Rhythm and Gravy

…in which our hero’s life has been crazy lately.

September has been hectic with life’s hijinks, and correspondingly low in posts, for reasons which abound, not the least of which is that the Top Pot Donuts by my place started closing at 9pm, and when have I been home before 9pm lately?

The early part of this month was consumed by a major project at work, which found me up nights and weekends. I’m sorry that details can’t be posted here, but the client is paying the big bucks…

This past week was invested towards our company’s entry in the Red Bull Soapbox Race which was held in Fremont this last weekend. Our car, Din and Tonic was designed to be a gravity-powered noisemaking machine. In the words of my officemate Jed, “most teams build their cars to look like something, like ‘check us out, our car looks like a chicken!’ Well, our car doesn’t look like a chicken, but it does a lot of stuff, and that’s what sets us apart.” We had a belt, chain, and pulley system which powered a kick drum, a pair of 100Db air-raid sirens, and a cymbal-clapping monkey. Dope.

We sweated nights and weekends welding, forming, gluing, painting, and decorating. We tested it up to 25mph. Then, we pushed the thing down Fremont Ave, the chain fell off, we hit 30mph, all four tires came off, and we crashed at full speed into the chicane. Dope!

In the end, fun was had by all, and we’re looking forward to flugtag.

Meanwhile at the Hall of Justice, my shoulder rehab is going well, and I can raise my hand in class again. Still not cleared for riding the bike. I want to ride my bicycle.

I think it was about my sophomore year of high school: my mom had recently given up on forcing me out of bed in the morning, and I had grudgingly trained myself to actually wake up to the blare of my cheap Radio Shack alarm clock. I’d placed it across the room, forcing myself to physically get out of bed to shut it off and drag myself to the shower. Up to the point of actually standing on running water, my mind would be engaged in no other conscious task other than coming up with some semi-valid reason why I could get back into bed. Well, one Friday night I failed to turn the alarm off, and the next morning was just about to turn the shower on at 6:30 am, thinking to myself “dear God, what day is it and, since I’m mentally incapable of doing math right now, how many days until I can sleep in?” When it hit me: it’s Saturday.

The feeling of that moment, when one realizes he can, without consequence, get back into a warm bed and go back to sleep, ranks in my top five feelings ever. In the years since, I’ve been known to deliberately set my alarm on the weekend, just to get that feeling of being able to go back to sleep.

Having shoulder surgery did not feel quite that good. But at least it went okay.

Surgery feels like this: annoyance that the anesthesiologist, who only is interested in when you stop talking, can’t come up with a better topic of conversation than the stupid thing you did to injure yourself, a poke in the arm, and a spinny feeling. Then it’s over, and you wonder why the nice lady is staring at you. It turns out that it’s her job to stare at you, so that someone will notice if you die. They sit you up, and you freak out because you can’t move your arm anymore. Then you remember the anesthesiologist told you he was going to to stick a needle in your neck for that very reason, and you remember thinking that didn’t sound very pleasant, and now you’re a little pissed that he told you at all, since he knew you weren’t going to be awake for that part anyway. But now they’re handing you various bottles of pills which counteract the effects of the surgery, or counteract the effects of the pills which counteract the effects of the surgery, and you get dressed, at which point you realize just how much it’s going to suck that you didn’t have the goddamned foresight to injure your non-dominant shoulder. You call mom to tell her you’re alive, they wheel you out to your car, and your cousin drives you home.

You’re actually feeling pretty good, considering. You feel good enough to walk up to the video store and rent some movies, and you take them home and fire one up. By the end of the first movie, you’re getting pretty tired of not being able to move your arm — it’s really a frustrating feeling to have those motor cortex signals so rudely ignored — but around the end of your second movie, you start to get some sensation and you can twitch those major muscles. By then end of the third movie, you’re cursing the pharmacist who gave you sugar pills instead of painkillers, and you’re highly interested in knowing the LD50 of oxycodone.

But after a night of poor sleep, you’re finally able to get a nice painkiller groove going, and the next day isn’t so bad. Mom comes up and takes you to Target and buys you a broom for your new apartment. You sleep better that night. Next day, you even go into work for a couple of hours. You drop the narcotics for Ibuprofen, and a few days later, you’re fully up and about, only you can’t move your elbow away from your side.

The worst part of this is that the weather is incredibly beautiful in Seattle right now, and I can’t even ride a bike. But, surgery went okay.

The aforementioned surgery is tomorrow. Wish me luck. Give me a call tomorrow or Thursday if you want to talk to me while I’m doped up on pain meds.

The occasion calls for the following movie quotes. Name the source for jakey-points, redeemable for dry comments or cheap booze. Bonus jakey-points for naming the character. Negative jakey-points for using the internets.

1. “Beautiful isn’t it? It took me half a lifetime to invent it. I’m sure you’ve discovered my deep and abiding interest in pain. Presently I’m writing the definitive work on the subject, so I want you to be totally honest with me on how the machine makes you feel. This being our first try, I’ll use the lowest setting.”
2. “Remember the game plan. First you win a point, then you lose a point. Keep the score at zero-zero. Pulverize him for the full three minutes. Then in sudden death you get the point, we win. I want him to experience pain. First he suffers.”
3. “This bowling ball isn’t human! It doesn’t feel pain! It can’t be reasoned with!”
4. “Oh we have a delivery, a special delivery of pain!”
5. “You mark that frame an eight and you’re entering a world of pain.”
6. “This shit is between me, you, and Mr. Soon-to-be-livin’-the-rest-of-his-short-ass-life-in-agonizing-pain rapist here.
7. “Oh stewardess? I speak Jive.”
   “Oh, good.”
   “He said that he’s in great pain, and he wants to know if you can help him.”
   “Alright, would you tell him to just relax and I’ll be back as soon as I can with some medicine.”
   “Jes’ hang loose, blood. She gonna catch up on the rebound on the med side.”
   

Technically, this belongs as part of the “End of June monster post rally,” but hey, I’m a slacker-blogger. I guess you could say I’m a “slogger.”

I started work on the 27th of June at Synapse Product Development, LLC as a software engineer (a title I’ve had to defend from being changed to Guru, Gizmologist, Code Machine, or some other such nonsense). I had another offer from a very big, well known company, and at another time in my life I’d have taken it, but I consider myself young enough to take a chance on a small company. The decision wasn’t easy — I was surprised to find myself pretty stressed out about the choice, and I’m usually one who has no problem making major life choices on a whim (I chose my undergraduate school based on how much good skiing I’d get in; I chose the company I worked for after undergraduate because there was beer during the interview). I guess I’ve found that the things that make a choice work out or not are usually unforeseen.

In any case, I chose Synapse because I got a good feeling from them. My bosses (the founders) are ex-mechanical engineers from Cannondale (and the biking culture is pervasive at work). They are extremely open and honest with their employees about their choices and goals for the company. They initiate or encourage things like our entry in the Red Bull Soap Box Derby and the building of a skateboard and scooter-friendly office layout. They are committed to being successful badass engineers and having a great time at it. That’s been my impression, anyway. I dearly hope I’m right — but I’m done stressing about the choice.

The projects I’ve been working on have been super-cool. Working in downtown Seattle has been extra cool. My coworkers, to a man (and woman), are ridiculously cool people, and I’m amped to get to spend all week hanging out with them. That may be ultimately why Synapse won out, because the people there are like me, or like I’d like to be.

… in which our hero goes to Pittsburgh to pack it up/pack it in.

Last Wednesday morning found me on a flight back to the grad school stomping grounds, this time on a three-day mission to retrieve that pile of material balls-and-chain I affectionately call my “shit.” It took me three long days of packing, loading, and cleaning, but in between I enjoyed happy hours, dinners, and barbecues with some of the best friends an RI dropout could ever want. So thanks go to Dave, Nick, Kate, Loring, Matt, Steve, Marc, and Anne for making an otherwise tedious trip into a rockin’ good time.

I’m happy to say that my worldly possessions fit into 480 square feet (6ft x 8ft x10ft of trailer space). I’m also happy that my couch has gone on to support the fine, fine asses of one the nicest couples I know, and that my TV stand will help enable the viewing habits of the most dedicated fanboy organized sports have ever known.

After far too little sleep and just enough fun, I flew back to Seattle on Saturday to continue my end of June exxxtravaganza…

I’m still not sure whether I made the decision, or if it was made for me, but it’s been made and it feels right: I’m staying in Seattle. I love it here; I’m happy to be back to my first love, engineering; and there’s nothing more important to me at this point in my life than supporting my family. It really was a no-brainer, but I can’t say that I’m leaving my Pittsburgh life behind without regrets. It will be hard to be across the country from some of my best friends in life.

So now it’s time to get moving on setting myself up here. I’ve spent this week dusting off the old resume and ironing my collared shirts for some interviews. Next month will be apartment hunting time. Then, I will proceed to take over the world. The first commenter gets Australia.

Saw Jonathan Coulton at the Tractor last night, and holy crap I haven’t enjoyed a show that much in years. We walked in just as he was starting up his acoustic version of “Baby Got Back,” ordered a couple of beers, and couldn’t drink them for laughing too hard. I tried, though. My new favorite beer to spew through my nose is Mac and Jack’s IPA.

I’d first heard of Jonathan Coulton when Dallas sent me a copy of “First of May” to help bring on the good weather last spring. Later, I saw him as a virtual zombie guest starring on the I’ll Clan’s Machinima show, “Tra5h Ta1k with Ill Will.” The zombie avatar being a reference to the extremely popular zombie-pop tune “Re Your Brains.”

Highlights of the show:

Code Monkey Code Monkey like Fritos Code Monkey like Tab and Mountain Dew Code Monkey very simple man With big warm fuzzy secret heart: Code Monkey like you.

Millionaire Girlfriend I will wait a lifetime if it takes that long I know she’s out there for I have heard her song In dreams she sings to me Her angel’s voice a symphony Is she in a garden or a meadow fair Does the dappled sunlight shine ribbons in her hair? Does she sit patiently smiling as she waits for me?

She’s my millionaire girlfriend and she’s my life Once I finally find her I’ll get permission from the wife We will all live in our castle high My beloved and my millionaire girlfriend and I.

Mandelbrot Set Mandelbrot Set you’re a Rorschach Test on fire You’re a day-glo pterodactyl You’re a heart-shaped box of springs and wire You’re one badass fucking fractal And you’re just in time to save the day Sweeping all our fears away You can change the world in a tiny way.

Looks like he’s playing some shows around Philly this month, for you easterners out there. Highly recommended.

After a good weekend of the Park City life, skiing and partying in the hardy fashion, I’ve retreated to Helena and the placidity of family and work. I’ve got a new project I’ve been working on, with encouragement from Bryan and Michaele, and it’s keeping me occupied during my days at the Morning Light (best coffee in town), while chasing the Booperman in circles distracts me until bedtime. The sibling unit is keeping her head up, and I’m proud of how good a mommy and strong a woman she is. I’ll be here until Thursday, then it’s off to see what I can make happen in Seattle. Wish me the luck.

The drive from Chicago to Denver includes such wonders as Des Moines, Omaha, and a whole lot of big, empty, cold. My wiper fluid, rated at -20°, kept freezing on my window. But only snow in Omaha slowed me down, and my good little car kept the needle on the ocho the rest of the way. Fifteen hours later I was drinking gin and tonic with Laura and Nate.

It’s cold here:

We went to The Egg and I; the Seahawks lost; we went up Coal Creek Canyon to see about the inspection on their home to be. Jack Bauer saved the day. I’m relaxed.

Turns out the weather sucks, everywhere, for the time being. Specifically, everywhere I want to drive (i.e. Denver). So I’m just a-hang in Chicago. Sabrina and I went to Second City to see the latest show called “War! Now in it’s 4th smash year!”, in which my contribution was to loudly proclaim that the acronym LM stood for “lefthanded masturbation.” Then we went to the Green Mill, which I was told was Al Capone’s old hangout. In truth, Al Capone equals Vince Vaughn, who monopolized the waiter while I was trying to get my Laphroig converted via strainer from rocks to neat. It was the waiter’s fault, not Vince’s, for the record. Celebrity interference aside, I managed to get drunk, and remain so as I post this. It was Tom’s birthday, and Tom turned out to be a nice dude, so I snapped a photo with him and and some random woman who I seemed to be friends with:

I like Chicago. It remains firmly connected to its roots. So I’m going to leave you with Carl Sandburg’s poem while I go sleep off the booze:

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people, Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.