Aging out of a demographic News

Ok, here’s the blow by blow from my latest Continually Recurring Acknowlegment Day…. when I went and aged for a 30th time. *sigh* With Pictures! (All of which can be clickied to see a biggie version.)

When I emerged from my steam hydration cleansing (shower) Heather had prepared a surprise for me in the kitchen. See image at left!

  1. Walking stick since I’m old and decrepit. How romantic!
  2. A battery for my pace maker. Hmmm.
  3. A notebook so I wont forget things and have senior moments.
  4. Peer Support. Guess YODA was the only one old enough.
  5. Finally, a cup of mush to eat for lunch cuz I have no teeth.

Ain’t she sweet?

For lunch my boss took me out for lunch. This was cool. I decided to go out on a limb and try something new. They called it a “Chicken Caesar Pizza” and I thought chicken and some dressing & maybe parm cheese would be a tasty treat.

What I got was an entire caesar salad on top of a pizza.

I ate it anyway and it was good. Happy Birthday to Me!

Heather sent me flowers (Right) and Balloons (Left) at the office. They smelled pretty and floated.

Still floating (and living) a week later!


Pick a Movie Format!
Low Res – WMV (250Kb)
Medium – Flash (450Kb)
High Res – AVI (3.6MB)

At EXACTLY 5:59 PM (EDT) I officially increased 1 digit. I *ehem* just happened to have my digi-cam handy so I filmed it for posterity.

eval Eric += 1

Subtitles:
You’re watching a man turn 30.
There you have it folks. I’m old.
Don’t let your children grow up to be old. . .

When I got home from work there was a sign waiting for me above the front door. It read:

“IT’S A BOY!”

This was to imply that I was still a boy. Still, ya gotta wonder what the neighbors thought. =]

Heather greeted me in the flesh from the top of the stairs as I entered. There was a “Happy Birthday” banner hanging above her head and the smell of dinner in the air.

Yay! Home cooked dinner! Fitting that it was a recipe that I taught her: Jerk Chops over Mega-Rice with canned vegi-things.

Mmmmmmm.

For dessert, she whipped up a Pineapple Upside-Down Cake.

That steaming pile of yum over on the right is what it looked like.

I also had a bathroom filled with balloons!

I couldn’t help it… I had to go for a swim.

After that I opened up giftsies and Heather wore my new floppy hat.

The End!

Thanks everyone!

Continually Recurring Affirmation Period Brain DrippingNews

I think at about this time of life it’s high time to stop celebrating getting older. We’re just celebrating getting closer to dead! If people insist on celebrating the life of another, don’t do it on a birthday – I’d rather ya’ll call it something else….

So!

Tomorrow, my first Annually Recurrent Life Acknowledgment Day will take place. Henceforth to be known as ARLAD. Or, for the ironic twist, just LAD for short.

If a day is too long (or too short), I’ll also gladly accept a Continually Recurring Affirmation Period if you can put with that C.R.A.P.

Better yet, lets toss out that whole concept of age per annum all together. I firmly believe that the only people who are counting the days until their next aging are those who are 20 and 61 (or 65 if they want Full Benefits). For the rest of us, I propose we “age” in a manner that meshes better with society. Therefore, I state for the record that am currently 3 Jobs old.

Don’t get me wrong… I don’t want to destroy the balloon & party favors industry… I just want to forget how bloody old I’ll be tomorrow at 5:59 PM… Is that too much to ask?

So, it’s up to you to Help Me Forget!

Things that really get under my skin… Brain DrippingHealth/FitnessNews

How not to dump your bike

Glass Chunk on a Penny for scaleI used to love taking my bike down to the boardwalk on weekends early in the season before the crowds came to spoil my fun. In 2004 I was working too much and the weekends had been too rainy so I almost missed my chance.

May 22nd, the weekend before Memorial Day (Benny Day as we called it) I biked down only to find that the boardwalk was already crowded. Damn sunny days. Annoyed I continued on. I started in Avon by the Sea and peddled south through Bradley Beach. The further I went, the worse the crowds got. By the time I crossed the bridge into Belmar I could hardly ride without running over yet another person inexplicably pushing an empty baby stroller. Yet, through sheer force of will I steeled my jaw and pretended to be really enjoying myself. Just about then, I few local cops reminded me loudly that I wasn’t allowed on the boardwalk with my bike. This was indeed the case in Belmar, but not in Avon where I started.

Being chastised by a cop isn’t the thing to make someone who is already a grumble-bear into a happy camper. Frankly, it pissed me off to the point that I just decided to bail the boardwalk and bike the back ways home. That’d been fine, except I decided to take the back way off of the boardwalk – right over the side. Now, it’s only a three foot drop onto the sidewalk and I had done it before, but that was without the crowds and in a more focused state of mind. Over the edge I went and …

I forgot to pull up my front end.

My front wheel hit first and as you might have guessed I went ass over elbows. Now, I’ve taken lots of spills and I’ve dumped my bike countless times so I know how to fall. I tried to roll off of the bike when it went over, but alas, my feet got tangled and had to go with an alternate plan: limit the damage. I was ready to roll off of my right arm so I flipped my hand over and tried to roll anyway. Didn’t work. I skidded on my right arm, wrist and the back of my hand while my bike did a hand-stand/skid on it’s handle-bar.

I picked myself & brushed myself off just like my Dad always told me when he taught me to ride my bike 25 years ago. I also said a word that I believe I learned from late night HBO. I didn’t look at my arm. I know better and from the force of the impact I knew it wouldn’t be pretty. The ‘sidewalk’ that cushioned my fall was old macadam. It was gray, rocky & since it was ‘pre-beach-season’, still littered with gravel, sand and salt from the winter. Nice. The cops who had seen the whole thing didn’t even ask if I was Ok. Typical. I would have most certainly been paperwork.

It’s about a 45 minute ride from where I was back to my place where I could clean up – and that’s if I stuck to the roads. Before I could complete the first mile, blood ran down my arm, over my hand and handle-grip and started gumming up my hand-brake. I got a few odd looks, but I still refused to look at the wound. After about a half hour, the blood stooped gushing but had already coated my arm and handle-bar and speckled the right half of my body. It started to dry. Adrenaline wore off. It started to really hurt.

Three blocks from my home a woman in an SUV didn’t yield to me in the cross-walk. Tired, angry, I decided I wouldn’t yield either. I threw up my hand in a traffic-cop stop motion. Blood splashed on her fender. Her mouth flew open. She stopped. I continued home.

I cleaned up the wound as best I could. I pretty much covered my whole right arm from the pinky to the elbow with gauze and antibiotics. Fortunately for me Heather was eligible for the employee discount at Johnson & Johnson because the non-stick gauze and stretch-wrap is really expensive otherwise. Within a fortnight I was on normal band-aids. I never did see a doctor. After a month I was down to just scabs…

Except for one spot.

That one spot on my arm, about 1 1/2” from my elbow and positioned right over the bone, remained slightly raised more then the rest of the scar tissue. Months went by, as they tend to do. The skin covering the lump just got thinner and thinner and then, November 1st – 6 months after the fall, something poked it’s head out. It looked like a pebble, but it was too smooth so I poked at it and dug at it until I removed it. It was a chunk of glass. Of all of the dirty sandboxes I could have fallen into, why did I have to land on a chunk of glass? It had been EXTRA sore right there for many extra weeks and I now understood why. The glass’s progression through my soft tissue was stopped by my Ulna. Go back to the top and take another look at the glass. It was stuck pointy side in of course.

Ok, now imagine me digging at it and wiggling it. Sick yet? You should have seen the hole it left when it came out. =] Ok, that’s all. Enjoy dinner! Would you like a glass of chipped Ulna with that?

Mung Brain Dripping

How to MUNG (or Mash Up until No Good) your Email Address to avoid spammers

It’s imperative in the modern computer age to avoid putting your email address out there for spammers to find. One way spammers find you is by searching new webpages for email addresses. This includes guestbooks, blogs & news-group postings. Since they spammers are too lazy to get real jobs they’re obviously too lazy to actually READ the whole internet so they employ software to do the scanning for them. This is called Email Harvesting. To avoid being “harvested”, the best advice I can give you is to Mung the hell out of your address.

The word Mung stands for Mash Up until No Good and was started by those UBER GEEKs over at MIT. Basically, you create an email address that can be deciphered with the human brain, but looks like nothing to the robotic spiders that crawl the web looking for addresses.

The easiest method of disguising an address is to replace the symbols with the word they represent. IE:

foobar at example (dot) com

While this method works, it’s likely that the harvesting programs are smart enough to beat it. You have to get more creative! For example. Reverse some of the letters or add extra sub-domains.

foobar at liamg dot moc
foobar@gmail.deletethis.com
foobar [at] somewhere {dot} calm
fXXbar@hXtmail.cXm (Replace the letter X with the letter O)

More munging = better. If it still looks like an email address, keep munging until only the human mind is mangled enough to see it as an email address! The mail servers of the world don’t need extra spam. Also: be careful not to accidentally use someone’s real address.

foobar %at% [google’s new email service] period C0M

munglikekungfoobarrelaterthannetscapeopledottedlinecommercial.

If actually including your email address in a webpage that you control, use a better method of Obfuscation. Either hide the fact that it is an email address by replacing the @ with a graphic of the “@” symbol or use the ascii representation. For example, obfuscate@ericles.com would become:

obfuscate@e
ricles.com

Check the source code if you don’t believe me that this works. =]

The method I prefer uses Javascript to completely fool the spiders. Knock on wood, it hasn’t failed me and I’ve been using it for years. Check out the source code any time you see an address on one of my pages (this one included) and feel free to rip the script for your own use.

Other Mung Links:

Obfuscate your address here: http://www.rpgiv.com/cgi-rpg/omail

Use hilarious dialects to mung entire websites: http://www.illuminated.co.uk/mung/

The origin of the word “MUNG”: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mung

Finally, how to stop email abuse: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stopping_e-mail_abuse

I can be safely emailed here: (Address java protected and a graphic is displayed if javascript is disabled)
Click for Current Address

Ethan! News

Introducing… Ethan Canner!

And if you’ll look to your left, you’ll see a picture of Ethan Canner and his wife Beth. That’s Ethan on the left. The giant green woman in the middle is perhaps Hillary Clinton… we’re not sure.

I’ve known Ethan since college at Lock Haven University. We met in the computer lab which is where we would be spending most of our days anyway. We were both computer science majors, but the internet was so much more interesting than C++ that it should come as no surprise to you that neither one of us graduated C.S. I switched to Business Management while Ethan went for Music which was always one of his passions. He ended up following up his LHU education by getting his Master in electronic music from Northern Illinois University.

Though our classes suffered for our internet addictions, our education never did as we had new and interesting things to learn, like how to use chat programs and how to create web-pages. Both of our original web sites (Mine & His) are still up and running. We both also made pages for some of the clubs we were in, but unfortunately those have gone the way of the trilobite. Ethan’s current web page can be found at the most obvious of URLS: WWW.ECANNER.COM!

The lovely lady above is Elizabeth Canner. Ethan & Beth also met at LHU and were married in 2000. I had the ultimate privilege of being Best Man at their wedding! Mayhaps one day I’ll get married too. =] Beth had an old-school homepage too, but unfortunately it is gone. If I remember correctly, it was, like so many homepages of the time, mostly pictures of cats and family members. How I miss the innocent days of internet youth! The Canners currently reside in Phillipsburg, Pennsylvania with their two little cats Kara & Macavity.

It takes nearly 6 hours to get to Phillipsburg from here so we don’t get to see each other as much as we used to, but we still communicate by our own patent-pending method that Ethan coined "E.M." or Eventual Message. It’s like I.M. but since we’re both online all day we don’t necessarily see the message right away, but we will… Eventually! When we do hang out we sometimes travel like in the picture above. We did the tourist thing and took the Ellis Island ferry past the Statue of Liberty in NYC. Whee!

Anyway, that’s my basic Ethan summary. ‘Till next time!

Spring Cleaning Glenwood Apartments Brain Dripping

Nature, Littering & Human Nature (The Community Cleanup)

The apartment complex that I live in is a mess of litter. The property recently got bought out and – this is my theory – the new owners fired the old grounds crew that used to pick up loose trash so they could hire a cheaper “mow only” gang. The trash duties were then given to the maintenance crew who (of course) flatly refuse to pick trash. I can’t say I blame them. I blame the ass-clefts who munged the grounds in the first place. So pretending that all of the trashed washed down from the heavens (or down the local creek), I designated Saturday April 23rd 2005 as “Community Cleanup Day” because it was the first Saturday following Earth Day and because all of the grass and weeds were starting to grow in rapidly and it’s hard to get people pick ancient coffee cups out of thorny bushes, tangles of weeds, and clusters of poison oak. I called on my poster-creation skills honed as the Graphic Arts & P.R. chair of the Activities Council back in college and hung a few flyers in each of the local laundromats. I am, apparently,the Poster Boy for Community Cleanups.

Earlier in the week I had noticed that the community playground was a f’n disaster. It had more garbage than the discount bin at Used-Records-R-Us. It’s also at a central location. For these reasons, I decided to start the cleanup at the playground. On the big day Heather and I hiked over to the playground with 40 heavy-duty trash bags and 20 pairs of rubber gloves to meet the rest of the crew: 2 squirrels and a few birds. Nobody showed up! Not that I was surprised, what with the short notice and how people fucking suck and all. Anyway, after about a half hour Heather had to check out so she could get to work on time. I finished up the last 10 minutes and surveyed one hell of a better looking playground.

Playground – Totals:
• 45 Minutes
• 2 bags of trash
• Nothing very interesting really. Mostly candy wrappers and cigarette butts. Ya know. Kid’s stuff.

I repaired to my lair to change jackets and get a drink. I was a little surprised how much work it is doing bends and dips for 45 minutes. Never the less, I was determined to get to my secret goal for the cleanup. You see, I walk through this lovely little forest path on my to the bus stop every morning and it’s the sorriest example of ‘nature’ that you’d ever want to see. It’s only a few hundred feet long, and the ground is covered on both sides of the path (and 50 foot into the forest) by THOUSANDS of coffee cups, beer bottles and other miscellaneous trash items. You can hardly see the forest through the greeeze. This had been pissing me off for nearly a year now and I intended to clean it up, so off I went to the doom of my quads, lower back and ham-strings. I decided to clear the west side of the path first.

The Trail before cleanup:

The trail BEFORE
How bad would this be if there wasn’t a trash can right at the end of the trail?

Without boring with details, I worked for a few hours & finished the filthier side of the trail and then took a break for lunch. Litter Lore: laying on the forest floor, coffee cups shed their paper shells pretty quickly (under a year) leaving their lid attached to the thin plastic membrane that lines the cup. The result: if you find a lid, you can rest assured that the “coffee condom” is nearby. There were HUNDREDS of these.Round 2 – West Side:
• 2 hours (That’s a long workout)

• 6 (quite heavy with glass) bags of trash
• 1 blue swimming pool (I left a green one mostly buried)
• 1 iron “portable” heater (70 pounds is portable, right?)
• 1 “Dogloo
• 1 “Handicapped Parking” sign (The big metal ones)

• 14 golf balls (Used, obviously)
• 1 Boat (Rowing. Mostly decomposed)

After an extended break to recover and patch my wounds (Apparently broken glass stays sharp for years while rusting things just get sharper and rubber gloves only do so much) I returned to the battlefield (ok, trail). At first glance, the west side looked the worse of the two sides. Unfortunately, this was wrong. Each fallen leaf seemingly hid some remnant of last year’s (or last decade’s) coffee break or beer binge and this side took me an extra half hour & 1 more garbage bag. Litter Lore: Bottle’s and cans far outnumbered java cups on this side of the path. This leads me to an undisputable scientific conclusion: Coffee lovers are right handed while everyone else tosses garbage with their left. It’s fact, except it. Of all of the odd things I found (see pictures below), the most disturbing was the extra-large suitcase containing the military issue combat boots and the reflective vest that read “police”. If there’s a story behind this I do NOT want to be affiliated. There was no ID on the suitcase, boots or vest so it all went in the dumpster with the rest of the castaways.

Round 3 – East Side
• 2.5 hours

• 7 bags of trash
• 1 Swimming pool
• 1 giant “police” suitcase
• 2 lengths of PVC
• 1 15 foot roof flashing
• 25 more golf balls

What I found:

China cup & saucer Unchipped

Lowly Worm!

Thirtynine Golf Balls!


Toy Lizard & Polished Stones

What I learned:

Nature doesn’t really mind trash at all. Every time I’d flip over something plastic with a flat surface or sheltering concavity, it would be teeming with life underneath. Ants and termites LOVE to make nests under plastic things with little hollow spaces. I seriously inconvenienced more than several bug colonies in the cleanup process. I also learned that a semi-opaque plastic bottles will eventually fill with earth, seal itself and become a greenhouse for various mold, fungi and moss. In fact, the most vibrant plant life that I found was in plastic bottles. I gotta agree with George Carlin. “The Earth doesn’t share our prejudice towards plastic.

Finally, I learned that people will act irrisponsably whenever they think they can get away with it. What’s one more beer bottle among hundreds of others? It’s not all not wanting to carry a 3 oz. bottle another 20 yds. It’s more about group dynamics and showing your boys you are bad by tossing a few back in the deep woods (100 foot from your mom’s apartment) and then leaving the cans lay. It’s more about spitting in the face of that cop who pulled you over in 1979. It’s all about feeding the ego. Don’t believe me? Next time you see someone litter, call them on it. Burst their little ego-bubble. You’re much more likely to get an angry reaction then if you called them on oh, say jay-walking. I’ll write more on Ego in another Dripping at another time.

AND SO… the Final Totals:
• Roughly 6 hours of trash pickup.
• 15 bags of trash
• 39 golf balls
• 9 rusty cans old enough to have the pull-tabs.

• 5 pairs of rubber gloves.
• 1 full dumpster.
• 1 clean walking path… Priceless!

1 Week later:
My quads and lower back were sore, but I had protected them well. Alas, I didn’t protect my hamstrings and torqued them every time I bent over. I couldn’t jog for 3 days due to the damage! Next time I’ll get a stick with pointy thing on the end for trash pickup. With the path now clean, it was obvious when someone would litter and I’m disgusted to report that the littering has continued unabated since I cleaned it up. Some of it actually seems to have been done, not out of standard human laziness, but rather sheer spite. As a warning to those would destroy what I have worked for, I took a littered coffee cup, stabbed a sharp stick through it and left it sticking out of the top of the trash can like a medieval ‘head on a pike‘. Hopefully, this is a universal symbol that delivers the message no matter what language the purp speaks.

2 Weeks later:
The litter bugs completely take the day off when it rains. Even when it stopped raining, I’ve only seen 1 bit of potential litter this week so I hope that the initial “Help, someone made me feel guilty! I better act bold in front of my friends/ego” feelings wore off. Or maybe Woodsy Owl swooped down and gave them quite the pecking. One can only hope.

5 Weeks later: (My final check-in report)
I spoke too soon in my last entry. As soon as the weather dried out, the shit-heads returned to their old ways of nearly daily trash deposits! I’ve managed to narrow down the window when the trash might have been littered and even the gender of the offenders (There’s at least two). Eventually I’ll catch one in the act and do horrible unspeakable “Temporary Insanity Plea” things to them. I’ll enjoy the hell out of it too because when they throw their cup on the newly cleaned ground 10 yards from the trash-can they spit in the face of all that’s still good and right with society. I’ll remove them from society or kill them trying. Happy jail time here I come!