Saturday, January 22, 2011

Today's work.

#include <stdio.h>
//#include <float.h>
#include <stdlib.h>

//#define SIZE 1000

int main (int argc, const char * argv[]) {

int *countP, count;
int a[10000000];

count = 5;
countP = &count;
for (int i = 1; i < 100001; ++i) {
countP = countP + 1;
*countP = 4;
printf("ptr is at: %p\n", countP);

for (int i = 0; i < 10000000; ++i) {
a[i] = 1;

for (int i = 1; i < 10000000; ++i) {
if (&a[i - 1] != &a[i] - 1) {
printf("Break found\nBetween indices %d and %d\n Between addresses %p and %p", i - 1, i, &a[i - 1], &a[1]);

//printf("var is: %d | ptr is: %d", count, *countP);


This is what's left of today's work. I've been screwing around a little bit with various things, and the last thing I did in my active workspace was to play with implementing my own version of an array. All I really did was write to addresses that I shouldn't have and segfault. Then I wrote an array of like 10 million elements and segfaulted again.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

I just bootlegged a Burzum album

So, there's a chick here that seems to have taken a shine to me. Oh no.

So I go to American Heritage (lame class btw) last week. I come in just before class starts, so empty seats are sparse. The most easily available seat is sort of towards the back and just inside from the end of the row. I grab it. Next to me is some chick with glasses. She's more or less nondescript; nothing too memorable. I pull out my computer and attempt to give seller feedback on Amazon (for a Confederate flag and a Scots dictionary). No wireless. Darn. Nothing notable rest of class.

Next day. I'm walking across some crosswalk somewhere. Whom do I see? None other than glasses chick. Nothing unusual. At a university with a student body 30,000 strong, you never know whom you're going to run into. Thing is, she waves at me. A cutesy wave with wiggling fingers and everything. I note this as bizarre - she doesn't know me. We didn't say a word to each other in class the previous day. She has pretty much no business waving at me.

Fast-forward across a weekend. Monday afternoon, last class of the day (that I'm gonna bother showing up at, anyhow). I get the same seat as I did before. No problems there. I pull out my book and try to read. "Whatcha readin'?" I hear. I look to my right and see... glasses chick. Now I'm worrying a bit. On closer inspection (now warranted), she isn't particularly attractive and seems to be wearing the same clothes as the last two times I saw her. I show her my book's cover and hope the title (Cancer Ward) will convince her I'm a morbid bastard and scare her off. Unfortunately, I'm not that lucky. She persists and asks me if it's good. I answer "excellent."

That's the end of the story so far. I hope that stays the end. Something about this girl bugs me. Not sure what.

There's a lot of weird chicks here and I've had some weird experiences.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Never Before

I no longer have the severe insomnia that gave this blog utility in the early days, but at least I'm up late. I'm not doing the traditional "mastering new SQL injection techniques and installing operating systems while blasting trance and house music and taking Enemy Territory breaks," but the key bit about being up far past my bedtime is in play here.

I've gotten tired of the kind of writing I've been doing lately. For those who don't know (lol who even reads this anymore) I've been doing a bunch of wiki writing lately. Specifically, I was writing humor articles for a site called Encyclopedia Dramatica. That site is sort of like Wikipedia, except all of the articles are fake and intended to be humorous. I guess I got tired of the hypertexty way of writing I was doing (notice the two links in this paragraph alone? That's unusual for this blog, but super-normal for an article at a place like Encyclopedia Dramatica). I got bored with the humor too. Most of the articles weren't written to a standard I appreciated, and even though I was good at (and enjoyed) rewriting bad articles, I certainly wasn't going to dedicate a ton of time to fixing other people's bad work.

I wanted to reread a series of comments on one of Dema's old posts tonight. After finding it, I realized how long ago we were active on the blogs. It's 2011 in a few days, and we wrote that spiel at the beginning of 2009. That's just short of 2 years. Not a terribly long time, but longer than I thought. I got to thinking about the sort of culture we had back then.

Dema's mention of "blog wars" reminded me of the good things that happened then. In most of my reminiscences of that time I feel only negative feelings about the stupid things I thought, said and did. Dema's words helped me remember that good things did happen.

I'm going to try to write things here over the next few months. I need to write. It's my hobby and an important release. I won't have a chance to write decent English-language work for any classes next semester - most of it will be bullshit for American Heritage. This blog will serve as the replacement for all the writing I've done for skool for the last several years and for the writing I've been doing at Encyclopedia Dramatica since about May.

I need more than a chance to write. I need a good culture. The crews I've been hanging with lately haven't been too good. The Encyclopedia Dramatica group started off pretty good, but some key members turned into major jerks and a bunch of new assholes showed up to fill in empty slots. The Gay Niggers Association of America, the other online community I hang out with, is still pretty nice, but I need to spend more time "IRL" than I have been. I have new hockey skates and a new guitar. I have an old guitar, a bass, and a banjo. I have thousands of dollars worth of photographic equipment. I have paints, pens and paper. I have books by the ton, including one I bound myself today. All of this is squandered if I spend all night in some chatroom gossiping.

Here's to 2011. May I write in peace. May I write, period. May I find more time to go outside. May I write a decent song. May I paint a decent picture. May I not rewatch every single episode of Law and Order and BONES, again. May I maybe get a damned girlfriend (about time, isn't it). I've got everything going for me: new roommate, new apartment mates, new season, new haircut.

Tomorrow I'm going to bind another book, get my TB test results, and maybe write a bit. I'm going to do some laundry.

On the Radio: "Never Before," by Deep Purple.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Is it performance?

The No. 1 easiest way to piss me off on the internet is to ask me to watch a video. I'm on IRC chattin' away or something like that and all of a sudden, I see a YouTube URL with that stupid watch?v=y892fweoiufvhyr398afwoijhyw9 thing after it. What is y892fweoiufvhyr398afwoijhyw9 supposed to mean? Is this a link to your local news station's report about a lost duckling? Is it a Fates Warning music video? Is it a Hannah Montana lookalike? Is it some gas-pedal-fetish video that, in the time it took for you to find "Copy" and "Paste" in the Edit menu, has already been deleted by YouTube's porn police?

Sure, I'll watch a Fates Warning video, but only because I like Fates Warning. But eleven times out of ten, you aren't sending me a Fates Warning video. It's something that has some halfway funny joke buried 6:42 into a 9:33 video. And I can't just skip to 6:42, I've got to watch the whole darn thing because the joke relies on context. If you have something to tell me, tell me yourself. Don't link me to a dumb video I don't have the attention span for.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Who's that lady?

I'm trying to learn Korean. I wonder how long I'll be able to keep it up. It's been surprisingly easy so far.

Here I am, about to take the relatively insignificant step of graduating high school. I can't say I've not had fun, but I can say the best fun I've had is sticking it to the man. How else would I have fun?

I wonder how it'll be at college. I wonder how hard I'll have to work to stick it to the man there. I wonder if they'll kick me out for something stupid like drinking tea (rebellious!) or if I'll just end up as a pariah. I told my mom tonight "I'll be the smartest dude at college" as I was making some tea. She told me I was a moron, so I said "I'll be the coolest dude at college." Cool or not, I'll try to at least be the baddest dude: I'm going to grow a mustache. Problem is I can't grow a good mustache. Good sideburns, good beard, lousy mustache.

My writing skills have languished over the last year. I imagine it's because I've been doing less writing for pleasure and what writing I have been doing has mostly been poetry.

There's a really cool type of French poetry that works like this: there's a pair of lines that sound exactly the same when read aloud, but when read from the page are totally different. A poem is made out of these pairs, where every dang syllable rhymes. The meaning isn't as important because it's plain old fun to read poems like these.

Every once in a while, there's one of those gems of the human population...

I'll finish that one later. Maybe in poetic form.

Friday, January 29, 2010

I love my iPhone.

I finished a really good book today. It's called Assault Rifle, and it's written by Maxim Popenker and Anthony G. Williams. I had never heard of Williams before, but I'm a huge fan of Popenker's work, and it was nice to see it in print as opposed to on a monitor (he's the author of an amazing website about guns). The book was split into two major sections and an appendix. The first was way heady. The first half of that section was about ammunition, so it had globs of data smeared across the text. No figurative language here, baby. Just lots of sectional densities and metric dimensions. There were tables that made even my head spin. Ammunition is a lot more complex than most people think it is. The second half of the first section was a chronology of the development of the assault rifle. It was much easier reading, and much shorter. The second major section was just a listing, by country of origin, of the world's assault rifles and their important facts. Thinks like rate of fire, dimensions, chambering, and muzzle velocity at standard loading. That section took forever to read, but it wasn't hard.

All in all, the book was informative and I found it entertaining. Having finished it, I must now move on to finishing the assigned portion of Crime and Punishment, Algorithms in a Nutshell (which is even more challenging but also really good), and I have to start both the Unix book I bought and the derivative securities book I borrowed from my dad. Ever present on my nightstand are Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, which I'll probably never finish, and all of those Agatha Christies a friend gave me a while back. I had intended to read one of those today, and if it hadn't been for Assault Rifle, I probably could have.

Let's see what the future holds and greet it with the best intentions in mind.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

Index cards are useful for this

People may not have forgotten about this, but they've certainly quit caring. Heck, I almost quit caring myself. It would not have been a huge loss if I had. It would have just been a regular loss. The same kind of loss as occurs every day when people forget to shave and alienate folks on the streets. The kind of loss that is easy to ignore, and if you try hard enough, to forget.

A few weeks ago - it feels so long ago now, vacations do that to you - I was sitting with a few of my friends who are girls. I won't call them girl friends, because those are dangerous words. The sequence of the words here is very important. At any rate, we were just talking while waiting for a party of sorts to start. We were talking about the people we know and our interactions with them, and we were verging on bitterness. As an experiment of sorts, I don't know what sort, I ventured "You know, I was going to ask out X the other day, but when I got up the morning after I decided to do it I realized that I could never make the logistics work." We bantered the idea back and forth a bit on the subject, and I ended up getting heaped with abuse that I should have seen coming.

The detail of this episode that I desire to scrutinize is the difference in my opinion between the night I decided to ask X (I'd probably tell you her name if you ask nicely) out and the morning I decided against it. I stand by the morning position now because it's the more reasonable one. There's no way my plans of the evening were going to happen. They were just plain logistically unfeasible. It seems to happen so often though, our rescinding night's plans in favor of morning's realities. It appears to me that this phenomenon is part of the never-ending battle between man's possibilities and his abilities. Is it that I dream too big at night, or am I actually afraid in the morning? Is it possible to dream too big? What would I be afraid of?

Time to paint.