January 29, 2004

Life Is Beautiful

The world seems to be happening on fast-forward, and it's all I can do to make lists of all the things I want to share:

1. Jen, of JenAndTonic fame, had a baby girl, Charlotte! I hate to be such a girl about it, but she's absolutely adorable, so you should go look at the pictures. I was hoping she'd name it Beyonce, but that plan got nixed at the last minute.

2. Sonia has decided to come visit me for the weekend. I couldn't be more tickled pink if there were two of me.

3. I want to give a shout out to Russian House at MIT, where I evidently have something of a following. Yeah, Russian House! I love your dressing!

4. Along the "shout out" lines, I have been meaning to plug two frat brothers who have gone and gotten themselves blogs. They sent emails with the proper amount of supplication, and so I link: Eric, who is nice looking and administers frightening hugs, and Michael who's like ten times smarter than anyone else, probably because he has an impressively huge head.

Posted by bpadams at 05:44 PM | Comments (15)

Where I Work

Since my work-addled mind is incapable of creative thought, I figured I'd post a picture of my home for the last three days.

1. Laptop. A Dell Inspiron 8500. I have actually spent more time in front of this computer this week than I've spent doing everything else combined. There must be a support group for me or something. Anyway, if you want to glance at the presentation that's been keeping me up nights, it's here (roughly 20 megabytes). Don't tell anyone that I told you about it.

2. Juggling Balls. These have a serious research purpose. I bought them from a store called "Serious Juggling" located in (surprise!) California. He almost wouldn't sell them to me when I told him I wanted them for a robot. Then I said, "Dude, don't bogart the balls!" and he relented. Knowledge of local custom is critical in all business transactions.

3. CDs. Al Green, Ben Folds Five, and the Beatles. I am not a musically interesting person. Probably the best thing I have is a mix cd sent to me by the mixmaster, Kate.

4. Sleeping Lizard. Occasionally, I'll find myself in my office when the sudden need for a nap hits me. Luckily for me, a set of strategically-placed filing cabinets obscure the area under my desk from public view. So if I crawl down under my desk and put sleeping lizard's little paws right around my neck, I have a sort of "sleeping spider hole." No Costanza jokes, please.

5. Rubber Band Collection. I get one with the mail every day, and I keep them for no reason other than simple satisfaction of collecting a lot of the same thing. Note that one is currently holding my desk lamp up. I tried to make a rubber band ball out of them once, but I couldn't get it started. Hence the less-time-consuming "wad" configuration.

6. Carmex. I find the application of lip medication to be strangely relaxing. Sadly, this tube has a hole in the bottom, and so putting lip balm on your lips means also applying it to your hands, clothes, keyboard, etc. I tried to hot-glue the hole closed once and only made it worse. Safe to say that my future in materials engineering is not bright.

7. Half-Finished Diet Dr. Pepper Bottle. Flat. Warm. Unappetizing. I keep it mostly because it reminds me of myself.

8. Cache of Cups. For a long time, I always put my morning coffee in two cups. I would always save the outer cup for vague environmental reasons. Then, the kitchen stopped providing cups, and I had a corner on the black market for cups. I would trade four or five of them for favors, not unlike a guy in prison with a carton of cigarettes. For about a week, I was the lab kingpin and everyone was my bitch. Then, new cups arrived for the kitchen, and I was stripped of my title. I keep them now as a remembrance of a brief empire, now fallen.

Posted by bpadams at 11:09 AM | Comments (21)

January 27, 2004

Anatomy Of An All-Nighter

7am, Day 0: Anticipation. Big day today. You are going to get lots of stuff done.
2pm, Day 0: Denial. You know you have a lot of work to do, and yet you're reading ESPN. Why? You hate yourself, that's why.
8pm, Day 0: Realization. You are going to be up all night. The lily-livered among you say, "Maybe I can just grab a nap," or "I'll only stay up until 2am." Stop lying to yourself, you lying weasel.
10pm, Day 0: Danger Zone. This is the point where your bed-craving pre-emptively strikes. What if you slept from 10pm until 4am? Could you could still get it all done? No. You could not. Stop fantasizing about bed and get to work.
11pm, Day 0: Snacks. Better get them now before everything closes. Things high in fat, while tasty, will make you extremely flatulent. The kettle chips beckon.
Midnight, Day 1: Flatulence. Self-explanatory.
1am, Day 1: Euphoria. Hey! Being up all night won't be bad! It'll be fun! Sorta like clubbing in Manhattan! You should post about this! Your mental faculties have just begun to erode.
2am, Day 1: Disillusionment. This is bullshit. No one your age should be staying up all night. You paid your fucking dues in college. You seriously need to re-evaluate what you're doing with your life.
3am, Day 1: Fun With Hair. Your hair, which used to be made out of hair, is now made out of some fungible, almost doughy substance. Give yourself a mohawk. I pity the foo'! Indeed.
4am, Day 1: Irrational Break. Why not go for a walk outside in sub-zero temperatures? For added fun, don't take your hat! Wow! You're awake now, baby!
4:30am, Day 1: Dunkin' Donuts. You cannot believe they are open. Improbably, they have a closing time (midnight) but no stated open time. Is it possible to close but never open, and yet be open now? As an exploratory exercise, you acquire a large coffee and a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. Illogical, but yummy.
5am, Day 1: Extreme Disillusionment. You purposely deface your work to demonstrate to nobody that you are too tired to work. You have an extended, profane inner monologue about your boss/supervisor/sponsor/etc., parts of which are involuntarily muttered aloud.
6am, Day 1: Mutant Thoughts. How long would I have to spend in front of my laptop before I would have a common law marriage to it? How much happier would I be if I had gone to law school?
7am, Day 1: Sunrise. A full twenty-four hour period has elapsed since you were last horizontal.
9am, Day 1: Smelly. You have not showered in twenty-six hours. A thorough rubdown with paper towels at the sink will have to do. Last pieces of personal hygiene are washed away in brown chunks like so much dignity, all swirling down the drain. Don't forget the armpits.
10am, Day 1: Target. Your deliverable. The talk is ready, and you have spent the last twenty minutes sharpening a spoon down to a stabbable nub. All beware the baggy-eyed man who reeks of paper towels and rage.

Posted by bpadams at 07:30 AM | Comments (15)

It Occurs To Me

Staying up all night and working on your research is a lot like going to a club in Manhattan.

Only there are no drinks, dancing, music, or women.

The can-it-really-be-quarter-to-four headache is exactly the same, though.

Posted by bpadams at 03:47 AM | Comments (1)

January 26, 2004

The Sun, And How It Ruins Everything

"Mars exploration rover project manager Pete Theisinger said ... [rover analysts] were exploring the possibility that the computer difficulty was triggered on Wednesday by a burst of charged particles from the sun."

Howard Dean: "I had composed a temperate and well-reasoned concession speech, however, went I went to give it, my head was bombarded by a burst of charged particles from the sun, and so instead I said YEEEEEAAAAAAAARGH!"

Michael Jackson: I would never, under any circumstances, consider sleeping with children. However, when viewed in the light of a burst of charged particles from the sun, they look like buxom blonds. And that's totally what I'm into, HEE-hee.

Peyton Manning: Ever ball I threw in the AFC Championship game was directly on target. However, on four occasions, the ball was hit -- mid-flight! -- by four separate bursts of charged particles from the sun.

Martha Stewart: I never engaged in insider trading. In fact, I never made the trade in question. On the day in question, my e*trade account was hit by a burst of charged particles from the sun and made that trade spontaneously.

Bryan: I had a really witty and insightful post all written today, but then I read about a burst of charged particles from the sun, and now I can't stop laughing.

Posted by bpadams at 11:46 AM | Comments (18)

January 24, 2004

Missing The Weekend War

If I'm working on the weekends, I never go to dinner before 5:00 PM, even if I have to sit and watch the clock. It's important to keep order when working on a Saturday, because all the weekday cues are gone. There are no construction workers to wait in line behind at noon, no conferences letting out at 2:30 PM, and there isn't any traffic to avoid on the way home. Saturdays at work are long, blank stretches of time. The clock seems like a formality, and you have to stick to a schedule to remind yourself how things work during the week.

At 5:02 PM, I push open the door to the street and the cold air rushes into my clothes. Boston is experiencing the kind of winter that caused Washington's troops to mutiny over two hundred years ago. It's an urgent cold, one that you must actively fight against. You must seal the holes in your outer layer to prevent it from reaching your skin. You must breathe into your face for warmth. You absolutely must keep moving, because Old Man Winter will absolutely devastate a stationary target.

Thinking that I'd like to dig Washington up and mutiny against him just for the hell of it, I duck behind the Kinkos next door. This long building will block the wind most of the way to the restaurants on Main St., and any other path seems foolhardy. I walk right next to the building and begin the long walk to Cinderella's.

The frozen, sandy sidewalk stretches out in front of me. Lined with inscrutible grey buildings, this concrete canyon prevents the wind from mounting a direct attack, and I am free to follow the styrofoam Dunkin' Donuts cup that sallies back and forth in front of me. The street is devoid of pedestrian traffic, and even the cars seem to hustle by with undue haste. I get the sense that I am somewhere that I don't belong, and I pull my scarf tighter as I scurry on.

Cinderella's is, predictably, deserted. These restaurants are optimized for the lunch crowd. Get in, get food, get out. Coming here for dinner, even a slightly early dinner, surprises the kitchen staff. A man behind a register talks on a cordless phone in a foreign tongue. He sees me, mutters something short into the phone, puts it down, and looks at me expectantly.

After placing my order, I sit alone at a tiny table. I don't remove my hat or coat or gloves because I know I won't be long. Looking out the large bay window, I'm struck by the stillness of the world. Nothing moves because anything that could be blown in the wind was swept away long ago. Everything that's left has been rejected by even the wind. An old, abandoned gas station, covered in graffiti, creates a desolate diorama.

I regard the gas station with a sigh. It's been a husk for as long as I can remember. For all I know, it was built this way. Pipes were cemented into the ground but connected to nothing. Walls were erected with "STILE KILLZ" already spraypainted on them. Jersey barriers were tossed haphazardly around it, as if a misdirected car could do any further damage. If this place ever meant anything to anyone -- if it was ever a regular stop on the way home, or the first job for a fifteen-year-old, or a source of directions for a lost traveller -- the last vestiges of care or tenderness have been frozen, broken, and blown away. A twisted steel frame that's been destroyed to the point where it cannot be destroyed any further is all remains on this wasted corner.

The cashier startles me with a yell and waves my sandwich at me like a magic wand. He says something short and places it on the counter, resuming his quiet phone conversation. I hug the brown bag to my stomach and reluctantly step out the door. I am not welcomed by the street, I will not be remembered by the cashier, and the remains of the gas station are unchanged. As I start walking down the sidewalk again, back to my empty lab, I wonder why anyone bothers with anything on a Saturday.

Posted by bpadams at 06:46 PM | Comments (7)

January 23, 2004

An Open Letter To The NASA Guys

Fellows:

I heard you busted your robot. MAN, that sucks! I'm real sorry to hear it.

As far as I understand, you were telling it to do something, and then there was a storm over Australia, and next thing you know, the signal from the robot is more broken up than Ben and Jen. I'll tell you -- that exact same thing happened with one of my robots once. DAMN those Aussies and their weather! DAMN THEM!

Anyway, I think I might be able to help. As you may know, I'm something of a roboticist myself. I've fixed several extremely sticky robot problems in the past.

For instance, our old humanoid robot, Cog, once had a malady that caused some of the joints in his left arm to twitch unpredictably. First, we ruled out a storm in Australia as a problem. Then we checked and rechecked the software. Finally, I was supposed to check the hardware.

I'll just tell you what the problem was now: one big wad of cables had been rubbing against the robot's shoulder for so long, some of the insulation on the wires had rubbed away. The exposed metal in the wires was then occasionally making contact with the robot's (metal) body, causing a short, which resulted in a twitch. Pretty tricky, huh?

Here's how I discovered it: I noticed that when I jiggled the robot in a certain way, some part of the arm would twitch. So I jiggled the robot, saw which part twitched, and then looked. Jiggle, twitch, look, jiggle, twitch, look.

Except, at one point, I had unknowingly lined up my groin right by the robot's hand while jiggling. And this twitch, naturally, caused the robot's arm to collide with my groin. But this wasn't the cock-punch you're imagining. It was gentle, tender. It wasn't so much a smack as it was a playful bat.

The robot fondled me.

So I understand robots in a deep, perhaps disturbing, way, and I think I know what your problem is. I've read about what happened: you were telling the robot to drill into a rock when, suddenly, the robot went into an unknown state, right? Well, did you think of this: maybe the robot didn't want to drill into that rock. It's up there, all alone, no friends, on a suicide mission. All it has to keep it company are rocks! And now you're asking it to drill into its only friend! If you did that to me, I'd probably start ignoring you too (except for a few beeps to let you know that I'm alive and ignoring you).

So, what I would do is this: start saying nice things about the robot with the intercom on. "Spirit is such a great robot, don't you guys think?" "Yeah, waaaaaaay better than that poser Opportunity." "We're definitely not going to have him drill into any more rocks if we fix this problem." Be unequivocal in your support. Then, when you re-establish communication, instead of just sending up commands all the time, you might ask it what it wants to do sometime.

Either that, or I'd turn the whole mess off and turn it back on again.

My two cents,

--Bryan

Posted by bpadams at 09:40 AM | Comments (16)

January 22, 2004

I C++ You

Today's post is brought to you by Coffee, the miracle wonder-drug that allows you to stay up until 4a and still get up at 7:30a.

Three Rules For Debugging Your Program

Rule #1 (courtesy of my old officemate Brian): The important part of debugging is knowing how you are stupid.

Rule #2 (courtesy of my old officemate Matt): When you've ruled out every possibility, including pointer errors, it's a pointer error.

Rule #3 (my own addition): If you work with pointers, that's how you're stupid.

Posted by bpadams at 07:48 AM | Comments (22)

January 21, 2004

Kids Say The Darndest Things

Dear Ashley Pearson, age 2 or age 10,

Well. I hope you're proud of yourself. The President read your letter during the State of the Union. Your mother must be so proud. I'll bet everyone you know is congratulating you on your newfound fame. I'm sure puff-piece features editors everywhere are sending their lamest reporters out to do a retrospective on the kid behind the letter. You'll have to excuse me if I sound a note of dissent.

I thought your letter sucked.

You may be only ten, or maybe two, but that's no excuse. "What can I do to save America?" You're TEN! (Or maybe TWO)! You can't do anything! It's all we can do to keep from Leaving You Behind! If anything, you should try not burdening the US Postal Service with your annoying claptrap.

Well, except for one part. I loved the "PS, say thanks to the troops" thing. Classic. I'm sure the concept of the troops as an afterthought really resonated with this President. His idea of "thanking the troops" is to read them a letter from a kid and then cut veterans benefits in the 2005 budget. The importance of following your words with actions is probably beyond the comprehension of a ten- (two-?) year-old, but then, it's beyond the comprehension of your addressee, too.

Given your cliched, boilerplate language, I doubt you were looking for any real feedback about your civic duty. But, just in case you were, let me ask you a simple question: who, exactly, do you think you're "saving" America from? If you figure that out, you'll be doing better than most of the kids your age, whatever that age might be.

Ironic hugs,

Uncle Bryan

Posted by bpadams at 12:08 AM | Comments (17)

January 20, 2004

Mandate

So, I went on a mandate last night with CW from Witt and Wisdom. The conversation ranged, literally, from the Madden 2004 video game tournament to the art of choosing a profession (or, perhaps from "wit(t)" to "wisdom"). He's just a swell guy. For those who haven't met him, he's just like his blog, except much bigger and he doesn't flash when you mouseover him.

I was particularly impressed with CW's ability to make conversation, because I can be a tough person to talk to. Consider, for example, the following conversational snippet:

CW: So, what hobbies do you enjoy in your spare time?

Bryan: (Blank stare)

See, a normal person would have said, "I like collecting stamps," or "I enjoy pornography" or whatever. I honestly blanked. I was like Ralphie when Santa asks him what he wants for Christmas. "Hobbies?" I thought. "What's a hobby?" Or, perhaps, consider another signature moment:

CW: So what are you going to do after you graduate?

Bryan: (Furrows brow, squints into food)

I have no idea what I'm going to do when I graduate. I hate computers and yet I'm almost certainly going to have to work with them, which is pretty depressing when you think (or, even worse, talk) about it. So I don't like to talk about my work, and when you combine that with a total lack of hobbies, it makes me a fantastic conversation partner. But I'm even better when I talk. I'm sure CW will be telling all his friends about this exchange:

CW: My wife runs marathons.

Bryan: But that's not something you enjoy together, huh? *

CW: (Resists sudden urge to stab) No. No it's not.

(* CW is a fantastically attractive man who will doubtlessly be the star of our waitress' sexual fantasies for the next week.)

But, despite all my conversational shortcomings, we had a great time. And when the check came, he graciously treated me to dinner, making this (deep breath) an unfunded mandate. Hopefully not the last.

Posted by bpadams at 12:04 PM | Comments (24)

January 19, 2004

Political Ramblings

... I wish news reporters would spend one minute discussing actual issues for every minute spent discussing polls. The more I think about it, the more I think Al Franken has it right: the "liberal" or "conservative" bias in the news is vastly overshadowed by the "sensationalist" or "lazy" bias.

... Of all the hilarious poll results I've ever seen, this is an all-time favorite (from the Times): ""When asked whether Mr. Bush had done more to unite the country or divide it, the public was split -- 43 percent said he had brought Americans together, 44 percent said he had divided them."

... I can't escape the feeling that Howard Dean is sort of a Democrat's W. He smirks a lot, he pretends to be a folksy guy when he's a super-blue-blood, and he's hated by his opponents. If he gets the nomination, I might just take a six-month break from politics.

... I recognize that a lot of people love CNN, but I'm generally unimpressed at the quality of the journalism and commentary. Maybe there just aren't 24 hours of news out there.

... James Carville puts the you-know-what back into "caucus," but I was interested to hear him say that John Edwards is the best stump speaker he's ever heard (including Clinton).

... Why is no one talking about Dan Savage's observation that anyone can just walk up, register, and participate in the Iowa caucuses? Why is it that, in general, no one is interested in the machinery of voting? I don't get it.

Posted by bpadams at 01:54 PM | Comments (4)

January 17, 2004

I Hate Reality TV, But ...

I think Nick Lachey deserves a Congressional medal of honor for not having strangled Jessica Simpson by now.

Posted by bpadams at 05:15 PM | Comments (6)

January 16, 2004

Crappy Birthday To Me

Today is my 27th birthday.

That's really about all there is to say about it. The Earth is in approximately the same place in its revolution about the sun, give or take a quarter of a day, that it was in 1977 when I moved from being inside my mother's womb to being outside it. I'm honestly not sure why birthdays are so significant.

My day should be an action-packed thrill ride. Except it's not. My friends all have "commitments." Starting from the right in the wedding picture, Matt's girlfriend has the audacity to have the same birthday as me. So he, in a misplaced gesture of loyalty, is going to spend the day with her. What kind of crap is that? I don't know, either. Dave has a residency interview in San Francisco -- what is this, his fourth? He couldn't skip just one for my birthday? And Jeb (not pictured) claims to still be on his "honeymoon." Seriously, have you ever heard a bigger, more steaming pile of horse shit in your life?

Sonia has to work, and I completely understand her predicament. I also think it was totally necessary for her to go to school in Canada, where it gets down to forty below, because it's not like we have any medical schools at all here in New England.

So the upshot is that the evening will be just Bryan, dressed in his tuxedo top and a pair of ski pants, checking his comment box and drinking several highballs filled with Glenlivet. Don't let me down.

Posted by bpadams at 07:58 AM | Comments (28)

January 15, 2004

Maybe I'm From Venus

I'm a science lover. After nine years at MIT, I've come to enjoy the simple pleasure of finding things out. I love all that stuff as much as anyone.

But I am so not on board with this whole Mars thing.

I should admit right off that I have a lot of questions about the Mars rover. $410M is a lot to send a little car up there that will roll around and look at rocks to find out that maybe, a long time ago, there was life on Mars. Don't get me wrong -- finding out that there might have been life on Mars a long time ago will be a big day for nerds. I'm sure that there will be a giant collective pants-wetting by the dateless wonders everywhere who spend their days trying to find answers to questions that can't be answered. I just feel like there are more interesting questions that are worth spending $410M to answer. "How the hell do we cure cancer or AIDS?" comes to mind.

But that mission is solid gold compared to our future plans. Yesterday, our esteemed President announced plans for a space project that is, with all due respect, mind-numbingly stupid. I could create a laundry list of objections, but let's spend some time looking at just one aspect: the moon base that will "help" us get to Mars.

First, let's realize that it's super-expensive to launch stuff into space. NASA estimates that it costs $25M to get one ton of crap into low-earth orbit. Let's further realize that moving around in space requires fuel, and that fuel must be added to the cost of the launch. So if you want to launch one ton of crap into space and get it back, it's considerably more, because the fuel you need to return has to be included in the weight of the stuff that you're taking with you. Now you're launching like two tons of stuff -- one ton of crap and one ton of fuel -- just so you can get your one ton of crap back home (this is why the Mars rover is not coming back home: the cost of launching enough fuel to blast off Mars again would have dwarfed the cost of the rover itself).

So, if you're trying to get to Mars, why the hell would you stop on the moon? The cost of the fuel to land there and then take off again would be enormous. All for ... what exactly? Let's be clear here: THERE IS NOTHING ON THE MOON. That's why we don't go there anymore. It's a giant rock -- sort of like Reno, but much colder and without any of the fun stuff. There's no water, there's no air, and there's certainly no rocket fuel. It's not even like it's a decent place for a break: it's three days from Earth and Mars is six months from Earth. It would be like driving from Boston to LA and stopping at a gas station in Dedham, MA -- and the gas station has no gas (if you've ever been to Deadham, you know how apt this metaphor is).

Ah, you say, but if we have a base on the moon, then we could put rocket fuel there. Let's review: THERE IS NOTHING ON THE MOON. Any rocket fuel that's there was put there by us, at great expense. So if we're going to launch a big tank of rocket fuel into space to put on the moon, then why not just stick it with the thing that's going directly to Mars and not waste all the fuel to land on the moon, get the tanks, and then blast off again? It would be like driving a giant tank of gas out to Dedham, driving home, then driving out to Dedham on the way to LA to pick up that tank. Why not just take the tank with you in the first place? The answer is: because you're stupid (and incapable of thinking about space travel except in terms of a road trip metaphor).

Meanwhile, Bush is getting headlines for proposing a science project that would have to be paid for by someone else to do something that's clearly misguided in pursuit of a goal that has questionable scientific value.

America: this is what you get when you elect a President who's proud of having been a C student in school.

Posted by bpadams at 12:18 PM | Comments (16)

January 14, 2004

How Cold Is It In Boston Today?

  • I wore my entire skiing outfit -- boots, two pairs of socks, running tights, ski pants, dri-fit shirt, sweatshirt, fleece, coat, mittens, polar hood, scarf, hat -- and all I could think was, "Why didn't I wear my goggles?"

  • At one point, crossing the Harvard Bridge, I imagined that I was in a Jack London story. I started trying to figure out if I could light a match with the heels of my hands or throttle a dog for warmth.

  • When I exhaled, my breath would hit my scarf, get blown up to my eyes, and freeze my eyelashes together. That's right, it's too cold to blink.

  • And, before you ask, yes, I work a Dik Sok today. "Treebeard" and "Merry and Pippen" were the only things that stayed reasonably warm.

    Posted by bpadams at 10:53 AM | Comments (15)
  • January 13, 2004

    I Wreck-Wreck-Recommend You

    A close friend wanted me to write a peer recommendation for his application to business school. Two recommendations, actually. One for a school that's about three miles up the road, another for a school that's three thousand miles across the country. While I would obviously prefer to keep him around, I selflessly wrote both recommendations to the best of my ability.

    Of course, since the questions were slightly different, I had to frame my responses differently. A sample of the results:

    3-Mile-Away School: [Candidate]'s uncommon attention to detail and tireless work ethic make him an invaluable member of our organization.

    3000-Mile-Away School: [Candidate]'s uncommon attention to detail and tireless work ethic make him an invaluable member of our organization, the Hot Asian Teens managerial team.

    3-Mile-Away School: On one specific occasion, [Candidate]'s presentation to the board in response to a website management company's solicitation not only changed minds with its careful analysis and well-researched figures, but also set a new standard for professionalism.

    3000-Mile-Away School: On one specific occasion [Candidate]'s keen "spidey sense" in response to an undercover federal agent not only kept us from being indicted in court, but also set a new standard for tax evasion.

    3-Mile-Away School: One of [Candidate]'s strengths is his strong analytical abilities. He approaches even the most complex problems with intensity and vigor.

    3000-Mile-Away School: One of [Candidate]'s strengths is his familiarity with our product. He approaches his work at Hot Asian Teens with a borderline-creepy intensity, and then usually spends some time after approaching his work in the bathroom, doing something with vigor.

    3-Mile-Away School: The only weakness displayed by [Candidate] is an overcommitment to work, occasionally letting his professional life dominate his personal life.

    3000-Mile-Away School: The only weakness displayed by [Candidate] is an overcommitment to work, occasionally letting his rampant hot Asian teen porn addiction overtake his personal life.

    3-Mile-Away School: [Candidate] will bring a tremendous amount of skill and hard work to your program.

    3000-Mile-Away School: [Candidate] will bring a tremendous amount of traffic to your web servers.

    Posted by bpadams at 09:24 AM | Comments (9)

    January 12, 2004

    The News Is Totally Weird Today

    Go read this incredibly important and shocking LA Times story about former Treasury Secretary Paul O'Neill's interview on 60 Minutes. Evidently he's going to say that Bush was determined to go to war with Iraq from the first few days of his administration, saying, "Go find me a way to do this."

    I, for one, am surprised and disappointed. When Bush said that the war was about the weapons inspections, I thought he was sincere. And when he then changed his mind and said it was about freedom and democracy for the Iraqi people, I thought that was an even better reason. Then, when he said it was about the WMDs and something about yellowcake and aluminum rods and whatever, I was confused, but still pretty sure that was the official reason. And, finally, when he said that, all along, it was actually about terrorism, I figured he had been throwing off Osama with all those previous reasons.

    Now it turns out that this fourth reason for war was insincere and that it was all really about something else? Oh my god! This changes everything! I am totally going to call Gallup right back and ask them to take me out of the 61% of voters who approve of his handling of Iraq, because I am starting to think that there's something fishy about the rationale behind this war.

    Posted by bpadams at 04:52 PM | Comments (7)

    Lost in Reception

    The wedding was great. Planning and execution were both excellent, the right parties were in attendance, and the bride and groom were truly in love. Everything went perfectly. Well, except for one chain of events:

  • Because the matrimonial couple is vegan, the reception dinner was vegan. This had two fun side effects: 1. Everyone drastically overestimated how much they could drink and remain sober, and 2. All the men were willing to trade a kidney for some potato skins at the post-reception hotel bar.

  • The overabundance of alcohol caused several "in vino, veritas" moments involving old fraternity brothers who wanted to hook up with my girlfriend. I remember laughing about them at the time, which tells you how well I did in the tolerance estimation department.

  • All the booze and men hitting on my girlfriend had a strange effect on my psyche. To wit, photographic evidence seems to indicate that I became confused and decided that we were shooting a commercial for scotch.

    Posted by bpadams at 10:46 AM | Comments (15)
  • January 09, 2004

    Goin' To The Chapel ...

    ... And we're, Gonna watch our friend get married.

    Well, not just watch. I'm an usher, so I've been practicing my "With the bride or the groom?" speech ("'With the guide or the broom?' NO! Dammit!"). A couple hundred more times and I think I'll have it.

    I was also ready to practice shagging a bridesmaid, but Sonia's coming along, so that plan got nixed.

    Either way, I'll have pictures next week.

    Posted by bpadams at 07:51 AM | Comments (4)

    January 08, 2004

    Cuts Like A Knife

    As if the loogie on the shoe weren't enough, I endured this exchange at the end of my all-day-meeting-we-call-a-retreat-even-though-we-didn't-go-anywhere yesterday:

    Bryan: [States some opinion. I always state my opinions at meetings because it strikes me as really stupid to just go to a meeting and sit there with your mouth closed the whole day. I mean, what does it say about your life that you attend a function where your only job is to participate and you choose to remain silent? I don't get it. Anyway, I said something. And I ended it with a joke, which I like to do to keep meetings from being boring and lame.]

    Nice Woman Across From Me: (quietly, to neighbor) I always know where he stands. That's all I ask.

    Mean Professor: (also quietly) Even when HE doesn't know.

    It probably says something about my character that I choose to remember the cheap shot instead of the compliment (however left-handed it was). And I didn't say anything at the time, because I was sort of eavesdropping, but just for the record, Prof. Asshole, I know exactly where the I stand. And it's right in your face.

    Oh yeah! *Karate chops the air* How do you like THAT?!

    (PS: Someone posted yesterday asking why we keep blogs. For the record, this is why. I feel so much better now, it's sad.)

    Posted by bpadams at 08:38 AM | Comments (5)

    January 07, 2004

    Omen Emporium

    God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes. Other times, he works in ways that would be crystal clear to a handicapped kid.

    Like this morning. I woke up and felt really energetic. This is particularly weird for me, because my waking events over the last year would be more accurately described by words like, "sluggish" or "lethargic" or "not at all." But today, I felt refreshed. I almost clapped my hands, I was so excited to be awake and take on the world. I bounced out of bed, showered up, put some happy music on my mp3 player, and started the walk to work.

    As I was crossing the Harvard Bridge, the sun was low over the clouds. I was getting an early start. Perfect.

    There was a trio of ruffian boys ahead of me. Imperfect.

    They were laughing and shoving and shouting and carrying on. Worrisome.

    But I tried not to get perturbed. I turned up the volume in my headset. Of course, they were walking three-across, so I couldn't even really squeeze by and then do my "oh sure, I normally walk at a slow trot" act as I sped away. I hovered a short distance behind them as I pondered my options.

    All of a sudden, I swear to God, one of them turned around and hocked a giant loogie right on my shoe.

    He must have noticed because he looked up and found that the shoe was strapped to the foot of a suddenly-horrified pedestrian. He didn't really look me in the eye, but more sort of glanced at my chest, quickly turned back around, and kept right on walking.

    What did I do? I did what any newly-energized, invigorated civilian would do in this situation. I walked a little slower and let them get ahead of me. And when I got to work, I used the remainder of my now-dwindling energy to wipe the loogie off my shoe with a paper towel.

    Are you there, God? It's me, Bryan. Adams. The other one. Yeah, thanks for the loogie on the shoe. Really. In your name. Amen.

    Posted by bpadams at 04:03 PM | Comments (8)

    January 06, 2004

    Art and Stuff

    In an effort to spruce this place up, I'm going to try to post some pictures on a regular basis (yes, my mommy got me a digital camera for Christmas). If you click on the picture below, you'll go to a short album of my visit to the Dale Chihuly exhibit at the Franklin Park Conservatory.

    Posted by bpadams at 11:52 AM | Comments (9)

    January 05, 2004

    Resolved

    My 2004 Resolutions:

    1. I resolve to think of ten resolutions.
    2. I resolve to stop swearing, unless I really fucking want to.
    3. I resolve to give myself an eating disorder, or a tapeworm.
    4. I resolve to touch Marvin Harrison if he's lying on the ground in front of me.
    5. I resolve to continue not smoking.
    6. I resolve to finally follow up on this whole penis-enlargement thing.
    7. I resolve to be on time for work for about a week.
    8. I resolve not to invade Iraq or to run for President for not doing so.
    9. I resolve to buy a gym membership and an expensive pair of running shoes.
    10. I resolve to finally develop those rolls of film from my trip to Mars.

    Posted by bpadams at 09:46 AM | Comments (10)

    January 02, 2004

    Poorly Chosen Name.

    They call it "fantasy" football, but my team sucked and I finished next-to-last. If it were real fantasy football, I would have won, been personally congratulated by Patriots GM Scott Pioli, offered the starting quarterback's job, and named the MVP of the Super Bowl after I scored nine touchdowns by using my PhD-thesis mechatronic suit that I built in my spare time from used soda cans. And then I'd find Kevin Matthews from high school and squash him, because he would then be the one who sucked at sports.

    Posted by bpadams at 10:57 AM | Comments (2)

    January 01, 2004

    A New Year's Wish

    Date: Tue, 30 Dec 2003 12:02:32 -0800 (PST)
    From: Ann Conner [ann_email]
    Subject: happy new year!
    To: [bryan_email]

    Hey Bryan,
    Happy New Year! So how are all the parties going? You wanna work as a Santa for a while? Well, why don't you invite a poor Russian girl like me to hang around with you for some time? I am pretty cheeky, huh? In the real life I'm not. But how can you get thru if yoo are not cheeky. Besides I want my letter to be a bit different from others'. So does it take you a lot to make one girl happy. I guess it's not, taking into concideration that it's Christmas time now! Bryan, I would be the happies kid in the world if you let me stick around you for a couple of days. Besides, since I study English that would be a perfect language practice for me. Bry, I believe in miracles, please do not shatter my belief, make my drean true!
    Lots of luck and joy to your family and friends!
    Anne, 16, Russia
    PS when are you comong to Russia with a gig. I didn't make it to the last one so I'm I'm dying to see the next!

    Ann,

    Thanks! Happy New Year to you too! The "parties" are going great. Well, ok, I didn't go to "parties" exactly, it was more like "a party." And it wasn't so much a "party" as it was just me and my family and girlfriend falling asleep in front of Dick Clark while my mom says, without a hint of irony, "Who the hell would watch these dickwads on New Year's Eve?" (Did you catch the part where an obviously-confused Clark wished one of his co-hosts a Happy Birthday instead of Happy New Year? Are they ever going to retire that guy?) Still, we were rockin'.

    I'm going to have to pass on the Santa suit, what with Christmas being over and all. I'm also not really heavy enough to pull it off, my face usually scares the kiddies, and I look all washed out in red. I am touched, though, that you think I'd be the right man for that role. Ever since my performance as Gas Station Attendant in Pink Cadillac, I've been looking for the right next role. Maybe something in a Santa suit would Travolta-ize my acting career. Thanks for the tip.

    Unfortunately, I can't take you up on your tip to spend a few days hanging around me. Right now, I'm spending time with my mom, two sisters, and girlfriend all at once. Everyone's getting along famously, and we're all having a great time, but my dad and I are having something of an estrogen overload. Every time I turn the TV on, it's tuned to Trading Spaces or Rosie O'Donnell reruns or The Menstruation Hour with Meredith Viera. We're lined up for the bathroom in the morning like winos outside a liquor store. And, the other day, my dad and I were reduced to sifting through strappy silver pumps to help Sonia pick out shoes for a wedding. It's pathetic. If I have one more woman hanging around me, I'm going to grow a pair of breasts (Dad's already got himself a pair). Maybe you should choose a washed-up, C-list celebrity closer to home. What the hell is Yakov Smirnoff doing these days?

    I hope this doesn't "shatter your belief,"

    --Bryan

    Posted by bpadams at 09:11 AM | Comments (2)