Quantity VS Quality

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This is somewhat in response to the Twitter spam ‘discussion’ between Scoble and Badera.

There’s a lot of cliches that begin with the phrase ‘there are two types of people’. Though the world is not simple enough to classify everything as one or the other, there are dichotomies in this world and people especially.

When I look back on why certain relationships with people have failed, I think it has to do with a fundamental difference in values. I’m not talking about religion, I’m talking about people who are about more about quality and people who care about quantity.

A quality person is someone who values the intangible essence of something over the actual amount. They would rather have one moment of true revelation that a million okays. They actually believe that the thought is what counts. They are someone who’d rather hang out with a few people and have in depth discussions. Quantity people can deal with being wrong, losing a game, or considering other viewpoints, because they aren’t keeping score.

Quantity people are all about keeping score. They are worried about numbers of instances over the content of the instances themselves. They’d think the better gift is money rather than a well thought event planned by the giver.They’d go to a party at someone’s house advertised on a flier and try to say hi to as many people there as possible without really getting to know anyone. People like this are about life as a competition and being right.

There’s nothing wrong with that type of person, it’s just not me, not how I view the world and go about things. I think the unquantifiable things are what make life worth living. One real connection means so much more than a hundred passing hellos.

That’s as much true on the internet as it is anywhere else. I’m prefer my little online community any day of the week than a bunch of faceless, passing, generic comments.

Spring Means

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spring
Spring means change, but is also means a world of difference depending where in the world you are. When I lived in Maine, Spring had an uncertain start. You weren’t sure which window of warmth was ‘just another thaw’ and which one brought the final beginning. The top crust of the ice and snow would begin to melt. In false starts it refreezes that evening, making all the world a perilous sheet of ice- Winter’s way of giving us his swan song and saying he’d take us with him if he could. Each day is warm enough to chip at the almost perma-frost. The ice becomes a makeshift river, extra slick trickling down into still frozen grounds. Miniature lakes are made, and then finally, for which Mainers name their season, mud envelops the earth. The Spring rains add until the ground can hold no more.

Up north, I’m sure they’re enjoying Mudseason. Spring cleaning is ironic until the water finds some home in the air or beneath the ground.

Here in Southern Massachusetts, Spring is equally moody in her arrival. She brings us a cycle of days: rain, sun, cold, warm, rain, sun, cold… until finally, she decides to settle down for good. One day, when the snow has vanished and the yard is sprouting crocuses, you finally feel it is okay to open the windows.

I don’t like Spring very much, but this window, when I fist open my windows to breathe fresh air after being stuffed into indoors for so long, is my favorite. There is a window of time where the birds are barely beginning to wake up, and only a few may chirp in the morning. Besides the ladybugs who decided to hibernate in the cave of my apartment, the insects and arachnids are still safely skeptical and out of sight. Things are still very still and everything smells slightly of rain. The rivers and waterfalls make the bridges lively places to sit and stare and breathe it in, all coming down.

I feel the urge to walk about at night. Still and silent small towns that are finally enough to keep me warm as I explore my mind and the world. No one is out, not even a stray teen. It’s too early for mosquitoes. Nothing is open. Police are too busy patrolling the roads to take notice. To be the only thing moving…

All the worries of life will stay, but I will grace them with an asterisk* that if I were employed at this moment, I would likely be missing these moments. It doesn’t comfort everything, but it settles me a bit…

…into the season of spring.

You Can’t Pwn At Pong

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Mario Bros Atari
I’m only twenty-something, but I still am not sure I feel right saying ‘pwned’.

It feels a bit unreal to have gaming be the younger cool. It seems like just yesterday, I was my little brother’s age and getting flack for the same reason he’s considered awesome. I feel like the same people who will wear Mario Bros. shirts now might be the same ones who poked at me in school for video gaming. Part of me wants to reveal the poser they are. I would ask them:

In the first level, do you go down the pipe for the coins? You do? Now why would you do that? There’s a barely hidden one-up that you miss if you go down the pipe. 100 coins equal a one-up. Do the math.

They look at me blankly, thinking, “Up-whats?”.

Am I still allowed to use the word poser?

Across the room, nestled between cd video games and Super Nintendo cartridges are little rectangle bricks that belong to no Nintendo. One of them even says “Mario Bros.” on it.

People think Mario, they think Nintendo. It’s hilarious how many games people remember as being exclusive classics for the 8-bit Nintendo Entertainment System originated for the Atari, early PC, and even old Macs.

You just can’t pwn at old video games. There was no typing to other players in a multiplayer environment. Even when doors and muds came about in BBS land, I don’t know about you guys, but I remember there usually being 1 node for one person to play at one time. In Legend of the Red Dragon, when you killed someone in the field and were interviewed for what you said after kicking ass, no one ever uttered “Pwned!”. They would have looked at the screen, backspaced a few times, and totally “Owned!” you.

Legend of the Red Dragon

I also feel I don’t really pwn, because I don’t play Halo. To me, Halo is just MIDI Maze, Wolfenstein 3d, Doom, Quake, Duke Nukem, Heretic, Hexen, or GoldenEye 007(etc.) all over again… in space… with more jumping. Wait, System Shock was in space (with zombies even). So yeah, just with more jumping. I know people will raise their fists at me, but to me Halo has been repeated so many times that I shrug.

I watch my little bro in his headset screaming ‘Dude! Let’s super jump.’ and just ask, “Why is there so much jumping?” and feel kind of old.

I don’t mind feeling out of touch with pwnage. What is kind of sad is that I’ve stopped being as excited by new video games. I’ll say, “That’s kind of cool.” or “That’s pretty neat.”, but for the most part, I just feel like I’ll never be as excited as I was when video games were still new with leaps and bounds in their advancement. I didn’t even have the money for them, but I had plenty of time and an obsessed uncle.

Don’t get me wrong, I roll up my Katamaris and I play my voice acted RPGs, RTSs, and TBSs. So, maybe I’m just not a shoot ’em up kinda gamer.

This is not the case, because I’m not all about the MMORPGs. Instead they horrify me. The amount of time (or cheating) you have to invest to have a good time just boggles my mind. In addition, it’s kind of like I say when I see someone play Halo and I say, “Why is there so much jumping?”, with these it’s, “Wow, why is there so much running around?” Sure, there’s always been world map trekking, but this is insane. It used to be a few steps to the next town or a few random fights, now the random fights *ARE* the game. The intimacy of you, the characters, and the plot has been sacrificed to hack and slash with a subscription fee.

If you are reading this and like Halo or your MMORPG of choice, good for you. I mean, I’m obviously old and not so cool, so don’t listen to granny here.

I will keep saying “In my day…”, but that’s okay too. The best part about it is that now I have the resources to find all the old games I missed and try them out with the PC and emulator. Then I’ll snap shot the screen shots that amuse me and put them away for future posts. I know old games are not without flaws, but their flaws were lack of budget and technology to back them. I am floored by the mediocrity of today’s games. We have the tech and budget now, but where is all the fun game play and awesome writing? Creativity used to outpace the ability to convey it, now that the money and tech are there… where has it gone?

I am glad that there are exceptions. I just wish they were more the rule than the exception. At some point I’m hoping I’ll see it come back around and people will learn that eye-candy and hack and slash just isn’t enough.

Pure pwnage needs something more to back it up.

Interviewing Tip-Toes

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We saw an overall attitude approach to interviewing in one of my last posts. Some of you agreed and disagreed on this approach…

But, let’s push that aside for now. This post is about the big guns.

White socks.

Apparently they don’t go with dress shoes no matter what you are wearing.

I heard this from a career counselor.

I don’t mean to be a nay-sayer. I am sure this councelor is very good at landing people jobs. BUT- somehow- I got my new job wearing white socks. At the time, I didn’t know any better. Call me lucky. Call me so good it didn’t matter, not even in the follow up interview. I wore them. I didn’t even have any neutral colored socks that weren’t boot socks at the time. I even wore them my first couple weeks of work.

Honestly, I doubt anyone noticed. This may be because I was interviewed by people more interested in skills or attitude. This could be because I was interviewed by men or just people who are too deep to judge a person based on socks. It could be that these people just didn’t look at my feet. They might be secret white sock supporters even.

Sock racism.

Call me crazy, but maybe it is just okay to wear white socks with dress shoes. Maybe it’s not awesome, but I don’t think it looks that bad. I’d hire someone wearing white socks (even after Labor Day).

Fashion police, arrest me. I thought white socks were pretty safe, or at least safer than the ones with the little flying moo-cows on them. Those ones are okay only *after* they hire you.

Jogging me Crazy

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Sometimes people and things think and act like they’re something they’re not. A dog thinks it’s a cat. A worrier acts like it’s cool. Bicyclists think they’re cars, but not ones that have to obey traffic signals.

In Southern MA today, joggers thought they were cars. There was no marathon for money or a race or anything. A few people in a little place known as Northbridge, MA just decided to jog in the main road going through the town. Sure, this is a small town, but it is the road that leads to the closest huge ass Walmart).

You might think to yourself that this is happening because many of these little towns have no sidewalks. This area, however, sported what appeared to be excellent sidewalks. I mean, they looked like they were functional. I didn’t try them out myself since I was in my truck. That would be a bit inappropriate, to use a sidewalk while in a truck. It would be about as inappropriate as say pedestrians jogging in the road.

So, why then would these pedestrians so take their lives into their own hands? It occurs to me that the confusion might stem from the word sidewalk. These suburbanites in their jogging gear, sunglasses, and caps might have thought they would offend the sidewalk’s sensibilities if they were to run on it instead of walk upon it. It would be as big a crime as if someone had walked on the ‘do not walk on the grass’ greenery, or loitered in front of the ‘no loitering sign’. A life of crime like that just isn’t worth it. It’s better to put your safety on the line and wiggle your tight toosh in front of my Ford F150.
world class track meet NES power pad

And let’s not offend any bicyclists by jogging in their little lane. No, let’s go out a bit in case *they* need to get by.

Yes, let us burn off our carbs, jogging two abreast, in the middle of the main road.

It’s okay if the cars and trucks need to go around us, over the yellow line. I’m sure the cars coming the other way won’t mind.

What? You think we should step up on the sidewalk so vehicles can go around?

Hey! We have rights. You ever hear of a little thing called the Constitution? You know the amendment that protects our right to be assholes? This is America, damn it!

Meanwhile, people like me wonder why these joggers can’t just stay home, hook up the power pad to their Nintendo Entertainment Center, and play World Class Track Meet.

Who Would Want to Wear Women’s Clothing?

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clothes?
Someone at work the other day had the audacity to imply that women had it better because of the variety of clothing we get to chose from. When I get up in the morning exhausted and have at most an hour to get out the door, believe me, the last thing I want to think about is how to match up this variety. Does the color, pattern, and cut match? Will I be too cold? Is this somewhat see through (and if so, do I have a clean white bra?)? I can’t wear that shirt with that bottom, I need a longer shirt or a higher cut of pants. Damn it, those are two different shades of blue.

Variety isn’t what I’m thanking of when I’m faced with the daunting task of clothes shopping on a budget for practical, versatile clothing. I want something I can wear often, not be too uncomfortable in, look decent in, not have to wear something under, and won’t fall apart if I put it in a washer (I *will* hang dry as a compromise, but who has the resources to hand wash their clothes?). Variety means you could potentially buy a piece of clothing that can be only worn with a certain other set of clothing to not look stupid.

I don’t need to look “damn” even a fraction of the time in my world. I still don’t want to look stupid. That bar is higher for women, with pressure from both men and other women. If a guy wears something stupid, it not only okay because he’s a guy, but it might be kind of cute or endearing.

I like guy’s clothing. Too bad it doesn’t fit women correctly. That doesn’t mean I don’t own and wear men’s clothing if I like it enough. It’s elegant in its simplicity. It’s really hard to screw up or not find something when shopping. It’s very practical and spans seasons and occasions easily. If there are designs or logos, they’re more often subtle or of cool things. Too boot, the sizes even make sense. Hallelujah.

Women’s sizes… for pants I wear an 11/12. What does that mean? I have no idea. As it is, I have a lot of 13/14 too. Why are they /? I don’t know. What waist size and pant length does that equal? Well, there must be some algorithm based on brand, style, and those arbitrary numbers with the /. Women hackers are working on it as you are reading this. If you are a woman who is (what some person somewhere decided) ‘a bit tall’ or ‘a little short’ (or someone has determined your waist size is inconsistent to your leg length), you’re pretty much screwed or need to become a seamstress. Some pants have little bits of leeway. You can get a 11/12 tall. How tall? Well the amount you’re supposed to be if your ass is that size and you’re taller, duh!

Do you like pockets? Someone thinks women don’t, because half of my pants don’t have them (though they may be styled to look like they do).

So, if pants are complicated, don’t get me started on shirts. Guys have short sleeve and long sleeves. Women have those, and three quarter sleeves. Guys have crew or v-neck. Women have every cut imaginable, including square. I mentioned see through shirts above, and I’m not joking when I say you have to check to make sure before you buy a shirt (or skirt, unless you want to purchase and coordinate a matching slip*).

There are all kinds of additional shit people like to put on shirts and bottoms too. Dumb designs aren’t the half of it. Shoulder pads, body suit attachments, beads, sequins, fringe, fur, shininess, fake pockets, fuzzies, and whatever else they just decided was in, or was in at some point. Every year some other stupid trend comes along. Last summer, for the life of me I could not find a tank top that wasn’t long enough to be a dress. Some women don’t have much curves around the waist, so maybe having a long tank top was okay. For me, having a shirt that needs to fit both my waist and but is a joke. It’s also silly. Why does my ass need to wear my fitted shirt?

Fitted clothing is a good idea if you have a sizing structure to match fits. Men come in enough varieties for body type. With curves, women have at least double the variation. With sizes so vague, how does someone find a fitted shirt that fits when the sizes are: x-small, small, medium, large, x-large (and some larges with more and more x’s). Most women take a small, medium, or large. Is someone trying to tell me that most women in the world have upper bodies that fit into 3 categories? Even a man knows (and maybe especially a strait man) that women’s breasts come in a variety of sizes and match up with a variety of stomachs.

I haven’t even touched on women’s shoes, belts, and purses. I didn’t even get into dresses. I feel I’ve gone far enough and just don’t want to go there right now.

I hate women’s clothing. It has nothing to do with my body either. I know that when I find a perfect fit (once in a life time) of something that isn’t some weird failed art project, I look good.

I can’t wait for the day it’s acceptable for men to wear any and all of women’s clothing. A few things will happen: women’s clothes will come in a wider variety and more accurate sizing. Also, men will understand how much of a pain in the ass it is and expect less of us. Maybe, women’s clothing will become more practical.

The empathy would also be nice. They will say, “Wow, pantyhose sucks. It’s itchy, it can get ruined by breathing on it too hard, and did I mention it’s itchy?”

And we’ll say, “Mmm-hmm.. damn strait.”

*slip – n. A skirt like thingy that goes under a skirt. Why one isn’t sewn into the skirts that need them is a mystery.