The Blog with No Name

Though it apparently hasn’t had the “official” official announcement, Firefox 1.5 is available for download. I’ve been using 1.5 since beta 1, and I’ve had zero complaints. Even though most of the new stuff is under the hood and non-sexy, it’s nice to see my favorite browser get updated.

As an INTP type, I totally agree with this new study:

Introverted children enjoy the internal world of thoughts, feelings and fantasies, and there’s a physiological reason for this. Researchers using brain scans have found introverts have more brain activity in general, and specifically in the frontal lobes. When these areas are activated, introverts are energized by retrieving long-term memories, problem solving, introspection, complex thinking and planning.

Extroverts enjoy the external world of things, people and activities. They have more activity in brain areas involved in processing the sensory information we’re bombarded with daily. Because extroverts have less internally generated brain activity, they search for more external stimuli to energize them.

I’m sorta mystified why the article paints introverts as this strange Other. I’d consider myself an introvert, and I think I socialized and developed pretty well. Heck, I’m not only an introvert but I was homeschooled. If anybody should have ended up screwy it should have been me. Last time I checked, I was pretty cool.

(via Slashdot)

Yesterday I was thinking about what are some of the greatest experiences in which a person can participate. By greatest experience I mean a situation that is exhilarating, inspiring, uncommon, and/or in some other way fantastic. Perhaps this is rather vague, but I think my examples will be helpful. So far I’ve only come up with two:

1. A football player who makes a break deep in his own territory, sprinting with the ball towards the end zone with nothing but God and grass before him and tens of thousands of cheering fans all around him.

2. Taking that first step on the moon.

Actually, I can think of a third, but it is so common place and obvious that I don’t think I need to mention it. Hopefully, I’ll have more examples later . . . there’s gotta be more great experiences out there than just these two. Can anybody else think of similar “Great Experiences”? Let’s skip the vaguer ones like “winning the championship” or “witnessing the birth of your first child.” More appropriate examples might be something like “beating Battle Toads without ever dying” or “being kissed by Grace Kelly like how she kissed Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief.”

Here are some more:

3. Being in a rock band and playing to packed out arena. Heck, I’d even do a hair metal band for this.

The Tangent Universe(!) links to a Which Superhero Are You? quiz. Here are my results. I’ll admit I’m a little disappointed for a few reasons. First, I think both Batman and Spiderman are cooler than Superman. Second, Superman is a wuss who just so happened to be on a planet who’s sun made him un-wussy. In short, he’s an accidental superhero. This is in stark contrast to Batman who took only what God gave him and formed it into something altogether superior through hard work, suffering, and devotion (and a nice healthy dose of money from his dead parents). Speaking of dead parents, even though both Superman and Batman lost their parents, Superman never even knew his parents (except via a weird vision in a crystal) whereas Batman had his parents ruthlessly gunned down right before his eyes. Batman is no accidental superhero. So even though Superman is supposedly the quintessential American superhero, I find him to be a superhero more akin to the landed aristocracy of times gone past. However, it is Batman, the Dark Knight, who personifies self-determination and the rugged individualism that are the hallmarks of the American spirit.

Your results:
You are Superman

Superman 70% Green Lantern 65% Spider-Man 55% Iron Man 50% Robin 45% Hulk 45% The Flash 45% Supergirl 43% Batman 35% Catwoman 35% Wonder Woman 33%

You are mild-mannered, good, strong and you love to help others.

Click here to take the “Which Superhero are you?” quiz…

For all those who are deeply interested in my choice of facial hair style, I’m sticking with The Clooney. Dudes and dudettes, I like it. I have trouble staying away from mirrors when I have it.

Thanks for everybody’s comments and interest. I’m humbled — and stubbled!

Sometimes you just gotta man up, grab the pick, and start swinging. That’s how I roll to make the baller money. Fo’ sheezie.

Because I feel like writing something, I’m going to talk about a few things that have been on my mind.

Over the past few days, I’ve been struck by two moments of profound irony. I won’t disclose what they are, but suffice it to say one moment was very humbling and another was very uplifting. It’s funny how these things work out. There’s gotta be something deeper to say about this, but I can’t figure out what. I’m amused by it, and you should be too.

Having a good name is an important thing. As the Bard once put it:

A good name in man or woman, dear my lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls. He who steals my purse, steals trash. Tis something, nothing. Twas mine, tis his, and has been slave thousands. Be he that filches from me my good name, robs of that which not enriches him and makes me poor indeed.

I (twice) memorized that famous passage by Iago from “Othello” back in high school, and I can rattle it off at the drop of a hat. It makes a profound point and is good to keep in mind. Of course, Shakespeare wasn’t the first to extol the virtues of having a good name. A really smart dude way back when noted, “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.” Amen, and again I say, amen. But mistakes are made and sins are committed, impoverishing our reputation. And then there are times when a good name is being filched. What is to be done in this situation? Clearly, a defense must be made. The slanderer must be stopped, but the damage is often done before he can be stopped. Or sometimes trying to stop the slanderer would be more damaging than the slander itself. All to often, the mere hint of ill repute is enough for people to file that information away, waiting to see if it will be proven even in the most minute way. What is to be done about this? Perhaps nothing can be done about it. Or perhaps the only possible defense is to have the goodness of the name so strengthened that it is impossible for it to be filched. Anyway, it freakin’ sucks when you have to defend yourself against false accusations about your character.

Finally, and probably least importantly, is it sad to want to be a better man because of a woman? I suppose it is. I suppose it is sad that it takes my interest in a woman for me to want to shape up. It’s a good thing that I want to try to do better, but why the heck does it take this type of motivation? Pathetic!

None of the aforementioned subjects are related to each other, and any attempts to make such relations are made in vain.

Pizzeace.

Jeremiah over at Fringe links to a sweet movie of a Ferrari tearing through the streets of early-morning Paris. The driver hit speeds of 140 mph, runs red lights, and weaves through traffic. It’s almost worth the download just to hear the Ferrari revving up. Speed vicariously.

UPDATE: Soini found a working link.

Currently, my facial hair, which I consider a vital aspect of my masculinity, is in a state of fashion limbo. I’ve taken off my goatee and am considering what should be the next style I go for. Here’s what I’m looking at:

• Old Reliable: Just grow my goatee back and call it good. To heck with change and what not.
• The Clooney: My temporary solution, which consists of stubble just like George Clooney. This is a compromise style for it allows me to have some facial hair while not committing to anything long-term and bushy.
• Full Beard: A full beard. I can’t grow a good full beard, but this is still an option . . . if I’m bold . . .and daring.
• The Van Dyke: This would consist of a mustache connected to Old Reliable via hair on the sides of my mouth. It might be neat to try this, but I’ve heard various disparaging comments about this style that I don’t like.
• The Tom Selleck: A big bushy mustache. I’d call it “Magnum.”
• Baby Face: Just go clean shaven. Booooring!

Vote on my new poll. Do it.

UPDATE: Re-named the Full Goatee to the appropriate name: The Van Dyke (Thanks, Micah and Chris!).

Also, I’m a little distressed that most votes so far are for The Tom Selleck. Dude, you people don’t want to see Magnum. Seriously.

Even at the risk of sounding somewhat peculiar, I will say this: the first kiss Grace Kelly gives Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief is probably the hottest kiss ever. I even watched it again (and again). It had me squirming. I mean, I was dying. It’s not just the fact that Grace Kelly was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk the face of the planet but also her wind up and delivery. Had it been me, I would have been a puddle of ooze on the floor, but Cary Grant handled it with characteristic coolness and aplomb. It’s not fair. Not fair at all.

The smoking ban in public places passes in Washington. Grand. Just what we need, the state holding our hands through life making sure we’re safeguarded from every little thing that might make us sick. The smoking ban is “one of the nation’s strictest”:

It bans smoking in buildings and vehicles open to the public and in places of employment, including within 25 feet of doorways, windows and ventilation openings. Violators can be fined $100 for each infraction.

So much for cigars at McCormick’s. I guess this is just another good reason to get out of Seattle. Hey, and it’s a good thing the ban got passed even though the market was making the adjustment anyway:

And some 80 percent of businesses that belong to the Washington Restaurant Association already are smoke-free — an increase from 45 percent just six years ago.

Man, it’s a good thing we got the State. Bring on prohibition!

Sometimes you just gotta man up, grab the axe, and start swinging. That’s how I roll to make the baller money. Fo’ sheezie.

This morning a big rod of clarity was jammed into my slumbering mind by Inner Steve. He yelled, “Wake up! Think about how our freedom of speech is being taken away for purely political reasons!” And I obeyed, rapidly constructing an airtight syllogism that shows the folly of such maneuvers. And I did it with my eyes shut. Unfortunately, this was my only clear-headed moment the entire day. The rest of the day I was scatterbrained and forgetful. This is not a good combination when you drive around a big expensive truck with lots of hard, sharp corners that can put big dings and dents in puny cars. Luckily, I’ve survived the day so far. Tonight I’m going out with my homies, as I often do on Thursday nights, and I might meet members of the fairer sex, but I’ve got at least one outstanding problem: I’ve lost my shaver’s power cord, haven’t been able to shave for a week, and look only a little less hairy than a yeti. Not cool. I’m giving myself stubble burn.

Last weekend was a good time. I drove down to San Jose where I met up with a friend, and we drove down to Anaheim together. I got to meet a bunch of new people, saw some old buddies, and hung out with my brother. Probably the highlights of the weekend were seeing my friend Josh do a stand up routine at the world famous Comedy Store on Sunset Boulevard in LA and hanging out with my older brother and my old friend from Alaska, Rob, who I hadn’t seen in about 4 years. However, it did suck as I was driving back up when around 9 PM I couldn’t go any farther without sleeping. I slept in my truck at a rest stop for about 6 hours. I’d crank the heat in my truck super high until the cab got piping hot, then I’d turn off the engine and sleep until it got so cold again I woke up. I did this until it got light. Sometimes you just gotta man up, hit the road, and go meet people. That’s how I roll. Fo’ sheezie.

Pizzeace.