It’s the first full working week of the year, folks! Here’s a grab bag of stuff since I’ve been a little delinquent lately.
…writing code like a maniac. Two current projects and at least one upcoming project, all using different programming languages and some different technologies. I’m doing these jobs at discount rates, but at this point any money is good money.
(Someone on IRC mentioned that he’d considered baking cookies with actual gold leaf in ’em; I said that I’m so poor that if I ate one, I’d seriously consider panning my own poop.)
I’ve also managed to waste what little downtime I have playing Age of Mythology. The solo campaign mode is amazing and lengthy — I’m on chapter 21, and it looks like there’s still a way to go. I’ve also been playing my neighbour Hector over the LAN that our two houses share, and he’s been kicking my ass fiercely. Really, Hector, did you have to add insult to injury by sending me a metor storm on top of the half-dozen siege engines and dozens of troops and minotaurs?
I hope I don’t get too sucked into online gaming. I hear that world is full of scary people.
(Please note: some semi-obscure technical references follow.)
Today, my housemate Paul starts his first day on the job at his new employer, Semaview, a company that develops semantic web technologies. True to the spirit of today’s hiring practices, Paul had to write an application that did something useful with FOAF (Friend Of A Friend) data. He did one better — he wrote two applications: one written in VBA (a langauge he’d never touched before) that generates a FOAF file based on your Outlook contacts and a Web-based app written in PHP that tells you who your most popular friends are (it’s in the right-hand column of his Web page if you want to try it out)..
Congratulations, Paul! This song goes out to you…
Welcome to the Working Week
Elvis Costello (nee Declan McManus)
from the album “My Aim is True”
Now that your picture’s in the paper being rhythmically admired
And you can have anyone that you have ever desired
All you gotta tell me now is why, why, why, why?
Welcome to the working week
Oh, I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you
Welcome to the working week
You gotta do it till you’re through, so you better get to it
All of your family had to kill to survive
And they’re still waitin’ for their big day to arrive
But if they knew how I felt, they’d bury me alive
Welcome to the working week
Oh, I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you
Welcome to the working week
You gotta do it till you’re through, so you better get to it
I hear you sayin’, “Hey, the city’s alright,” when you only read about it in books
Spend all your money gettin’ so convinced that you never even bother to look
Sometimes I wonder if we’re livin’ in the same land
Why d’you wanna be my friend when I feel like a juggler running out of hands?
Welcome to the working week
Oh, welcome to the working week
The gym’s been quiet.
Too quiet.
Where are the people who resolved to lose weight and get in shape this year? I was half-expecting to see the gym packed solid on January 1st and for the next few weeks.
I’m sure I’ve jinxed myself now.
Another fun evening!
It began with dinner at my place, with me, Paul, Rob, Eldon and Brooke. Loads of red wine, my hoisin chicken with garlic string beans and sweet-and-spicy stir-fried Cantonese veggies, Rob’s butternut squash sauteed in butter and Brooke’s homemade cookies for dessert. My part of dinner cost me all of $8.00 Canadian, thanks to the low, low, low prices of Chinatown’s markets, where chicken legs go for a mere 60 cents a pound and a couple of bucks will fill two shopping bags of vegetables. We may be unemployed (well, Paul isn’t any more, and I have a couple of programming contracts), but we still eat quite nicely. Maybe it’s time for me to get that TV cooking show.
We first went to my friend Gianna’s place in Kensington Market, where we finally broke into the giant bottle of Heineken that I got for my birthday and caught up with my other friends Sarah and James as well as back-from-Geneva-for-a-visit pals Derek and Alison, back-from-Vangroovy for a visit friend Elise and Craig-o-tronic (whom along with me, was one of the few synth players back at Queen’s; we were musical outcasts in an indie guitar rock town). Then it was off to Peter’s place for his Moulin Rouge theme party. Peter’s bashes are always full of the most interesting people and a few who are freaky even by Queen Street West standards.
The scene: A client meeting. Me and two guys in their mid- to late twenties. Nice and personable fellas — I really like ’em — and they talk just like the guys from GoodFellas, or perhaps Joey from Friends or Tony Soprano. You almost expect them to say “fuggedaboutit” any moment. I’ve just closed the deal.
Client guy 1 [trying to get laptop to work]: Fuckin’ machine.
Client guy 2: It ain’t fuckin’ workin’?
Client guy 1: Naaah. Fuckin’ power supply.
Me: We can look at your site at this Internet cafe just a couple of doors down. They like me there, because they think I’m Korean.
Client guy 2: That’s cool — they look at you and it’s fuckin’ like, “Hey, paysan!”
Me: Fuck yeah.
Client guy 1: I’m gonna got get the fuckin’ pizza.
(Client guy 1 walks off)
Client guy 2: Thanks for takin’ the job on such short notice. Our site’s kind of fucked right now. We had a buddy code it up, but then he fucked off.
Me: No prob; I like “search and rescue” jobs like this.
Client guy 2: “Search and rescue”. I fuckin’ like that. You’re suave. If you don’t mind my askin’, you got a girlfriend, Joe?
I haven’t yet told them that I play the accordion. When they hear that, I think they’ll fuckin’ shit.
The scene:Christmas Day, 5:30 p.m. My cell phone rings.
Cute girl: Hey, Joey. I just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas!
Me: I’m so glad to hear from you!
Cute girl: I have a a little time to kill before I fly off to L.A. and thought I’d give you a ring.
Me: I didn’t know you’d be leaving so soon. When do you get back?
Cute girl: The end of February.
The end of February?!
Me: Damn. I’m glad I caught up with you for Chinese food before you left, then. Look, I’m a little tied up, but can I try and page you if I manage to free myself?
Cute girl: Sure, but try to do it soon — my plane leaves in an hour.
Me: I’ll do my best. Talk to you soon.
And then I hung up, because I was about to enter the hospital, where they don’t allow you to turn on your cell phone — they’re believed to interfere with monitoring equipment. I was visiting Dad, who was in stable condition (and looking much better) in the intensive care unit.
Damned timing.
At the New Year’s Eve party, I was asked: “He, Accordion Guy, do you know the dance tune they’re using in the Pringles commercial? What’s it called?”
I replied “Basement Jaxx. Where’s Your Head At [RealAudio link]. Big hit at the Velvet and Zen Lounge for a bit.”
(I believe it was also used in an Intel commercial. Does anyone remember that one?)
They mentioned that it wasn’t listed on songtitle.info, the site that catalogs music used in TV commercials. It’s pretty interesting, and I hope they update it soon — the ad companies are licensing some pretty interesting material as background music these days.
At the end of New Year’s Eve, we ended up at one of the lesser-frequented Chinese restaurants on Spadina (the usual spots were packed with hungry revelers).
My friend, champion slacker Ron Cunane declared: “2003 is the new 2001, man. It’s full of the promise that 2001 had, but everybody spent that year bein’ bummed out. This is going to be it, man. I can feel it.”
Maybe he’s right. My fortune cookie read:
You are almost there.
Gotta like the sound of that.
That TikTok wellness influencer is so close to getting it.
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