I think my new journal will now be continued at downstairspeople.org.

THE_COUNTERREVOLUTIONARY: When I was in high school I always wanted to have "rated R" as my nickname, but there was only one guy who I could get to use it. You know how it is, you can't really push a nickname.

ME_MYSELF: You want me to set you as "RATED_R" in my journal?

THE_COUNTERREVOLUTIONARY: Yes! Can you do it-

ME_MYSELF: Retroactively? Yes.

:: THE_COUNTERREVOLUTIONARY shimmers and morphs into RATED_R ::

RATED_R: Sweet! I'll finally be called by my high school nickname. . . . after all this time . . .

RATED_R: ME_MYSELF is a treat.

ME_MYSELF: Did you just call me a treat?

CAFE_DUDE: He is a treat.

ME_MYSELF: [despondent] Well I may be a treat, but I'm not a tasty treat.

I sit down in some kind of waiting room, as in for a barber shop or a doctor or a dentist (we'll go with the dentist) and Patrick Stewart is there, also waiting. And I'm like, "Hey, Patrick, remember me? I met you at X and Y and Z" (where X, Y and Z are places where, in my dream, I remembered having met Patrick Stewart.) And Patrick says, "I'm sick of this crap, I don't want to talk to you. Go away." I think in my dream I thought that he thought that I was stalking him, but really in my dream he thought I was a different fan, although really in real life Patrick Stewart and I have never met.

It was creepy watching Star Trek the next morning.

And my other dream was that my Mom was evicting me from my apartment because I didn't go upstairs and talk to them (my mom and my sister) often enough.

PARTY_GIRL: So, how was work?

ME_MYSELF: . . .

ME_MYSELF: . . .

ME_MYSELF: . . .

PARTY_GIRL: Did you hear what I said?

ME_MYSELF: Yes.

ME_MYSELF: Boring question.

PARTY_GIRL: Sorry. I can't think of anything more interesting.

ME_MYSELF: Neither can I.

PARTY_GIRL: !

You have signed on to #debian

ME_MYSELF: My connection froze up while I was sshed into a remote host and running dselect. When I reconnected and tried to run dselect again, it said "access method area is already locked." Is there a lockfile I need to kill?

HELPFUL_DEBIAN_GURUS: Is dselect still running?

ME_MYSELF: Ohhhhh. Yes it is.

HELPFUL_DEBIAN_GURUS: kill -HUP it

HELPFUL_DEBIAN_GURUS: don't use kill -KILL, or it won't be able to clean up.

HELPFUL_DEBIAN_GURUS: You should have used screen(1)

ME_MYSELF: I was configuring exim4.

HELPFUL_DEBIAN_GURUS: You'll have to reconfigure exim4.

ME_MYSELF: ::chuckle:: yes, I will.

ME_MYSELF: Thanks for all the helpfulness.

. . . the phone rings . . . [context switch to REAL_LIFE_CONVERSATION]

ME_MYSELF: Hello?

PARTY_GIRL: Hey! Um, I screwed up the computer. I was typing something and it just turned off. I pushed the button but it doesn't turn back on.

. . . annoyed pause . . .

ME_MYSELF: Is it plugged in?

PARTY_GIRL: Yes. I checked and it's plugged into the power strip. I turned the power strip on and off and I unplugged the plugged in the power strip, but the computer still doesn't turn on.

editor's note: my wireless access point was also plugged into the power strip.

ME_MYSELF: Well is the light on the power strip on?

PARTY_GIRL: I don't know, I don't think it has a light.

ME_MYSELF: Well what about the printer, is that on?

PARTY_GIRL: Ummmm, let met see. Yes, the printer light is on.

ME_MYSELF: Ok, can you trace the power cord from the computer to the power strip?

PARTY_GIRL: Yes, it's plugged into the power strip.

. . . annoyed pause . . .

ME_MYSELF: Ok, I'll come over there.

. . . I go over there and check out the power cord, it's plugged into the power strip but . . .

ME_MYSELF: It's hanging loose from the back of the computer.

PARTY_GIRL: Oh I didn't know it had to be plugged into the computer.

editor's note: to her credit, previous models had the power cord permanently stuck into back of the computer. And she did just get her wisdom teeth out.

ME_MYSELF: Well since you just got your wisdom teeth out, I'll give you this one for free. But next time I charge you $200 an hour.

PARTY_GIRL: Really? Ok.

ME_MYSELF: If you want I'll go get a shower and then we can get a milkshake or something.

PARTY_GIRL: Sure!

ME_MYSELF: Ok, just give me an hour.

ME_MYSELF: so, any other moos?

RATED_R: What exactly is a moo?

ME_MYSELF: it's something that you just have to understand, but basically "Is there anything else interesting to tell me?"

RATED_R: Then yes. I have something very interesting to tell you.

ME_MYSELF: cool.

ME_MYSELF: tell me :)

RATED_R: {{interesting_moo}}

RATED_R: And that is the most interesting fact you will ever be told.

ME_MYSELF: moo.

RATED_R: Moo indeed.

PSYCHOTROPIC_BUTTERFLY: Hmm, there's a guy named Hamilton Mattress.

ME_MYSELF: Hamilton Mathews?

PSYCHOTROPIC_BUTTERFLY: Hamilton Mattress. Apparently, he's an aardvark.

ME_MYSELF: They make mattresses out of aardvarks.

PSYCHOTROPIC_BUTTERFLY: I know.

ME_MYSELF: Hey, you must be the new person.

RED_SHIRT: Yep. My name is RED_SHIRT.

ME_MYSELF: I'm ME_MYSELF.

RED_SHIRT: Hey.

. . . later . . .

ME_MYSELF: So, are you the one they hired to be the new supervisor. Or was that someone else?

RED_SHIRT: Um . . . I'm not sure. They mentioned that in the interview.

ME_MYSELF: ::mumbles:: Odd. Usually people know when they've been hired to be a supervisor.

One of my slashdot "friends" doesn't like Harry Potter.

Well based on the most recent movie, Ms. Rock, I can't blame you. Packing more pages of book into the same number of screen minutes, and relying more on slapstick gags and odd-looking actors than J. K. Rowling's talent for storytelling, this latest installment stretched my suspension of disbelief and confused my accompanying physicist friend (who had not read the novel).

Quidditch fans will be lucky to see catch five minutes of action. And why the costumers mistook Hermione's pink hooded sweatshirt for a Gryffindor house robe still has me boggled. I don't see any muggles . . . why are you dressing up for them? And the complaints go on.

Still, once the film got down to serious, Dementor-defeating badness, it was worth the ticket. Expecto PATRONUM!

(Also, I found it very easy to move my foot in circles while I draw a six in the air. Why is that hard? How precise do I have to be . . . I mean my balance wasn't wonderful, but I could do it with only moderate concentration. I even sat down and did it with all four limbs. Whatever.)

At work today we told the security alarm dispatchers what we were doing but an hour and a half after we tested the fire alarm a fire truck showed up . . . and then thirty minutes later the police called.

I traveled from my hometown to Charleston and back this weekend. I observed my cousin's high school graduation, an air-show performance out of Charleston AFB, and the upscale Charleston party/nightlife.

For some reason, which according to my calculations is not in the summertime rightly accounted for by the difference in latitude, the sun is just a lot hotter down there. My forehead got burned. :-/

Airshows are fun and italian gelato is tasty and congratulations on your graduations.

This one cost me three days of confusion:

public WindowListener createDefaultWindowListener() {
    return new WindowAdapter() {
        public void windowClosing() { hide(); dispose(); removeFromWindowList(); }
    };
}

See the API Reference Documentation.