captain_sam

Science is amazing. It does really cool things and beyond the practical applications to our everyday lives, I think it helps us think about who we are as a race, our future in the universe, and the significance of our lives, if there is any. I think people who scoff at funding for "ridiculous research" or "out-there projects" aren't just narrow-minded; they're foolish and self-absorbed and kind of dumb, and they're snarking on something they don't understand so they can feel better about themselves.

Whatever. I think this lady is pretty cute.

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My cat died today.

I should say the family pet; she was more my father's cat after I left home for college. She was 15, nearly 16, which is a good run, and for a while she was fat and...well, mostly grouchy, but seemingly content to be grouchy.

She liked crouching in the flowerbeds for hours, was afraid of toilets, permitted scratching only under her chin, and shed copiously.

My father had her cremated (technically what he said was that she was in "deep freeze" at the vet's, and would be cremated later--thanks for keeping it strictly business, dad), and will bury her in a corner of the garden under a crepe myrtle that gets lots of sunlight. He said she wasn't eating or drinking at the end, and that he stayed with her for a while at the office after she went to sleep. I have a feeling my prediction that he's going to throw himself on her grave is going to come true, and soon. My mother, who foresaw 15 years ago that this day would come and told us getting a pet was unwise, was apparently inconsolable all day. And when Asian mothers cry, their progeny cry whether they're sad or not. It's some kind of psychic link which I'm sure the CIA would've been very interested in during the Cold War.

Anyway. She wasn't the most affectionate cat and she hissed and tried to bite everyone who dared touch her and she pooped on the carpet as whimsy dictated, but she was my cat, and I miss her.

As it turns out, staying up all night to level to 60 in World of Warcraft, getting an hour of "sleep," snowboarding all day, and then eating a giant steak dinner will make you PASS THE FUCK OUT.

This weekend was an A+ success, though. There was ample nerdery, physical activity, and delicious food. That's all I really require to have a good time.

The cherry on top was having a dream about Olivia Dunham last night. Not Anna Torv, but the character she plays. I got her to help me foil some terrorists on a plane.

And now for 230498732 Tylenol. Wiping out while snowboarding hurts, even if you're going approximately 6 mph on a bunny slope and little children on tiny skis are passing you by like miniature assholes.

I am playing World of Warcraft, and I have already arrived at the bargaining stage, i.e.: if I finish this work, I am allowed to level up once.

Nerdery begins:

I found an area that gives some good XP for grinding, as well as allowing me to skill up my skinning (which is actually useless to me, since I didn't choose leatherworking as my second profession), but even though I have the requisite points, I need one more level to make Grand Master. I want the achievement so badly; I'm addicted to that flare of light and the sound that goes off when I get an achievement or level.

Nerdery ends.

At least I know exactly where this story is going, even though I'm unable to get it out without sounding cold and technical.

I had an emotional epiphany today. I have a lot of them, actually.

Mostly it's because I have the emotional depth of a turnip (but a large one, not a small one) and if I spend even five minutes trying to be self-aware, I will usually make some kind of minor evolutionary leap.

But today I was riding home in the rain, enjoying the 25mph gusts, and I was thinking about how much I'm looking forward to the new series of Skins. There have been hints that Naomi and Emily won't be as happy as Emily thought they would be. And I realized that sometimes you just have to let go of a fantasy. You might think you've gradually been letting leach out of your body, but at some point you have to definitively cut the cord and say, no more.

And then I thought, it's sad that a show about British teenagers is what spurred me to some self-actualization in the middle of a rainy night in Cambridge.

At least I'm better with new people. My social skills are 120% improved since college.

I'm contemplating a move. As much as I love Boston, it might be time for a different city, especially when I'm at an age where moving is not a long, torturous process. I mean, I could pick up and move within the week if I had to.

If only I hadn't spent my time since graduating making myself unemployable by any reputable business. "Writer" really doesn't look good on a resume.

I may actually have to go to grad school. Oh god, but they look at your resume too.

I like how having to switch planes, wait an extra 3.5 hours for my flight, stand in 20-degree weather, deal with subway line switching snafus, and trudge a mile through the snow constitutes "getting home pretty easily" for me these days. I can't wait to have more money.

Resume time. Sigh.

I hate Christmas. I hate that apparently blood obligates you to call people your family. I hate that I can't leave right now. I hate that if I have any feelings, I'm supposed to feel guilty about them because they make my mother ~sad~ and we can't have that. I'm trying hard to go zen, but cuddling a cat is hard when she's wearing a cone of shame.

Congratulations on not getting drunk on wine in front of your parents, self!

But seriously, HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT THROUGH CHRISTMAS?

If anyone is in Alexandria, you need to call me post haste. First round's on me.

I would just like to say:



The Ivy Leagues: corrupting our children with gayness, or inundating them with AWESOMENESS? More likely creating second mortgages, but let's stay positive.

Judge not lest ye be judged subjected to some Yalie man-on-man action. I like the list of people he has a beef with, including Obama voters.

Sometimes, being a bachelor is really not all that bad. I had this approximately 14 oz. NY strip that I pan-seared and then baked until it was about medium rare (I left it a bit long, so it leaned more towards medium), and then I just piled a bunch of solid food one on top of the other. The meat wasn't the most tender, but considering it was under $10 at the store, I wasn't expecting it to be. I marinated it overnight in a soy sauce/Worcestershire sauce/red vinegar/olive oil/salt/pepper/??? combo, so at the very least it wasn't dry.

The best part was the part where I only had to cook for one person, and didn't have to keep an eye on two steaks because my picky girlfriend only wants hers rare and oh, she doesn't like spinach so I have to make two veggie sides, and didn't I pick up any wine?

Anyway. I feel like just posting this is going to draw out heathers for some professional chef talk, but really I'm just proud of myself for not ruining everything I touch in the kitchen, like I usually do.

Wish I could've had a beer with it, though.

If any of my friends love me, they'll get me this for Christmas:

Pon Far perfume

I don't even wear perfume. But I must have this. Because the description is driving me nearly as crazy as a hepta-yearly mating frenzy.

The most risque titled of the new Star Trek fragrances is "Ponn Farr" which is a perfume designed to "drive him wild." It should only be used once every seven years (okay, that isnât true). Named for the Vulcan mating ritual first introduced in the episode "Amok Time," this perfume is one of the newly designed products meant to appeal to female fans. The Ponn Farr is a 50 ml perfume. Leave logic behind. Because having is not always so pleasing a thing as wanting. Pon Farr Perfume for women is a refreshing fragrance that is both invigorating and dramatic with light, clean top notes of citrus, black currant, lotus blossom and water lily. And with base notes from sandalwood, peach and mulberry, Pon Farr is perfect for those bright sunny days and warm summer nights spent together at the beach, around the fire or simply watching your favorite affaire d'honneur. Sharp and aggressive, simple yet exotic.

FYI, there's also Red Shirt and Tiberius for him, a "casual yet commanding cologne spiked with freshness and sensuality." FRESHNESS AND SENSUALITY, YOU GUYS. I can't even deal with this.

This is how the internet has warped me:

I'm friends with this couple, although we see each other like once a year. Through the miracle of facebook, we manage to keep in touch and they're the kind of people who don't mind just picking back up after an extended period of time. But we don't really have that much in common and they always reach out to me, and never vice-versa, even though I enjoy spending time with them.

So obviously, my first conclusion is that this couple is trying to lure me into a threesome. Right? That makes sense. It's not that they're just nice people and they consider me a friend. I'm about 40% convinced this threesome scenario is the correct one.

Note to self: don't get drunk this Thanksgiving and blurt out your theory in front of them, or else you'll probably be minus two friends.

East Cambridge Animal Clinic owner, wife die in car crash

My old vet died in a car crash back in August; I had no idea, until I googled some local animal clinics today.

I didn't really appreciate him as a vet, but it still feels odd when someone you know passes. It's weirder (and more awful) that he and his wife were both in that car crash. Dr. Taqiuddin was always available for appointments and was always kind and gentle with my cat. You can always trust a man who's kind to animals, I think.

Anyway. Thanks, doc, for being decent.

Dear panhandler playing bongos at the Chinatown T stop,

I think "God bless you" is supposed to be a benediction, not an accusation. Perhaps if you didn't shout "God bless you!" at everyone as though it were a curse, they would give you change. I can do some market research and get back to you, if you like.

Sincerely,
captain_sam

Now is when I shake my tiny fist at the sky and curse C-mcast for everything I'm worth. A POX on your thrice-cursed internet service, C-mcast.

I thought initially it was the router; I'd seen Isabelle chewing on the antennae and when I plugged my computer directly into the router, I seemed to be able to make a connection. Well and good, maybe it was just that the router couldn't broadcast anymore. So I got a new router with an internal antenna and set it up and things were just dandy for a few hours.

Then came some weird problems--not being able to connect to the network, having to power cycle the router (I like how "power cycle" is the fancy term they use for unplug-and-plug-back-in) and then fiddle with the ethernet cable to make things work. And then it just stopped working altogether.

Well, that's not strictly true. Currently I can connect to the network and the broadcast signal is nice and strong, but the speed is severely throttled. I can get pages to load, but I have to sit there and wait for about three minutes, and sometimes I have to try two or three times. I ran a speed test, and while my download speed seemed fine, the program was unable to gauge my upload speed at all.

At first I thought it was my computer, but my roommate is having the same issue. Also, we can both connect to other networks outside of the apartment just fine. So I'm pretty sure it's time to break out the "FUCK YOU C-MCAST" tag.

Any nerds got ideas?

Feeling angsty today, but in a high school way. So I'm dealing with it in a high school way: awful poetry.

You can point
To a thousand different reasons
Why you might love someone
And every single one
Could be true and wrong at the same time
Because really you don't know why
And that makes you fearful,
A splash in your stomach kind of fear
That sits inside you until
You hardly notice it
Except when it reaches up
And throttles you
And then you remember that
You wanted someone
No matter the cost

Maybe if I translate this into a different language, it'll sound classier.

You know that Van de Kamp's commercial where the little girl complains to her mother about getting fed minced fishsticks? And then when her mom gives her the Van de Kamp's she's all "About time!"

I would smack the hell out of that kid if she were my daughter. You ungrateful little brat, you'll eat what I GIVE YOU TO EAT. Did you ever stop to think that maybe mommy can't afford name brand fishsticks because she's saddled with the financial burden of a four year old? Maybe you also have a "pre-existing condition," so mommy has to pay your hospital bills out of pocket. Maybe mommy is trying to save to send you to a private school. Maybe mommy just spent the day cleaning the entire house and still found the time to buy you new winter clothes. Maybe you should shut the fuck up and be GRATEFUL for what you're given.

I hate "precocious" children. Shut up. You're to be seen and not heard.

I have a cavity. It doesn't hurt. That makes me think it's not a cavity. That's pretty much the most exciting thing in my life. I'm actually waiting for some other results that might change up my routine like whoa. I'm kind of excited--it would be an extremely drastic left turn in my life, and I'm fairly certain my parents won't approve in the least. I've never really done anything they don't approve of. I've cajoled, wheedled, and begged to get my own way on occasion, but this would be the first thing I've done purely on my own.

I saw Bright Star and I'm apparently a hell of a lot more cynical than I realized, because I spent most of it squinting at what was supposed to be an intense romantic affair, but seemed to me to be kind of silly. I feel like my father when I write that; he still doesn't like it when people kiss on TV. Except at the end; they finally got me to cry near the end. Well played, Bright Star. I will say that I appreciated Jane Campion's directing, and that I eventually became immersed in some of the characters, but for the most part I was not sympathetic to poor Fannie Brawne.

I don't suppose it helped that, due to my extensive time at ohnotheydidnt, I thought "Ben Whoshaw?" throughout every scene with John Keats.

Oh god, I'm that lout who wishes the movie had had some tits and guns to make it more interesting.

A while ago I signed up for OKCupid, but I filled out the surveys as a dude to see who I'd match if it weren't for that pesky gender issue. As it turns out, the options were only marginally better than when I took the surveys as myself. Anyway. This is the message I received from them today.



It just as good as a phone call from my mother. And that's all I have to say about that.