Todd Stadler's blog

missing links

You know, I haven't done much linking to things I've noticed on the web lately. Since my life is outright boring and overwhelmed with free time right now (hee hee - it's not true!), I have taken it upon myself to read every page on the Internet and catalog each as "interesting" or "not interesting". Here are some of the former:

Finally, a true extreme sport! "Surfers also have to worry about alligators, anacondas, piranhas and the dreaded candiru, a tiny fish that swims up the penis of humans and lodges its extremely painful, spiny fins in so firmly that removing it usually requires amputation." Okay, I have to admit, I was only mildly interested in the story about surfing the Amazon* until I read the above citation. In most sports of derring-do, the most bodily harm one has to worry about deals with broken bones, bleeding, and the occasional death. Nothing that they wouldn't touch in an episode of Blind Date. But penis penetrating! Member mangling! That's something different. Unfortunately, it may also be something exaggerated. I'll assume that large gasp I just heard is the collective expression of your being shocked - shocked! - that travel writers may not have the best fact-checking around. I'll never turn to Cond? Nast again for my icthyology homework.

Then there's succinct photographic essay on why crime is bad. Wow. That'll do it for me.

Uh, well, that's all I've got so far. But I'm sure I'll find more, and when I do, I'll let you know.

todd endorses himself

In today's XML class, we learned about DTDs. But that's not important right now.

What made class interesting was that while I was learning this stuff for the first time along with most of the students, I was apparently picking it up faster than many of them. As such, a few of them started asking me for help when the teacher was helping someone else. The teacher noted this and encouraged me to help others when I could, since she was only to help one person at a time.

I guess really it's a big ego-stroke, being labelled as a student who is picking things up so well that he can double as a teaching assistant. After class, some of the older students were referring to me as some kind of wunderkind, for whom computers are a natural part of life.

I find this is a common response, but it doesn't account for the older people that do well at programming, or the younger people who don't understand it at all.

What's so odd about all of this is that some of the people I was helping in class said they worked with XML in their jobs. And here I am trying to find a job working with stuff like this, without any luck so far.

I would say it's ironic, but I haven't really been looking that hard, I guess.

So to all you people out there looking to hire a web developer (and I know there are tons of you - I can sense you), let this be a sign. I may not have your TLA of choice listed on my resume, but I learn quickly - something that is far more important than simple knowledge.

Now that you know, feel free to contact me and offer me a job. Thank you. Good night.

and further on...

And I had some other dream about my real estate agent driving me to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, where he drove the car right up to the sheets section of the store. I was really happy to see that they had a high threadcount silver thermal blanket because it would naturally go well with my palomino-print comforter (which I really have).

This somehow devolved into my babysitting for a rapidly unaging baby. Eventually, I was holding a fetus in a porcelain soy sauce dish. I was understandably afraid of dropping it, since its brain was unprotected.

I wasn't going to post all my dreams for the world to see, as it smacked too much of voyeurism. Then I decided that they make every bit as much sense as my non-dream journal entries do. And there you have it.

and on...

I don't remember many of my dreams from previous evenings. One had something to do with mice and turtles playing soccer near an old railroad yard. Would someone like to tell me what is up with all the trains in my dreams? There was something about how the mice were cheating, wearing the turtles' shells and all.

my dreams will go on...

The previous night's dream had me and somebody driving out to Cannon Beach. When we got there, the road just stopped in front of set of train tracks running north and south.

We drove south on the beach, which was made of rice, trying to find a place where I could ease my car onto the train tracks. As we started pushing my car along the tracks, we heard a train coming, heading north.

I'm not sure what happened to the car, but we just stood there very straight, so as to avoid getting hit by the train. Then I decided we should jump onto the train, although it was going the wrong direction, my thinking being that at least we were going faster.

sweet dreams are made of something else

What has been up with my dreams of late? I've been remembering lots of them, and they're all so odd...

Let's see, there was a family picnic. All my mother's family from Arkansas was there. The only thing I remember besides the red gingham tablecloth was a bowl of Munchos-like chips on the table. They were the same size and shape as Dixie Cups, and I marvelled at them.

How was such a chip made? Was it meant to hold other tasty treats? Was my mind creating wonderful new consumer products as I lay sleeping?

Later in the same dream, the whole family took a train somewhere, but it turned into a multi-segmented train-like bus sometime later. I told my mom to put on her seat belt, as there was a strong wind blowing out ont he plains, and I was worried the train would tip over. She ignored me.

I then found myself at the front of the bus, where I began to worry about the busdriver's habit of tailgating. Mainly because when I say the front of the bus, I mean I was sitting on the bumper. And I was worried I'd get squished between the bus and the truck in front of it.

When we got to where we were going, all my family started exiting the bus. After getting off the bumper, I tried to get back inside the bus, but the busdriver wouldn't let me on without my badge, which was still on my seat where I left it.

I asked my autn to vouch that I was a Stadler, but she was feeling playful and joked that I wasn't. When I looked closer at my badge, I noticed that it said "Leonard Stadler", which is my dad's name. This didn't bother me, though, since I figured we were more or less the same.

The only reason I typed this up is so that some amateur psychologist who happens to read this can analyze my dream and tell me that I'm insane, or sexually frustrated, or both. Not that I need a professional to tell me that.

excuses, excuses, part III

Um, if I told you that of late, I have been working behind the scenes in an effort to bring my vision to fruition, would you believe me? I'm not sure I would, either, but it's true.

I'm learning PHP. It's fun. Everything is so modular now. But enough shop talk.

I won't deny that I'm spending vast amounts of mental effort on my girlfriend, who I started dating mere hours after making my last excuse-based entry. But she's so wonderful, not even you could blame me for making that choice. Yes, I mean you. Don't pretend I don't know you that well. You're not as complex as you think.

Anyhow, progress is being made. And if you knew the right incantations to type in for a URL, you'd see that I am telling the truth. But you don't, nyah.

showtime at the aladdin

But tonight was fun. Jerry and I saw the Danielson Famile at the Aladdin Theatre, which is such an odd place to see a rock show. It looks more like a place where PBS would host "an intimite evening with" some intellectual singer-songwriter.

Not that Danielson is anyone's idea of a normal rock show. Tonight's line-up featured a stripped-down version of the Famile, with Daniel on acoustic guitar (sadly not dressed up as a tree) and lead vocals, Megan on backup vocals and bells (yay!), Chris on the keyboards, and two younger brothers on two drumsets. Which was a cool effect. Made the sound big. As usual, they were wearing their peculiar nurses' outfits.

They played some songs off their new album, which I now happily own, as well as a t-shirt. I felt compelled to buy stuff from them because they are so wonderful and original, and because the last time I saw them, I didn't have any cash.

Either the coolest or most embarassing moment of tonight's show came when they sang that song about mothers from Tell Another Joke at the Ol' Choppin' Block.

There is a section where Daniel and Megan do a call-and-response thing with the lyrics. Except the response section doesn't start immediately. But I didn't remember that. So I happily sang out loud in response to Daniel's lyrics, all by myself, in a quiet spot.

Everyone at the concert heard me. I was mortified, but quickly decided to keep singing along. I didn't have much time to think about it, but this seemed to be smoothest way to deal with the situation.

I felt vindicated when, the second time I sang alone, Daniel pointed at me, conducting me, as it were, telling me when to come in.

So I had a solo with the Danielson Famile. Which was nice.

biggie audio dynamite

I was hopping through the radio stations on the way over to Jerry's house today, hoping to find something I hadn't heard a million times.

I happened upon a punk tune that was more acerbic than most I hear on the radio. Not just some pop tune played quickly with more distortion, this one had real bite to it.

At least until I heard Dave Thomas' voice speaking over it about how great Wendy's was.

I wanted to cry. I fell for the evil commercial-disguised-as-song trick, and for Wendy's, of all places. They're not hip enough to deserve to fool me!

I gave up and switched over to the classical station. Clearly, I might as well start acting as old as I'm getting.

<mumbling> Can't tell the difference between a stupid commercial and a punk tune...stupid brain... </mumbling>

vicious social circles

The party tonight at Jerry's house was good. Chock full of intrigue and irony.

The irony stemmed from the large number of interesting and attractive women. Jerry's roommate Stella invited many people from her workplace, making this the first party in a while where there was an entirely different high tech company that people assumed I worked for. Additionally, not every guy in the room worked for Intel. Which was nice.

Still, why is it that in the two months since I started dating, I have met many interesting, attractive, and single young women? Where were they before, hiding? Does the smell of a man in a relationship bring them out? So it would seem. Perhaps because relationships smell like commitment.

Ah well, there is no real loss here, as I am more than happy with Julia. And I am not alone in romantic contentment. The once barren field that was my circle of friends has blossomed in the spring, it would seem.

Jerry talked an awful lot with a girl from his neighborhood he invited to the party. And Hermann was only spotted at the end of the party, looking happily disheveled. Curiously, the same could be said of Kate. Hmm...

And me? I got kneed twice in the groin by a girl who probably thought she was being playful but was, in fact, being annoyingly drunk. Ah, as they say, well.

I would like to use Hermann to point out that our group is still somewhat incestuous, if less directly so. For although I've only met her twice, she is the sister of Josh, who we know through Rebecca, who we know from her dating Jerry. So it all comes back somehow. Except, obviously, for me. I'm dating someone so far outside our social circle that she lives in a different state.

this is what caused the twinkie revolution

I also now have Hostess icons on my computer. The computer itself is represented by King Don, of course.

Did you know that according to twinkies.com, King Don, himself a large anthropomorphized Ding Dong, plays practical jokes on his jester, who will do anything, it is said, to get a Ding Dong?

That's sick. Royalty feeding its own brothers (albeit diminuitive ones) to someone just for yuks.

Actually, that probably happens with human royalty, too. Oh, never mind, I guess it's okay.

more hostess rambling

I love Gerry Toll. He is one of few people that can revel in my discovery of previously-unknown Hostess snack cakes with me. And not only that, but participate in my Hostess science with me.

See, after eating a nice meal at the Blind Onion and psychoanalyzing our friends, we headed on over to my house for some good old-fashioned Hostess-snarfing.

I took lots of photos, and we even made some movies. Well, sort of - my camera makes really huge, pretty crappy videos. All of which will get put up on this site someday. Until then, I will think fondly on this night, and the many things I learned.

Such as the fact that Baseballs and Hoppers taste the same, and almost the same as a Golden Cupcake. Considering the radically different colors of frosting on each product, well, this isn't such a shock.

But as if I hadn't learned enough (or blabbed enough) about Hostess products, I also saw for the first time (and therefore purchased) a new Hostess doughnut - a jelly-filled doughnut, to be exact.

Of course, anyone familiar with Hostess doughnuts knows they taste like foam padding, but as a scientist, I cannot be deterred by such opinions. And as a scientist, I have to admit these doughnuts have me baffled.

The picture on the package shows a near-perfectly toroidal doughnut filled with a perfectly concentric ring of jelly. How did it get there? How indeed! For when I took out a doughnut, there were no telltale jelly-injection points, much like one finds on a Twinkie to account for its creamy middle.

Was the doughnut then baked around the jelly? Was this accomplished using magnetic levitation? Really? What is Hostess doing in possession of such powerful machinery, and could it be used to create a cold fusion generator?

the mostest of the hostess

I had such a Hostess bonanza today at the supermarket. I found yellow Sno-balls*, bringing to three the number of colors I've collected (not including white, which I can buy at any time).

I also found Hostess treats I've never seen before - Hoppers and Baseballs, which appear to be just Golden Cupcakes done up in fancy seasonal decorations. One, of course, looks like a baseball, and the other, I guess, looks like an Easter egg. Wow. Hostess makes so many products, so few of which are actually different. How wonderful.

a message from the pork council

We went to the (original) Original Pancake House. It was, as usual, a gastrointestinal delight. If not something my arteries will be enjoying over the next couple of days, at least my gastrointestines are happy.

I had so much meat! I ordered the links and eggs, just because I so craved the three buttermilk pancakes that would come with them. Mmm... But Gerry and I also split a side of bacon, adding up to around eight servings of pork product for me, just one short of the recommended daily allowance.

As usual, I noticed that the people in the pancake house don't look like the people I'm used to seeing. No hippies. No hipsters. (The only "hip"s are those amply padded by many wonderful meals of "dutch babies" and continental crepes) Not, in general, lots of young people. They're just normal folk, except that such folk aren't so normal in my experience of Portland.

I must remember to get out of the downtown area more often.

the pen is mightier than the (ahem) sword

When I talked to Gerry about all this new pentech, he suggested now was the time for an extreme retro craze involving quills. His idea was to invent a quill that was somehow very "now", yet evocative of the original feather quills. He pointed to the number of potentially cool people we could use, royalty-free, in our advertisements: Shakespeare, Jefferson, DaVinci, Hancock.

Jefferson is cool, what with inventing liberty and all and writing on hemp paper. Shakespeare, as we all know, boinked Gwyneth Paltrow, which is cool. And DaVinci, although probably crazy, was very cool.

We pondered the idea of a quill company for a while. What would we name it? We toyed around with names like "Shakespeare & Jefferson" or something classy like that. But eventually we came to our postmodern senses.

Why not simply name out company Hancock Pens? Why, just think of all the patently tacky but potentially lucrative teen market penetration we could get with an edgy name like that! Advertising slogans like "I can't wait to get my hands around a Hancock" would go well with the kids, assuming anyone will print the ads.

To distinguish our quills from regular, boring pens, we could emphasize the extra length of the quill. "A nice long Hancock feels so good in my hand", billboards would trumpet all over, well, Las Vegas at least.

All the ads would feature sexy, scantily-clad women holding the pens near a man's crotch for no particular reason. And the angle would be just right, if you know what I mean. Pure Madison Avenue. Genius.

I then thought of a possible secondary ad campaign slogan. "My pen is...", followed by words that described the Hancock pen in question. But the space between "pen" and "is" would be accidentally smaller than in most other words, making it look like, well, you know.

"My pen is... smooth". "My pen is... able to go a long time". And so on. Featuring sexy male models. I guess it could be a two-pronged ad campaign, featuring ads for men and women. Awesome!

a message from the gel council

I went to Office Max today, and it was, as usual, a wonderful experience. Simply sublime. Oh how I love office (and art) supply stores! I bought resume paper (wink) and a plastic mat so my chair won't scratch my softwood floor anymore (why anyone would want a softwood floor is beyond me).

But I also bought new pens, even though I don't need any new ones right now. Of course, that's not the point. It's just nice to have new pens. They make me want to write just to put them to use. Especially the 1mm pens I bought today - so bold, so strong.

These pens seem to be cutting edge, containing "gel ink". I don't know exactly what gel ink is, or why it might be different from regular ink, but it's clear that gel ink is better. Why? Because I think it's safe to say that gel signifies the zenith of technology in a given product.

You have gel toothpaste, which remains the vanguard of technology in dentifrices, no matter what other toothtech might be added along with it. You won't find sparkles with tooth whitening tartar control in a paste, I'll tell you that much.

Or how about gel frosting? It might not taste as good, but it looks more like the frosting George Jetson would eat than regular lard 'n' sugar, hmm?

Or gel shaving cream? Clearly more futuristic than an old can of Barbasol. Let's face it, gel is the phase of the future. And don't tell me it's not a phase. It's just as legitimate as gas, liquid, solid, and plasma are. I am still not personally convinced of the whole Bose-Einstien condensatei hullabaloo.

Gel - it's the stuff of the future. Why, if I could buy food made of nothing but gel, I would. I would sleep in a gel bed, if it meant ushering in the future. I'm that kind of guy.