Bulk Add - Or How to Spam Yourself Using Twitter

Hi all you friendly job people I added yesterday. I read this article and used this tool to follow a bunch of you in bulk.

1. Ninjafollow didn't work that well, and I ended up not following near as many people as were listed.
2. It enabled texting to my phone for all the people I added, which was a drag 'cause I had to go in and turn it off for everyone I added.
3. A bunch of people I added just weren't all that appropriate for me and my really pathetic job search.
4. So, I un-added a bunch of people, which I was worried might be rude.

That's it, just wanted to let you know. No spam. No long arduous article about my personal trials and travails. Oh, by the way, since you're job-search helper people, I'll let you in on one of my best-kept secrets. I am a freelance writer looking for work. I can write anything. I use all 26 letters of the alphabet to construct words, sentences, paragraphs that can be the basis for much larger works. I can type, write long-hand, and dictate to a lackey - my personal, but rarely practiced, favorite. In addition I can intersperse said writing with numbers. I mean, name your number, I don't care how many zeroes there are behind it, I got it covered. I have been writing my entire life, and began with crayons on my babysister's wall. From the beginning I caused a sensation. After that I graduated to printing, learned cursive, and now, after many years of practice, my writing is practically illegible, even to me.

I graduated from UC Berkeley with a minor in Rhetoric, and you know what? My girlfriend still beats the pants off me when we argue (not that I'm complaining, I mean losing your pants to your girlfriend, well, life could be worse). I don't even try to fight with my dad anymore, and my mom just gives me that look, you know, like, "Please, don't disappoint me again." Still, even though it's made me a sort of target amongst my family and friends, I like to think the degree was worth it (I think my parents like to think that too). It sure sounds good (check it out, I use bold judiciously, and not a single exclamation point, now you know that's quality writing).

In addition to writing well, or gooder than most as I see it, I have a great deal of technical expertise. I mean, after all, this is written on a computer. I am adept at using spellcheck and even occasionally click on the grammar button, but that actually is a little scary since it doesn't really "get" my style. I mean, sometimes modifiers need to be dangled, for their own good, teach them a lesson and so forth.

That's it. No real beginning, a middle with little substance, and this kind of nipped off grotesque sort of endy thing. That's called "blogging".

I was laying around in bed the other night, daydreaming, except it was at night, so really technically it was night-dreaming but not the dreaming-dreaming kind of dreaming you associate with nighttime.

Anyway, I was speculating on the value of my time, and I wondered what I would earn if my time were valued on average at $1 per minute, which seems a little extravagant, but not wholly so. So, I did the math, $60/hour x 8hours/day = $480/day, 5 days in a week, so that's $2,400/week, say you work 50 weeks/year since you're an American, so that's $120,000, minus $20,000 for taxes and you're at $100,000/year net.

So, you break it down, and $100,000 just means $1/minute. That is a really interesting idea to me.

As we awaken, and look westward toward Ocean Beach, we of the Sunset neighborhood are caught in a net of gray light, cast over all our world. We live, after all, on a sea of sand, pinned down for a short while by the built landscape but ere too long the walls will falls. Ah, the mist, the fog, blown in by the cold wind, and lapping at the door while I sip my tea. Ah my foggy doggy, I know you need to go for a walk, if it wasn't for you, I'd stay in my little house, and wouldn't venture outside until the sun had burnt up this cold wet blanket. But for you, I would remain in my pajamas. But for you, another cup, another piece of toast with jam. But for you I would roll around my apartment, like a big ball of blubber.

On with my jeans. On with my shoes. On with a hoodie. Off with my blues. Out the door into the fuzzy future, well trod paths. A walk, a trot, a throw of the ball, return of the ball, throw of the ball, return of a wet soggy ball, throw of the ball, and a ball of mucous clad dirty spongy roundish clod we call the ball. That's all. I am getting tired, so I use the springy thingy to launch this slimy projectile one last time. You are a runner runner runny nosed runner. Dogs sweat through their tongues. I didn't need anyone to tell me that darling. You know, I know, we can see as it lolls out of your mouth seeking, and finding, cooler climes.

Oh foggy doggy, you made my day.

No Titles :p(

I decided to try out a 3rd party application to post to my blog, and since I use open source software, I opted for Drivel, which lets me create my blogs offline, and post them later, which is great! I suppose that I could do this in another application, but one of the things that I'm starting to get about open-source stuff is that it's better to use a small application that does one thing, and does it really well than a huge application that does a bunch of crap but eats your system alive. I really like Drivel so far. It lets me focus on writing without having to be online, which I find really distracting. The other thing I can do with it is post to different types of blogging sites, which is really useful since I'm checking out WordPress as well as LiveJournal as possible alternatives to Blogger. I kinda' like the idea of having my own server for a web page and blog as opposed to relying on a hosted service. We'll see.

A note on Drivel. It can't do titles for Blogger 2.x, and a release hasn't been made since 2006! However, I found a listserve or some sort of dialogue and there's still development going on, so I'm keeping it! I like it and even thought it doesn't work quite right, i.e. no titles (yet) I like being to do blog posties offline and then just bump them up.

Title Thingy Hi all, I am testing out a program for blogging called Drivel. It lets me write offline, and then post. So, this is my tester.

Transit links

The Cost of Driving Faster

Car-Free in Germany

Death and Death

Attended my first funeral today, and I almost broke down at a couple points during the mass. Almost, but it wasn't anyone I knew, but my friend's mother. Still, for me, the death I think of is Frankie Manning's. Frankie inspired me in a lot of ways. First, in dancing. If I live to be 70, great, but he died two weeks away from his 95th birthday, only having become debilitated a few months ago. How can you complain about that? Lucky Frankie and especially lucky us! That's what I have to say about that.

The funeral I attended was held in the south of England, in a small Catholic church and then we had tea (and a pint) in a hotel restaurant. I walked back to our flat alone along the beach. The sky, pale blue with clouds drifting by, and the aquamarine water, calm and flat reflecting the white light of a still winter sun.

I was touched by so many things about the funeral, about the depth of feeling that people showed toward Doreen, about the short but poignant speech my friend gave, and about the ritual of the mass, and the wake following.

I just accompanied my friend, to help her weather the storm of loss and circumnavigate some of the rocky relations of her family. Still, it was quite an adventure for me. But eventually I started feeling odd-man out, and so I took my walk.

London Lindy Exchange is "Strict"

I danced with a girl from the Netherlands named Tinka.
I can't actually tell you where I stayed last night. I want to, but I promised, so I can't.
And I had a funny conversation with a German lady about how "strict" this lindy exchange was. I made her say "strict" like five times because she had a way of making the word sound, well, just the opposite of strict. She kinda caught on and wouldn't say it again. Oh well.
I snuck in, my wristlet held together by a mere blob of chewed bubble-gum. It was so wrong it felt right. Still I bought a shirt just to prove I made it.
I am in London escorting a friend to a funeral, so this was a taste of sanity for me. A live band and sweaty people jamming to the music. I feel so lucky about just being alive when I'm on the dance floor. Damn, it's only 9am, but it's 1am back in San Francisco. I can't sleep anymore. I should, but I can't.

Script Frenzy

I am going to take a hiatus from my blog (maybe) to write a script this month. It's my first script. It's going to be crap, but really healthy good crap.

www.scriptfrenzy.org

Posty Post

This is my post for today. I don't have much to say, and I don't believe in posting for posting's sake, because it's inane. Nobody wants to read about the weather, or your dog, or how you trimmed your nails to day, or how you hate your nanny. They might want to read about your sex life IF it's interesting and IF you're attractive and post a picture or you're a really good writer or something like that, but then again, you'd be talking about your sex life. No. I don't think I'm up for that.

It's not that what I write has to be pleasing to anyone else, it's just that if it's that banal, then it's like saying back to myself, "Blah, look at my boring life." I don't need that. I don't need to reflect that back to myself. I need to inspire and be inspired. That's the gig.

Talking to my brother in Thailand was depressing. He is really amazing. He is doing so much to help people. He is amazingly smart. I am not. He calls me from Thailand. I avoid people. He cares about people deeply. I, I am not like that, but I say I do. It really exposes all the things I'd like to be, all the ways I'd like to see myself, and can, as long as I don't talk to my brother who is really generous and caring and smart. Damn him! I'm no bully but if I saw him in the hall at school, I might have tripped him. If he wasn't my big brother. Maybe, maybe I still would.

I just read Island of the Blue Dolphins last night. I read the whole damn thing! It was amazing! The only bad thing about that book is that it's required reading in California public schools. That will pretty much ruin the experience of even the best of books.

It is my father's birthday today. Just to mess him up, I'm actually going to call him today, and wish him a happy birthday. I hope he appreciates it! It's going to take some of my cell minutes. There's no way around it. Ah, my Dad, what an amazing guy, whom I used to think was not such an amazing guy. Well, that's another post.

Ernesto Gato

I miss my cat, Ernie. I got Ernie when I was 2. He was named after Enie of Ernie & Bert in Sesame Street. You know, were they gay? They were gay weren't they. The first closeted gay puppets on TV. Crazy!

Anyway, I tortured Ernie. I used to squeeze his back until he snapped at me, and I would bug him until he would fight. I would blow in his ears until he couldn't stand it and flicked them repeatedly, figured out it was me and hissed. I tried to give him baths and force him into a bucket of cold water. I did all the mean things you would do to an animal that you loved. I'm sure I threw him too, but I never swung him by his tail, although I wouldn't have put it by me.

I loved my cat. He slept in my bed almost every night. If I opened the covers he would go down and nestle in my belly and I would curl around him, and he would purr purr purr. Sometimes he would sleep on my head. I would wake up and he would be lying curled up right on my ear with his tail under my nose like a moustache.

Ernie would come sit on my lap at the table and eat whatever food we gave him. He really didn't jump on top of the table or steal food, or beg, he just was interested enough in it that we gave him some. At a certain point we gave in and just started setting a place for him at the table. He seemed happy about that, and everyone else was pretty much into it too. I mean, it wasn't like he just ate meat. My mom would put a piece of lettuce on the table and he would eat that too.

For most of his life, he just got dry food and milk. He didn't always eat the milk, but the food seemed to work fine for him. His favorite food however was cantaloupe rind. We would put a cantaloupe rind down and he would lick it across the floor and back. Such a strange cat.

Ernie was a seal-point Siamese, and we did have him spayed, still, I think he had an uncommonly nice personality. Clearly he was capable of putting up with me.

My favorite story to tell is about the Moosheses. They were a family that lived across the streets, and they had 3 daughters, one of whom was my age. They were the kind of girls that played with Barbies. Girly girls.

One day, that little girl and I, after swimming, decided that we should introduce Ernie, my cat, to her poodle. Brilliant! So, she brought her poodle over to our backyard, and she, in her swimsuit, hoisted her poodle up, and I, in my swimsuit, hoisted Ernie up, and we made them kiss, rub noses, however you want to describe this insanely stupid act. Ernie, well, was not happy, and clawed his way up my bare chest, up my face, on to the top of my head, and lept far away. The poodle and the little girl left. So, being bloody, scared and abandoned, I went inside, crying to get help from my brothers, who were in the living room watching TV. Hearing my sobs, my brothers looked up at my bloody face and chest and said, "Wait 'til the commercial. Go in the kitchen and clean yourself off." Luckily my mom came home and they got in big trouble, I'm not sure, maybe I did too.

Amendment

I know why we all go to the library, and partly it's the free wifi, but I could always get that at a cafe, but it's the comfort, being surrounded by all those books, the friendliness of the unhip librarians, the traffic of people, all kinds of people - young old, brilliant, deranged - and nobody is there judging you, or at least no one has that job, because of course we judge each other, well or poorly, the mind does judge, we are all Gods children, good, bad, deserving, privileged, spoiled, trash, quality, crazy, solid. That we do. That we do.

Sometimes I look around and I think about the fact that we, all of us, will die. I think that because it's such an odd thing to realize, in this business of living. Beginning. Middle. End.

Land of the Jobberworky - The Library

I live about 2 doors and a school down from the public library, and I don't have Internet at home so this is where I've been spending a lot of my time while unemployed. True, it's not the best place to network, unless you're planning on joining a grade school or the ranks of the crazy. I myself do not aspire to such lofty goals, nay, 'tis mere jobwork that I seek. There are ahost of distractions as well, and they also fall into the two aforementioned categories, crazy people and schoolchildren.

1. The other day, a guy with a runny nose and no kleenex, was reading so voraciously that he couldn't pause to wipe his nose, and so every few seconds, he cleared his throat, and Sniiiiiiiiiiiifffed his snot back up his nose.

2. Quietly, oh so quietly, schoolchildren play tag amidst the tables, stifling their giggles, oh but with whispery quietude running rapidly to and fro, and to, and fro, to fro, two fros, tofus.

3. Can one have an interesting conversation with oneself, loudly, in the library, if everyone is listening?

4. If you stand in front of the reference librarian and yell at them loudly, do you get a better response?

5. Should you bathe before you arrive at the library or should you postpone until next year? Even if you are a chain smoking bicyclist?

I love the library, free wifi, lotsa good books, videos, and pleasant and well informed librarians and staff. And it's all free. Amazing!

BSG - The End!

Well, I now have more time in my week, because Battlestar Galactica has finished, for good, and it was a very good story indeed. Written by Ronald D. Moore, older brother of Michael Moore, whom I went to gradeschool with in Chowchilla, it could have been a mere rehashing of a hackneyed set of characters and one-act plots. Instead, it sets itself apart with a strong unpredictable narrative, a complex set of characters and multiple intertwined plotlines. It is emblematic of that breed of serialized stories such as "The Wire" that have come to replace simple one-act sit-coms with their unchanging characters and laugh-tracks (I'm guessing that "Mad Men" also falls into this category). I forget the commentator who said it, but what's going on in TV right now rivals what's happening with the movies. I think the possibility of this serialized type of story is driving it. Why now? I don't know if it's technology per se but rather the specialization, financing, and audiences now being generated by cable television.

Only The Lonely

I got new contacts today, and I can see better than I've been able to see in about, oh, 15 years! I'm sitting in my favorite cafe, trying to doink out a blog entry. Still, contacts make you feel like you have something in your eye, because you have, in fact, on purpose, stuck something in your eye.

The only things I can think to write about are mundane. Really mundane. I mean, so mundane. I want to talk about trimming my finger nails, and how I might work at a tanning salon. Who the hell wants to hear about that? Yeah, it's good to write consistently in a blog, but you gotta have something worth reading.

I tell you what, I love swing dancing, and one of the most rewarding and difficult things to do is connect with your partner, which is why I now blues dance as well, because I have to work on connection. Connection is difficult. You have to play games in order to connect. If you can't figure out the game, and aren't willing to play, Zzzt! No connection.

Fiery Petal

Fiery Petal,
Fallen in the snow,
Burns,

Vices

Here are a list of my current vices, just so I don't get confused and forget to indulge.

Okay, let's just say sex goes without saying, and as far as vices I think the Internet is really built on this one, so I'll just start in no particular order with #2, including subcategories.

TV
24 - Pure unadulterated adrenaline. It's my roommate's fault.
Battlestar Gallactica- The new series is co-written by Ronald D. Moore, who is the older brother of Michael Moore, who was in my grade in Chowchilla. That alone would get me to watch the show, but actually the Cyclons have gotten bigger, meaner, and in some cases, smokin' hot, 6 or 7, I forget?
Doctor Who (remixed) - I can't really believe this, but you can check out the new series at the library, and the special effects are pretty good, the emotional content and the weird ideas are so much better than anything you find anywhere else.
Mexican TV - girls & soccer. Need I say more?


Reading
Okay, just finished the last Harry Potter book, and uh, well, two days. So, yes, addicted. Haruki Murikami, some really cool blogs, and a subscription to Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine (which I'm still not totally comfortable reading in public) haven't helped matters.

Rice Cakes
This would be the natural kind, NOT the Quaker adulterated with corn kind. There are two brands that I like, one is from Belgium, and I can only find it in my local green grocer. They're rectangular, with rounded corners. The ones I like best have other grains, including spelt, and uh, another natural grain (not corn). The other ones are Lundberg. There are a few others, but for the money, Lundberg's are the best. There is definitely a politics of rice cakes going on. In safeway, the shelves are lined with Quakers cakes of crap, and there is one, maybe two rows of Lundberg at the verrrrry bottom. I think Quaker must pay for shelf space. The best way to eat them is either plain, or with some avocado smashed on top with freshly ground pepper and sea salt.

Peanut Butter (and jelly)
I figure that 15-20% of my current body is formed from the consumption of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. If there isn't bread, I resort to using flour tortillas to make pb&j burritos. If there isn't jelly, I use honey (and sometimes throw in banana or raisins). When I say "peanut butter" I mean ground peanuts and salt. Period. No GSM, organic is fine but not necessary. My favorite brand is Laura Scudders, surprisingly, but they use a particular kind of peanut that is distinctively good. No palm oil or any other crap is necessary.

I know somebody may ask "Well, how do you keep peanut butter from separating?" This is easy. All you have to do is mix it up, you can even shake it. I like to throw it up in the air with centrifical force so that it spins. For a safer alternative, spin it on a formica counter. After doing this several times until it's lost it's novelty, I put the jar upside down in the fridge. When you open it, viola! Mixed. Small price to pay for salmonella-free peanut-butter.

Chocolate
This includes chocolate donuts, Reese's PB Cups, and various forms of 'slutty' chocolate, as well as ice-cream, ice-cream sandwiches, and especially of course DARK chocolate. However, this does not include caramel or Oreo's or chocolate-like or substances described as "chocolaty" or crap like that. Some, but not all cakes and cookies fall under this category, but like fruit, supermarkets have figured out how to make pastries look exciting while extracting every ounce of good taste out of them.

Swing Dancing
It's important to break this one down. This includes lindy-hop, Charleston, Balboa, Shag, uh, and repeat. Dancing is addictive. Really.

Sloppy Seconds

I used to try to start writing by throwing down a witty title. I like a good title! But then I would automatically start editing my writing so that it fit the title, and I can't write and edit at the same time, so now, no titles until I'm done. Just there, right there, I thought, oh perfect tile "Untitled", but I know better. What if I actually found a strand to write about? Then what? I'd have my title, and I couldn't create the focus on something else. No go. Nope. I know that little critic in my head is pacing impatiently behind his door. It's not his time. No, not yet.

I had a cup of tea with my English friend. All I texted her was "tea?" and I got back "Brilliant!" You can pretty much just throw down the word "tea" with English people and generate some positive energy. I've started using it as a pick-up line. It works with Asian chicks too. But you have to mean it. None of this herbal shit. You've got to mean tea, and tea is time, and time is a commitment. If you're having tea with a lady, you are willing to commit. That's it. Bottom line. Tea is not exactly an aphrodisiac, but it's the doorway to vulnerability. It can be at least. Okay, that title would be "tea" but I'm ditching that, because it's bullshit. Nobody likes to sit down and have coffee or tea. It's just, not, fun. People do it either to slow down the momentum or as a launch-point to what they really want, but if you just sit there and drink tea or coffee and talk without creating momentum to move somewhere else, you're lost.

I have nothing to say today, or nothing I want to say. Honesty. No. That's what I have to say. No. No I won't. No I don't want to. No, it's too hard. No, you can't make me. No, I don't think so. No, it's not the right time. No, I'm too tired. No, I'm too stressed out. No, tomorrow. No, I can't think straight. No, I'm ambivalent. No, I don't know you well enough. No, it's not important enough. No, I'll call back tomorrow. No, you just missed him. No, I don't have enough money. No, I don't have enough time. No, we've already discussed this. No.

I'm getting all my No's out where I can see them. It's like I'm pushing off time, as if I could save it for later, for when I'm ready. I'm never ready. My friend asked me to go kayaking and I said, "I'd like to say 'No' but I can't think of a good reason to." So he said, "Okay, let's go." And we went. Make no mistake. No is a decision often based on the misperception that you'll get a second chance. Time, at least for me, is linear. I have never gotten a second chance in my life, only another opportunity, and when I was smart, I took it.

Damn, I just wrote something good I needed to hear, and I can't think of a freakin' title. I hate that. Okay, how about a really bad title.

Monday Morning TV Flogger

I often feel like I'm trying to get something out of TV that it just can't give. As my friend says, "More of what you don't need won't fill you up."

So, I started this when it was still Monday morning. I'm sitting in my favorite cafe checking my email because that's a good thing to do on a Monday morning when you're unemployed in San Francisco, or maybe it's not such a good thing to do, but it's comforting.

I like reading. I like reading blogs, because it gives me hope that maybe a guy like me can actually do something meaningful with his life. Really, it's a tough sell.

I want to say something profound today, something that will save me from "the way things are" because I don't want to accept how fallible I am, how not good or hard-working, my bad decisions, and cowardliness. I want to find that hidden door that I can slip through, some second warriors body that's in deep freeze, that my mind was extracted from, and where it rightly belongs. I want to discover that switch that gets flipped, that scheme that they advertise on late-night TV that gives me rock-hard abs, and a real-estate empire. That's what I'm looking for. It's trouble. All roads lead to trouble.

Still, I am sitting here, blotto from watching too much late night TV, in my favorite cafe, having eaten a 7-layer sin bar, and the sun is out, my friends are about, and I am most likely going to make it through, despite my fear and anxiety.

God bless us, Everyone!

Bay Day & I love my Mom

I rode out in a kayak on the bay with my friend Chris. You look out at the bay from the shore and it appears peaceful, but there's a lot going on. I especially like the harbor seals, especially when they pop their heads up near you, and it's like the water is a blanket that they peak out from under.

I want to keep posting, so even though I have nothing to say today, I'm going to just write. Dammit. I'm just generally angry at the world. I'm mad at my friends for not returning my phone calls. I'm mad at San Francisco for being filled with smarter and more interesting people than myself. I'm mad at myself for squandering time, for not being X enough. This is bad, this is inane.

You know, one time my mom cooked a dinner that was horrible. Only once. What she did, was she was cooking a pot roast and instead of putting corn starch into the rue, she put baking soda, and it was disgusting. So, you know what we all did? Me, my mom, and my brothers and sisters stood around eating it, and making really disgusted comments and sounds about how horrible it tasted. "Ewe!", "Gross!", "Blech!" "Mom! How could you have done this?! This is the worstest meal you have ever ever made!" And that's how we ate our dinner that night. It was fun. My mom, who is an excellent cook, is an even better sport. We will never forget the night of the disgusting pot roast. I love my mom.