The last few years on the spectrum...

As it's been quite some time since I've graced the world with my literary presence, the theme of catching up seems quite apropos.  That said, I'm taking it a step further and presenting this blog as a litany of events since just before I moved to Portland two-plus years ago.  By comparison, I'd say the bulk of my life has been boring until then... and ultimately serves as somewhat of an explanation as to why moving out of state ended up making me even less visible in your lives than I already was...

A brief disclaimer ere beginning...  This is not a rant, whining, or any form of woe is me nonsense.  This is what happened from when I left California until now... which is fairly awesome, so you needn't worry as you read.  This is an effort to include you, grok?  Which leads to to a second disclaimer:  this be lengthy, so get comfy.

Why did I leave Cali?  Mostly due to misplaced trust on my part.  First, to a closet alcoholic and later to a back-stabbing manager.  Which left me alone and laid off the day after turning 35.  Given the cost of living in the Bay with two energetic puppies, I needed to figure something out fast.  Finding a job was proving more difficult than I'd anticipated, which after having been laid off was another blow to my professional ego.  When it occurred to me the next goal I'd not yet achieved, buying a home, was getting even further out of reach... the decision to leave the state seemed easy.

Why Portland?  Had to be an NBA city... on the West coast, so as to not be too far from family.  Seattle lost its team, Phoenix is too damn hot, and I wasn't leaving Redwood City for Sacramento... which left Portland or Denver.  Knowing nothing about Denver, but a little about Portland sent me in the right direction.  That my future wife was moving there as well certainly didn't hurt, but I wasn't going to move because of a woman again, the quality of this one notwithstanding.  Investigation left my ears ringing with endorsements about what a great town Portland is... which has been proven true again and again in countless ways since.  A plane flight, job interview, and offer in hand, I made the decision.

I'm bare-bonesing it a bit here so as to not focus too much on the pre-Oregon past, but rather to provide some context as to who I was when I came to Portland.  Damaged would be a good way to put it.  I'd thought I'd figured out the relationship thing, but not even close.  I'd stumbled into my dream job at an iconic company... and they don't exist anymore.  All geekiness aside, this was the 12th-oldest internet domain ever registered.  Now it routes to Oracraple.  This still makes me cry.  Damaged and bitter might be more accurate.  I had worked so hard and felt further from my goals than ever.  But it gets better... kindasorteventually...

April 2010...  The job started out well, the relationship with Bella even better, and I settled into Portland with much less upset than I'd anticipated.  I invested in Portland... all of it... the job, the lifestyle, the character of it. I asked Bella to move in and thought to myself: 'Finally, things are going right!'  Famous. Last. Words.

December 2010...  I pushed myself too hard to meet a ridiculous deadline at work and discovered I was managed by Bill Lumbergh.  Given my relative fragility when I moved here... which in hindsight I'd considerably overestimated... it was a bit more than I could handle.  And the pain that had been a companion for so long... blossomed.  Every part of my body hurt.  This had happened every so often when I overdid things, usually working too much and not sleeping enough.  But now it was every day.  And thus began my journey to discover that I'm a unicorn.  No kidding.  A f***ing unicorn.

February 2011...  Bella's doctor, a naturopath who succeeded in helping where so many others had not, started to poke and prod and run tests on me, to no avail.  She told me that most people who come to her have easily identifiable symptoms... horses.  Others come in and she has to delve a little deeper to diagnose... zebras.  So I asked: 'That makes me a unicorn, no?'  When she stopped laughing, I got sufficient agreement to back the aforementioned claim.

April 2011...  The diagnosis:  fibromyalgia.  The upside: finally knowing I wasn't crazy to think something was legitimately wrong with me.  The downside: knowing something was legitimately wrong with me.  For those who found out about this and/or its severity at the Phoenix wedding, I apologize.  It's on me to be more available, which is part of why I'm writing this entry.  It's an area where I have a long and storied tradition of epically sucking, which is part of why I'm writing this entry.  Many birds dying with this stone...

May 2011...  Avoiding stress is really the only "cure", but seeing as I'm alive that doesn't seem an available option.  Lessening stress, on the other hand, is much more viable.  Moving somewhere ants didn't invade daily would definitely help... so we moved.  Not a huge improvement, but enough that we settled in.  A little red flag went up when our new landlord tried to rope us in to a 2-year lease, but the place fit our needs and I really wanted out of our current place.  Nothing stressful about moving...

August 2011...  The diagnosis also meant finding another job was a priority.  Never before had I seriously considered taking contract work.  The uncertainty, repetitive interviewing, and lack of health insurance made the option distinctly unappealing.  Nonetheless, I took a contract position with a large shoe company and quickly realized I'd made a mistake.  Took over a week to get a computer, over two weeks to get a badge allowing me access to the building.  And I was surrounded by piranha.  Me, not so much piranha as one of the fish swimming in the school to appear as a much bigger fish to intimidate predators.  Collaborative gestalt is my general goal and they ate me alive.  But I couldn't quit yet...

September 2011...  The house into which we moved?  Scheduled to go up for sale at a foreclosure auction in December.  The landlord?  Wouldn't take our calls.  Took the rent, but otherwise disappeared.  Bella did some investigation, in what's become a common and invaluable theme, discovered we had some options.  Like voiding our lease when next we moved because the landlord had committed fraud by not acknowledging the impending foreclosure.  That said, I hate moving.  And frankly, given the severity of my FM, I couldn't do it myself anymore.  Paying a couple of Bella's coworkers solved that problem, but to where we moved was undetermined.

October 2011...  Without belaboring the discussion that ensued, we decided it was time to buy a house.  The market was still bottoming out and I had a contract-rate inflated income with which to swing a mortgage.  Our same doctor pointed us to a fantastic realtor, who found what would become our home fairly quickly.  Staying in my current position was becoming increasingly untenable, but if I'd changed jobs in the middle of escrow we might've lost the house.  So endure I must...

November 2011...  A week after escrow closed, I walked out of the job.  My intent was to return the next morning to gather my things and give notice.  I'd had enough condescension from one of the piranha and didn't think I could give notice calmly.  I got a call that evening to inform me my contract had been terminated.  But the house was still ours...

December 10, 2011...  Oh, and we were getting married.  A small, casual affair in Bella's aunts' home, officiated by a family friend.  Definitively Portland, which I've started using as an adjective when I lack the proper superlative to describe how cool this city is.  We decided it was easier to do all the paperwork in state, hence the smaller (local) ceremony...

December 11, 2011...  So escrow closed a month ago, but since the owners hadn't yet found a house themselves, we couldn't move in until... the day after our Portland wedding.  How's that for a honeymoon?  That's right, ladies... swoon away.   But before we could finish sorting our boxes, much less unpack them, we were on our way to Phoenix...

December 30, 2011...  Did I mention that we were planning our wedding?  Sorry... weddings.  Plural.  One in Portland, one in Phoenix.  We had people here, in LA, and in Phoenix/Tucson/Sonoita... sue us, we're popular.  The one in Phoenix was simply awesome.  Allow me a brief tangent...

There was a moment during the Phoenix ceremony, after we were pronounced and began to walk down the aisle.  And you cheered...  The moment was already perfect, for obvious reasons, but the cheering...  Thinking about it still makes me cry...  It's one thing to have a sturdy faith in the love of family and friends...  It's another thing entirely to know it.  To be enveloped by it, like thunder rumbling directly overhead (or in this case, from my left).  That's the only way I can think to describe the emotional impact of that moment.  Nor will I ever have the words adequate to express my gratitude at having the quality of people in our lives to create such a moment.

January 2012...  Some of these things were clearly fantastic, others decidedly less so... the point being they were all significant in their own way and required major adjustments.  I decided for the first time, since graduating college, to not work.  Some time off seemed necessary and the job market was only too happy to comply, as I was leaving for my honeymoon in a few weeks...

February, 2012...  New Orleans is a great city.  It's also the furthest east I've ever been.  I didn't handle it very well.  This was our honeymoon and Bella's birthday vacation she'd been planning for how long and I sprinkled anxiety attacks liberally throughout.  In hindsight, I marvel she didn't ask for an annulment.  Instead, she helped me (and us) to take a huge step forward.  I said it'd become a common theme, but more on that later.

March, 2012...  I started a new contract at a company in the automotive industry.  Everyone seemed nice, there was a dev lead from whom I could learn, and I was told multiple times that I would've been hired full-time had it been an option.  I settled in and started to learn the business.  I got excited seeing commercials on TV for one of your prospective clients.  It seemed I'd finally found a good fit professionally.

May, 2012...  After months of discussion and research, Bella and I agreed that it was extremely likely that I have Asperger's syndrome (AS).  It's a mild form of autism and explains so much of how I experience life.  I won't belabor the difficulties, as it's not that kind of blog (really!), but it's been revelatory just how impactful it is on my life.  Admittedly, to date I've not yet acquired an official diagnosis, but the alternative is that I'm crazy.  No joke.  Nucking futs.  I'm going with AS...

July, 2012...  After several negative encounters with a coworker, I sent a transcript of an IM chat we'd had to our manager.  Having been dinged in the past for less than ideal personal interactions, I'm acutely aware of what is and is not ok to say in any given situation.  When a coworker finds a bug and tells me to not be careless and put more effort into my work, I'm fairly confident that's not ok.  My manager's response: "I don't see anything wrong with that... It looks like he was trying to be helpful."  This was so far outside the realm of my expectations, I had a meltdown.  Think a seven year old throwing a tantrum.  It's an AS thing and having recognized it's onset, I excused myself and left.  A couple conversations with useless manger later, assuring him I would adjust, I thought the matter had been handled and closed.

August, 2012...  More research indicated that tricyclic antidepressants had proven effective with AS, for whom severe anxiety is prevalent into our 30s.  I was wary as I'd heard some disheartening things about antidepressants, the least of which was mental fuzziness.  Started taking them on a Friday night... and completely sidestepped what otherwise would have been a meltdown on Sunday morning.  It's been night and day different in the best way.  I don't react to things nearly as much as I had been and it's really helped me feel much more on an even keel.  It's possible I did not include enough superlatives in that last sentence.  I still have meltdowns on occasion, but they're less severe and don't last nearly as long.  As an aside, I asked Bella to help me remember when I started taking them just now.  Her response: "Not soon enough".

September, 2012...  As my contract expires, I go find my manager to start the conversation about converting to full-time.  He tells me that he has concerns I may be a "problem employee" and wants to  extend my contract another month until he was satisfied that wasn't the case.  I learned he didn't consider the issue with the coworker closed.  The appropriate term here is blindsided...

October, 2012...  After training my replacement, I'm let go because the company is "going in a different direction".  After having two jobs in the first 10 years of my career, I'd now been terminated three times in the last three years.  Liars 2, Piranha 1, Kevan 0.  Professional confidence brimming...

November, 2012...  I started a new contract this month.  It's with a company at which I interviewed a year ago, but though it was mutually considered a good fit, they didn't have the work at the time.  When I asked my staffing firm to ping them again, they made it clear they "weren't going to lose [me] again."  Converting has already been discussed, but it's more that I was made more welcome in my first week than in any job before.  I'm trying not to get too excited, as not only was I handed meaningful work right off the bat but also the authority to decide how to implement it.  Can I get a hazaa?!

A quick recap...

• April 2010...  Moved out of state, started new relationship and new job
• December 2010...  Chronic pain goes into daily syndication
• April 2011...  Diagnosed with incurable, chronic pain condition
• May 2011...  Moved again
• August 2011...  Quit one crappy job for another
• September 2011...  Learned the house we'd rented would be sold in three months
• November 2011...  Bought a house and fired from job
• December 2011...  Got married, moved, flew to Phoenix and got married again
• February 2012...  Traveled further from home than ever...
• March 2012...  Started third job in less than two years
• May 2012...  Determined I'm on the autism spectrum
• August 2012...  Took medication with potential of compromising my one employable skill
• October 2012...  Fired from third job
• November 2012...  Started another new job

I'm not completely sure how I'm still kicking after all that, but I'm pretty sure it has to do with a compulsion for tenacity and my wife.  I likely owe some exposition on some of the topics I threw out above in rapid succession.  It will come in time.  Right now, life's about developing stabilizing routines and doing right by my wife... which is about as much as I can handle right now.  That means I still won't call... the AS makes it hard to talk on the phone.  There are some things, however, you should know if you're reading this... assuming you're not some random stranger with nothing better to do.

November 14, 2012...  Finally posting this novel after half a dozen sittings.  Wanting to focus on the positivity I promised at the beginning of this diatribe.  These are the things you should know, regardless of how often (or not) you hear me say them:

You're in my life because I love you a ridiculous amount.

You're in my life because you've helped shape me, into a man who faces these hurdles and knows they won't really stop me from achieving what I set out to do.  

You're in my life because you've shown me how to believe in myself.

You're in my life because I cannae say thank you enough.  Ever.

My life is full because you're in it.

Thank you.

I love you.

brat

Monkey's Grammar Lesson Part 1

Fewer.  Less.  Even my wife, whose grammar is typically impeccable, uses the wrong one sometimes.  MizzaReed posted this article about common grammar mistakes which... allegedly... aren't actually mistakes.  Well, lucky for you I'm here to correct them... your mistakes (don't look so appalled... I read your comments on FB) and the idiot who wrote the article.  Hey bozo, I'm reasonable and, rather than cry, I'd like to punch you in the face (#5)... literally (#1).

What's the difference, you ask.  To not ask would be rude (#3).  'Fewer' is used when referring to something quantitative; that is, a number of something.  If you can count individual items of a thing, use 'fewer'.  'Less' refers to something qualitative.  For a slightly repetitive example, one could posit that people who end sentences with prepositions have less intelligence and fewer IQ points than the average person (#5).  See?  Not so hard.

Bonus lesson: When someone asks "How are you?", it's shorthand for "How are you doing?" (#2).  You know, a verb.  Were you to reply, "I'm good!"... A) I may smack you, and B) 'good' is one of those adjectives, which describe nouns.  You might as well answer "My orange tastes great!"... when someone asks you how your apple tastes.

You're welcome.
~NCMSW?

Monkey makes a new word

Recursion is defined (loosely) as applying a function to an object, breaking it down into smaller parts and applying the same function... repeatedly, until a base case is reached and the recursion stops. It's often applied when searching sequential lists... break the list in half, repeatedly, until you reach a single number which either is or isn't the one you seek.

I could go into more detail, but I'm stipulating that most of you don't care that much... so I'll spare you. Stupid... I don't really need to define. At the least, it's a KIWISI; at most, it's a pain in one's a$$ every damn day. Into which category would you guess I fall? 'Why?' you ask, because of course your curiosity is getting the better of you. Let's talk about driving...

Allegedly, every state applies a test requiring sheeple to demonstrate a basic proficiency as a driver before being allowed to do so freely (i.e. with a license). Yet I'm not aware that parallel parking or merging are taught. For the former, if you can't do it... try picturing your car and the space from above. If that doesn't help, go valet. As for merging, they do it every day. You can't go anywhere without merging somewhere.

For something sheeple do every day... how do you not improve that skill? Am I underestimating their stupidity? Is it lack of motivation? Selfishness, as in who cares who else is on the road? Whatever the reason, it's unconscionable to not improve a skill you practice everyday AT ALL. There's just no excuse...

Clearly this was a rant... loosely based on today's ride home... and once again, I bury the lead. I'm proposing a new word: "recurstupid". It's definition is as follows: "A person or people who exhibit a lack of intelligence at every level and in every way, no matter the granularity with which the intellectual evaluation is applied."

All in favor say "Aye!" So sayeth the Monkey.

~NCMSW?

Monkey aspires to Nutlerhood

The title of this post will make sense as of the next Jeff Dunham special you watch on Comedy Central. But really you should go see him live... or read this post if you're just too lazy to get off the couch. Potato you.

First, allow a slight detour to vent about the abysmal parking at the Tacoma Dome. The offramp from the 5 labeled Tacoma Dome? Closed. Why? Who knows... The signs directing you to the detour? Flashing lights, slow enough that you pass the intersection before seeing the arrow light up. One panic attack and a quick round of Chinese Fire Drill later, we're driving across a bridge... away from the dome... taking a long circuitous route to a parking garage. Once we finally file in, we're routed to another entrance... of the same garage. Really?! At a cost of $20, you'd think the walk to the dome wouldn't be an uphill mile... but you'd be wrong because it was. After the show, a 45-minute wait because people don't know how to exit a parking structure. You suck, Tacoma Dome.

Ok, that wasn't a slight detour... but holy hell what crappy parking. To one of the best shows I've ever seen. For those not familiar with Jeff Dunham, he's a comedic ventriloquist with an array of puppets he makes himself. There's Walter, the cranky old man who hates his wife; Achmed, the dead terrorist; Bubba J, the redneck; Jose, the jalapeno... on a stick; and Peanut... who is purple and laughs like a hyena. (Just google Peanut Jeff Dunham... I can't describe him properly).

Bella and I had actually caught some of his latest special, Controlled Chaos, the one for which he's currently touring. But last night, we were treated to a ton of his new material. Some he claimed had been written "on the bus" that day. All of it was fantastic and had us in hysterics. That doesn't include a few "Tacoma smells" jokes that were clearly ad-libbed... He was also coming up with new material on the spot... At various points, each puppet yelled off stage for Jeff's assistant, Darnell?, to "write that down!", which itself became a running joke all night...

Easily the best part, however, was watching him crack himself up at his new material... and not be able to continue. He'd recover enough to have the current puppet hassle him for screwing up the routine, but that would just crack him up more. It brings to mind one of my favorite SNL moments where Phil Hartman as Frankenstein loses his composure and has to stomp off set to avoid ruining the scene by cracking up (which apparently doesn't exist on the web). When a comedian thinks something's so funny that they can't keep a straight face... that's good stuff right there. And last night was full of it, making the night truly unique and memorable.

A (let's be honest, probably verbose) addendum: I called Jeff Dunham a comedic ventriloquist. For all I know, he may take issue with that, labeling himself a comedian whose act is mostly ventriloquism. I wouldn't quibble with that as he's funny as hell and having seen him once, will jump at the chance to do so again. But there's a point in every show, and in last night's case the end of the show, where he does what I can only describe as a ventriloquistic solo. Read on...

Last night, he closed with Peanut on his right and Jose on his left. This big finish also included a puppet... for Peanut(!!), who'd decided he was also going to be a ventriloquist. So, he's got three puppets and has written the dialog in such a way that each puppet says a word or two before another speaks right after the last. Four voices (including his own)... at the same time... makes you a ventriloquist. And a really f***ing good one.

A big NCMSW? thank you to Jeff Dunham for an amazing show.

Monkey down a friend

A sad Monkey writes today, after ending a 30yr friendship rather suddenly this morning. I have to acknowledge that I reacted to what I perceived as an allusion to my mother, from whom I've been estranged going on 10 years now. I think I'm writing this blog A) to vent, and B) to question whether or not I overreacted.

Our mothers were friends since we were kids, she a couple/few years older than I. As an only child, I always saw her as a big sister type... even referring to her as my "pseudo-sister". A couple days ago, she posted a birthday message to Ronald Reagan... who's been dead for [I'm too lazy to look up how many] years... and that she "missed" him. As is typical for me, I commented: 'Did you miss the Alzheimer's too?'

What followed was an increasingly hostile series of comments from her, challenging my opinion of said dead president. I tried pointing out that my goal was humor and naught else; instead she engaged me again and ended with: 'Passive aggressive much?' Um... no. That's what I remember about Reagan... that his perceived cognition, or lack thereof, was ripe for satire. So I made a funny and somebody got uppity.

One of the primary reasons I don't speak to my mother is specifically because she's passive aggressive in an emotionally manipulative way. I don't need that in my life so I don't have that in my life. I would submit that I've spent years undoing the neuroses inflicted on me by my parents (as do we all, or so I imagine...) and for this person... who actually knows my mother... to throw that particular invective at me...? I was blown away.

Unfortunately for my wife, I actually enjoy confrontation. I'm good at arguing, even enjoying it if for no other reason than I usually win. To be clear, I'm not talking about fighting. Fighting is arguing when you're angry, which I can do without entirely. But arguing can be a good time... if you have an opinion. About politics and Reagan... I. Don't. Care. Nothing could have less impact on my life, so why would I argue about either topic. But that makes me passive aggressive? I'm sticking with nuh uh.

So, did I overreact? Rhetorical question, because really it doesn't matter. The friendship is over, such as it was (mostly FB comments back and forth). But I've gotten to a point where I'm trying to keep people in my life, not discard them as I've done fairly easily in the past. And someone who pushes my buttons, intentionally or not, is not someone I want to keep. Hence, a sad Monkey.

~NCMSW?

Not a humble Monkey

A couple times over the last week on a certain networking site, I've seen posts about the 7 Traits of "Real Men". I detest lists from former-Cosmo employees, but I generally agreed with most of them, save one: humility. Mind you, I have a long history with this word. Of people in positions of authority trying to cram it down my throat. Silly me, I want to understand why...

My dictionary defines humility as follows: "a modest or low view of one's own importance". And this is a good trait to have? It's not surprising to see the word modest used, which itself is defined as: "unassuming in the estimation of one's abilities or achievements." Modesty I can get behind; a view of one's abilities that lacks arrogance. But humility just seems like underselling yourself and I'm not sure I see the point in that. Ergo, a "real" man has a low view of his own importance? Really?

Not surprisingly, I have a theory about humility and why it's valued. Because sheeple are petty and insecure. These people can't stand the idea of someone being better than them in some aspect; they feel threatened and will frequently react with hostility. News flash! There are people who are prettier, smarter, faster, and... oh yeah... sometimes just plain better than you.

On a completely unrelated note, my IQ puts me at the low end of "highly gifted". Not a genius, but smarter than the average bear. Any reaction to that? What if I gave you the actual number? Probably not, as most of the people I know (and who might actually read this blog) are not only fairly bright too but seem secure in themselves enough to not be threatened. But I've encountered people who can't ignore my intelligence and have treated me poorly as a result.

I was asked once: "You think you're smart, don't you?" My answer: "I am smart." Was I bragging? No, just answering the question as accurately as I could (not that I'm compulsive about answering questions at all... nope). To me, it's not an opinion but a piece of information with (frankly) a wealth of evidentiary support. Where does humility play into that question? Should I have answered: "Well, gee whiz, I'd like to think so!", followed by a Goofy laugh? What value is there in that answer?

So by putting my IQ out there, by refusing to obscure my intelligence... do I lack humility? Probably. Am I not a real man? Ask my wife. Either way, it's an unassuming estimation of my abilities, as that number came from some standardized test I took in 2nd grade, not from me. But I'm proud that I lack humility. I've worked hard to develop whatever innate abilities and acquire the skills I have, to the extent I have, and I fully intend to own every one of them. And frankly, if I were humble and downplayed my skills, I'd be someone else entirely... not the useful AND ornamental Monkey you know and love.

And finally, ladies, make no mistake: You will never look twice at a man who doesn't think he's important or that he matters. Confidence has won you over at some point and will continue to do so again and again. So please enough with the lists describing "real" men... we know who we are and don't need a list to confirm it.

~NCMSW?

This Monkey Hurts

I have fibromyalgia. Not an easy thing to say publicly. Admitting a flaw is easy; a flaw is something that can be fixed or corrected. But admitting a weakness is something else entirely. A weakness identifies you as less fit to survive, an admission with which I've had to cope since receiving a diagnosis last April.

Read the description at the link I gave. Fairly accurate; in fact, most of that page applies to me. I'll spare you the litany of specific aches and pains I experience on a daily basis, if for no other reason that my fingers would cramp before I finished typing it.

The pain started when I was in high school, though until recently I could usually push through most of it. I'd go see doctors asking why I hurt so much at such a young age. The typical response: eat more vegetables and drink more water. Um... no.

After I moved to Portland, I started seeing my wife's naturopath (who, by the way, is frackin' awesome!). It took a while and a few blood tests, but she pinpointed that at some point I had contracted mononucleosis... but never got sick. Instead, the virus lingered and caused damage to my organs and how they function incrementally over a couple decades. The virus is gone now, but the damage will take time to undo.

One of the few treatments with some effect is cupping. Imagine the glass part of a snow globe, jam a flame inside, then press against the skin. The heat creates a vacuum in the cup, which results in major suction against your skin. This pulls the muscles apart and helps the body release toxins. I'd usually fall asleep midway through as my muscles relaxed and woke up covered in perfectly circular welts. Sometimes they would blister from the amount of toxins being released. Gross, but part of living with this condition.

Am I writing this post seeking sympathy and compassion? While appreciated, such displays only draw attention to my weakness, something I typically prefer to avoid. So why am I writing it? To be honest about my life, for starters. I'm tired of hiding my pain and, really, it's gotten to the point that I can't anymore. Second, to put it out there and be a voice for people with fibromyalgia. Specifically, to show that no matter how detrimental the pain, a happy life can be had. And lastly, so I can stop being asked: Are you ok? The answer is always no, so I either have to lie to be polite or risk annoying someone who wasn't interested in hearing anything other than "Fine!".

But I'm a sympathetic and compassionate person, you tell me... what am I supposed to say? Easy. Give me shit. Call me an old man. Make fun of me limping. Make me... laugh. Laughing produces endorphins which reduce the pain. If you've met my wife, you can now clearly see that I'm just using her for her laugh, which comes easy and often and is largely responsible for the happy life I have. (You could go Uncle Jim's route, but not everyone's that cool, so stick with humor.)

So go out there and to show your support, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES give your loved one with fibromyalgia a hug. They'll remember it later when they're shopping for your birthday present...

~NCMSW?

Dyson makes for a confused monkey

So I have one of those nifty Dyson handhelds, because my dogs' fur loves the couch like a cheap whore. After a muddy pawprint left me scrambling to find said handheld, alas it was out of juice. A couple of chained surge protectors later and I could reach the couch with the handheld and be plugged in with little fear of electrocution.

Pressed the trigger and... nada. No sucking, no disappearing mud, nothing. The f***ing thing doesn't work when IT'S PLUGGED IN! What electronic device doesn't work when it's plugged in? Maybe an electromagnetic pulse generator after it's detonated, but holy crap... really? Fortunately, the wife is not averse to manual labor and simply scrubbed off the mud with a damp towel but honestly, that defeats the purpose of having a ***d*** Dyson!

Conclusion: Brain fart... serious, serious brain fart. I'm applauding... without... any... sarcasm...

Scala + Android = Angry Monkey

Not working the last couple of months has afforded me the opportunity to buy a house, get married, move in, get married again, and most importantly, learn Scala. For the sheeple, it's a programming language that integrates seamlessly with Java, the primary language with which I've developed software for most of my career.

Some background to make your brain hurt... To execute Java code, it must first be "compiled"; that is, converted into the binary form of 1s and 0s, "bytecode", that a computer can understand from the 'source' text I type. Scala integrates itself by also compiling into Java bytecode, making it transparent to the computer executing the program that it's actually a Scala program.

Which leads us to the brain fart that Android made in its core design. The Android platform, which can run Java, does things a bit differently. After watching my simple Scala program bleed memory like an artery just trying to startup on the Android emulator, I did some research. It seems Android compiles Java into and runs off of DEX bytecode, which it creates from the Java code just like standard compilation.

Does the DEX compiler know how to interpret Scala source files? Of course not. Rather than working from Java bytecode to generate the corresponding DEX bytecode, they reinvented the wheel of compilation and basically screwed me. Having written some elegant Scala code, I now must reinvent my own wheel in Java just to run it on the Android platform.

To add insult to injury, the googling turned up suggestions of Android commands to generate a magical script that could "DEX" the Scala files. What do these commands do? Start up Eclipse, my development environment, and then hang. Sigh.

Ninja Code Monkey says: You suck, Android.

Typing this blog is like donning a cape...

So... I'm awesome. And handsome... dashing, really. Smarter than the average bear. It's a burden I shoulder with grace and dignity in the face of the hoi polloi and their neanderthal cacophony. This blog will attempt to raise you above the noise and teach you Ninja Code Monkey wisdom... otherwise known as a little f***ing common sense.

I hope you'll join me on this journey of enlightenment, notions, and rants (oh my!) because really most of you need to know... for example... how to merge your car or next time, so help me, I'm running you off the road.

Look behind you. Seriously.

~NCMSW?