Parapoetica

Computer programmers often have a certain wild-eyed, unkempt appearance to them. So do psycho serial killers.

Naturally, this led to the creation of the obvious game, Programming Language Inventor or Serial Killer?. Flash required. I just got 4/10, and was advised to avoid a career in IT recruiting.

(via Boing Boing)

One of my favorite columnists, John Kelly of the Washington Post, held a contest for banal and absurd Heloise-style hints.

A few samples:

When preparing your correspondence for mailing, put a small “X” on the upper right hand corner of each envelope. This will remind you to attach the stamp on the envelope’s exterior.

Carrick and Linda Herbert , Alexandria

Want a great way to keep baked-on food from building up on those hard-to-clean stove burners? Try using pots and pans!

Katy Couch , Baltimore

I risk getting an awful lot of weird Google searches with this one, but it’s worth it. On Usenet, Pete from Boston points out the Boston Municipal Research Bureau web site:

The site lists 10,251 of Boston’s 17,483 employees as being either male or female.

It also says these males and females comprise 100% of employees.

There are 7,232 hermaphrodite city employees who are going to be really mad when they hear about this.

Great quote:

The more equally attractive two alternatives seem, the harder it can be to choose between them—no matter that, to the same degree, the choice can only matter less.

—Edward Fredkin (as described by Marvin Minsky, The Society of Mind (1985))

I sat down next to a crazy guy on the Orange Line the other day. He didn’t smell, and he wasn’t grizzly, and he didn’t flail his arms. He just sat there and commented on what he saw – but with the voice, pacing and flair of an orator. He narrated with a vocabulary and a form that could have got him a book contract with any publisher he wanted, and one heck of a book tour. But he was crazy. Something like:

“Oh-HO! Light! But lighting requires direct current, not alternating. Direct! Ha. [Spies a couple with a young boy strapped into his stroller] People, I think that if the Massachusetts Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Children is to prevail, we must make use of them; what are they if not for this very /situation/ [pronounced in French]? Yes, you’re not kidding anyone, kiddo. Children, babies, and adults! The seat belt unclicks; it is designed for that express purpose! This boy must be set free! It can be done. It was done. One family, in the 1950s—no, ho-ho, in the 1940s—was riding the subway, and did respond to just such an entreaty.”

I wish I’d tried to speak to him, and find out who he once was. But I was feeling ashamed by the glares of the surrounding commuters, as if he were a bad person for being ill, and I too would become a nuisance by meeting him briefly in his world. Yet, I’d bet, if he had any, they’d buy his castille soap.

I was at the CVS across the street, standing behind a guy in a bright blue basketball top who was clearly causing the cashier some difficulty. No, no, not a return, I paid you already – just give me the cash back from the drawer." He was high-strung and in a real hurry. “Here, here, never mind, let me give you the money. Just give me back my change… no, no, wait, here, I have three tens and two fives. Give me back two 20s.” And so on. You know the drill. So do I, so I called 911.

They weren’t too interested, as I wasn’t an injured party, and once he left the store, the operator asked “So the police are no longer needed?” Yes, idiot, they’re needed, because there’s a guy walking around Downtown Crossing pulling a scam on all the shops, and he’s real easy to pick out of the crowd. Thanks. Bye.

As I leave, I see him walking down the street, so on a hunch, I check in on the stores next door. Why, yes, there was a guy in here. Yes, we were just counting our drawer. Did you lose money too?

There’s a cop across the street, so I flag him down and point the guy out. Last I see, he’s questioning the guy and his friend. I tell him about Foot Locker, he says he’ll take care of it, and 10 minutes later I see a cop car with its lights on leaving the area. I hope it’s him.

And it’s all because I watched The Grifters.

In the past few years, knowledge of the Nigerian “419 scammers” has become commonplace, and it’s not too unusual to see someone scamming the scammers. However, this one truly takes the cake: The guy convinced the scammer to send him wood carvings of cartoon characters and a Commdore 64 in exchange for a promised donation. And the scammer even has a sense of humor about it:

Link via BoingBoing

Sam Allis has a great article in today’s Globe:

I have sat bolt upright in bed at 2 a.m. and, face illuminated in a dark room by a monitor screen, found the correct century in which El Cid lived — the 11th — and reviewed Hungarian history in Transylvania. The truth is, we obsessives streak to Google at all hours in search of facts that masquerade as knowledge. They are of no use to anyone, yet we must own them.

But he doesn’t touch on the dark corollary of this newfound knowledge power: If it’s easy and quick to find things on Google, how hard is it NOT to? And what sort of toll is it taking on our nation?

I know that, for my part, I’m accustomed to quick, accurate search results, with the object of my search somewhere on the first three pages. And usually, I get what I want. But when I don’t? It’s not pretty. I can spend an hour or more, constructing complex boolean queries, consulting the thesaurus, mentally bookmarking different potential search strategies like so many “Choose Your Own Adventure” endings, always backtracking and retrying when they fail, fingers flying faster and faster in frustration as the fear grows: What if the product I seek hasn’t been invented? What if the question just hasn’t been asked? What if the answer is – gulp – NOT OUT THERE?

Replied Sam, “I don’t even want to contemplate the idea.” Maybe that’s best.

Flouting social convention is less sexy out here in the world than in your internal action movie.

[Via Cyranet]

I was about 18, and a bunch of us were driving up to the late, great Action Park in Vernon Valley, NJ. Todd Aglialoro was there, and I think his brother Paul was too. We were heading towards some road construction, and an orange sign warned:

CAUTION: BRIDGEWORK AHEAD

With great intensity, I screamed: “Everybody brace yourselves!”

Thank you. Enjoy the buffet.