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@ tweakui.mycrowsoft.com Y2kk Update: At last, I can finally, officially declare myself to be the idiot that was, and the idiot that forever will be, not like that was ever in question, mind you… It's just that, I was trying to be the hero two Mondays ago. After my partner rescued me in the Electronics lab the Friday before, I pitied myself and pitted myself between the moth and the flame, or the bucket and the lopsided ball, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean… I stayed at school for the longest time that night, toiling in the computer mines at the Digital Systems pre-lab for God knows how long… and when the time finally came on Monday to show off my goods and prove to my partner what I've got? I know this may not sound too good, but all I wanted was to make myself feel like an equal, to stand high, proud and tall, for holding my own, no matter how hard it feels or may be… Unfortunately, the extra two hours we spent in the lab that morning, all thanks to my dear, sheer incompetence, sort of throw me out of the loop, along with that last ray of hope of Mario sunshine of mine. Because, well… you see, if there was a problem with the Altera hardware we were using or something, I would've been real pissed, but at least I wouldn't have beaten myself over an ugly stick for it afterwards. But the truth of the matter is? It was my fault. It's always my fault. And it's always my fault, because I never seem to do anything Dudley do right… I was the one manning the computer. I was the one programming damn chip pins like a chimp into the damn program… For it was the best of times. It was the blurst of times. And yet throughout the three hours that I was sitting idle in the lab, I never once realized that I was reading the damn pin numbers wrong off the goddam sheet?… For three frickin' hours, all I kept doing was mistranslating and misplacing every damn number in front of me, in plain English English, as if I was some dyslexic fool or some schizophrenic psychopath, or just plain IvanF or some crap like that… Short story short, I was trying my best not to be useless. I was trying my best to be the best, to be the one on top, so that all things considered would work out for the best. But alack, and alas, and ay, there lies the rubbing of the balls… for all good things must come to an end, for all good things that goes around, cums around, harder and faster from behind than ever before… And although I know this doesn't sound too good, it's true, oh it's true, that it always seems, I save the best for three frickin' hours last. Anyhew… enough with the no-name closet talk for one day… Getting back to IvanFian seriousness, I actually meant to write this Y2kk Update of mine about two weeks ago, shortly after the shuttle Columbia exploded upon reentry. The thing was, I used to be the biggest NASA fan back in the day. I wasn't quite on par with my cousin however, who seemed to memorize all the shuttle names and their commission dates by the age of 10 or whatever, but I did admire the space program in its entirety, simply because I've always been a sci-fi dreamer and a Sigourney Weaver at heart. But the thing was, the saddest part of it all, was when the space shuttle Columbia came crashing down to earth two or three weeks ago, I did what I hoped I would never do: I became one of those annoying pricks, those ball kissing hicks, that I kept bashing and blasting and lambasting and basting and complaining all about soon after September 11th… If you total recall, I sort of mocked all those who chose to mock America around and about the event that changed the world nevermore. Regardless of whether their criticism was right or wrong, the fact of the matter was, it wasn't justified. Not for the time, and not by me. Whenever I found a person using September 11th to their advantage, if only to prove their own points to make them seem smarter, then they deserved a spanking, or at least a stern lecture from me that I knew they would never no-name hear in their lifetimes… Of course, I was being a hypocrite too at the same time, criticizing them during an era that I myself claimed should only be for mourning, and not for verbal macking, or even Macaroni Cheese, but that's besides the point… But you see, things were a bit different back then… not all that different, though. In which, I never cared about terrorism, and I never cared much about US globalization. I did care however, about all those damn people back in high school who goddam kept slurring and insulting me for my tolerance to both sides of the argument… I never chose a side, except to side against both of them annoying pricks. And life was good, sitting my ass on the picket fence, as pineapple painful as it was… And thus, I used September 11th to prove my own points and my own merits, that some people just won't keep their damn mouths shut, and yet I forgot all those Y2kk days of mine, to label myself as a perpetrator of intellectual masturbation as well… And apparently, things haven't changed very much since then, or at least I haven't changed much since then, because when I first saw the sight of the space shuttle hurtling to the hearth of the earth? All I could do was complain and whine and be the same damn IvanF that I wish I never was. I started yelling at the television screen, as if it would respond, for being damn dumb enough to think terrorism was involved, even if there was an astronaut from Israel on board. I started correcting my sister and mother, cutting them off as they got the dates of the Challenger explosion and the age of the space shuttle fleet wrong. I started preaching to the choir, or at least my own family room, that the shuttles have had micro-fractures in their fuel lines for the longest damn time, and considering they still use CPU chips that they bought off of e-bay, it was only a matter of time until a catastrophe like this one was bound to happen, regardless of whether it was hit by an asteroid or its own Styrofoam ass on the way up… and it was only a matter of time until I bitch slapped my forehead silly, and realized the hypocrite that I was. When it came to September 11th, all I could ever think about was how damn stupid nay-sayers were being, for squeezing their own pineapples and justifying their own principles with the charred remains of the dead, as if they were guilty of necrophilia in my eyes or some crap like that. And yet when it came to the shuttle explosion the other week? Regardless of how few casualties there were in comparison, I still had no right to became the same damn virus of a vulture that I labeled as a genus of a genitalia not so long ago. And, well… hell, AOL, I guess it's a good thing that I don't know anything about oil or New York or whatever, otherwise I'd be all over this goddam Staten Island explosion as goddam well… I'll never be rid of this intellectual masturbation, will I?… otherwise I'd have nothing left to write… Of course, it's been a long Bay of Al Bundy time since Columbia was destroyed, and while I still fear that the space industry will not get the Fundy funding that I've always felt they deserved, it's not like I'm still kicking myself over how I acted anymore… except on this website, but that's besides the point… Some feelings pass with bitter time, yet some only get more and more whiny and annoying as iotas of ions and eons pass by, sort of like me, being an internet cancer I mean, or an internet Taurus who drives a Ford Taurus, and also as a certain other experience of mine seems to be. Because you see, I knew just by looking across my tutorial rooms in university that people were getting photocopies of textbooks from some secret store down the street from my school. I know that these photocopies were technically and literally illegal, but considering they cost about a fourth of what those goddam bookstores charge, I really didn't give a shit. So I waltzed up to that copy store one day, fully knowing that they had just sold a textbook to someone I knew a few minutes ago. I pleasantly nodded to the Chinese manager in style, as he uttered some Chinese diaphragm dialect to me that I couldn't get the gist of with my horrid, torrid linguistical skills. And as I tried my best to ignore his greeting of an insult, I opened my mouth to the sound of English and almost saw his eyes wince in traumatic, automatic, climatic, psychedelic pain … Ignoring his reaction yet again, I politely asked whether he had any copied textbooks on sale for the course I knew he was selling them for. But before he could show me the copy I wanted, he essentially slammed the book right in front of my face, threw his own book at me, kicked me out of the store, and slammed the door on my ass on the way out. He flat out rejected me, and after two damn weeks of pondering, with nothing left to ponder, I still didn't know why. I mean, I had asked politely. It's like I said, "give me the damn book!" or some crap like that… and I was willing to pay in cash. So why the hell did I just get rejected, like the NBA always feels against the Harlem Globetrotters, as if I was on some bloody first date? I didn't even get a peck on the cheek on the way out… or a biting of the ass… either one's the same… It was about the time of the Columbia destruction that I mentioned this whole story to a friend (after he wouldn't listen to my space shuttle rhetoric any longer), and while I was slapping myself silly for being that damn innocent and that damn ignorant enough to not notice that he wasn't listening, he essentially slapped me in the face as well, for being so damn gullible and for being so damn naïve. I was his genuine Eve, but, um, nevermind… Because apparently, just from the tone of my voice (and the lack of tone in my muscles), he knew that I had asked for the damn copied textbook all wrong… I mean, I wasn't supposed to ask. I was supposed to demand a damn copy. The whole damn thing was illegal, and apparently, at least according to my friend, the Chinese manager probably thought I was some government spook or communist spy or some crap like that, although I would certainly hope that governments would get better inspectors than ugly losers like me… So in order to preserve his pride and prove me wrong, after an entire Buffy season and session of me trying to prove him wrong when it came to Columbia, he dragged me by the ear back to that photocopy store, and when we arrived, I expected some grand show or something, as if the owner would invite him to the back and make some dirty pornography deal with him under the table or some crap like that… or on the table actually, if you're into that kind of thing, though me and my partner aren't… my lab partner, I mean, but, um, guess I shouldn't refer to him as that anymore, should I? But that's besides the point… flying dick, my ass… But anyhew, while I was expecting the Usual Suspects 2 or U of T Registrar Dogs 3 or some crap like that, I got this instead: My conversation two weeks sort of went like
this: Um… okay, that didn't sound very good…
But moving along, this is how my friend's conversation went the
other day: So all in all, I had no clue what the hell just went on there. He entered the store, moaned one damn sentence, and then as if magic, or as if they were partners, I got the goddam textbook I needed the very next day. Now, I could attribute this to the fact that the photocopy store or that pornography store was empty when my friend and I went, thus eliminating any possibility of a CIA operative being there to illegally deport the manager or something… But instead, I'm going to use to my own sense of warped and speed logic here, and officially declare that the Chinese manager is racist against damn Chinese! Or at least, has seen too many Seinfeld episodes for me to even begin to wonder what the hell he said to me at first… And, well… it's not like this Chinese store owner is the only one who seems to steer clear of me for no apparent reason whatsoever. The friend I used to help all the time with computers last year barely even says hello to me anymore, even when I'm flapping my arms and flubbing my gums at him like some not-very-wily coyote… although, um, that could explain why he doesn't exactly make eye contact with me any longer… along with the fact that I called him my lab partner, but that's besides the powerpoint… And then there was this other guy, who used to be so Luke Perry, lukewarm with me at the start of the year, like Princess Leia cuddling up to Luke Skywalker or some crap like that, as if he wanted to be my lab partner or, George not feeling well, some crap like that… But short story short, after being this no-name guy's friend for a couple of weeks or whatever, he finally came up to me and asked me a computer question that I didn't know. So I told him instead to ask the TA, and you know what he said?… "Um, you're not the TA? Um… sorry, my mistake"… and, um… well… oops… I should've said instead, "give me the damn book!"… my mistake… And after that, you can sort of guess the outcome. He had been buddy buddy with me ever since day one, every single day that he saw me in the lab, laughing at my jokes while rubbing his own dick and squeezing his precious pineapple, all at the same damn time… and then suddenly, when he realized that I wasn't the one who was going to mark his projects and leave a mark on his ass?… He never talked to me again, except for that one time to yell at me for talking about Columbia… he would've preferred to see the damn black board over my damn black-haired head rather than my lack of pictures of the damn black box, or rather would've preferred to hear talk of Columbine and necrophilia over my goddam voice, as wonderful as that sounds… He was a decent Charlie chap, now wasn't he? But alas, I never got to know him well… and as it stands right now, he was the last guy who ever bothered to think of me as a TA. Besides all those other guys who thought I was the TA, I mean… And after that, I guess my intellectual prowess sort of lost its charm… as really, really, ridiculous as that sounds, coming from a no-name whiner like me… Who would've thunk? Which explains a lot when it comes to that Digital Systems lab of mine, but I'm sort of trying to lock that total recall out of memory. Besides, it's not like it was a pivotal moment in my life or something, considering I do a million idiot things a day to remind me of who I am… forgetting one damn memory yields no damn benefits for a hypocrite of a man like me, but that's besides the point… And yet both knowing and not knowing, essentially half the battle of who I am, never seems to stop me from being the no-name writer, or being who I am. To be or not to be, I guess that was never the question, but honestly, who throws a shoe? Honestly? No shoe for you. And who would've thunk? Except that it all sounds like so much goddam globetrotter fun, doesn't it?… whatever the hell I'm trying to say… |
Y2kk Update: Wow… I've almost Alias garnered 200 000 hits according to my busted, broken down counter down below… Of course, 180 000 of those hits were preset by me, considering I was about two years late in installing that damn counter of mine, and, well… I kind of overcompensated for my own incompetence with a few tens of thousands extra hits I'm sure, but that's besides the point…
And as I reach this artificial landmark of a landmine of mine, there is one little thing I'd like to get off my chest… I've been viewing my websites, all my websites. from my gallant university, Galeon Linux computers, where the damn graphic, junkie whores of serverettes won't let me alter the resolution from the 1600x1200 or whatever that they have it goddam, undemocratically preset at. And quite frankly, to be honest, my websites just don't seem the same when viewed from anything but 800x600 resolution (which is what I use at home)… The thing is, I don't do it intentionally, but often I find that I subconsciously put emphasis on the endings of certain lines, according to where I pit them on my monitor. In a sense, certain paragraphs of mine have been embedded with lines of prose that truly do depend on your browser being maximized at a 800x600 resolution to read properly. And, well… the thing is, as stupid as this sounds, at least to me, my crappy Y2kk Updates lose a heck of a lot of flavour and a hell of a lot of presence the moment that the resolution changes. I've found that certain sentences just no longer read right, some word alliterations no longer flow or feel tight, and it's taken me the damn longest time to figure out why… Sadly, although my updates are each quite the crapper, they are indeed a sick form of perverse art in my eyes, but art nonetheless… and while art often is in the eye of the beholder, what counts to me is how I meant for it to be seen, and how I saw it when I first wrote it… Of course, I've never once actually intended for my writings to look better on a certain resolution than another, and it's not like anyone ever actually does read this website, otherwise I wouldn't have to have an alias of a fake, foobar counter on the bottom, but that's besides the point…
Anyhew, it's been a while since I last did an update on this site. But really, that's only because nothing has happened in the world of IvanF in terms of computers or anything… I am supposed to finally get a video card update for my computer, but my cousin's been kind of too lazy of sorts to bother finding where my damn Radeon 7500 card actually is right now. And since he's doing me a favour, who am I to complain? Thus, I really shouldn't push his carcass off his damn sofa and into his damn car… which, um, sort of is his sofa, but I digress…
And the only other greatest story ever told over the Christmas holidays was that after a month or so of whining, my brother finally got the laptop of his dreams… or at least, the laptop at Staples: Business Depot that he instantly wanted after the entire five minutes of comparison shopping he did there… In the end, he got a Compaq Presario or whatever, with an Athlon XP 1.33GHz core, 256MB of SDRAM, a 30GB hard drive, an 8X DVD player, a 14.1" TFT XGA screen, and a Radeon Mobility U1 16Mb shared card. Now, say what you will about Compaq, but at least they're goddam better than Sony with their goddam Vaios, Viaos, violins, sexual violations, or whatever kind of crap. And at least they've actually made up their minds to stay in a specific business, rather than branch off all over the place to play Pinky the Mouse and take over the world… unless, um, Compaq belongs to HP, which is branching all over the place to take over my precious pinkythemouse@hotmail.com, but that's hopefully besides the point…
And besides, when it comes to laptops, hopefully brands don't count that much… um, do they? Because the only thing that ever matters to me is the damn keyboard. I mean, who really needs a 2.0 GHz Pentium 4 MP CPU when Powerpoint and Frontpage and everything my brother actually needs, requires only a P3 600MHz CPU to run? What's important is the keyboard and only the keyboard, because if you're going to use the same damn laptop for an entire damn four years of university life, you'd better get a firm form of a grip on something a little more comfortable than just a pole on a stick or a smoke and a pancake… So honestly, I have to put my foot down on this. Hear me roar. The keyboard is the only thing that matters on a laptop, and my brother definitely heard me holla. He had a choice between a Toshiba Satellite Celeron 1.8GHz and the Compaq Presario that looked oh so cute, and he chose the latter, simply because of my recommendation… and because it had fancy stickers and designs on top… which is all that matters. They keyboard, U1 U-571 I mean. The keyboard is all that matters, and therefore, the Compaq is where it's at…
Well, then again, you have to admit, that hard drive access times do affect laptop usability and feasibility pretty damn much… I mean, it makes a world of difference whether that goddam Windows XP of his loads in five seconds or five bloody minutes. Hell, even I get impatient on my old computer when bloody hell Internet Explorer takes a whole ten seconds to load, which is ten seconds I'd rather prefer to have back in my life, thank you very much… although, um, I'd probably just waste them again… So yeah, that's definitely it. Keyboards are first priority, and hard drives are second. Casual buyers always confuse the CPU with loading speeds, and they never realize that the hard drive is where it's at. Oh yeah. That's what I'm talking about. I can feel the hardness now… Big O yeah… The hard drive's where it's at…
But then again, there is the factor of the damn loudness of the damn laptop… I mean, some people are obsessed with speed demon machines, and want to blast away their friends with the lone whirlwind whirl of their interior fans. While if I was my brother? I personally would want the quietest piece of crap I could find, simply so I wouldn't stand out as the obnoxious idiot in class as everyone is MSN Messengering each other over the damn Infrared network system… And oh, how can I forget such classic romantic lines like, "You've got Mail!", and "Uh oh!", and "It really whips the momma's ass!". Because so many are simply so goddam obsessed with having the loudest damn speakers on their goddam shout-it-loud laptops, just so they can be heard every boxer rebellion round and every damn time they get a goddam message from their friend across the Church pew. I'm telling you, laptops are teh new banging bling bling baby, teh new boom box for teh new baby boomer age, oh suxxz yeah…
And oh, how could I possibly forget the importance of the video card, as a mere 16MB shared Radeon Mobility ain't going to cut it in a 16 player LAN game of Counterstrike over that must have, 802.11b network system! And goddammit, how could I possibly forget the damn TFT XGA monitor of all damn things? Anyone with anything less than a 15.1" screen should burn in hell like the cheapskate that they are, and anyone with above a 14.1"screen should burn in hell as well, and why? And why?! Because how the hell can you multi-task 69 different apps properly at 1600x1200 resolution on just a paltry 13" screen? If I wanted crap, I'd buy a Sony product… And at 15.1", why the hell don't you just get a bloody desktop if you're so damn puritanical about having a wide-ass screen? And for who? For what? Just to play goddam DVDs on your goddam software renderer in a goddam fullscreen mode that will turn even a mere $200 DVD player sourpussy in disgust? And what, you want a bloody hell 3.0 GHZ CPU in your damn laptop, just so you can play the latest games when you can get the same damn power for less than half the price in a bloody desktop? I mean honestly, who throws a cupcake? Honestly? Anyone who buys a laptop should burn in hell like the pig that they are! To challenge the dominance of the desktop dynasty deserves more than even 747 lashings in hell, and why? You have the Audigy audacity to ask me why?
Because laptops always have such goddam horrible keyboards! That's why! How the hell can you possibly expect to type anything properly in any sort of goddam proper English if you don't have a keyboard that actually feels and functions Freudian properly according to IvanFian principles! And goddammit! I want to push her buttons and press down keys that actually do feel like real pineapples, dammit! If only damn laptop makers would implement such goddam decent keyboards… or, um, if only they would just convince us mindless users to plug in PS/2 keyboards of our own… then, well… I guess I wouldn't have anything to complain about, now would I?… not that I'm complaining, of course… Since when have I ever complained? Because just to iterate, boys and girls, the most important thing when looking for a laptop is to find one with a keyboard that just feels right… and, well… with, um… a 7200RPM hard drive with 8ms access time, a CPU fan that makes 0.1dB noise, a touchpad capable of 3D depth for alien GUIs, and probably some Dolby 6.1 EX speakers built in with Audigy EAX in hardware on the side, just to add some flavour… and O, you can't forget that Radeon Mobility 9500 or whatever, or that 2GB complementary DDR RAM just for shits and giggles, or the 19" TFT screen for SQL Code Red, Big Game hunting, or a lithium ion battery that lasts fifty years or so after just a single recharge, and tastes just swell with a pinch of vinegar on the side... And most importantly, you must absolutely have a DVD/CD writer combo that can bloody hell record CDs at 72X speeds or something relatively decent like that… and also burn bloody hell each and every damn one of you bloody laptop users to hell for desecrating the holiness of my desktop's dignity with the manifest destiny of Japanese damnation that will forever be known as goddam Japanese miniaturization… and, well… um…
I'm foaming at the mouth and haven't had rabies for a while… I'm not overreacting am I?… No? Good… because you also can't forget while you're at it, how hot the laptop hot dog gets after 69 hours of use… Because I mean, I wouldn't want you laptop users to burn your hands or anything… heh… I would never dream of such a thing… So in conclusion, keyboards are definitely first on the list. Nothing else matters… yup… still good… I now feel small and broken, but yup… still good… and, um… you don't think I have any unnecessarily evil bias towards goddam laptops, do you? Because I love all of God's creations. I honestly do… though laptops aren't exactly one of them. They're more like Pandora's box to me actually, with a lot more sex appeal, but that's besides the point…
Anyhew, I shouldn't be the one talking, considering only the smart deserve to act as the smartass commentator of S.M.A.R.T-ask hard drives. And if last week proved anything to me, it's that I really have no sense of common sense… I skipped an Electronics lecture for good measure and good reason: because it was boring. I pleaded with myself never the set foot in that lecture hall again, and by God, it was hard. It was painful, but I did what I had to do and goofed off for the rest of the day… Unfortunately, I picked the one and only day that I really shouldn't have done such an American Beauty thing. The professor had given out lap manuals that lecture, and none of my friends, being as loyal as they are, remembered little ol' me enough to actually fetch me a copy. So once I learned of my predictable predicament, I realized that I was the one and the only one who could shovel my way out of the Canadian driveway, no thanks to my friends and their utter lack of concern for problems that simply don't concern them…
So I forced myself to go to the next lecture, in hope that the professor would show me his grace by the, um, grace of God… And go happy lucky for me, he actually did have some extra copies in hand… well, not exactly in hand, but rather back at his office. So the thing was, because I was now running late for my next class or OE something (one of which I didn't exactly want to skip… just yet), I asked him whether instead of following him back to his station, that he could just remember to bring me a free copy the next time we had a lecture. And since there really was no reason for the professor to disprove, I set myself off on my joy-joy, merry way, not realizing until ten damn moments later that… um… our next lecture was on the only day that I had few enough classes to actually skip and sleep through at home… as long as I was able to bypass Electronics, that is… because I really do need my beauty sleep…
So off I went to see my professor again, and God, did I look like an idiot, trying to conjure up some no-name reason why I can't wait until two days later just to get a lab manual I didn't even need for another week. But being the newbie professor that he is, he took the bait and I was baited all the way back to his Bahen office, although the long trek ahead wasn't nearly as easy as it sounds. Because I sure as hell was far more uneasy than not at the end, since afterall, not only did he memorize my face along the way, not only did my honesty principle crap force me to admit I really skipped his class for no damn applicable reason last time around, but he also actually gloated that I had a Russian name. I mean, he was sort of Russian himself and couldn't help but cuddle with my mother tongue… and now he has power over me. He can favourtize me or cast the first stone whenever he sees my name on a damn exam paper, simply out of woeful, whimful spite over how I pay attention in his piddly course… So dear readers, please take a lesson from my example. In university, try your best not to make eye contact with your professors, unless you actually intend to do well… and, um, also… do not read newspapers in class while warmly nested in the fetal position… not that I've done that, of course… heh… of course… um…
Anyhew, short story short, I finally did get the lab manual I needed, but at what cost? Not only does he now know my face, not only does he now know my name, but he just had to ask me the question: I was going to make it to our next lecture, right?… And the thing was, he used his mind voodoo on me. He tricked me with his eyes and his brain into cringing out a yes. And the thing was, him bearing down on me sort of made me actually keep my word the day of the lecture. I was too damn petrified of him remembering my damn name to actually sleep in that day… So after all my endless efforts of trying to avoid waking up that useless sunrise, just to go to his class and only his damn class where I never pay attention anyhew, I had actually cornered myself into a bucket of a hole where I had to wake up early anyhew, and wave hello to him with a Russian comrade smile… And the saddest part of it all, was that I found out during that next lecture of ours, that the entire damn lab manual was now available for free download off the anonymous internet… Not only that, but there was now a permanent resting place in a building nearby where we can pick up free copies of the damn booklet, without hassle, and without any sort of fuss from a certain, creepy, you know who… And God, I was so damn pissed and bored at that point that I honestly could've taken somebody's laptop, anybody's laptop, or any of those juicy PDAs that damn PhD students like to parade around on their blackberry black belts, and smash it over my head, just to save myself the pain and there-be-by-the-grace-of-goddam God, that for sure will come back to haunt me when I finally see the Russians are coming…
And, well… all the above wasn't exactly a very uplifting story, was it? But at least it kept me awake in a lecture, for the first time in God knows many years… without hearing the whirl or the "Uh oh" of somebody's damn laptop, that is, since it all sounds like so much fun, doesn't it? Hoping that they all singe I mean, knock on firewood, but that's besides the point…
Y2kk Update: Don't mind me. I've just gone postal, stamped, and sentimental boy all over again… yes, again… Maybe it's because my brother just left for university a few hours ago, and I was forced to bare witness to my mother shedding her tears… then again, my mom also cried yesterday, and the day before that, and oh, probably the day before that as well. But those were angry tears. Just the sheer mathematics of tears. They don't really count. But today? Today, I saw tears of sadness. Today, I saw tears of the real… but then again, come to think of it, she sheds tears of the real all the time anyhew, but that's really besides the no-name point…
Or maybe the reason why I've gone bug-eyed is that I just finished watching Disney's The Kid on television, and haven't felt this sick of being sober since, well… since the last time I felt sober… which is always, considering I've always been too much of a loser with a capital "like" to ever have a drink in my life… And maybe that's what got to me, about The Kid? Maybe it was a short story short that I could relate to, considering I too howled at the orange county moon when Bruce Willis hollered out, loud enough that even I could hear, that he is NOT, I repeat, NOT a loser… and it only took him 40 years to figure that out, which means I for one still have plenty of time… yup… got plenty of time… I'm still good and swinging single, baby…
And ay, there lies the rub… because you think you have all the time in the world, and then… well… badda bing, badda boom, you get to witness a really cool time paradox thingy in a kid's movie like The Kid, and realize that things just aren't the way you always wish them to be… But then again, maybe I always feel this wishy-washy way whenever I watch the Disney feel good movie of the year? I mean, I got turned on by that anime Jane rubbing herself real hard against those vines in Tarzan the other day, but that's besides the point… And The Parent Trap is still at the top of my list of movies for guys who like movies, so maybe I just have a thing, fling, wedding ring, and badda bing for films starring idiot men who get girls in the end with really adorable, peachy, British accents, but I digress… or then again, maybe I just have a thing for Bruce Willis movies, considering I almost cried… twice… while watching Armageddon… yes, twice… twice, both times I watched the goddam film… and also throughout Die Hard 1 and Die Hard 3, but now I really must digress…
Short story short, the short kid in, um, The Kid, just happened to put some stuff into perspective for me. Sadly enough, watching him pick his nose actually made me reflect real hard over the past year, and realize that it wasn't the best of times, it wasn't the blurst of times, and it was almost harder to chew than that Bambi video, and yet I did it. I survived. The tribe has spoken, I shut off my goddam TV, and all in all, I survived. And in the end, it turned out to be not such a bad year afterall… 'cause twas the year of the IvanFian farce…
So to whom it may concern (meaning those few readers out there who actually know I'm normally lonely enough to write a massive Y2kk Year in Review every December 31st of all dates), I apologize for the lateness of my no-name reply, or my Y2kk Update, to be precise. I haven't been real excited about writing this seasonal disorderly update of mine, considering it's just another footnote in the… um… footprints of the football league, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean… It's just that, the beasts of burden of having pointless websites all over the Mycrowsoft .NET such as my own is finally extracting its winzip toll on me. I really feel like I've accomplished nothing in the past year. I really feel like I've done nothing of any real relevance in the past 12 months of my life. I really feel I've done nothing more than be one big slob or one big sloth or one big slimer of a salty slug of a kid all year long. And yet?… and yet, I continue to needlessly write, if only in the hope that one day, I shall thank myself for undertaking such an undertaker type of task. And also because, out of all things I've done in the entire year, the only thing I was ever proud about, was the fact that I did continue to write…
… heh… God, I was so terrified at the start of the year, which going by my calendar, means the Chinese New Year of February 2002… Hell, I'm still petrified, insanely Husseinly mortified, because it never ends. God, it never ends, but that's what I'm goddam paying for… Two years ago, I dropped a chopstick on Chinese New Year's Eve. I didn't give a damn that I didn't give a damn about it, but my parents sure as hell did. They damned me to hell all night long (since my house was too cold to be hell), simply because according to their superstitions, I have just cursed myself for the next 12 months of my life… and, well… suffice to say, although 2001 wasn't exactly my favourite of years, it certainly was a hell of a lot to fun to rant and whine about… I was despised by my obsession, had a nervous breakdown by graduation, danced my first dance to no ovation, absolutely sucked the supple whore after serious university contemplation, and was terrified, mortified, and stupefied just one year later, when I once again had to hold high that chopstick over my parents' trap of condemnation… And ah, the circle of life. Ain't life grand? And as a bitter irony, the only thing I can play on the piano after two years of goddam lessons, is goddam chopsticks with an oddjob, chipmunk kind of beat, but that's besides the Merrimac point…
The point is, I didn't drop it. I didn't drop the ball or the stick or the shtick or whatever the hell this Chinese New Year's Eve, and suffice to say, I was definitely hoping that things would start looking up for me from that point on… And in a way, I suppose things did… Because first things first, I failed a course for the first time. I failed my goddam Algebra course, the one that I found to be all too easy… until I got my first ever negative 100% mark on a quiz, but that's besides the point… And yet, in the end, having to take the course all over again (and almost failing it a second time around), and having to take summer school was actually one of the highlights of my year. Because oddly enough, I was able to relax for the rest of my first year at university. I had failed a course, and except for failing the entire year, there was nothing else that could possibly go wrong. Or at least, there was nothing else that would hurt as much, for I had become immune … My worst fear, besides being circumcised that is, had finally come true, and as soon as it passed, I just couldn't give a damn about its, um, whereabouts or whatever kind of hell… Having Algebra for the second time in the second term allowed me to focus more of my studying on the courses that really needed it, and by forcing me to take summer school, my stupidity had achieved what my brains and brawn and brave little pawns could never dream of achieving: convincing my parents that for the 20th straight year of my life, I cannot and shall not get a summer job… And while I got to sit at home, watching the weather channel while churning away like a mouse in butter, or a little monkey at a typewriter that could, at all those nonsensical, non-musical websites of mine, I just couldn't help but think to myself… God, I feel lucky to be a whimsical, Wimbleton loser…
Because the life of a loser truly is grand. I may be no Enron, I may be no Worldcom, but at least I have yet to have a single dotcom crash to this day… unless you include all those times my computer has tried to electrocute me, especially when I took out that buzzsaw of mine, but that's besides the point… and as the comedic sidetrack and horse racing track of the year, I remember long ago that I claimed if Nortel Networks' stocks ever plummeted to below $2.00 on the Toronto Stock Exchange, that I would bite my lip, swallow my tongue, lick the polish off my toenails, and actually waste $200 of my precious, precarious money on 100 goddam, worthless Nortel stocks… and, well… suffice to say, I bought 100 shares at $1.70 this year, watched my small fortune dive Das Boot all the way down to $1.20 a share after just a couple of days, and swear on my money's grave that I will not sell a single dime until the stock value multiplies by my exact number of stocks, so to speak… meaning my worthless stocks are all mine until they reach an all time high of $120 each, just in case you're mathematically rip torn like engineering me… and, well… suffice to say, I'm never going to see my money again. That's what losers get, for gambling when you know the definition of a gamble… or in my case, that's what I get for opening my big mouth a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, and for actually being a man of my word… even though nobody remembers what the hell I said… And I think the Year of the Farce said it best, that I guess all us Canadians should be fortunate for Nortel. Afterall, they're creating new jobs everyday, to this day… Everyone with Nortel stocks in their Christmas stocking pensions will now have to work until the ripe ol' age of 75, I shit you not… and oh yeah, uphill and downhill, both ways in the snow, I thank you…
Of course, losing $170 of my money didn't phase me one bit, considering I just checked my DVD collection today and realized my brother and I have spent a grand total of over $1600 on just movies in the past two years or so… But of course, the greatest spending spree for me this entire year came when I got the Nintendo Gamecube for what I thought was a bargain basement price… until one month later, when I saw the price of my precious console drop $80 CAN from its retail price, but that's also besides the painful point…
But what was the point, or what was the stab in the back and the stake in the heart, was the fact that when I went home that day with my Gamecube in hand, hopelessly concocting alibi after alibi in my head of how to explain away my recent purchase to my parents, I witnessed my mother and father frantically calling all the relatives in a tone and dial tone I've not seen since the days of Serious Sam… short story short, the greatest shock of the year for me was that my grandfather needed shock therapy at the hospital just to remember who the hell he was… and just to get his heart goddam beating regularly again… because he had a stroke that April day… or actually, he had a stroke the day before that. He was found by my cousin a day late, paralyzed in a pool of his own piss and vomit, and I'm so goddam ashamed that none of us found him sooner… I now visit him every other week or so in the nursing home, and I couldn't help but smile the other day when I saw him walk for the first time in a longest time with a cane in hand. And I did feel kind of like Tiny Tim this Christmas, wishing everyone a God Bless Us, Everyone when I finally saw a smile shine through my grandpa's face… I could see it in his eyes; he was happy to be alive, and what a feeling that must be… but still, the fact remains, nothing will ever be the same. We sold his old townhouse, and it's only a matter of time until his brain deteriorates to the point of no return. And to top this all off, when my grandpa was first admitted to the hospital, I already had my grandma from the other side of the family lying in a hospital bed, weeping to my mother that we never visit her enough in her time of need… and this all happened in time for my blessed be birthday… my IVT 420, the goddam birthday of goddam Hitler… and yeah, just great… just spectacular for us spectators, really… because sadly enough, the circle of life was completing, as an anvil on my birthday of all days, no less… and how's that for irony? I mean, hell's bells, it's so goddam ironic that it's goddam iconic, not to mention goddam moronic, making me so goddam neurotic that I guess I should digress…
While my family life seems like shit at first sight, especially when I imagine my grandpa lying motionless on the floor over a sac of his own shit, it actually didn't turn out to be that bad in the end, I guess…My grandma is steadily recovering from her ordeal, and as I mentioned earlier, my grandfather may dance the roaring twenties jig yet again someday or another… And what actually counted to me most, was that thanks to these double whammies and Big Mac Whoppers of traumas, I finally was able to at least partially redeem myself in the eyes of my uncle and my father… It's no secret to you few Y2kk readers out there that my uncle stormed out my house last year on Christmas Day. And although it's cliché to claim that it's all my fault, I'm still going to say that at least, it's always my goddam fault… But I finally was able to talk with my uncle for the first time in months when we took his father to the hospital, and it was from that point on that my own dad started easing up on his vicious pressure when it came to my vicarious university studies. And it was a good thing too, considering exams were just around the corner, and having a father barking orders directly into my ears probably wouldn't have motivated me very much… Suffice to say, I magically was able to pass that entire second term without failing a single course, and although that may not sound like much of an achievement, I still feel the urge to thank you all very much, even though I'm really talking to nobody... because I can still remember my immerseful, immenseful, ejaculatory elation and utter jubilation as I rode through the halls, bellowing out at the top of my lungs, that I did it… that I did it! That I actually passed my goddam Dynamics course! Coming at 'cha, YEAH!… and, um, of course, I only did so with the help of the bell curve, but as I always say, that's besides the point…
It's just too bad my love life could never follow suit or anything more than just a trivial pursuit, compared to all those other so-called good misfortunates and premature misfires of my life… I met a girl this year on the train ride home that I haven't seen since Grade 8. I never exactly had a crush on her, but I always imagined that she had a crush on me… And after two weeks of staring at her, I finally mustered up enough General Custard courage to tap her on the shoulder and hope that her eyes would light up… unfortunately, they didn't… and God, was it embarrassing… that she didn't even remember me, let alone ever have a goddam crush… and she still didn't recognize me, not even when I told her my name… not even when I showed her my ID… not even when I started acting out a little play, with evil sock puppets no less, of our last day together, whenever the hell that was… and, well… She ran away. She sort of ran away from me, not that I can blame her. I for one definitely have an affinity and beyond for running away from the people that I'm scared of… like the most mental of criminals, from the brink of nuclear war, from clowns that smell like cabbage, and from my uncle of course… and also that girl who talks too much, whom I always seem to talk too much of, especially on my websites… but since I'm still trying to beat her out of my head with an ugly stick, I think I'll stop talking about her here… especially since it's only a matter of time until she whips out and starts beating me with her stick, which actually doesn't sound too good now that I think about it, but I digress…
But of course, how can I ever forget all the joys I felt the moment that Cupid ripped my hearth and nipped my nuts? Because God almighty, I thought it was just a myth, from the Age of Mythology or some crap game like that… but byte me, lo and behold, truth be told, I actually fell in love… I fell in love at first sight… I was so goddam depressed that day, from failing a test I had deemed so damn easy, that the moment I laid eyes on her Vanilla Sky lashes, I just knew that my Hermes search to end the pain of my eternal herpes hopelessness was finally done, as romantic as that sounds… and it felt good… good on the whole… and God, I spent the rest of the day just staring at her ass, as she conveniently just had the most perfect bottom and the most perfect, dainty cotton pants I had ever seen before in my life… And God, no she didn't have a British accent, but she was more perfect to me than either Pygmalion or Vulcan could ever forge. And the day that hail hailed from the heavens, laying a haven on my chest and a miracle on her breasts, as we simply walked hand in hand, our eyes synced with every breath?… and God… oh God… oh merciful Venus and almighty Olympus, why must I always be the onus of Mr. Holland's opus? Why the hell must I always be the anus, staring at that star of wonder, star of bright, star of wonder woman, Uranus? Because goddam God, the Fates smiled wrath on me and Medusa gave me the look that only women can give, because it was all for nothing… it was all for goddam nothing… She hates me. Just like the book she threw at me says, she hates me… She's always hated me, or at least hated me the moment she found out that I didn't hate her. And God, for the longest time, I felt like Achilles, with Cupid's arrow dangling beneath my heel… or even Prometheus, with vultures gnawing at the white gall of my liver… or even as bad as Homer, when he went to collect Mr. Burn's mail and couldn't remember the boss's first name, but I digress… because it hurts. It really, really, ridiculously hurts… I ch-ch-choose to love, to love her, and yet I was given in return the Tarturus taste of Belarus burning… but heh, at least Team Canada won the gold medal this year for the first time in 50 years, and even then, I had to be smitten and spanked and layeth the smackadown by a women, although not the women I'd like to be in that position… <insert unwarranted rib here about Swedish women looking like men, and the Swedish Olympic hockey team playing like women… but, um, nevermind… just one last political masturbation to get off of my breast, but I can see that you're not impressed… and neither was she, but I digress…>
Because if anyone truly brought me grief this year, it was my sister. It was hard enough when she officially moved out of the house for greener pastures, it hurt enough when she was too home-ophobic to ever call or visit, but it really did sting as bad as the band, or that band of brothers banging their drums, when she told me at my brother's graduation that everything I stand for, that everything I am, is wrong… and it's not like I believed her. It's just that, it was then and there that I rekindled my faith in the sole belief that heaven's gate, purgatory's shadow, and Homer's Odyssey selling his soul for a donut all stood for the same damn thing: that the only goal in life seems to be to hurt others more than they hurt you… I didn't truly care that my sister seemed to hate everything that I was. I just couldn't take it when she refused to admit that she even felt a shred of guilt about what she was doing to me… instead, she seemed to revel in glory at every convention of my ulcuric convulsions, and thus I was destined to live through the damn curse of the annual nervous breakdown all goddam over again… and believe me, I still cringe at the memory of this day to this… um… day…
But fear factor not, for the show must go on! The plan must go ahead as… um… planned… Because as much as I hated her for the next few weeks or so, I did sort of enjoy spending time with her again as we took those goddam, satanic golf lessons of ours… but heh, I could never get the damn golf posture right. I was ready to throw the guru's bible right back in his face after he pressed his body to mine every single damn time I screwed something up… and trust me. I screwed up a hell of a lot, and he ended up screwing me a lot... On my better days, I would wack the ball all the way to my right, watch it ricochet off the wall, and right at my sister's head… or my head… or if I was fortunate, right at the nuts of that goddam guru wacking himself off… But the best of days, and the blurst of days, came when our goddam teacher filmed the class taking Wesley swipes at the goddam ball. I always get nervous when I perform in front of an audience, always hoping to steal the show… and trust me, on that day, far left in the outfield, I certainly did have my field of dreams… I certainly did steal the show, although not in the way I intended… On my first swipe, my posture was all wrong… I hit my own toe… with a delayed ouch and a punch to my gut… On my second damn swipe, my grip was all wrong, and allow me to gripe that my club swung me around more than I swung it… And on my third swipe? When dice came to thrice? On my third chance, when third time's the charm? Well, I certainly charmed them, although I certainly was no Prince Charming… I was more Prince Charmin, as I had the grace of that goddam perverted, toilet paper bear. I finally made contact on the third swing, but there was just this one, tiny, iddy biddy, teddy bear of a problem… I didn't hit the ball. I hit the goddam astroturf instead, and I almost shattered my elbows in the process… But I can still hear the applause. I still can still hear the compliments… "Oh… nice!"… "Oh… nice hit!"…. and "Oh, very nice hit!"… but, um, there was just one thing my classy admirers never noticed. That wasn't my ball flying through the air. That was the face of my club… laughing at my own face, listening for a "flying dick, my ass" as it sailed through the skies… and oh, was it ever a Kodak moment. You had to be there…
And, well, that pretty much wraps up my Y2kk Year in Review, and quite frankly, 2002 truly was the year of the IvanFian farce. I was kicked in the nuts by my love at first sight, and I hit myself in the nuts several times with that goddam golf club of mine. I had my heart broken in two when I finally let go of my obsession, and had my heart broken again when I realized my grandparents are no longer immortal... And I never got to go to Wrestlemania X8, the showcase of the immortals, in my own hometown, but at least the gods made up for it, with a personal showcase of Nicole deBoner… or, um, I mean… Nicole deBoer, from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Until Hoshi came along, (which was, um, actually last year, so forget about what I said), there was no Star Trek femme fatale that I've ever fallen for except Ezri Dax, one of the few women that may actually be my minuscule height and weight… And what do you know, but she blessed both me and my noname site with an angelic visit to the Torontonian theatre I was in… and God, was it ever refreshing, that after cycling through so many foolish, girlish, fanboy obsessions in my lifetime, I finally was able to suffer through a celebrity deathmatch with a woman who now bitterly hates me as much as every other woman I've ever known… Sure, she has no British accent. She has a Canadian one instead, almost as bad as mine, but hell, AOL, at least it's still a step up from whom I usually obsess over… and as for my next, one stop, hard-on-ware shop? To annoy Andromeda's Lexa Doig… mmmm… succulently, salaciously, scrumptiously salty… Hope she tastes like cabbage, but I digress…
As far as I'm concerned, the year of 2002 will forever be known as the year that has no name. The year of 2002 will forever be known as the first year and the final year that I finally was able to feel like a kid… I've always acted like a kid, I've always felt like a kid, and have always feared the day when I suddenly would no longer be one. Because to claim that one day, I'll stop picking my nose?… well… as despicable as this sounds, let's hope it never happens. Because alcoholics anonymous, say it with me: I like me. I like being me. And I like having no-name. I like having no British accent. Hell, I like The Parent Trap. And hell, AOL, I even did cry the third time I goddam watched Armageddon, but that's still besides the point… The year of 2002 will forever be known as the IVT year of the farce. It was the year I got no love. It was the year I got no job. It was the year I got no respect. And hell, AOL, now that I think about it, it was really no different than any other year before it… and yet… and yet?
… you think you have all the time in the world, but alas, all good things must come to an end… And sadly enough, I love being a loser. I love being just another part of my own fickle mob, and I don't want it to end. I love imagining that one day, I will be a better man. I love imaging that one day, I will no longer be a bitter man, but rather a man with a boner, far flung across the border… and that's the thing. That's the fling. Dare to dream I say, but I so dearly, dreadfully wish that I could just go on dreaming for the rest of my life. I simply do not want to wake up… and yet… I'm afraid… It seems that 2003 may be a wake-up call for me. 2002 was the year that my house divided could barely stand, and yet, though my family is now small and broken, it's still good… yup, it's still good… But 2003? I fear 2003. It may yet be that goddam annoying alarm clock that just won't goddam shut off… and possibly be the year that will finally be able to shut me the hell up, but I digress…
And, well, sounds like fun, doesn't it? The mathematics of tears, I mean. And since I have absolutely no clue what that means, I might as well just wish here the world a very happy happy happy happy happy anniversary, and a God Speed, a Good Will Hunting, and as I always say, a God Bless Us, Everyone…
Y2kk Update: Okay, so maybe my website isn't as worse off as I keep claiming it is... because it appears that my hit counters are more screwed up than my lifestyle and writing style will ever be. While one of my counters only logs every fifth or seventh visitor who pops up on this site, my so-called better counter that I have visible down below doesn't even end up loading for any visitor whatsoever for voided, avoided weeks at bloody anonymous times... So truth be told, if even my own visits aren't logged in the logs, I have absolutely no clue if anyone ever visits this site or not. So unless I'm willing to actually shell out the effort for a third free counter in this epic, economic dotcom crash of ours, only to find that I really am getting just five pathetic hits a day, I think I'd rather just keep talking into the dark, pretending like all you readers out there are my imaginary friends or some crap like that... just like the good old days, when I had real imaginary friends, uphill and downhill, both ways in the snow...
Anyhew, my university exam period is finally over, and I suppose things went as well as could be expected. I expected my first two exams to be my hardest ones, so I studiously studied for the first one more than a week in advance. Of course, logic dictates that I should've done the same for the second, but unfortunately, I have no sense of logic, which really hurts for the engineering course that I'm in... So while my week of studying paid off for the first exam I took, I sort of died a slow and painful death on the second, simply because I was too tired from my week of studying to even remotely begin studying for my hardest, damn course...
My computer exam came second last, and thankfully for me, it was a lot simpler than the mid-term ever was. The exam was merely based on computer concepts and not insane coding like the mid-term, and although I am embarrassed that I couldn't even get the so-called "easy", only coding question on the exam (which was to turn an inorder binary search tree into an array), I am pretty satisfied with the rest of my answers (although I did sort of skip over that amortization complexity question, and what the hell do you do when you get a triple collision with double freaking, open addressing hashing?).
But the thing was, after my exam, I went to collect my last programming quiz, which from my standpoint was probably the easiest computer quiz I've had in a long time... And since I was expecting a perfect on that damn thing, I guess you can say I was a bit perplexed and more than just mortified, petrified, petroleumfied, and stupified when I saw I scored a dismal 60% on that stupid quiz... which was at least better than my mid-term mark, but that's besides the point... And the thing was, I technically didn't get any of the questions wrong on the bloody test. The only thing was... I can't count wrong... or, um, I can't count right... nevermind... What I mean is, in my topological sort question, I had to count the arrival and departure times of the depth-first search traversal. So basically, every time you visit a node in the graph, you simply give it a number and increment the counter. The thing was... I couldn't count... and since all my incremented numbers were just one.. or two... or, um, three dozen off of what they should be, I was given a big fat, Greek Wedding zero for my efforts... just great... and it didn't take long for it to finally hit me, that I sort of forgot to check whether I did the same damn thing or not on the goddam final exam, but that's besides the point... Because it all sounds like so much fun, doesn't it?
Anyhew, I'm finally home for the holidays (not that I ever leave home...) and that's all that really counts to me. The problem is, Christmas season really brings out the worst philosopher's stone in me, even worse than I normally, crappily am. Because the thing is, I'm all alone. I'm Home Alone. Hell, I'm Home Alone 4. Sure, I've got my family. I'd be lost in limbo without them. And sure I've got my health, although I'd prefer if my ailing grandparents had a little bit more... And sure I'm having decent academic success, considering I'm still in a high ranking university, even though I'm practically failing most of my courses... So therefore, I should have so much to be thankful for, right?
And yet every damn year, I can never shake that stupid, seasonal disorderly feeling that my goddam life is incomplete. It's always around this time that couples all around the world are breaking up with each other, and as a result, I keep dreaming of a white semen Christmas and the day I get my heart broken by a woman strong enough to break me in two... And I just can't help it, feeling all alone, with nothing but Christmas spiritual impotence and dysfunction as far as the eye can see. It all just somehow makes me so damn bitter that I have noone, absolutely noone special in my life to share my Y2kk moments with. Because it's always the greatest, most wonderful times of year that make me most the bitter, and turn me from Mr. Shrewed to Mr. Scrooged and Mr. Screwed... Christmas truly does bring out the worst in me, by bringing out my hopes and dreams. And you know what? That's why each and every year, including this year, I write my entire year's story as an IvanFian Y2kk special on New Year's Eve. Because I have nobody at all to spend that day with, and sadly enough, while I'm writing that annual update, I no longer feel alone. I guess you can say it's my Christmas gift to myself, or my New Year's resolution to write the damn thing, and honestly, how sad is that?
Anyhew, I'll be out of my flurry of a funk as soon as the Sun starts rising in the east again, and the wind chill doesn't try to make me vomit everytime I make it to school... Since I still have almost absolutely nothing to report on this website, I thought I'd just copy and paste from another Y2kk Update that I wrote this weekend. Usually I just breach my download site's infringement copyrights, but since this week, I got the rare opportunity to review Stargate SG-1, Star Trek Enterprise, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer all in the same week on my http://noname.mycrowsoft.com site, I thought I'd bore you two remaining readers with these spoiler reviews of mine, kitty littered below. So while I mope about the Christmas tree with an Al Goratory grace and face, moping up all the shards of ornament glass I've shattered with my dreams the past few days or so, go ahead and read up on something other than my life and pivotal essence for once, because my worthless, no-name opinions just sound like so much damn fun, don't they?... just like Christmas, and my chestnuts roasting over a nutty fireplace, but that's besides the point...
"Damn. My ass hurts. It really, really, ridiculously hurts. And it still hurts, two days after... well... you know what... or maybe you don't know what, considering it's not what it sounds like... or at least, I hope it isn't what it sounds like... But anyhew, two days and two nights ago, I wasted my evening hours reading at an Indigo bookstore not far from my university campus. But the thing was, there was nowhere to sit except on the ground, so what else could I do but bark and park my ass on the concrete floor and read all about it into the long, foggy, wispful night?... and really, I didn't think any harm would've be done. I've sat on the floor countless times before without any ill, adverse aftereffects... but that was then. This is now. And it's not like I've ever sat my ass on something so hard (or so hard on...) before for three hours straight or any crap like that, but that's besides the point... because the point is, by the end of the night, my ass really, really did hurt, although I know that doesn't sound too good...
But I couldn't help myself! It's a guy thing! Or call it a guy thing if you will, although I know that doesn't sound too good... But alas, the temptation island was simply too much for me to bare! I mean, new episodes of Stargate SG-1 had just returned to primetime television (or the skanky, suave, sly cooper internet for me), and I couldn't help but become a military vet-less freak all over again after watching this week's episode, Show and Tell. Something about that illegal gun shop the episode showed simply got the best of me, and thus I parked my ass on a cement floor for three hours straight, reading up about M203s alaunching, P90s awailing, M16s ajamming, M4 Carbines afiring, one OICW in testing, and a partridge in a sniper scope's tree... Of course, as much as it's a guy thing to act like the Harvey Planet Dailyson or whatever kind of crap when it comes to gun registries, truth be told, I really do suck at so-called guy things... I could never play Canadian hockey since I could never skate or survive a check, I could never compete in basketball because my arms were too scrawny to ever pass the ball, and when it came to guns, I absolutely never knew nothing about them, no matter how much I read, simply because I care more about the shows that showcase them rather than the actual showcase floors that house a mountain of rifles... or those lovely infomercials that claim by God, if Charles Heston did not have guns, could he have saved his people in Egypt?... I think not, but that's besides the NRA point...
And with that being said, I must admit, this week's episode, Show and Tell, was one of the greatest Stargate episodes I've seen in a quite a while, for sure topping my list of NID-based episodes (unless you count Prometheus as one, although that was more about the drool-worthy, X303 Enterprise than Colonel Simmons and co...). Right from the get go, Show and Tell had me captivated. Seeing Jack snipe Senator Kinsey at the start was mind-boggling to say the least, and simply because Jonas was so out of the loop, I so thoroughly enjoyed all the briefings about the top-secret, mimic devices from Foothold. And the dumbfoundedness didn't end there, because in all honesty, I thought Agent Barrett played his best role since... well... Wormhole Xtreme, but that's besides the point... I loved his little moves on Carter, protecting her body from the explosion one minute and then watching her take off her shirt the next. And to be honest, I didn't know whether this NID guy was being honest or not. I honestly did believe he was going to betray Carter, and that's why the scene where she tells him about the mimic devices, and when he reveals to her that the Senator is not dead, was quite efficiently effective from my point of view.
This episode left me guessing, all the way up until the end, and it was all helped by some strong performances by every member of the cast. General Hammond actually got to look serious for once, and Doc Frasier got to make some non-obvious discoveries for the first time since the Ancient was found Frozen. I absolutely loved the Teal'c moments, where he clotheslines the runaway doctor and interrogates him as only Teal'c can do. Jonas was great, especially in the scenes where he felt left out of the mimic device, know-how loop. His moment with Teal'c about learning to drive in 1969 was a wonderful touch, all beautifully touched off with a very atheletic Jonas jumping over a fence to catch the good doctor, I presume... Carter took charge this episode, and it suited her much better than in Nightwalkers, I thought. I kept second guessing myself whether her so-called "black widow" complex would end up haunting Agent Barrett, but then it would have to haunt Jonas as well, considering last week's episode, but I digress... And although I thought the ending sequence was a bit too awkward for my tastes, with the NID guy shapeshifting into Major Davis one moment and then relaying the tale to his superiors the next, it was all made up for by the brilliant finish to the end of the episode. Although Jack didn't get much action this episode (he even had to go fishing off-camera... alone...), his handshake at the finish said it all. I couldn't help but believe that Show and Tell had one of the most ominous endings I've ever seen since Enterprise's "Cold Front", Suliban episode last Christmas, as the look in Jack's eyes when Senator Kinsey told him to smile was simply priceless, and even got chills running down my spinal tap and feet... if feet get chills, that is... and wow, I couldn't help but think at the end that the Senator had actually planned this all out, of becoming the weakest link, only to look like a hero in the end. And quite honestly, with the way the political world is turning right now, I can't help but feel this episode touches a little too close to home for close comfort... although I've never really been one to complain about politics, but that's besides the moot, mute point...
It's the little things in life I cherish, and probably the thing I remember most from this week's episode of Enterprise, the Catwalk, was the weird moment when a very eerie Captain Archer tells some frightened crew member that the first Vulcan Ambassador to earth was named "Sokar", a name straight out of Stargate and Egyptian data-lore (see? I can still pun!... or, um, maybe not...)... But that's not to say I didn't like The Catwalk. Quite the opposite actually, because it was one of my favourite episodes of the entire year so far. The special effects were some of the best since Cold Front (which I mentioned earlier), as even though the storm didn't look even a few hundred meters high (couldn't the Enterprise just fly over it at Warp 5?), its brilliant little light show did have a certain Christmas effect on me... And critique me if you will, not like anyone ever reads this website, but I liked the premise of getting all the crew together on a DS9-like promenade, all without a shower to keep their temperaments in check. I liked the disgust in Malcolm's eyes when he condemned Trip and his engineers' lack of forethought, and considering Trip is my hero, how could I not possibly like that sinister look he gave back to possibly his best friend on the entire ship? Hoshi didn't have much to say this episode, except reaffirm her claustrophic nature like I do everytime I see an elevator, but T'Pol on the other hand had a few sly moments from here and there, paying attention to that crappy, full screen movie night near the ending, and refusing to let Mayweather break off from the Eddy current or however you spell that tornado, sore thumb thingy. And for once, just for once, Mayweather actually had something to do. Sure, he didn't get much character development, considering the only thing he really got to mutter was how scared he was in a type 3 storm long time ago in a galaxy far far away, but whenever Travis gets to show up on screen for more than one scene without his shirt off or his body being dead? Take it or leave it I say, because this is the best he's done since Fortunate Son, which unfortunately was a vey bad episode last year...
In my eyes, the Catwalk was a cakewalk of an entertaining episode to me, not only because Archer had a palmpilot with DVD quality video that I wished I had, but because I also thought the villains suited their purpose as well. Whatever the aliens of the week were called, I thought they posed a much better imposing presence than the Tandarans, the Mazarites (who were referenced yet again in this episode), or even the slinky Suliban ever did. And that mostly had to do with the brilliantly stern, alien captain sitting in Archer's chair, the one with the deep bass voice I'm sure I've heard on Voyager sometime before (although I must've locked the episode out of memory with all those other horrid Voyager episodes I don't remember). The alien captain may have been a one dimensional character, but at least he looked threatening. In fact, his entire militia looked like battle-hardened gunmen, just by the way their eyes and skulls were eeriely shaped. And although in the end the aliens did kinda suck at firing weapons, considering they couldn't even hit Archer in a massive EV suit, ducking below some open-ended kitchen utensils, I do feel this new race has a lot of potential at becoming the next equivalent of the Klingon empire (considering they've kept the Klingons as idiots in the Enterprise series). This all culminated in a predicatable yet tense moment, where the Catwalk's manifolds or whatever are firing up to cook the crew, and in all honesty, if I was writing this episode, I wouldn't have changed a thing... although I guess that shows a lack of imagination on my behalf more than praise for this episode, but that's besides the point... and, wow. I really have a lot of points beside the point this week, but that's also besides the point...
And that's also somewhat the main reason why I really, really, ridiculously must stop reading the Buffy the Vampire Slayer forums. Because it diverges my thoughts, fault-lines my faults, and I can't help venting my frustrations about all those people on the net who continue to vent, week after week, how they could've written and directed each and every episodes better than Mutant Enemy or whoever runs the show these days. And this week's episode, Bring On the Night, was definitely no exception... because the thing was, I liked this episode, and why? Well, mostly because of the Terminator homage near the end, where an injured Buffy hobbled and wobbled into a factory followed by the Ubervamp and the sound of clanking, chiming music, but I digress... Because even though I loved this episode, my fun with it was ruined shortly after by all the complaining bourgeois on the internet forums. I mean, the places I checked had two great gripes: first of all, they couldn't stand how Druscilla was calling Spike "daddy", and why? Because she used to always call Angel 'daddy', and always called Spike something else. And just being of this pathetically mute, Kevin Mitnick nitpick, so many people complained that they hated what the writers have done to Druscilla, even though it technically wasn't Druscilla on the stage that evening... And many people claimed that if only they had written this episode, they would've done things right... And the second grape of gripeful wrath they couldn't help but sour? They complained that trying to drown Spike was a waste of time, even though that was stated as the point in the episode. Because you see, even though Spike smokes, vampires are not supposed to breathe. And thus, the internet complained that if they had written this episode, that Spike would've been drowned in holy water on a cross or some crap like that, and not in normal water, which by their unbreakable laws of Unbreakable, should not affect a damn, damned vampire one damn bit... And, well, it's always funny to hear people's complaints now and then, but hearing about all these geekdom nitpicks really killed my enthousiasm for Star Trek Nemesis, which I still hope to see next week, and is really slowly, softly killing my love for Buffy... but I've got a theory! It could be forums... so really, I should just quite reading all those crap forums, right?... well... it's much more easily said than done, I'm afraid...
Because I'm addicted to Buffy, I'm addicted to wasting my free time reading up on the internet, and truth be told, as angry as I get at those invisible people on the other side of the world wide web, I'm still addicted to their aristrocratic opinions, simply because they still couldn't change most of my opinion on this week's episode of Buffy. I still think it was the best angsty episode of the year, or at least was on par with Conversations with Dead People (which I committed to and loved after the third viewing or something). Every member of the cast had some decent lines, even if they didn't get much decent action. Dawn got to slap Andrew, Xander mentioned the mummy hand loop, and Willow got to go evil again (after-witch which I actually felt for her cause for once, when she was begging Buffy not to let her hurt anyone). As always, I loved Andrew's antics, as he bonded over Wonder Woman with Xander, and had a burstful blurt out while Giles was talking about the council being destroyed... And as for Giles himeself, it's hard to make out what he is and isn't. It's hard to believe Giles would have such a meaningless death, but yet he didn't touch anything in this episode (except to lean on walls and sit on chairs, both of which can be done without actually touching anything), and he played his character with a certain coy coldness to it... While both dead Joyce and possibly dead Giles both kept telling Buffy to get some sleep, their messages were a bit schizophrenic. Buffy's mom told her that her friends put too much pressure on her, while Giles kept telling her the pressure's all on her. And sure, I'm sure Giles will be found okay in the end, but still, was it me or did the Ubervamp seem more afraid of rushing, jiving Giles than the rising crust Sun when he was creeping out of his little man-hole?... Spike got a few good lines this episode as well, telling the First Evil that Dru was crazier than her, although him believing in, um, Buffy believing in him, was a bit too corny for me to personally believe in, but that's besides the point... But honestly, the reason why I loved this episode so much, was simply because of one guy thing: that Buffy got to kick ass in style, and had some of her best fight scenes since God knows when. The Ubervamp went all Matrix style on her, jumping off of walls, doing bizarro monkey flips, and knocking her pretty ass through a concrete wall, so honestly, how could I possibly not love such sport? I don't know if it's become a grrl thing, but fight scenes like this are definitely a guy thing, of dreaming of projecting a fist or a fistacuff through the lower extremities of a woman as if it were... um... you know what... or maybe you don't know what, so nevermind... I should really shut up here right about now...
And the greatest part of it all? Besides Kennedy looking like quite a looker of a lesbian hooker (and Molly having the worst accent I've ever heard next to mine), this episode had it all when it comes to being a guy. It all started out with a soft spoken Buffy, only to end it all with her ass hurting as much as mine. Enterprise had all that I could ever ask for this week, considering it all started out with Archer being an ass, ending with a kick ass ride through a cosmic thunderstorm, and 83 crewman getting their asses cooked like cats in a Chinese restaurant... and honestly, with guns and runs and, um, more guns galore, how could I possibly stay mad with Stargate SG-1? Not that I was ever mad at that show, but I digress... Now, there were no swollen asses in that episode, except Carter getting her butt covered by an all too eager to die, Agent Barrett, but that's just a small gripe in an episode coloured by peaks and perks of indigo colour... And honestly, after a week where my ass hurts like hell, though hopefully not for the reasons that first come to mind, how can I possibly not love episodes for guys who like episodes?... except if my ass does hurt for reasons I strangely can't fork out of my mind, but that's besides the point..."
Y2kk Update: Well, this website has hit an all-time low. Checking back on my hits from Friday, this Tweakui site of mine that used to garner 600 a day is now earning less than even the bloody hell, Jackson five... I mean God, this site has become my bloody, New Age msn site! I might as well start referring to "you two readers" on this site from now on... Then again, I know pretty much why this website is no longer the cream of my crop. My mycrowsoft redirection domains keep shutting down and shutting out users, and every time I catch the server doing so, my hits just happen to cut in half the day the service finally comes back. Also on the hitlist is the fact that tweaks and dweaks for anything but the latest nVidia cards is simply not considering cool anymore. Nobody cares about Win9x reg tweaks, or S3 tweaks, or PowerVR tweaks, or any sort of distinct dinosaur like that, so why the hell should they care about my website? Hell, I don't even care about my website. When was the last time I actually bothered to post a tweak of any sort of relevance?... and of course, then comes the inevitable factor that I refuse to fathom, that my writing and my life is simply too boring for anyone to read. Not to mention the fact that updating this website only every two or three weeks has sort of bit and byted into my audience as well, but that's besides the all-time Mr. Pointy point...
And apparently, my academic abilities have also hit an all-time low as well. I was finally starting to believe a certain friend of mine who kept telling me that I was smart, that I was intelligent. I slowly became convinced over the past few weeks that if I simply worked hard at the assigned homework and broke each and every course of mine down into readable notes, that I would fare well in this new university world of mine, and leave my stupid D- average behind in the ion dust... And so the bold experiment began. The personal test trial I chose to represent my soon to be exams, was the final Calculus test of the year, my final test of the year period on Friday. And, well... suffice to say, I tried my best on that test. I studied the textbook and all its questions thoroughly for the three days that came beforehand. I asked questions to my peers, prodded and pried over previous tests, and did everything in my power to make sure that I was prepared for this painful trial of mine... and, well... how did I fare? Was there a TTC fare hike? Was I as smart as I had been convinced I was?
Well, not exactly... suffice to say, I did so damn poorly on that test that I'm sure it'll count as nothing more than a nada, a nilch, an IvanF, and a zero hero on my final mark... Hell, I stared at that quiz for so damn long, and yet still none of its questions even remotely seemed like they belonged to my damn course! Sure, I can blame this on slipstreaming into an alternate dimension or some crap like that, or the fact that my mind goes blank and waives its superstars whenever I feel the pressure, but the fact of the matter stream remains, I absolutely got torn apart on my so called trial run for my final exams, and that can't be good for business. That can't be good for anyone... except the people that actually did well...
And of course, this whole ordeal all brought back fond memories of past university experiences. Like how I studied real hard at the homework for my first Statics test last year, only to be greeted by a 25% (resulting in me refusing to do assigned homework from that day on). And oh, I got a lovely vision of my past Dynamics tutorial room, where I got 20% on a quiz or something, and dumped my returned papers into the garbage, only to find an hour later from a friend that my quiz was marked wrong, and that I should've actually gotten a passing mark... not like I had any real proof of life left... oops... and, well... oh well, AOL, I don't exactly know how these two events relate to my Calculus breakdown on Friday, but I do know they represent all-time lows in my university life as well (not to mention my -100% on an Algebra quiz last year and my failed programming mid-term this year, but, um, nevermind...). And suffice to say, the total hits in my life have plummeted from 600 a day to about the bloody hell, Jackson five, all dangling dingos off their balconies, with about 15000 personal qubits of misses inbetween... because like I always say, it just sounds like so much damn fun, doesn't it?
Anyhew, another reason this Tweakui site of mine gets no hits is because I don't write any of the good or decent stuff of my life on this site. Instead, I relegate that all to my download site, and I post my download crap on this webpage as some sort of hand-me-down leftover... and nobody likes leftovers... well, except for me, considering I bloody hell can't cook, not even with a microwave, but that's besides the point... The point is, allow me to complete full circle the cycle of a self-fulfilling prophecy of mine. I predict that my hits will continue to die a slow and painful death from tempered seabass, because I no longer have anything better to do than rehash the crap from my download site onto this website. So here's my short and pointless download update from this past Friday. Make sure to tip your waitresses, don't call the stewards stewardesses, and enjoy! Because I for one will damn well enjoy seeing my beloved hits approach the limit of zero...
"Well, up and front, I'm going to be honest and... um... up front... I really don't have anything to say. Sure, I have the odd nickpick and timbit to complain about, but really, besides the usual suspects, I really don't have anything to proclaim. But that's not to say I'm actually going to shut up for once in my lifetime...
I felt a little schizophrenic on the weekend. On the one hand, I had two major tests to study for, which to me both stood as personal trial runs for the final exams. On the other hand, it was supposed to be a joyous weekend, considering both my sister and my brother were coming home, and anybody who knows me knows that I'm nothing more than a homesick, Family man. And I guess there's really nothing more family oriented, at least not for my family, than bringing the relatives together for a birthday bash. It was my cousin's birthday Saturday, and considering a) my birthday is in the middle of exam period, and b) my sister and brother both think themselves too mature for birthday parties, getting together with all my close relatives for just one weekend just seems so much rarer and so much more special than it used to for me. I guess I'm falling into a cliche here, about family meaning something when you finally notice its gone (which my sister proves wrong by hating my parents and I every time she comes back), but that's besides the point. I wanted to make the most of what little time I had with my family, and since I'm really nothing more than a toothpaste techie, both to myself and them, I decided to bring my Nintendo Gamecube to the party.
And at first, I felt real hollow for making such a big mistake. I guess I just really wanted to please my relatives, since I've neve been apt at pleasing anybody. But the thing was, the stages and challenges I picked for them to try in the games I brought were simply too hard for them, considering they didn't even know the controls. And my heart sank faster than the Titanic (and faster than public opinion of the Titanic movie) when I all saw them bored to tears, cursing away at how annoying and hard the game was that they were playing. And I don't really know why I felt bad for such a trivial thing, besides the fact that I'm ouvertly, openly, and eggnog sensitive. Because I mean, it's just a game, right? But you know me... or at least, I hope whatever readers I have left know me... All I want is to just make people happy. That's all... along with the recognition, but that's besides the dubious Dubya point... And Saturday, I couldn't help but feel guilty, as if I purposely chose stages for my relatives that I knew they'd hate, even though I thought they were pretty cool... I was afraid that I was segregating myself from them again, all over again, but that's besides the point... However, things started picking up by the end of the night, or at least they did from my lonesome point of view. My relatives gave my games a second whirl, but this time, I let them discover the games for themselves. And truth be told, after half an hour of getting to know the controls, they were kicking ass and having a hell of fun. I can't even tell you how hard we laughed in unison every single time my little cousin blew off a Barney-like dinosaur's head with a 12-guage shotgun, but that's besides the Columbine point... All I wanted was to please them, but once again, I had tried too hard with a hard on, and failed miserably. And of course, IvanF ironically speaking, as soon as I backed off, they started indulging in the delights that I so dearly wished I could personally enlighten them with. I don't know if therefore my missionary compaign was a success or failure, good or bad, right or wrong, pointless or whatever. All I know is that we had a lot of fun, and it saddened me at the end, knowing that it was the end, knowing that it'll never be the same again. Because you can only derive so much satisfaction from sniping off dinosaurs' heads until you finally move on to thicker and meatier pastures...
My brother and sister did stick around at least for the next day or so, but not because of me. Sure, I know it's selfish to wish that the two of them would stay home, simply because I miss them, but that doesn't stop me from missing them any less. Anyhew, the only reason my brother stayed was because my sister wouldn't give him a ride back to rez until nightfall. And the reason she stuck around was because her boyfriend was scheduled (around his business schedule, of course) to have a family dinner with us. And the thing was, the dinner went alright. I really had no complaints... or at least, I shouldn't have... on paper... I didn't say anything awkward, I didn't insult anyone, and I had decent conversations with my family and our new possible outlaw (oops... I meant 'in-law'...), so what is there to complain about?... The thing was, the last time I actually heard my sister and boyfriend boast and Beowulf brag about school, I was graduating from high school, believing myself to be at least a B average student in university... of course, reality since then has been anything but a B, but that's besides the bastard B sharp point... The point is, it didn't phase me one bit back then when my sister was complaining about getting 80% at university, and when her boyfriend was shaking off his 90% or whatever graduation mark in business school, as if it meant nothing. But the thing was, my brother at the dinner table on Sunday was feeling a bit ashamed at the time, considering he had just gotten lower than his friends in practically all subjects, just like I always have (although my brother is still far above class average, a feat that I dream of achieving each and every day, but that's besides the C sharp point). And the thing was, instead of consoling my brother with real condolencences, or affirming that he's doing well (which he definitely is in my textbook), my sister and her boyfriend kinda went on an insensitive streak, once again bragging how their As in university meant nothing... and, um... I didn't exactly care back in OAC when I heard them boasting of their braggart skills, but I couldn't help but get a bit peeved off this time around, for good measure. And can you blame me? It's not just because I'm so damn sensitive about being borderline with my marks instead of getting a damn B. My sister had literally cried her Oedipus eyes out when she lost her job coming out of university, and yet she still sticks it in our faces whenever she can how university was no problem for her whatsoever?... and although her boyfriend is a good man, by the measure of a man, it just kind of hurts how he reminds me so much of old school me, back when I was in my... um... old school... and that can't be good for business. Although that can be good for a businessman...
Then again, who am I to criticize when I say and do the same damn, cruel things myself? I, being Mr. Hypocrite, fully admit to lashing out in school with full braggart pride this afternoon, but for good mesaure... for my sanity's requiem, I assure you... The test I had studied so damn hard for on the weekend? I failed it so damn miserably, that I swear I'm going to devote an entire week to studying for its final exam, starting now, but that's besides the point... And the Calculus test today? At first, I felt relieved upon seeing my 70% mark on the mid-term, but after going through that horrid, torrent, Ivan the Terrible, testicle of a test? God, if the exam is going to be anything like this Frankenstein of a monstrosity, I'm going to freak an egg. I seriously will, and sit on whatever the hell comes out like a rooster 'till it hatches, but that's besides the hatchback point... So I guess it's understandable that I would cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war, just this minor once... and for good measure, depending on the measure of a measle man... If there was any bright spot this week, it was that I somewhat vindicated myself in computer programming class. Sure, the quiz I had today in the course was only worth 2% of my final mark... and sure, I felt like a total assclown of a dumb-ass when I implictly told my friend that a certain two "minor" topics wouldn't be featured on the quiz, only to slap myself silly in the head (for the umpteenth time) when I saw that those two same topics comprised the whole, damn show (I'm so good at predicting these things, aren't I?)... Nevertheless, since I had partially learned from my mid-term mistakes and studied everything I could for today's quiz, I'm pretty confident that I scored an A+, not like it matters for anything but bragging rights... I then asked all my friends about how they did, and most of them claimed they fared the same, so how could I have not reduced to the assumption that the quiz was simply easy?... So when that loud-mouthed girl I often speak of asked me in the computer lab what I thought of the computer quiz? I couldn't help but attempt to rebuild the walls of Jericho of my self-esteem, by admitting that the quiz was pretty twix easy. But when she revealed to me that others found the quiz to be hard? I sort of let loose with the fury of the gods, and although I know this really will be just a minor thing in my existence, I really wish I didn't blurt out to the whole computer room, "WHAT? THEY FOUND THE COMPUTER QUIZ HARD?!!"... and, well... oops... rock, scissors, paper bag, my bad... and the thing was, right before I said that, I was criticizing in my head one of the top people in my class for actually having the audacity to claim to me that the Calculus quiz was easy. I kept rehearshing and rehashing in my mind over and over again, that whoever brags of the simplicity of a test in front of someone who may not have done well on it, is a loser... and then of course, as if on queue, I exclaimed my wonderful, boastful claim to the world... Now how's that for timing? How's that for IvanFian irony? How's that for burning my flag and burying my head in the sand of my ass?
Anyhew, besides acting like a total whipped creamed, momma's boy around that talkative girl I talk too much about (God, I act towards her like I did with the ILuvYou girl... nevermind...), and screaming out to her across the room that no, I will not give her my phone-number (she apparently didn't find out that I actually called her last week, so she wants to start calling me every frickin' day, just to make sure I get home on time...), I really didn't do much. I falsely presented myself as a genius in sheep's clothing yet again, acting like a TA to classmates for the new assignment when I really had no clue what I was doing, but hey, at least they bought the act...
And really, I don't have anymore timbits to say, and hopefully I won't have any next week to report. My first exam takes place this coming Friday, and the rest just keep on rolling from there... I may not be able to update this webpage next week (not that anyone reads this site, mind you), simply because I may not have time to see such sport in the midst of my abysmal, Abydos studying... But if push comes to shove, and lady luck decides not to shove her ass down my dick and crap all over my bowels? Then hopefully, just hopefully, I'll be able to stick around at university for a second term, and have a hell of a lot more boring timbits of stories to tell you no-name readers, wherever you are, as long as you exist. And it all sounds like so much fun, doesn't it?... well, not really, but you get the point..."
Y2kk Update: Well, I'm spent, with my hands feeling soiled after spending more than a fair share of hours turning bread into butter, and wine into, um... more butter, so to speak... And oh, nevermind. I never manage to get my metaphors and smiley similes to work out properly anymore. I'm just lucky that I managed to get my brother's DVD-ROM working a few hours ago, all thanks to a very old friend of mine. You see, my brother bought the Pioneer 16x about a month ago so he wouldn't be reduced to watching pathetic VHS tapes at his university suite. The only problem was, he was still reduced to watching pathethic VHS tapes, simply because his PentiumII 266MHz and its Matrox G200 card were simply unable to run a single DVD movie at more than 10 bloody frames per second... And since I've always been the frames per second kind of guy, I was determined to get PowerDVD working at all costs, even at the cost of my own wallet...
So because I had absolutely no personal use for it anymore, I gave his computer my blessed be, S3 Savage 4, a card so ouvertly obscure, that even the videophiles in my computer engineering class still haven't heard of it to this day... and they dare call themselves hardcore computer gamers, but I digress... Anyhew, short story short, I was shocked as hell as anybody when my useless Savage card, the one that can't even run NHL 2000 properly on my Duron 1GHz, was able to run DVD movies at nearly 60 fps. Sure, there was the occasional milli-second jump in framework, but it's true when I say the S3 had rekindled and regained my brother's moviephile secular existence in just a matter of mere minutes... and now he's taking all my DVDs with him to university, even the ones I plead with him not to, but that's besides the point. Because lo and behold, at least I can finally feel smug that my $150 Savage4 card actually does something right... and what, it only took me about three years to find it? Will the wonders of the world ever cease?
And God, if only I was able to build those wonders of the world, maybe I wouldn't have been slaughtered so badly the other day at school... You see, the newest novelty for me at the University of Toronto is the network Civilzation game installed on every computer. And what really sucks the Big City apple, is that after three games against friends and the not so friendly, I have officially concluded that I suck, what? I suck, what? Hell, my only strength in the game is typing in messages, telling the enemy where I am, so they can wipe me out and put me out of my goddam misery...
So just because I had nothing better to do on yesterday (except study for my tests this week, but that's besides the point), I downloaded Free Civilization for myself, just to experiment with the game mechanics... And you know what? You know bloody what? In my first game against the "easy" computer, they were killing me with Howitzer tanks by the time I had just researched bloody hell horseback riding. And God, sure my little archers managed to beat back the enemy aircraft carriers for a couple centuries or so, but it really stung when they started launching cruise missiles at me in the 17th century... And you know why I sucked? Besides the fact that I just suck at every computer game that is... It's because my friends told me that researching new governments was useless, yet I figured out by watching the computer on Friday, that if you don't upgrade to a Monarchy or Communism right away, your tech development slows to a Cro-Magnon halt. And, well... what? My friends and not so friendly couldn't have told me that just a little bit sooner? Because God, if I didn't know better, I'd swear that were actually setting me up for a can of ass whooping, entrenching my folds in the art of trench warfare every single life wrenching game, but that's besides the point... Because I'll get them back someday. I may sound like a cliche cartoon villain right now, but it's true. I shall have my revenge, and show them the very bread and butter that I'm made of, although that doesn't exactly sound too good...
Well, anyhew, enough with the senseless, endless, pitiful whining and, um, buttery emancipation, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... Let's just cut right into the bread and, um, more butter of the story of the week, that my Mycrowsoft.com redirection services have been down for the past two weeks or so. As far as I know though, as of today, the servers are finally working again, although there's not really any point anymore, considering my hits for this site have reached a stunning peak of less than ten hits... If I can bitterly recall properly, the last time my Mycrowsoft.com servers inexplicably shut down without warning, my hits dropped from 200 a day to a bloody hell 50 a day over the course of just a couple of weeks. And now? And now? It looks like my hits have been cut into a quarter pounder yet again while factoring in the Subway diet, because nobody, and I mean nobody is buffering and bothering to visit my noname sites anymore... just great... just dandilion, God-awful Mandolin great... I'm officially the Neil bore of the internet. Welcome to the web.
Anyhew, because none of Mycrowsoft.com sites were working for about a week, I decided to procrastinate from homework for quite a while by setting up a backup redirection server at Ulimit.com. It's a French company, and although they still might go out of business just like so many American sites have from the dotcom crash, I've got my fingers and feet doubly linked list crossed that my new Com02.com redirection will serve as an auxiliary address when push comes to Great Depression shove... Anyhew, for those of you who actually care, here's a semi-evil list of my new internet redirection addresses:
http://tweakui.com02.com = http://tweakui.mycrowsoft.com
http://ivanftweakui.com02.com
= http://tweakui.mycrowsoft.com
http://ivanfnoname.com02.com
= http://noname.mycrowsoft.com
http://ivanfdownload.com02.com
= http://download.mycrowsoft.com
http://ivanfmsn.com02.com
= http://download.mycrowsoft.com
http://ivanfoffice.com02.com
= http://office.mycrowsoft.com
I doubt anybody will remember them, considering my download site is reaching critical hit lows each day, my noname site has yet to get even one microparsec of recognition, and my msn site has never exceeded the mark of five visitors a day... But sadly and strangely enough, a bunch of people now seem to remember me in the computer labs, simply because of one dandy trait of mine: I tend to walk around a lot, roam about, and simply pace back and forth, as if I was some important person, with something important to do... Now, any Y2kk reader will know the exact opposite is true. Afterall, I have literally nothing better to do in my life than rant and whine on this website of wine and, um, more butter, so help me God... But you see, since nobody ever reads this website, nobody at my school realizes know how much of a no-name loser I truly am. And strangely enough, that's why people actually seem to notice and remember my face... in fact, a least five people in the past week have asked me about that big black smerch on my face. Nobody's ever asked me about this bruise if a birthmark since Grade 9, when students were alerting the authorities that at home I beat myself up...
The thing is, I pace around the computer labs a lot, and I especially paced a hell of a lot this week after I finished my computer assignment early Monday. The thing was, since I was walking around, trying to help my friends before the deadline, it seemed like everyone else in the lab was taking notice how I was the only one in the room with the decency to help someone else out... You might ask where the TAs were, considering this was our lab session. And, well, leave it to U of T to pay a bunch of graduate students to leave their classes unattended and leave an idiot monger like me in unofficial charge... And to be honest, it was quite a funny sight. As I walked from friend to friend, there would always be a person inbetween who would cut me off, ask if I was the TA, and even when I would reply no, they would still jar-jar and beg me for hours and oodles of help... Most of the time, the questions were basic. A couple inquiries were about Java from the course I took last year, I had to give my own little tutorial on how to print in Linux a half a dozen times or so, and I especially admired the amicable guy, who even after I laughed in his face when he asked if I was the TA, still felt obliged to force upon me the big O question: where oh where, has the stapler gone?... and wow, that sounds good. That sounds wily. I feel so important...
But my favourite of the favourites has just got to be that one guy, that one first year guy who spotted me helping out one of my friends from across the room, and slowly began to raise his hand, imperial inch by inch, standard centimetre by centimetre, when he finally saw me lift my head up... Delighted that somebody out there had to decency to not tug at my hair for attention, I screamed out with a smile, "I'm not the TA!", and realizing that the dozen of so people that I've already helped didn't give a damn whether I was the TA or not, I just said screw that, I'm going to help this guy anyhew, and marched on over across the room, just to give him a tutorial on how to submit his project... Short story short, by the end of the week, I was used to be being asked for assistance from pretty much every able body out there, although that's still no excuse for standing up a certain friend of mine, but that's besides the powerpoint. And to be honest, when I first walked into university last year, the only thing that was on my mind was how I really wanted to be a TA sometime. Because I could never be a professor, since I barely had enough smarts to pass my first year. And yet the likelihood of becoming a TA is also as high as the Hood sinking the Bismarck, simply because unless I find some friends in high places, I need at least a B average in school just to sit idle in a tutorial classroom, like a screen saver on crack... or worse yet, butter...
But still, I've always had the innate desire to rant my ass off to anybody who demotes themselves to having to raise their hand. Basically, I want to be a TA just to deservingly lecture my students with God-awful Y2kk Updates, and watch them fraudily applaud at the end... just like how so many professors use their jobs to promote their books and papers, I guess I want to be a TA just to promote these sites... And to be even more honest, I did feel a certain element of power after helping out at least a dozen people on Monday. Because when it comes to life, when it comes to existence, it's not about right or wrong. It's not about better or worse. It's about standing high above the other's head, ready to give a stern lecture, when you suddenly and stubbornly realize, that the only thing that seems to come out of your mouth, is foamy, frosty, frothy butter... mmm, timbits covered in piss-poor, metaphorical butter, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean...
And okay, scratch one off. It looks like I'm never going to be an English TA...
Y2kk Update: Geez, me haven't updated this page in a while. I've been too busy, um, doing nothing and, uh, thinking about doing nothing... I updated the Advanced Windows9x Tweaking guide with something about a Mapped Cache, but it's a crappy tweak that I just put on there for no reason... I do have a story to tell you about Future Shop, which is the equivalent of Circuit City if you doubled all of their prices... I bought a CL ModemBlasterUSB 56k V.90 from them for $150 Canadian bucks, brought it home, and it worked slower than my old Motorola 33.6 worth $25 bucks or something. So I repackaged the goods and prepared to return it a few days later to where I bought it. Afterall, I had bought RAM at Computer City before (which is owned by the same guy as Future Shop is) and I was allowed to return it with no problem... But that was because Computer City has competition here. Future Shop has no such thing like that... can you spell MONOPOLY?
I stood in the refund line for 40 minutes, gawking at that stupid, yellow sign that said "Satisfaction Guaranteed". And for crying out loud, there was just that one person in front of us, trying to return a Cordless Phone that didn't work... and, well, that guy in front wasn't really happy with the service, and I didn't know why at that moment, but... When I finally got up there, I was greeted by a phony hello and smile. I told my problem, that the modem wouldn't connect past 26400 bps, and she didn't understand a word so she called a computer sales rep over. He didn't understand a word I said either, so with those blank, staring eyes of his, he asked me if the modem worked at all. I honestly said, "yes". It just didn't work because of an incompatibility with my computer, and I'd like an exchange please. And how does he respond? He tells me I can't exchange it. He shows me my own receipt, and dimly in that spot where it's folded, it says in faded print I can't return any product that's been opened. Doesn't matter if it's worth $1 or $1000, I just can't return it. That's when my brother started screaming that he just lost $150. I called the manager over, and she looked like she didn't give a damn. She had probably had gone through this routine a million times that day alone. She told me the same stupid thing that I can't return it, because if I did, she wouldn't know what to do with an opened box... well, for a buck she could've just repackaged it for someone that it can work for, but I guess she ain't very managerial literate at all... so I tested her computer IQ, and started spouting out all the crap that I did to try to get it to work. Told her about the MTU, the RWIN, the Firmware Flash bios, and even the bloody 3Com V.90 protocol test site. No response. Not even a flinch in their eyes.
They then asked me which server I used. I said I tested it with Freewwweb, NetZero, Freei, iFreedom, 3Web, HomeFreeWeb, blah blah blah and another one I can't remember right now... heh, the two of them just stared at me with blank faces and told me they heard the modem works with AOL and Sympatico... geez, like I didn't know that... Eventually I revealed to them that the only smart guy actually sacrificing himself by working at Future Shop had opened the package for us to look at & inspect, therefore we had bought the modem with an open box. That's when she went into the back, pretended to talk to herself in a mirror, and then came out saying we can finally get an exchange - and that because of her generousity, she could get fired... Yeah, sure.. she should get fired for arguing with us for an hour and a half already... I was going to use that $150 to buy a 128MB module of Pc-100 RAM which should've costed $190 according to the weekly flyer... and what RAM does the manager bring me? A 128MB module costing $290... hmm... con-men, con-women all in little, red uniforms... We then decided to take the credits at the store and come back another day when they don't remember us and can't take as much advantage, but when we got back to the refund stand to get a new receipt, a new employee (actually, the 8th person I saw at that spot over those 2 hours) was gossiping on the phone. When we asked for our credits, what does she do? She asks us our story again, and we waited yet again for the manager to clear things up. It's a good plan though; keep switching the refund employees so their cluelessness can piss us customers off even more...
Future Shop took nearly 2 hours out of my life. I think I'll give those 2 hours to Best Buy, Circuit City, or even, if I'm that damned, CompUSA when they all storm the Canadian gates... heh, when I was leaving, I noticed a guy was bringing a defective DVD playing back to Future Shop... I sure wish I had stayed to see that machine wrapped around that manager's head...
Y2kk Update: Well, today's the big day. I just uploaded a list of almost 100 Free Web Space Servers and a whole bunch of new advanced Win9x tweaks like how to double your shutdown speed and how to break through every Poledit security feature there is. But that's not the big news. Let the Armada community know that I, IvanF - the bloody no-name modder, am now submitting my resignation for modding retirement. Today I release my final mod: IvanF's No Name Brand Mod 0.60 for Activision's Star Trek Armada. The main new features are I increased the Z-axis space, I made the AI even harder, I added a complete uninstallation batch file, & I added in the Borg Tactical Cube to give every race at least 13 combat vessels. To install my mod, just extract all the files to your root Star Trek Armada directory. If that doesn't work, extract it to a temp dir and move all the files yourself.
Fragaday's VISE Exe Installer for IvanF's Last Mod: IvanFragaday-NoNameBrandSTA060.exe
Mirror Site for IvanF's 0.60 Mod Zipped: IvanF-NoNameBrandSTAMod060.zip
I have been modding for 4 to 5 bloody, long months now. Go ahead and read the bottom of this page if you don't believe me, but my first official mod came out on Friday, April 21st, 2000 with an update coming out every 2-3 weeks or so. I've given my sweat to this game. I skipped out on studying for my Physics exam just to get a new mod release out. As far as I could tell, I am one of the first modders; I released a full conversion mod while James Bryant was wowing everyone with his Cobalt Defiants. I added in the Romulan D'Kazanak not long after Jc did it to become famous. I was the one who made Scube a household name; it's not a SuperCube! It's a Scout Cube! And I paraded online for weeks back in April, telling all Borg players to try my Scube. Scube this, scube that... And yet no-one remembers me. No-one even bloody knows my name. The Sandman may complain about not getting instant responses, but I complain about getting none at all. I was the first to improve pathfinding. I was the first to introduce incredibly hard, cheating AI. I was the first to create a new detail level where even Pentium 166 users like me can play with good graphics. And you know what? I have gotten nothing out of this experience. Well, not much at least.
I cried out for game balance; the players cried out for sods. I had a dream for All Experience RTS Players to settle their differences out online with my mod; whenever there was a balance issue, I would be right there to fix it. They were to give me feedback, and unlike any computer game company out there, I would make their balance suggestion reality. But goddam, I can't even play hearts properly. What makes me think I can make a game more fun for others? I don't have the brilliant reputation of Jc. I don't have people drooling at my AI like Capm does. I don't have the legacy of James Bryant. I don't have the Sods of Sulu777. I don't have the hype of the Millenium Project or the Generations Project. I don't have the loyalty that binds together the Midas Array. I don't have the realism of the Ilu Maris Project. & I don't have the originality of Futility. I dedicated my mod to balance, not sods. I thought I released a damn, good mod, not just a flashy one with cute little advertisements.
But goddammit, no-one hears me now. No-one knows the name of IvanF. Very few care... But I'm sick of being a bloody whiner. If anyone wants to try my mod, please go ahead and accept my thanks in advance. I'd love it if you played it online with your buddies; it was meant to see the light of the net. I'd love it if you'd have the courage to post in the Official Armada forum and tell me how to make my mod more balanced. But what I won't do anymore is whine, complain, or grovel for feedback. I've spent too long on my knees, and now I'm just plain bitter. Kaleb, Marrel, Tim, Ares, the Prophet, Brazza, the Sandman, & all the other greats; geez, they're all so talented and all so very lucky for getting the feedback that they get. As for me, I'd die just for cynical criticism that would kill others or some other crap like that. But I'm releasing this last mod for 4 reasons, 4 horsemen: for fbrg, for Fragaday, for my cousin, and for you, Victor. Yes, you...
You know, I'm not really upset... I'm sorry if I offend anyone; I have a real habit of doing that. I'm just frustrated & if you ever take the time to read my websites, you'd know I love to go on tangents. No matter how pathetically down I may feel, I also know that at least a few of the 39 people who downloaded my 0.56 mod enjoyed it as much as I did. I remember that it felt good to hear that some of the 90 people who downloaded my 0.20 first mod had fun playing with the special weapons... and just because of that, I promise I will make sure I will not vanish in to the bitter cold night. I will write. I will respond. I will be remembered. I will bloody be known... Geez, aren't I the melodramatic or what? I'm really going to laugh at myself sometime for writing this all...
Um, and uh, oh... thanks for listening to me...
Sincerely, _________IvanF, the no-name modder, August 10th, 2000...
Y2kk Update: Welcome to the grand opening of IvanF's Tweak 'n' Dweak homepage at Tweakui.mycrowsoft.com, just one of oh-so-oh-so many sites on the Mycrowsoft Network! So far, the only thing that I have online is a S3 Savage page with Quake3 tweaks. Go check out the console commands and yadda yadda yadda on the left. Now who's better than IvanF? Everybody!... but not for long.