rice for the rest of the world.


So, I'm afraid Kraft suddenly realizes that they should focus their Oreo production toward the Chinese market... I bet 1% of the Chinese population means millions and millions and millions of USD for them. That could also mean that the Chinese are going to start needing milk to dunk their Oreos in. And between all the cows they're going to suck dry out of milk and all the sacred cows in India, there's going to be a shortage of both milk and Oreos in the world.


Screw them. I think it should be in the best interests of the whole world that China's quality of life keeps improving. Because, if they keep economically growing the way they are right now, one day when they can start acquiring all these products there's going to be a shortage in the rest of the world. Hell, over here in Mexico there's been a rise on certain basic products like rice, tomatoes and what-not just because more Chinese are eating once day. And since I'm a computer technology minded fellow, the more websites they don't have access to means more bandwidth available for the rest of us. So screw them and let's hope they stay the way they are right now.


As for me... excuse me while I go dunk my Oreos on my milk while I still can.

Sorry Women... but no


Hello my Ol' Three Faithful Readers. And if you're reading this you must be really faithful.


I was recently nagged by some friends to continue writting on my blog, to infuse them with the great knowledge of my mind. So, today I do so because I've been nagged by something else besides my friends.


As some of you know, today is March 8. International Woman's Day (IWD). "Bah" I say! A whole bunch of women have come to me today telling me to do special favors, or to have special consideration with them or to simply congratulate them. For what? Being a woman? Hah! I'm sorry women, but no; I won't do it.


I know, I know. Many of you female readers probably wanted to skip to the "Comment" link and bash me, but hear/read me out for a second as there's a perfectly reasonable explanation to why I won't do it. And first let me tell you that I love women as much as the next heterosexual male - schitt, that's a lie! There's only one woman I love and woman only *muah*. The reason is, that you women do not need a "special" day to remember you're women and that you deserve respect. You do so always, 365 days a year. The fact that there's a "special" day for women is more like a reminder that you're vulnerable and need a special day; and tell me honestly: are you vulnerable? Are you less than males? Is your self-image as a genre so low that you need a "special" day to feel good?


No, neither do I think so.


There's also another reason that annoys me more. This day was never meant to be a happy, congratulative, skip-the-job holiday. That is just marketing. Yeah, I'm saying the truth - because I always know best. So suddently, after 23 years since this day was created I need to bring flowers, candy and cake to all the women I know? Wrong, I already have February 14th, Mother's Day and a whole bunch of other days. Hell! I still haven't recovered my wallet from Christmas! The last thing I need is another day to waste my money. But Hallmark, being the greedy corporative bastards they are taking advantage of weak people's emotions, have taken away the real meaning of what should be a meaningful day like this and turned into another marketing opportunity to take our hard-earned cash.


So, without further ado, I tell you the real meaning of IWD: Today is a day to remember all the achievments women have done in times past; today is a day to remember the crimes that have been commited against women; today is a day not to celebrate women with candy and balloons, but a day to spend in silence and mourn for those that have gone before. A day to remember women's political struggles and succeses. To rememind us to work for ending impunity for violence and crimes against women and girls.


Ergo, if you're a woman and want a gift and be treated special today just for being a woman, go look for another man 'cause I won't do it. To all the women that have gone before, victims of sexism, crime, rape and even murder; to all the women who have struggled in the past, wherever you are: I salute you with all my heart!




A loud, rapping noise made him turn around in the darkness.

From Love to Disdain

Hey there. I know, I know; I do not care. Piss off.

Some of you might recognize the title of this post from the lyrics of a Dream Theater song titled "Misunderstood." Indeed, an interesting question: how does one turn from love to disdain?

I believe that there are two basic emotions that happen without needing any real reason: love and hate. Sometimes we love someone for no particular reason at all. There a people who call it "love at first sight;" I personally would call it "lust at first sigh," but that's just me and right now I am sour... maybe that has to do something with it. I also think there are two extremes to this watchamacallit-love thing: one is pure, hardcore, non-explainable love and the other is sexual tension. Basically, sexual tension is when you feel attracted to someone else for no special reason other than copulate... and no more. This "feeling" is irrelevant to my post. I wanna focus on the other one; the so-called pure, unreasonable love.

You see, it just happens. Literally, you fall in love; one day you begin loving the way the other person walks, yearning for the other person's aroma, a sympathy for the other's smile; the way the air brushes the significant's hair, his/her movements. Hell, you would even hug your honey-bunny's cute, chubby feces if you had the chance. But like the phrase indicates, you fall... slowly... through a vortex, little by little. It's a tingle at first and suddenly you start needing the other person to function.

The other emotion is hate. It also just happens. Maybe you hate someone for their particular hair style, their annoying voice, their smell. Or maybe just their prescence for no particular reason. But if you had the chance you would beat their living souls out of them and enjoy it with supreme joy beyond any comparison. Did they do anything to you to make you be angry at them? No, just the fact they breathe oxygen in the same world as you.

But then the relationship reaches the climax, the maximum point of extasis in which one of the involved parts' heart must be crushed. And how, indeed, do you turn from love to disdain?

You hate them. If you ever really, truly loved the other person then you know there is no middle ground; there's no "friends." All there can be is hate; from one extreme to the other, like a battery. I know it would be pretty lovely if we could just have a switch in the manner people say "just forget and carry on," but there is not - unless you are an insensible bastard to begin with. There's love and there's hate.

But in the same way you fell in love you must fall in hate, in disdain. Still you now face a more difficult task because falling in love is unconscious, it just happens; and now you must do it willingly. Learn to hate the way the other persona walks, repulse their aroma, dislike the other's smile... you get the idea... and so reach a point in which you no longer care. Complete, utter, total disdain.

Will it turn you into a cold, hearless son-of-a-gun? Yeah, but by then you no longer care.

Of being a god

Sometimes gods walk amongst us.

There are moments in life when us mere humans become something more than what our frail bodies allow. To give you a quick example of one of these cases: the Steelers became walking, human gods as they held the Lombardi Trophy over their heads. That was a moment which crowned those players and set them above par, above every other human being in the world as they bathed with all the glory and honor.

Just as a note, I am not trying to be disrespectful to The Powers That Be. And I am also not a Steelers fan. It is just that at times like winning the Super Bowl, no matter what team, they are transported to a land of make believe and those men become invincible, unstoppable and immortal. I suppose there are many moments like that in life and they come in very different flavours for many people. From your first kiss to holding your newborn baby all the way through walking on the moon to your first Hello-World program.

Oddly enough I believe that it is through competition that we achieve those moments of unparallel glory. There are two basic types of competitions according to the Gospel of the Great Fry: The first are individual competitions, in which you have no one else to beat but yourself. I personally do not remember many of these moments, maybe because I like to believe I have me under control; sure I back fire from time to time like a firecracker or an atom bomb, depending on the situation. Or maybe just because I have bad memory. Some of these moments involve overcoming your own fears, beating your own apathy and achieving your own goals. All in all, these are moments that make you stand tall and be proud of yourself. Personal victories that no one else can understand. I have never gone to a titty-bar, for no particular reason other than my own, moralistic and maybe retrograde conviction if you wish; but it is still a personal victory over no one but myself that no one can completely understand - and yes Victoria, I have never gone to a titty-bar.

The other competitions involve others. We are talking basically about sports, tournaments, whatever involves beating an opponent; a victor and a loser. I am not a sports-man per se, but I love this victories the most. Because when you are down field, you meet your rival in the eye; and it is in that small moment of eye contact that you realize that in order to achieve victory you have to win. And to win, you need not only beat yourself but your rival two; because you are at identical conditions, you both wear the shoulders and helmets like an armor, both have their bodies prepared, both have our minds atuned to the same goal, and both are fighting the individual battle to control your fear, your anger, your anxiety. At that moment the difference between you and your rival, winning and losing, between the glory or the void, are not the tools or the skills since both have that. It is who has the will and the might to win. So in order to win you have to beat your rival's will and impose your might. Be it chess or football, he with the most passion and desire wins.

But here are certain factors that elevates some type of competitions above others and that, ultimately, take you to real, human godliness. The first is playing in a team. In a 1-on-1 game it is your will against your rival's; yet in a team game, it has to be the total sum of the blue team's will against the red team's will. Back when I was an offensive lineman, many a one time I beat my defensive counterpart; sat them on their butt, take them to the ground, hold them at the line of scrimmage and opened highways for my running back to go through. Yet my victory over the poor soul in front of me meant nothing if a lineman from the other side did not do his job thus ending the play with a sacked quartebac; my victory meant nothing when a receiver dropped the ball; my victory meant nothing when the defense did not do their job. It was a team, and just like a machine need to be tuned up, we all needed to be atuned to the same desire, pasion and will to win. Thanks to The Powers That Be, we all had the same drive to win and so we won - most - games.

The second factor that must be met to take you to manly godliness is to have all the competitions at the same time; against yourself, against a rival and against a team. Like that machine at the county fair in which you put a quarter for a chance to use a mechanic claw and take home the loose teddy bear to your Honey Bunny, those battles take you from among the common mass of mere mortals, grab you by the soul and takes you to another level above others. Turns you into a god.

When I played football, all three battles took place. I had to beat myself during training; so many times I wished to leave the team - almost did once -, so many times I felt like my body could take no more, so many times I feared the monster in front of me, and many more times I had the taste of fear in my mouth, pain in my muscles, scars on my body and tiredom in my mind which made me want to go home crying for mommy and hide behind her dress. But still, everyday I was the second player to arrive at the training field - just after Capi -, still every time the defense took the ball I was the first offensive player running to the field and the first lineman at the huddle. Because everyday and every game I beat myself; I told me that I had proven naught to myself until I had won; to take the abuse on my body just one more day. And so I did.

At the field, I had a rival in front of me. A lineman or a linebacker. Some were more hardened than me. Others were faster. Most were more violent. But I can safely say that none of them had the will and mightiness in their souls because every game I beat them play after play. Sure, in order to rise you have to fall sometimes, but at the end of the day I had stood taller than my opponent. Some times just as I was running to the scrimmage line to take our positions for the incoming scramble I looked at the eyes of the guy in front of me, and I just loved the tint of despair and hopelesness in his eyes; because he knew he was beaten. And it is then that I smiled not in an over-confident way but with that yearns for more.

Lastly, we were a team. And it was as a team that we sometimes lost and sometimes won. It was as a team that one day at training we, the offensive linemen, sang "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it is off to work we go" together while carrying our beloved training tires to the field. It was as a team that we chanted under Chino's command while running around the training field. It was as a team that we laughed when my car burned in the parking lot. It was as a team that we ran under the hail storm. It was as a team that we stood tall when everyone though we would not even win a game.

Maybe it is no coincidence that I am having these thoughts, or rather, memories of old times at this point in my life. Especially those concerning the time when I played football back in the good days. Now, more than ever, I need to be reminded what I want; I need to be reminded how to do stuff; I need to be reminded that I am more than just another one of the bunch. Because I once were.

Back then I felt like a god.

Those Beautiful Places

Hello there!

I know, I know, I have been a bad boy for not posting. But hey, I am a busy man! ... *eyes around* ... right... Though I must say that I did find a job. Or rather, an "occupation." Do not ask me hoy the heck it happened, but a company back in my home city got word that I developed a small PocketPC system for taking drive-thru orders at a local fast food joint. So one fine day they contact me and ask me to help them develop more or less the same thing but in a bigger, better and improved version. To which I said: "Hell yeah!"

Now, here's the funny part though. Back in my good ol' school days I had a class in which we had to develop a system for a real "client." I quote it because it was not a real, real client per se, but a teacher who we had to treat like a client. I remember that by the end of the semester I realized some teams implemented a lot less functionality in the system that what we where doing. So I asked those teams how come they did not develop some stuff and their answer was simply: "Because we negotiated with the client, and we arranged to have less requirements." My jaw dropped at that moment. Of course! You can negotiate to do less stuff, or at least to do the easier requirements. Silly us, breaking our heads to do certain complicated requirements we had to meet when we could have negotiated our way out of them.

But I learned my lesson well... ooooh yes. Because I was not hired as a full-time employee but some kind of freelancer, I negotiated with the company. And in my negotiations I over-estimated the time it would take me to develop the system. Most importantly - and sincerely, I do not know how they agreed to this - we settled that I could work at home. HOME! Of course, I have to prove my progress and comply to certain conditions they set, but I am at HOME! That has to be one of the best job benefits anyone can find.

So there I am, coding in my chair - with wheels... oooh yes -, with a Coke by my side - there's a new flavour in the US: "Black Cherry Vainilla Coke;" and being the marketing whore that I am, I bough a 24-packer -, working when I want, taking a dump when I want, listening to the music I want, reading the new Stephen King novel - Cell - when I want, watching pr0n when I want, playing a horror movie when I want, enjoying World of WarCraft when I want, wear the clothes I want or none if I please... wow... Yeah, the pay is not really gonna be THAT much, but these benefits are really hard to beat, eh?

My only problem is... even with my over-estimated proyect schedule, this might only last two month at the most... but hey, I will enjoy it.

In other news! I am in pain. No, not some kind of figurative spiritual kinda pain but real physical pain. Some of you know that I once played Football as a lineman. Some even know that that particular year is the best year in my whole life. Just remembering the physical pain from training camp, the yelling, the insults, the hits... wow... the pain... it brings a tear to my eye. Best thing to ever happen to me up until now - I'm still waiting for you, My Dove.

That was years ago. But it came back with a vengeance.

A friend of mine called one of these days to inform me that I had been registered in the school's flag football team and that the next day we were playing. To which I said: "Are you friggin' nuts dude?!" I ceratainly am in no condition to play flag football, much less the next day! Yet, what could I do.

And the day came. Oh boy, did I prepare myself in my mind. I looked everywhere for my old football equipment; nitros, tables, knee-pads and everything. Then the final touch. Like a priest who during the Consagration at Mass, I slowly walked to my closet and opened. I eyed all my clothing, and it all became irrelevant; right at that moment nothing existed around me but three particular shirts which I keep and care deeply for. There they stood, like an altar to the good time: a small sweater my grandmother knitted for me many years ago; a torn, long sleeved sweater that clearly has seen better days; and a faded shirt that so long ago used to be black.

There they stood with an aura coming out of them. Back in the days those three garments where with me in each and every game under my football equipment. Like the mail clothing the middle age warriors wore under their armor before going to battle; that is what the shoulders, helmet, and my three garments were: my armor. Just touching them flooded my head with memories. Memories of all those games. Of all the training. Of the victory. The loses. The glory. The screams. The tears. The blood. The scars. The sweat.

The game.

Slowly I put the small sweater on, then the long sleveed one on top. Finally the faded shirt. They are not much, but they make me feel protected. As if the cloth with which they are women were capable of stopping anything coming at me. There were no shoulders this time - it is flag football after all. I work my way into the bathroom and look for tape. Lightly I put tape around my middle and anular fingers in my left hand because for some odd reason I cannot go into the field without doing that first. Some players wear the same socks the day before the game, some wear lucky charms. I tape those two fingers together.

Off I went to the field. Most of the members of our flag team are old team members of old. Comrades who had stood with me in the gloryful days of the game. There we stood again, together. Old maybe, some of us somewhat crippled, another stood drunk and all of us out of shape. But there were twothings we hadthat the other, younger teams did not. Experience; we might be out of shape, but we know what it is like to be in the field and we know how to do our job. We do not need speed, nor strenght to do it because we have the know-how. The other thing we have in our advantage is the most important.

We had us.

We know how to work together, how we think. And we know we have our backs. Those ties that binds us together as one, organic team. We took the field and looked at each other in the eyes and anyone could see we had a certain sparkle in them. The sparkle you could see in the eyes of old knights who after retirement have to wear that armor one more time; they grab their swords once again and look up at the skies thanking the heavens for one more chance to do what they had always done: shed every ounce of their being in the battlefield. So we did.

We won, but not without a price. I am now in pain. My muscles hurt in many ways I did not remember. Old muscles I had forgotten I had scream in pain. I woke the day after the game barely moving, my legs hardly responding. My body hurts in all those beautiful places.

I love it.

Technical stuff / Good thing they were Catholic

Hello there!

Well, first some technical stuff for my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers: I just set up my own personal mini-site in my room. There are two computers which will be the home to www.duckiesoft.com, www.killerfry.com and two other Internet sites I have to come up with. I just got Apache, MySQL and PHP running; it was all installed manually, like real men do. There are still lots of stuff I have to fix up to have the sites completely up and running; like registering the DNS - yes Victoria, that is the reason the links send you to nowhere.

Basically, DuckieSoft will be used as a professional, "serious" site to promote my work in a pseudo-professional way; whereas KillerFry will be my personal site. That means that pretty soon this Blog will be moving to a new home! I intend to keep other things there as well, such as my horror movies reviews and whatever stupid things I come up with.

I am also thingking about making a WebService and a client app to let people know what mood I am in. This is because, as you can see from yesterday's post, I was not a happy camper. I am still not a happy camper, but I am not as disgruntled as I was yesterday. The point is that with this nifty little app, people will be able to see from their desktops what mood I am in, thus avoinding odd situations in which people try to joke with me when I am not in the mood for joking, hence enraging me more.

Nifty utility ;)

Now, for the "serious" part of the post. For starters, let me say that most of the time I like to steer away from political discussions, since many susceptivities can be harmed. But this one I will simply not let pass by.

As I am eating my food in the kitchen in the usual family hour there is nothing on TV but the news. For some odd, historical reason we turn the television on. The first news of the evening in the channel involves a little town in Mexico State in which a thief tried to steal money from the church's charity bin. Because, you see, a great deal of the mexican population is relatively speaking poor, so I guess this man had no other resource but to steal. And because out Holy Catholic Church teach us to be charitable, maybe he thought people would understand him taking some of the money to feed his family and, inherentely with our Christian beliefs, the people would understand.

But no. Primal caveme- I mean, average mexicans are not rational beings. So while I was nicely having my food with my family we are shown a video in which the town's people beat the guy up; men, women and children all took part in the beating leaving the guy broken and bleeding in the ground. Not satisfied with that they tie him up, all the while we see him pleading and screaming to please let him go, and that he cannot feel his legs. Once tied up and after insulting him some more, they still give him and extra beating.

To be comletely sure he learned his leason, they decide to now tie him up a set of stairs and then hang him up in a very twisted, modern version of the crucifixion. Yep, that is right folks; I was having a nice family moment at lunch and we were treated to this images. Not satisfied the TV gave us some more: once hanged, some people start yelling that they should burn him. You an actually see on the video one person asking if he should bring the gasoline. And that is the point where my mind said: "this is simply not sane. What is this? The Inquisition?" Remind me again what the "Sapiens" means in Homo Sapiens.

Fortunately for the poor dude, the police arrived in time and saved. Yet, all the while they carried him to the police car people still insulted him and actually threw punches at him, some landing flat on his face. If you happen to want the "INRI Turist Packege" included in your vacations to Mexico State, be sure to stop in any small town, local Church and steal $200 pesos - around $18 bucks -; special offer for a limited time only!

This reminds me of a case, one or two years ago in which the people of another Mexican State town set 4 police men on fire. Yes, you read right. Set they were in a cover mission having to do with drug dealing in a primary school, and the town for some odd reason decided to burn them in the little town's little central park thing after a public beating. Aaaaaah, I love the smell of fresh burnt human skin on the morning.

It is nice to know that the average mexicans have a great devotion for the Virgin of Guadalupe and are avid Catholics.

You know, honestly, with neighbors like these, I would build a wall around my territory, electrify it and shoot down any who tried to trespass it... but that's just me.

Everything will be fine

Hello and welcome back my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers - and my Pretty Assistant -; I hope you are all still around here.

Wow, I have been asked several times why I have not written anything. My answer has been the same to all of them: "Nothing interesting has happened worth mentioning." Yet, I promised a special someone out there that I would find something to write before this week was over - and yes, the week ends to me on a Sunday, so I'm still on time Babe ;). Oddly enough, as soon as I made that promise lots and lots of interesting stuff worth writting about began to happen; so much that now I do not know what to write this about.

Just as a side note to my Anger Reports: There have been no more anger fits, but there has been a scar left behind in me. Now I find myself being very sour and punctual about things. All in all I do not belive it has been a bad thing, but quite the contrary. Some would argue that it was hard lesson I had to learn in my life: sometimes you have to toss your soft-hearted side away to get things done the right way. As hard as that may be. The key residences in finding a balance.

At least I tell myself that to sleep at night.

In other news: I'm graduating. Finally. Praise be to the Powers That Be! I am just a two weeks away from sitting down at the school's gym along with all my classmates, anxious and sweating in anticipation of hearing our names flowing out of those ominous speakers as if announcing the glorious return home of victorious warriors after a vicious and taxating war. And we will stand up as we hear the echo carry our names, we will walk through the hall of champions among the roar of celebration. We will receive a taste of immortality; of divinity.

Then we will sit back down in our seats in the school's gym and further engross the lines of unemployment.

This scares me. It makes me tremble with fear down to the marrow of my aging bones. No, I am not afraid of tripping down as I go for my diploma, or of peeing my pants of joy. I am afrain because I am uncertain; uncertain about my future. What will I do now? See here, for sixteen years in my life everything has been laid out for me. Everyday I knew I would wake up in the morning with wax in my eyes fumbling one way or another to turn the alarm off and pleading for just five more minutes. Back in the old days my Mother would come into my room to make sure I stood up, now I do it out of routine more than anything. Finally I would stand with and air of lazyness floating around me, whispering at my ear to lay down. Most of the time I had to gather all my strength to cast aside this voices; other times I would have a reason to carry on: a special dinner, a night at the movies, turn over school projects... but mostly dreams of seeing My Dove's smile.

And I would then clean my putrid, scarred human body. It ain't clean until it bleeds. Because I hate losing time deciding what clothes I wear then I make my life easy always wearing jeans - or my school uniform back in the heyday. A comb would pass through my hair in a motion that mimiqued the human act of fixing my hair, clean my teeth; somedays I would have a breakfast though lately I do not. And off I went to school. Afterwards I would come back, do my homework, watch TV, listen to music, watch pr0n. You know, the usual. Finally back to sleep, with the certainty that the next day would pretty much be the same.

For sixteen years.

And now? Now there's uncertainty in my life. What will happen tomorrow? Odd, because no human school on earth prepares us, educates us to live. That is a lesson we learn by living; by crying, laughing, scarring our bodies, screaming. We learn it from and along with friends, family, acquaintances and enemies. Every step is a new adventure.

But, as some know, advetures mean risks. And I must say that I like to take risks... but only after I analized all the variables and outcomes. So, in a very paradoxical way, I only take unrisky risks. Sadly, no great man ever became great by doing that. So I find myself at a great divergent, at a great risk: do I follow my heart? Do I follow my mind? Shall I listen to my emotions? Do I obey logic? Shall I go on a Hobo Adventure? Will I stay be true to my carreer? These are variables that cannot be assigned; that stray from fixed values, ever changing. Hence, my future is a risky risk I fear to take. And this takes my sleep away.

Not two days ago I was talking with my Dad over the phone; talking thing over about my future, about what I wanted to do, opportunities I have... and yes, even my sentimental future. Then we chenged the subject to business: where my papers ready? All grades sent in? Curriculums sent? After a while, we said good-bye. And then he said four words I will forever cherish in my life.

"Everything will be fine."

Bless him and his aging, silver hairs. I was like a stray baby sheep, lost in the woods where many strange noises blind my senses. Nothing through the dense, black night could be seen but unsightly red eyes; there was nowhere to go, no clear path to safe evergreen pastures. But then he, my Sheperd held me. Now I can sleep with my mind at ease amid the storm because now I know. Now I am reassured everything will be fine.

Marketing Pt. 1

Vengo llegando de ir con el verdugo... ¡digo! El dentista. Pero eso no es lo importante; el punto es que me dí cuenta de cómo el mexicano común, silvestre y corriente tiene muchos conocimientos innatos del marketing; y no sólo eso, que probablemente los aplican mucho mejor que grandes corporativos.


Por alguna razón misteriosa me gusta ir con el dentista los jueves muy temprano en la mañana. Digo, a mal paso darle prisa, ¿no? Llegué al lugar en mi auto y como siempre hay que localizar un espacio para parkear. Allá a las quinientas encontré lugar; de entrada no había un cuate de los que cuidan/lavan los carros por lo que comencé a tener el gran debate eterno: "¿Cuánto tiempo tardaré con el dentista? ¿Le pongo al parquimetro -¿esa palabra existe, o es un gran americanismo? - suficiente para una hora? ¿O para dos?"

Como por arte de magia, apareció el Parking Man acompañado de una misteriosa brisa. "Qué tal güero, ¿se lo cuido?" Sé a ciencia cierta que más que cuidarme el carro per se, están más o menos al pendiente de los agentes de tránsito que revisan los parquimetros y es entonces cuando les echan moneditas de 50 centavos para que parezca que tiene dinero. Ah claro, como tienen que tener una buena imagen con el cliente, la primera monedita que le echan es de un peso, de tal manera que el cliente - lease como, yo y el civil común - se va con la idea en mente de que le están proporcionando un buen servicio. En realidad yo no me fuí pensando eso, me iba preguntando: "¿Por qué demonios desde hace un año que vengo a este lugar todos los Parking Men me dicen 'güero'?"

Después de que el verd-... doctor... me tortur-... revisó, salí de su consultorio. Y a pesar del gran sufrimiento que me trae, ¡todavía le pago! En fin, salí y me dirigí a mi carro mientras buscaba en la gran profundidad del abismo que es la bolsa de mi pantalón unas monedas para darle al Parking Man; sólo encontré una de $10 pesos - se fijan como en teoría es redundante poner tanto el signo de pesos ($) como la palabra "pesos", ya que el signo en sí es suficiente para refenciar que son pesos - y pues ni pedigree, qué le voy a hacer. Además, probablemente él necesita más esos pesillos que yo.

Llego a mi carro, y no veo por ningún lado al Parking Man. Me detengo un momento estupefacto, pues yo creería que estarían muy al pendiente de los clientes que regresan a pagar, pero no se veía en las cercanías. Eché otro vistazo, miré a mi alrededor. Nada. Se había esfumado. Me encongí de hombros y volví a mandar la moneda de $10 al abismo de mi pantalón; abrí la puerta y me proponía a entrar cuando de repente apareció el Parking Man al lado de un carro tres espacios al lado del mío. No lo había visto porque se encontraba lavando el carro - que por cierto, era un mustang - y había estado agachado. De ipso facto busqué de nuevo la moneda al mismo tiempo que levanté la mano para indicarle que le iba a pagar. ¿Saben qué hizo el cuate? Sonrió y dijo: "¡Nos vemos güero!"

What in the friggin' poop?!

¿Por qué dejó ir el dinero? ¿Por qué no vino rápidamente por su pago? ¿Y por qué me siguen llamado güero? Pues así por las buenas me ahorré mis $10 y me subí a mi carro, arranqué y me fuí sin pensarlo una segunda vez. Pero me fuí masticando porqué no vino, y por fin llegué a una respuesta. Yo le iba a dar unos tristes $10 pesos, cuando por lavar el carro va a ganar $80 pesucos - ¡Hey! "Hasta armoról le ponemos a la llantas jefecito, quedarán como nuevas". Pero claro que le conviene olvidarse del pez pequeño e ir por el pez gordo - aunque probablemente yo estuviera más gordo que el dueño de ese mustang - pues yo representaba una pequeña ganancia para él; mejor se preocupa por ofrecerle un servicio satisfactorio al dueño del Mustang para entonces cobrar $80, que de entrada son $70 más que lo que le iba a dar, y si agarra de buenas al tipo que encuentra su carro rechinando de limpio hasta le deja el billete de $100 completito.

Como pueden ver, y Supermarioneta Divina no me dejará mentir, el Parking Man tenía suficientes conocimientos innatos para conocer conceptos como Servicio al Cliente - "Buenos días güero, ¿cómo le va?" -; evitar la Disonancia Cognoscitiva - al echar la moneda de peso para que me vaya feliz -; control total de la Plaza - está parado justo al lado de los parquimetros -; Core Product Features - lavar el carro y ponerle 'armoról' -; Estrategias de Producto - te cuida y el carro y "de pasada se lo lavo jefecito"- y el concepto de Clientes Empresariales - preocuparse por el cuate del Mustang antes que el del triste Pointer.

¿Y saben qué es lo mejor? El Parking Man es un tipo salido de la calle que aprendió todo esto por experiencia, y tras largos años de práctica se ha convertido en todo un maestro en el manejo de la estrategia del negocio. Todo esto sin tener que estudiar, matarse haciendo proyectos, escuchar a profes aburridos, partirse la madre con equipos pedorros ni pagar $50,000 al semestre durante 5 años.

Pero aún no logro resolver el enigma... ¿por qué me llaman güero?