Hot dogs (turkey) wouldn't go bad after 2-3 weeks, would they?

While I also have commented about this before, this new instance deserves a JE of its own.

Does your company have you take unnecesary risks?

God bless the BSA! I don't know where we'd be without them!

</sarcasm>

Anybody remember this story?

I just got back from it. It wasn't a "panel discussion between opposing sides of the P2P downloading issue"; it was a panel discussion from one side of the P2P downloading issue: one RIAA lawyer, fresh off amici curae in MGM v. Grokster; one head of a P2P tracking company; one independent record label head; and one member of a band unsigned by a label.

Basically, it was the usual propoganda, mitigated somewhat in bits and pieces from the three non-RIAA, who gave the usual swan song about how people are losing their jobs, how the industry is tanking, blah blah blah, which we dispute.

I'm not asking for Larry frickin' Lessig, but an EFF representative really could have been useful.

It's not like it really matters, though. I was probably the only person in the audience who was there willingly; the rest of them were fraternity and sorority members, there since the school basically forced each of those organizations to send a percentage of their membership to the presentation.

Basically, the indoctrination continues...

OK, so it's about 11PM, and I start getting this horrific pain in my lower back, on the right. Now, earlier in the evening, I was cleaning a bathroom and got window cleaner in a cut, so I thought it might be some kind of reaction or complication (I can't exactly say I could think straight in such pain), so I started drinking tons of water, thinking that this would flush any toxins. Well, despite drinking water until I felt like Mr. Creosote, I couldn't flush anything. In fact, I couldn't get anything out.

After three hours, now I was worried. I called a friend who has a car to drive me to a hospital. By this point, I was hurting like crazy. When we got to the ER, it was relatively crowded, so I was destined for a long wait; however, due to all that water I drank earlier not going anwhere, I vomitted it out (all water, no chunks). This promptly freaked the staff out, and I moved to the front of the line.

Honestly, though, all this did was make it so that when the pain leveled up again, I had a room in which to moan and whine and thrash involuntarily. I was in so much pain, I didn't even mind the IV needle going in---and I usually freak out when I deal with needles.

At some point, the pain stopped. I don't know exactly when; I must have passed out at some point, because I hadn't seen a doctor yet, so they couldn't have given me any pain reliever.

When the doctor finally came by, after reviewing several other options with him (poisoning, anxiety), he came to suspect kidney stones, which was further evidenced by a urine test. This makes perfect sense, because (duh!) the pain was in my kidney area, and because kidney stones are prevalent in my family (my father and his brother).

At 6AM, I went for a CT scan. (The machine used looked so Stargate.)

The scan confirmed the stone further. You could clearly see a white dot between the all-white kidney and the grey bladder (which was very full at the time of the scan---in fact, between the massive amout of water I drank and the IV... well, you get the picture). The doctor said there might be one forming in the left kidney as well, but he couldn't be sure. So now I've got access to Vicodin, in case it happens again.

I got back to my dorm room about 9:30AM, and I promptly slept until 6PM.

I think that the Wikipedia's "Symptoms" section of its "Kidney stone" entry best sums this experience up:

Kidney stones are usually idiopathic and asymptomatic until they obstruct the flow of urine. Symptoms can include acute flank pain ("renal colic"), nausea and vomiting, restlessness, dull pain, hematuria, and possibly fever if infection is present. Acute renal colic is described as one of the worst types of pain that a patient can suffer from.

(Emphasis, having experienced it, is mine.)

Not that I play DnD or anything, but this post brought a smile to my face.

Actually, the most of the comments accompanying that review are funny.

He just finished giving a talk here at Tech. Some of the things I remember:

• 4 out of 5 things moderated Funny are not funny to Rob.
• More people should metamoderate.
• Yes, /. will soon spit out W3C-compliant HTML and CSS.
• Even though the current querying capabilities of the MySQL back-end database are limited, many things can be tracked. Soon, people with a significant history of accurate moderating will be placed in a class of "trusted moderators"; these people will be given many more moderator points.
• Adding moderation adjectives is a difficult process because most words are too loaded with unwanted connotations. However, Rob plans to give every current adjective an inverse for the purpose of metamoderation. For instance, if a moderation of Funny is issued, some metamods will also be asked if the comment is not funny.
• Bad grammar and spelling give /. a "folksy charm"(?).
• Listening to us complaining about dupes does not bother Rob.
• Rob likes the word "cock-gobbler".

More if I can remember.

I have been withholding talking about this, because it's really not extrordinary, but I'm leaving tomorrow for college.

This is going to be quite refreshing, not being micromanaged by parents.

In case I didn't say it in my last gripe about the admissions process, I am going to Georgia Tech. Contrary to prior personal prejudice, both GT and Atlanta are going to be wonderful; getting into college sucks, but going to college doesn't. Tech is the right place for me; I'm going to learn actual real CS. Also, there are more things there than in New Orleans that are catered to my interests and tastes---well, food notwithstanding. /What's the Good Word, biatch?

On a more somber note, let us honor my fallen pet cat, Prissy, likely to cancer---but then again that's what my parents always claim is the problem with nearly every morbid pet. She was emaciated at the end, and she ran off---this is so much easier on the human psyche (or at least mine) than the alternative, which I do not care to mention, seeing as it's more like an execution.

Of course, I did not see, I could not see, and/or I did not want to see her constitution as a sign of anything. I instantly thought of how, in my opinion, we treated her as a second-class citizen. As a young cat, she was thrown against the ceiling by my father because she tried to sleep in his bed, and she was denied the proper opportunity to become housetrained, because her litterbox was placed next to the washing machine, which I am certain she could not stand. I naively believed that she ran off due to lack of attention, which was further reinforced when nobody seemed to give a fuck whe she went missing; I mean, if my parents were serious about finding her, they would at least look for her at the animal shelter, right? I wanted to voice this sentiment, but I was unable to, because... I can't. I'm avoidant. So I felt mighty guilty, both at not being able to convey my sentiments, and at treating her indifferently in the first place.

(I appologize for the sudden and prolonged transition from excitement and enthusiasm to mush and illogic.)

After these feelings started building in intensity daily, one night my cat appeared in my dreams, seeking vengance. Needless to say, I was scared. Having begged for forgiveness much of the next day, she appeared in my dreams on the next night, pardoning me for anything I had done or not done to her. I was relieved, but I still could not forgive myself. So when what was blind to me was revealed tonight, I am at last somewhat at peace with this. Still, it's a pretty shitty end to the first part of my life...

Meh.

OK, all that said, I think I should start up a freakin' friends-and-family deathpool. I got $50 on my grandmother, and $10 on the goldfish my mother's friend gave her for a pond in the garden.

From Pythonline.com:

"Here's a little song I wrote the other day while I was out duck hunting with a judge... It's a new song, it's dedicated to the FCC and if they broadcast it, it will cost a quarter of a million dollars."

download

Amusing. Kinda weird listening to a Python do American political satire.

(Note to self: while in the process of originally trying to spell "weird," you outsmarted yourself thrice. Good job.)

I'm hungry, I'm tired, and my father's sitting there, half pissed because it's been 3+ weeks since graduation, and I haven't written thank-you notes, and half laughing his ass off, because I can't get CUPS to print properly on a custom size. Goddamnit.

It is difficult to overcome a legacy of social isolation and the problems it creates. For instance, I am always the very last person to hear things.

And so, this morning, I set out for lunch at eleven, and ultimately for my Music Theory exam at one. Along the way, I ran into the younger brother of one of my classmates.

He asked me where I was going. I told him I was going to lunch. He asked my why I wasn't at the funeral?

My face said, "What funeral?"

"Didn't you hear?" he asked. "Rick died."

I don't remember quite what I said after that, with the exception of "That sucks" a whole bunch of times; maybe it's the only thing I said after that.

It's now five fourty-five as I type this sentence. Sure enough, his obituary verbatim, courtesy of nola.com:

Richard ""Rick'' T. Posin passed away on Sunday, May 23, 2004. Age 18 years. Beloved son of Daniel Q. Posin and Kathe Tyrrell Posin. Brother of Kimberly Posin and John Posin. Paternal grandson of the late Daniel Q. Posin, Sr. and Frances S. Posin. Maternal grandson of Frederick Tyrrell and Audrey Tyrrell. Rick juggled to entertain sick children at Angel's Place and Ochsner Foundation Hospital, both before and after his liver transplant. He received several awards for his work. Rick was a member of Metairie Ridge Presbyterian Church and attended Bible Study Fellowship for several years. Relatives and friends are invited to attend the funeral service at LAKE LAWN METAIRIE FUNERAL HOME CHAPEL, 5100 Pontchartrain Blvd. (in Metairie Cemetery) on Friday, May 28, 2004 at 11:00 A.M. Interment will follow All Saints Mausoleum. Visitation will be held Friday, May 28, 2004 from 10:00 A.M. until time of service. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to Angel's Place, 4323 Division Street, Metairie, LA 70002, Attn: Lee Hoffman.
Published in The Times-Picayune on 5/26/2004.

It's better that I didn't go; supposedly, the visitation was open-casket, and I don't like that because I don't think I handle it properly. In fact, it's funny how I can consider my open-minded moral values (if everyone involved consents, and if they're not doing it to you or yours, then you have no business) to be a sign of maturity, when I can't handle the idea of dead people. I suppose they both have more to do with personality.

Anyway, in lieu of actually observing in real life, where my feelings might betray me, I am going to try to dump all of my memories of and commentary on him, on various aspects, here, on Slashdot. I'm pretty sure he would approve. Though, I'd give myself extra credit if I did this on Freenet.

Rick came to my school in 8th grade. I don't know where he went to school before that; it was probably still in Louisiana, but I really don't know. The school put him in my advisory group, so that's how I got to know him. I remember that it, in usual "me" fashion, took a few weeks to really notice him. I learned that, like me, he liked programming. Finally, someone like me.

He was very well accepted by our grade, fitting in nicely because he was weird. We have a great appreciation for weirdness.

He made invaluable contributions to my grade's unique lexicon (which I must document one day, before I forget). Although all of them are currently deprecated or out of use (such as his favorite, which was to randomly interject (definitely not as a juvenile retort, just randomly) "Your mom"), he helped create expressions such as "trice yee", which is a direct descendant of "ah, yee[!?]", which is currently in use. But enough of that silliness! The nickname he earned was "Dick", not only because it rhymes with "Rick", but also because he'd make all these playful allusions to (homo)sexuality. But whatever. I'm not going to be in the business of exploring that.

Maybe I should tell you why it's so goddamn funny that, as the obit says, he juggled. Because outside of juggling, he was the most uncoordinated person I have ever seen! Yeah, I saw him do it, and he was pretty good. He was tall and lanky. When he walked, his arms didn't move, and they just hung there; when he ran, it looked downright ugly; I saw him swim once, and I think I've forgotten what it looked like on purpose.

I suppose that one could have seen this as an indication that he wasn't the healthiest kid in the world. Ah, but hindsight is 20/20. After the first semester of Freshman year, the Freshman class traditionally goes to Washington, D.C., for obvious reasons. We do this the week after Mardi Gras break. He was even going to be in my room. I don't remember whether it was on the trip or the week after that we were told that Rick was, um, "sick."

I never found out definitively what afflicted him. Some say that his liver was failing; some say that it was the treatment for another serious illness that made him need a transplant. What ever the reason, he indeed received a transplant organ; and because this was months ago, I don't think the liver was rejected. I'm not even going to begin to guess the COD.

To inject some randomness, I've been looking around for some old messages from him. I found the address for Ninja Instant Messenger, a modification of an AIM dll that makes the program ninja-themed.

And, from our last set of emails, some humor: "I've been learning more and more stuff about electronics, in the mean time. I found out how many electronic components work. There is "magic smoke" inside, that does whatever it's supposed to do, using its own magic. When you run too much current past it, you see a puff of magic smoke escaping, and so the component no longer works. Though this doesn't answer the question of how/why a smoke/fog machine works..."

And his closer: "And gee, I like that niceness. On a stick."

In that series of e-mails, I even offered to mention him in my part of the yearbook. Can you imagine if I had done that?

Of course, he shouldn't be in a cemetery. He should be preparing to graduate, right now, in five days. He never got to experience that.

In the time after he was forced to leave school, when he was well, he was home-schooled. How crappy is that? Your educational experience is partly environmental. How perverted is it to live to see your younger brother (by three years) progress further in high school than you did? And I'm not going to even mention all of adulthood! (Secretly, I really want to use the line "Here lies Beavis -- He never scored"; I can't help thinking he'd find it funny.)

But I digress. (And aren't you glad...)

His matter is motionless, his energy flux is zero, but sentience is somehow more than matter and energy.

And he's turning in his grave because I said that.

OK, now, for real: I have within me his voice, his face, and the small things that complete his memory.

Things like, how we're on the Northshore (for non-Louisianians, that's the area above Lake Pontchartrain, which is the big lake in the toe of the Louisiana boot), being driven back from a programming contest by the infamous Beverly Rice, the most bizarre-in-a-bad-way person ever, how she tells us to call our homes using her cellphone (which, by the way, was still a briefcase), and how Rick goes, "Well, maybe I should also dial-up 1-900-HOT-SEX!" and I say, "Rick, that's only six letters." "Oh, well, maybe there are two T's, or two X's."

Or how one time, we were sitting in the computer lab, and somebody asks Ms. Rice to reset his password, and Ms. Rice goes, "OK, James, your new password is 'temp'---that's T E M P 'temp'." Rick and I both look at each other, then run to the nearest computer. And in memory of this event, for at least an hour, all of my boxes' root passwords will be set to "temp". No, I'm not telling you my IP.

Next, for the full "Rick the Dick" experience, please use your favorite browser or P2P program to download the Dead Alewives' Mama Rap.

I'll probably update this JE a few more times.

And let us say, "Your mom. On a stick."

And so, now begins a series of journal entries wherein I relate the conclusion of my basic education---aka high school.

My classes are essentially over. I still have a paper to write for English and a musical period to harmonize for Music Theory---but that's it.

Tomorrow, seniors have no class.

This dude will be performing for us. If the administration makes him give a squeaky clean act: SO GREASE!

Then there's the countdown at the end of the day, where we all crowd the Senior Patio; and when the timer expires, we attack the rest of the school with the traditional water guns and shaving cream---of which I have 44.25 oz of Barbasol at my disposal. But the word on the street is that _Sexy_Pants_ is bringing bologna for us to use.

Then: smoack!!! We all walk 3 blocks to someone's house, and almost all of us get drunk and/or wasted---almost, because about 4, including me and _Sexy_Pants_, out of all 120 of us don't do that sort of thing.

Next week is exams. I've two, in the aformentioned classes.

Week after that, Tuesday's Awards Night, and Wednesday's the Real Thing.

BTW: I quoted Linus in my dots in the yearbook. I'm such a geek.

Only on Slashdot (exaggeration?) would one see an ad like this.

Really late add: Tom's Hardware had this link somewhere in it (broken apparently): Illegal Software? Report Software Piracy Today!

This is your 15-hour, 25-minute warning.

That is all.

UPDATE: There are 7 hours, 42 minutes left.

I'm willing to bet that some of my fellow students are still working.

God, Humanities sucks.

I think I'll let you figure out the lesson.

bersl2@laptop:~$ rm * /mnt/floppy/*

I run XFS, so undelete is OUT OF THE QUESTION (XFS supposedly zeroes out all unlinked blocks; I'm still getting a raw image of my home partition, just in case.) I'm installing libtrash as I write (Backups are also out of the question until I can actually set up my desktop. The fucking shits who used to own this place didn't make a single improvement for 30 fucking years, so the only place with grounded sockets is in the kitchen.)

I was able to realize my mistake before I lost EVERYTHING ([A-Za-b]* is gone). And hey, I still have my pr0n collection...

But I'm still very pissed at myself. I am a fucking idiot. Fuck me.

I live in the middle of one of the biggest parties in the world, and what am I doing?

Posting on Slashdot.

But whatever. Maybe next year, if I bring down some of the d00dz from college (wherever that is), I'll go through the French Quarter with a camera; but instead of "Girls Gone Wild," I have a sign/shirt saying "Girls for Geeks," and see if any drunk-ass women will flash.

1. Host a city-wide party/drunken orgy.
2. ???
3. Profit!