Thoughts on my recent trip:
My brother, his fiance and I road-tripped to Arizona to visit our extended family (happily, our immediate family, of which I am immensely fond, was also visiting our extended family at the same time).
We rented a 2009 Toyota Corolla and it was awesome! If nothing else, I am now reassured that I am not very spoiled when it comes to cars. Since the 1996 Intrepid that I normally drive is getting pretty decrepit, I feel like I spent a lot of time thinking things like "hey, the windshield wipers stop moving when I turn them off . . . splendid!" I have nothing but praise for the heat, the air conditioning, the hazard lights, the radio, the door locks, the windshield sprayers--it was pretty luxurious (all of those things are pretty flaky or completely non-functional on the Intrepid). The Intrepid also got me used to feeling like I was about to die when I got up to about 60 mph. In this car I felt safe at much higher speeds.
The cop said he had me going 92 mph in a 75 mph zone.
But it was hard to avoid! Normally, I'd just set the cruise control to 9 over the limit and go, but this car didn't have cruise control (weirdly). The visibility and road conditions were so good, I'd just start going and think "this feels like the right speed" and I'd look down and my speedometer would read 95 mph.
At one point, I was already going like 97 mph and I pushed it to 102 mph as an homage to my parents (this was a personal driving speed record for me).
(My parents took a roadtrip to Arizona before they started dating. Apparently my father tried to demonstrate to my mother that his car could travel 100 mph. It couldn't. The car broke down immediately and they were stranded in the desert for several hours.)
I found this great Honda minivan that was steadily speeding about the same amount as I meant to and I made him my pace-buddy (i.e. I followed him and let him determine our speed). I figured the cops couldn't catch us both for speeding. I never found out if the cops could catch us both for speeding because before we saw any cops, I decided that I had outgrown him and that we needed to part ways.
I may have been a little lonely (my car was quiet and my brother and his fiance were asleep) because passing my old pace-buddy was sad for me. I guess I hadn't realized how attached I was. If I had to pick a soundtrack, I'd pick "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" by Greenday for this part. It had been a great half-hour of highway driving, but like Icarus, I was giddy and over-confident.
Also, I didn't want him to think I had a crush on him.
The highway seemed a little more crowded as we approached Beaver, UT. I was going faster than almost everyone. I thought maybe I was just discovering that I was born with a gift for driving fast that others just don't have. I was never ashamed to be above-average in other regards, so I started to wonder if maybe it would be a shame--a waste even--for an exceptionally fast driver like me to slow down just to avoid attracting attention.
(I think the "gift" here might just be a lack of regard for the law, and an inadequate appreciation of one's own mortality, but anything that helps you get to your destination earlier is a gift in my book).
When I saw the cops pull out, my heart sank. I prayed that they weren't going to get me. I pulled into the right lane and slowed down a lot to act like I had been going a reasonable speed the whole time. They didn't fall for it.
They were nice enough, I guess. Normally, I resent the police a lot, but this interaction reminded me of the Looney Tunes Ralph and Sam. I think I may have even thanked them.
$165 is the fine. It doesn't seem bad until I think of $165 things that I would like to buy, but haven't because they're too expensive.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Things in my head that made me laugh out loud recently
Some things are really funny to me. I worry they're not interesting to others (or too crude), so I have tucked them out of the way here on my blog:
A dream I had:
I was protecting some servers from hackers. Looking back with my conscious mind, my approach was a little bit elaborate: I intentionally left a series of clues for the hackers to find. The clues suggested that the only way to compromise my data security was to travel to a particular place and hang out for a while.
The place where I lured them had wooden benches sort of like a sauna except without the steam. I explained to someone that it's important that the hackers be relaxed. After playing some relaxing music, the hacker was lying on the bench with one foot up and one on the ground--just where I wanted him.
One of the wooden slats had been secretly rigged with pneumatics. When I gave the word, the slat flew up and hit the hacker in the crotch. I recall explaining to someone that the system was designed to hit him really, really hard.
I'm not sure why I didn't kill the hacker, or prosecute him, or do something else that would prevent him from stealing my data. I suspect it had something to do with the pure pleasure of interrupting his malicious, little siesta that way. If only more of our enemies were so gullible.
A dream I had:
I was protecting some servers from hackers. Looking back with my conscious mind, my approach was a little bit elaborate: I intentionally left a series of clues for the hackers to find. The clues suggested that the only way to compromise my data security was to travel to a particular place and hang out for a while.
The place where I lured them had wooden benches sort of like a sauna except without the steam. I explained to someone that it's important that the hackers be relaxed. After playing some relaxing music, the hacker was lying on the bench with one foot up and one on the ground--just where I wanted him.
One of the wooden slats had been secretly rigged with pneumatics. When I gave the word, the slat flew up and hit the hacker in the crotch. I recall explaining to someone that the system was designed to hit him really, really hard.
I'm not sure why I didn't kill the hacker, or prosecute him, or do something else that would prevent him from stealing my data. I suspect it had something to do with the pure pleasure of interrupting his malicious, little siesta that way. If only more of our enemies were so gullible.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Vanity wins
We all know that it's frustrating to think of the perfect thing to say after it's too late to say it. I also think it's frustrating to think of something pretty witty and say it to a small audience in a situation that isn't relatable to the typical person (and therefore not suitable for a stand-up comedy act).
Thus, I hereby expose my entire readership to these under-exposed witticisms that I came up with. These conversations actually happened (though they may be paraphrased) and my responses I actually said:
Scene: Physics professor has taken a box labeled "Lab Snacks" (one of our suppliers occasionally throws in a snack with our equipment orders) and put a few electronic parts in it. ROHS compliant (ROHS=Restriction of Hazardous Substances) is a designation given to electronics parts if they contain sufficiently low levels of lead and other dangerous substances.
Professor: Here are some snacks.
Archiblog: Oh good, I'm hungry.
Professor: Actually, it's just that power supply I have to mount!
Archiblog: That doesn't look appetizing at all. . .unless those components are ROHS compliant.
All (except guy who didn't know what ROHS was): ha ha ha.
Scene: Friends are discussing ways to complete a CS minor.
Gabep: So, should I take a class that's really easy and teaches you how to surf the web and stuff or a class that actually makes you work?
Archiblog: Well, considering that in my daily life I surf the web a lot more than I work. . .
All: ha ha ha.
Thus, I hereby expose my entire readership to these under-exposed witticisms that I came up with. These conversations actually happened (though they may be paraphrased) and my responses I actually said:
Scene: Physics professor has taken a box labeled "Lab Snacks" (one of our suppliers occasionally throws in a snack with our equipment orders) and put a few electronic parts in it. ROHS compliant (ROHS=Restriction of Hazardous Substances) is a designation given to electronics parts if they contain sufficiently low levels of lead and other dangerous substances.
Professor: Here are some snacks.
Archiblog: Oh good, I'm hungry.
Professor: Actually, it's just that power supply I have to mount!
Archiblog: That doesn't look appetizing at all. . .unless those components are ROHS compliant.
All (except guy who didn't know what ROHS was): ha ha ha.
Scene: Friends are discussing ways to complete a CS minor.
Gabep: So, should I take a class that's really easy and teaches you how to surf the web and stuff or a class that actually makes you work?
Archiblog: Well, considering that in my daily life I surf the web a lot more than I work. . .
All: ha ha ha.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Open-Mic Night II
The competition really intimidated me. One guy had a real hook instead of one of his hands--a real hook! He made a call-back to the questionnaire question (obviously, the right answer was hook because there are so many great hook jokes)! That hook gave him so much material, it didn't seem fair--kind of like that olympic runner whose bionic, er, artificial legs give him an unfair advantage. If having fake legs helps you run, having one hand is a huge advantage in comedy (the logical extension of this is that Darth Vader could probably really knock 'em dead if he tried--maybe those guys he chokes are really dying of laughter that is so intense that they can't breathe or make noise or act like they're having fun).
There was also a half-black, half-white guy there. He was hilarious. How is a white guy like me supposed to compete with a fellow who has the entire world of awkward race-relations from which to harvest his jokes? Another guy looked just like the guy on the Verizon commercials. I concede that all of the aforementioned were talented. Other people had other great material. I suppose in a sense every comic has his own unique set of jokes that he can pull off because of who he is. I found myself secretly hoping that someone would bomb before I had to go on. I nearly left and nearly didn't come back (though I was closer to leaving than not coming back. . .since you have to leave before you don't come back, I guess).
My set went pretty well. Early on I got a big laugh with clapping (well, I could hear clapping in the low-fi recording I made), which is a big prize for a comic. My pacing was ok (I talked a little too fast and said a few too many words, but not by much on either count). I forgot which jokes I would do and skipped a bunch, but since I had intended to do 3 minutes and I used up 2.5, I think I was ok (perhaps it was an impeccable timing instinct that made me leave the stage 30 seconds before time?). I got some other decent-sized laughs (some of which I'd tentatively characterize as "big").
The toughest thing was that the jokes that I thought were really funny I either forgot to say or they didn't go over as well with the crowd as I thought. The premise that got the best reception I thought was so corny that it almost seemed Vaudevillian ("I've been told I have a face that only a mother could love. . .which is a real shame since I'm only interested in women who don't already have kids. . ." etc.).
Overall I think it was good and worthwhile. I hope the club bigwigs agree.
There was also a half-black, half-white guy there. He was hilarious. How is a white guy like me supposed to compete with a fellow who has the entire world of awkward race-relations from which to harvest his jokes? Another guy looked just like the guy on the Verizon commercials. I concede that all of the aforementioned were talented. Other people had other great material. I suppose in a sense every comic has his own unique set of jokes that he can pull off because of who he is. I found myself secretly hoping that someone would bomb before I had to go on. I nearly left and nearly didn't come back (though I was closer to leaving than not coming back. . .since you have to leave before you don't come back, I guess).
My set went pretty well. Early on I got a big laugh with clapping (well, I could hear clapping in the low-fi recording I made), which is a big prize for a comic. My pacing was ok (I talked a little too fast and said a few too many words, but not by much on either count). I forgot which jokes I would do and skipped a bunch, but since I had intended to do 3 minutes and I used up 2.5, I think I was ok (perhaps it was an impeccable timing instinct that made me leave the stage 30 seconds before time?). I got some other decent-sized laughs (some of which I'd tentatively characterize as "big").
The toughest thing was that the jokes that I thought were really funny I either forgot to say or they didn't go over as well with the crowd as I thought. The premise that got the best reception I thought was so corny that it almost seemed Vaudevillian ("I've been told I have a face that only a mother could love. . .which is a real shame since I'm only interested in women who don't already have kids. . ." etc.).
Overall I think it was good and worthwhile. I hope the club bigwigs agree.
Open-Mic Night
So tonight I took the plunge and performed my first-ever original, 2.5 minute stand-up comedy routine. It went well. A couple things:
I read a book on stand-up comedy and the author practically guaranteed that many in the audience at my first open-mic night would be drunk. I know we were on BYU campus, but there wasn't even anyone who appeared a little disoriented (except me).
They gave those of us who wanted to join the club a questionnaire. I think my answers were pretty good. I got my name, email address, etc. right. They asked with what artificial object we'd replace our hand if we lost it in a garbage disposal accident. I wasn't sure if this was a serious test, or a test of our funniness, so I put that I'd attach one of those soap-dispensing sponges with handles until I got to the hospital. That was good because if that answer's not funny/clever/resourceful enough, then the reader will probably think that once I get to the hospital, I'll pick something really funny/clever/resourceful (a rubber chicken? a gun? a hook? a U.S. savings bond? a name tag? Al Gore? there is no right answer! (though in real life, hook is a common one)).
They asked us to draw a shape that represented us. I drew a fetus (which I still am in the world of stand-up comedy--not least because I almost turned out to be as wimpy as a fetus after seeing some of the other comics (see next entry)). They asked why we were interested in stand-up and I said to improve circulation and posture, though that might have been the anxiety-induced, self-diagnosed tachycardia talking.
Stay tuned next time for the rest of the story. . .
j. larry. a.
I read a book on stand-up comedy and the author practically guaranteed that many in the audience at my first open-mic night would be drunk. I know we were on BYU campus, but there wasn't even anyone who appeared a little disoriented (except me).
They gave those of us who wanted to join the club a questionnaire. I think my answers were pretty good. I got my name, email address, etc. right. They asked with what artificial object we'd replace our hand if we lost it in a garbage disposal accident. I wasn't sure if this was a serious test, or a test of our funniness, so I put that I'd attach one of those soap-dispensing sponges with handles until I got to the hospital. That was good because if that answer's not funny/clever/resourceful enough, then the reader will probably think that once I get to the hospital, I'll pick something really funny/clever/resourceful (a rubber chicken? a gun? a hook? a U.S. savings bond? a name tag? Al Gore? there is no right answer! (though in real life, hook is a common one)).
They asked us to draw a shape that represented us. I drew a fetus (which I still am in the world of stand-up comedy--not least because I almost turned out to be as wimpy as a fetus after seeing some of the other comics (see next entry)). They asked why we were interested in stand-up and I said to improve circulation and posture, though that might have been the anxiety-induced, self-diagnosed tachycardia talking.
Stay tuned next time for the rest of the story. . .
j. larry. a.
Elementary school voting
I hate to be cynical, but I recall in elementary school having to vote in mock elections so that we could practice being good citizens. You know, I think our voting then was a lot like how we vote nowadays: then, as now, we were ill-informed, we voted predictably based on demographic lines and our votes didn't count for much.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Salud!
When you sneeze and someone says "bless you," do you ever feel bad if you have to sneeze again? Almost as if you were taking advantage of their willingness to say "bless you?" How I hate to impose on strangers even if my poor head is about to explode. Maybe people say "bless you" as a way to guilt you into not sneezing anymore.
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