Non-Preferred Customer

So I did a little traveling out to Connecticut last week. Connecticut is an interesting place. After leaving from Laguardia in NYC and driving north, I found that the just from the city to trees was quite abrupt. One minute I was driving through the Bronx, the next I was driving through a bunch of trees and reading the "Welcome to Connecticut" sign. Strange.

Another strange thing was the traffic. I expected NY traffic to be much like Chicago traffic. Happily, it wasn't. Sure, there were lots of cars, and even a few wackaloons driving oversized vehicles, but the traffic kept moving. This is much better than Chicago. Driving is Chicago is like trying to get thousands of sausage links to pass through a drinking straw: it's just not right, and do you really want the mashed goo that comes out of the other end? Another interesting insight about the drivers in Connecticut: the ration of suburban, soccer-mom, women drivers to oversized luxury SUVs on the road is nearly 1/1. Watching some 30-year-old woman try to park a Hummer in a grocery store parking lot with two screaming kids in the back and an ongoing cell-phone conversation is amusing to say the least. The discerning part of it is that these monster vehicles completely go against science. That's right, Darwinism goes out the window when soccer-mom Sally gets behind the wheel of a vehicle capable of hitting a whale broad-side while only temporarily causing the DVD player in the back to skip over a few frames of Shark Tale. Ironic, or just a coincidence? I don't know, but I don't want to be the person that goes against science, and neither should you, so our only hope is that soccer-mom Sally plummets into the ocean after pegging the whale, drowns, and is slowly eaten away by plankton. Maybe not Darwinism, but certainly just, and border-line ironic.

Friday rolled around, and it was time to leave Connecticut and head back to the Midwest. Two hours from Laguardia to O'Hare and then a quick 28-minute hop to P-town. Leave at 2:30pm EDT, get home at 5:30 CDT. Simple enough, right? Wrong. My motto always has been, and will continue to be, "Beware O'Hare!" How true. I won't bore you with the petty details, but I think it's important to pull out a few bullet points:

• Any airline that has an unstaffed customer-service desk should win the oxyMORON of the year award.
• Flight attendants will lie through their teeth to get you to believe that someone, just inside the terminal, at the boarding desk, actually cares or knows enough to actually help you in any way, shape, or form.
• I'm not a preferred customer.

Some of this requires a bit more elaboration...

I'm at O'Hare, running on O'hare time (2-3 hours behind the rest of civilization, trying to get on the "next" flight), standing at the United Airlines customer-service desk, irately reading the sign stating that the customer service desk is "closed." Okay, I can cope with this. Sitting on the runway in NY for two hours was way worse than this, right? There's got to be another customer-service desk, correct? After myself and the other 100+ passengers tap some guy wearing a United shirt for the answers to these questions, we find ourselves leaving the terminal, passing through security, in hopes that the ticketing counter will be able to help us find any flight to get us home.

I'm standing in front of two massive ticket counters. One is for preferred customers, the other is for, well, non-preferred customers, which is an interesting topic in itself. (Anyone who says that class system isn't live and well in the U.S. is full of it!) The line for the preferred customers is non-existent. The line for the non-preferred customers is nothing short of amazing. If there was no roof over our heads, I'm certain that astronauts from space would rank us next to the Great Wall of China as one of the few man-made objects that can be seen from space. Oddly enough, despite the number of people in the two respective lines, the number of tellers to service these people seems to be inversely proportional. 8 tellers for 1 preferred customer. 1 teller for hundreds of non-preferred customers. I say to myself, "Self, you need to go over to the preferred customer line and demand that they get you on the next flight, since they managed to screw the pooch on the original flight anyway."

Fast forward to 10:oopm, CDT. My plane lands in P-town, a good four and a-half hours late. I'm tired, still quite upset, and fairly certain that I'll be cavity searched if I ever attempt to fly United again. Needless to say, despite my fairly grounded emotions and generally level demeanor, I managed to vocalize my thoughts to the "official" guarding the preferred customer line at O'Hare in such a way that the man quickly turned, walked away, and gave an unofficial notification to the security guards that they had a "looney" on their hands. And why not... I was obviously a non-preferred customer. Why should I expect anything else.

Great, now I'm all pissed off about the situation again. Stupid United; no talent ass-clowns.

Re-post, Snoop Style

On account of the lackluster reviews regarding my last posting, and largely because the majority of society doesn't care, I've decided to prove my resourcefulness, and re-post the book review, but this time with a little help from Gizoogle. I can't take the credit for the translation, but it's too funny not to post. A shout out to BW in IC; this is all you!

Book Review: Linux Kernel Develizzle

I read a lot of technical books . Relax, cus I'm bout to take my respect. Oddly enough, tha only bizzy review I've posted is on a non-technizzles book like a tru playa'. This is probably coz tha average person really doesn't care `bout techie books, especially tha kind I read . Hollaz to the East Side.

Anyway, of all tha books in this genre that I've read, there is probably only `bout 3-7 thizzay I'd rizzank as "very good." Call me picky, but I thizzink there is an overabundance of shizzay non-fiction books out there... D-to-tha-izzon't even git me started on fiction.

At some point, I need ta create a list'n of mah favorite all-time books, but fo` niznow, I'll only offa up mah latest "very good" find. Oddly enough, I didn't even kizzle tha book existed until it caught mah eye at B&N.

The bizzy is titled "Linux Kernel Develizzles written by Robert Love. No, he's not a piznorn star, but he's tha equivalent of it in tha ballin' community now motherfuckers lemme here ya say hoe. Anyway, if this homey ever quits his job/hobby as a kernel hacka ( n fo` everyone rhymin' out `bout tha word Brotha I strongly suggest you takes tha opportunity ta learn tha difference between a Playa n a Gangsta ) he needs ta become a technical hustla. Humor, detail, content, it's all here. It's by far, tha best Linux kernel book I've read, n probably tha biznest applied Pimpin' Systems" literature as well cuz I put gangsta rap on tha map. If only I would have had this wizzy I was tak'n mah C.S. classes cuz I put gangsta rap on tha map. Poser 1 fo shizzle: Tannenbaum n tha "dinosaur" book . Ya fuck with us, we gots to fuck you up. Pimp 2 dogg: Robert Love n some real kernel hack'n

As a side note, I thought about Gizoogling this post, in essence double-dawg Gizoogling my original post, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Book Review: Linux Kernel Development

I read a lot of technical books. Oddly enough, the only book review I've posted is on a non-technical book. This is probably because the average person really doesn't care about techie books, especially the kind I read.

Anyway, of all the books in this genre that I've read, there are probably only about 3-7 that I'd rank as "very good." Call me picky, but I think there are an overabundance of shit non-fiction books out there... don't even get me started on fiction.

At some point, I need to create a listing of my favorite all-time books, but for now, I'll only offer up my latest "very good" find. Oddly enough, I didn't even know the book existed until it caught my eye at B&N.

The book is titled "Linux Kernel Development," written by Robert Love. No, he's not a porn star, but he's the equivalent of it in the programming community. Anyway, if this guy ever quits his job/hobby as a kernel hacker (and for everyone freaking out about the word "hacker", I strongly suggest you take the opportunity to learn the difference between a "hacker" and a "cracker") he needs to become a technical writer. Humor, detail, content, it's all here. It's by far, the best Linux kernel book I've read, and probably the best applied "Operating Systems" literature as well. If only I would have had this when I was taking my C.S. classes. Semester 1: Tannenbaum and the "dinosaur" book. Semester 2: Robert Love and some real kernel hacking. That would have been truly great.

For those of you in the know, it's all about 2.6 and everything kernel-related. The coding is all out of the kernel and is clean and readable. The appendices could be mini-books in themselves. I highly recommend this book to system administrators, kernel hackers, device driver writers, or anyone else who just wants to learn about general OS concepts. For the rest of you, which is pretty much everyone, I apologize for this post.

The Woodchuck's Dilemma

I distinctly remember my trip to Showbiz Pizza when I was a little boy. I'm sure most of us remember our first trip to this fine eating establishment, but probably not for the same reasons as I do. First of all, I was more interested in the pizza than in the games and rides. Secondly, and probably directly associated with my first comment, I spent a large amount of my visit stuck on the mini Ferris wheel.

How does one get stuck on a 3 ft. radius Ferris wheel you ask? Well, as I alluded to earlier, it may have had something to do with me weighing as much as a 16 year old, while in reality only being about 7 or 8 years of age. I think it's quite safe to say that I wasn't what one would describe as "under-fed" or "scrawny" as a young boy.

Now, being "husky" wasn't all bad. It came with its advantages:

• Better cost/visit ration at all-you-can-eat restaurants
• No bullies really messed with me
• The ability to survive long stints of Midwest cold weather
• The knowledge that I would be the last survivor if ever lost on an island with no food
  

That being said, none of this seemed to matter when I was stuck, a good 48" in the air, in the mini Ferris wheel basket. Apparently the little motor in this thing wasn't rated for "gravitationally gifted" individuals. To add the final touch to the situation, despite the motor giving up, the stupid circus music continued to blare. Oh yeah, everyone watched as they pried my fat ass out of this silly little basket. "Look at the fat kid," they exclaimed. Quality memories.

Anyway, I diverge... The *other* memory I have of Showbiz was the game where the little woodchuck sticks his head out of one of about 18 holes, and you have to beat it down with a big mallet before he ducks away again. This goes on for a minute or so, and depending on how many woodchucks you've clubbed to death (great game for children, obviously), you will receive tickets so you can go a buy a $0.02 plastic whistle that tastes like plaster and doesn't work.

Fast forward 15+ years. Every day, just as we all do, I experience things that just make me cringe. Seeing as that no one else seems to care (or cares but knows better), I feel obligated to ask the question: "What the %!@?" ... Why do I do this? I'm not totally convinced I know. I feel, if for no other reason than curiosity, obligated to question; obligated to challenge the accepted.

In doing this, I've begun to see some sad but true parallels. Every day, I stick my head out in hopes of happy things that woodchucks tend to hope for: peanuts, certain breakfast cereals, other sexy woodchucks, etc.. Yet, much to my surprise, what do I find??? What could possibly happen when I stick my head out of my little hole??? How about some fat kid with a mallet bludgeoning me to death! Trust me, it hurts. And really, how many times do I need to go through this before I learn my lesson. When will I be content with my own little hole? Well, 15 years after wielding the mallet myself, there are still Showbiz Pizza restaurants, certainly lots of fat kids, and mallets to spare. Every day is just a different fat kid and a familiar mallet.

Maybe tomorrow will be the day I find my peanuts. There's only one way to know for sure...

The short, short version

In the interest of trying to make up for several weeks of lost blogs, I'm going to give the short, short version...

• Tucson: Nice town, rather flat, lots of good looking women, slower pace of life.
• New Ford Mustang rental: Crappy car to drive, but sure does look nice on the outside.
• Software licensing: Sucks. Oracle sucks more than most.
• Dual-core CPUs: They rock, but not enough to counter Oracle's Micro$oft-like licensing.
• Watching 100+ doctors, physician assistants, and technicians graduate: impressive.
• Watching my wife win an academic award for being one of the top four students in her P.A. class, at the number two program in the country: one of my proudest moments ever.

Okay, so a lot more has happened than these bullet points, but it's all I can remember for now. I'll be back in Tucson this weekend, but hopefully I can keep the posts coming. Nothing like a flight ("beware O'Hare!") to get the creative juices flowing!

Optical Calculations

I managed to screw up my glasses over the weekend. I'm not sure how or when it happened, but considering the overall amount of alcohol I drank, I'm not surprised. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if I had implants and a tattoo of the name "Bubba" on my ass after this weekend. I decided to pick an eyeglasses "shop" out of the yellow pages. I called them, made an appointment, and went on with my day. Actually, I proceeded to go online and check out the places that my insurance company covers for optical just to make sure I didn't get screwed... Needless to say, a few phone calls later, I had an appointment at some other place. Funny how Wal-Mart seems to be the blessed optical care company by my insurance plan. I had to look long and hard to find the place that I did, knowing that their service and quality had to be better than Wal-Mart's. Ha!

...

Fast forward to my drive home after my eye appointment. I had a lot less money than I had when I left for the appointment, a firm belief that my insurance plan's suggested "discount" on eye care products was more of a tease than a reality, and that all is lost when it comes to basic math skills in this country. Is $139.00 + $ 39.00 really that hard to calculate? Must be, because my little eye-glass-selling friend, whom I'll refer to as Pythagoras, was thoroughly confused by this trying mathematical proof. I watched him jack up the calculation, with the help of a calculator and computer mind you, three times, insisting each time that I wasn't understanding their pricing model. Obviously it is beyond me. Who am I when compared to Pythagoras, the guy who sells eyeglasses?