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I work on vital statistics software. The software is used by several States to process birth and death events. Perhaps I will talk more about what I do some other time, but it's not important right now. What matters is that we are the "Vital Statistics team" where I work, and often we are just called "Vitals".
From my office, there is a Chevron visible across the street. This Chevron closed down several months ago (how it managed to stay open for so many years is a mystery to me... the place seemed very poorly managed). Naturally, when a building is abandoned it becomes needful for said building to be covered in graffiti, and so soon the local talented midnight artists thoughtfully and tastefully turned this eyesore of a building into a beautiful monument to illegible scribbles. Sadly, the city didn't appreciate such fine art, and so they painted over the tags. But they missed one.
Over the months, the tagging has continued, only to be painted over every time... except for that one tag that still persisted.
One day, my colleagues and I were looking out of my office window with some binoculars (why is not important...), when we decided to get a better look at that one tag that always managed to stick around.
It appeared to say something about "vital". So we got a closer look.
There was some disagreement about the first word -- "ks", "its", "pi s", "ns" -- but we decided that the tagger was trying to pay tribute to us, and to recognize all the hard work that we do every day. And so, it was decided that the words said: "it's vital". And that, of course, is some clever wordplay.
I went over and took a photo of the graffiti (which is where the above photos came from), and I then proceeded to chop the letters out so we could print it as a banner. Unfortunately, I couldn't get it to use the full width of the paper roll when I printed it out, so we were only able to make it about nine feet wide, but now we have a glorious banner that proclaims who we are, how important we are, and also shows that we have serious street cred. And even though we have to tell everyone who sees it that the first word is not "ks", we still feel pretty special... and also vitally important.
Here's how it looks as you enter our section of the office
I can even see it from my office
Here they are right outside my office window - I apologize for the poor photo, but I had to hurry and they flew away right after I snapped this shot.
The pad has fifteen letter keys, each of which can generate five characters, plus they all have at least one "function" -- arrow keys, page up, esc, and so forth. So, to type anything besides the fifteen main letters, you have to push one or more of the five "modifier" keys. The most common of these is pressing the space key at the same time as one of the letter keys. So, for instance, you can type an 'e' by just pressing the appropriate key, but pressing it at the same time as the space key produces a 'z'.
The problem here is that there is a built-in delay in the algorithm, so if I'm typing, say, "the pad", it will often come out as "thzpad", because I type the space too soon after typing the 'e', and it changes the 'e' into a 'z' and the space doesn't get output. This happens a lot to me now, and it happened in that last sentence in fact ("it changes the" came out as "icchangegthe"). So there is definitely an upper limit on how fast I will ever be able to type. This error is a common one since the space key is easy to hit, and I can quickly type it after any character, even though I'm not that fast with the keyboard itself. So I need to train myself to be slower with the space key...
Today's typing speed (based on TypingTest.com):
Frogpad: 33 WPM
Standard keyboard: 93 WPM
If, as has been suggested, a blog is nothing but a sewer for mind defecation, then it should be obvious that I have been suffering from an extreme case of mental constipation. It has been quite painful, I assure you, and as such I have taken steps to fix it. While finding laxatives for your bowels is both easy and fun (that's a reference to youthful days of finding ingenious ways to loosen the bowels of my friend's siblings...), procuring mind laxatives has proven much more difficult for me. I have been told that alcohol and some illegal drugs are great at opening your mind and letting the thoughts spill out unfettered by silly internal dialogue, but my personal morals keep me from partaking in such wonders. I am thus forced to simply push through this ailment unaided.
It is unusual for me to resort to scatological discussions, but even someone as prim and proper as myself has to deal with these issues. The body is lame and weak (a pansy, if you will), and unable to absorb and make use of a startling amount of the food we ingest. Likewise, our brains are constantly absorbing more information than they know how to deal with, and they just have to slough off some of that nasty, stinky waste from time to time. Normally I like to try and pretty it up before I plop it in the porcelain blog, but today my creativity is at an all-time low. I believe I've had a creativoscopy.
Combine all this with the fact that the Internet lines for our office were physically cut yesterday and we may not have Internet access until 5:30 tomorrow evening, and you will understand why I have no choice but to sit here and write whatever comes to mind. I apologize that my mind frame is not in a more pleasing state. I could attempt to talk about butterflies and roses, but such things disgust me... yet I'm up for the challenge.
In an emerald green valley lived a happy little family of butterflies. These were no ordinary butterflies, however. They were rich beyond imagining, for they lived in a giant bed of roses. These roses were also extraordinary, for they grew in colors incomprehensible to the frail human mind. Their beauty was above that of the most beautiful thing you can imagine, and their scent was different for each creature, pandering to what each subject considered to be the most desirable smell of all. Needless to say, the rose butterflies were the envy of all insects everywhere, but there was no ill will within the valley.
The rose butterflies were kind and gracious -- magnanimous even. While it was forbidden by the butterflies' god to allow others into their rose bed, the butterflies did not consider themselves better than their peers, and would give what they could to the betterment of the insect kingdom. Bugs and arachnids, on the other hand, were of course shunned and abused as they should be. It was not uncommon for the butterflies to organize events recalling the Coliseum of Rome, with spiders battling centipedes and snails. It was this combined with the butterflies' completely inoffensive nature that endeared them so much to the Yellow jackets, katydids, ladybugs, earwigs and other insects of the realm. But something was about to go horribly wrong.
One gorgeous day when the happy sun was spreading joy across the rose butterflies' emerald green valley of beauty and splendor, a most joyous event occurred. A caterpillar had recently cocooned itself on the stem of a rose that was the most stunning of any rose that had ever grown in the valley, and on this day the chrysalis opened, revealing a butterfly which was truly a sight to behold! Not only was it most pleasing to every sense, it also drove all thoughts of pooh-related humor and such from the mind. Truly, it was a miracle! But all was not well.
Such beauty as this was never supposed to present itself to our world. Indeed, this butterfly was the proverbial butterfly whose wings would create hurricanes midway around the world. Only in reality, it was much worse. It happened slowly at first, since the valley was accustomed to seeing things more wondrous and amazing than anywhere else in the world, but with time it became apparent that the mere presence of the butterfly was causing drastic changes wherever it went. Anything exposed to the butterfly's wonderment would become self-conscious, noticing every little flaw it possessed when compared to the butterfly. This could only lead to eating disorders, expensive surgeries, and depression. Since medical science had yet to progress far enough to treat insects and roses for eating disorders, slugs had no faces to lift, and bumble bee liposuction hadn't been perfected yet, every object in the valley (both animate and inanimate) gradually descended the downward spiral into the very pit of self-loathing.
The butterfly was not unaware of the suffering it was causing, and so unable to bear seeing the sad state of its friends and family, it left the emerald valley. This proved disastrous for the rest of the world. Being vastly more repulsive and disturbing than those beings which inhabited the valley, those in the rest of the world were instantly driven to insanity. Those who could afford it went to plastic surgeons, but this only resulted in increased depression since even with fake beauty they failed to compare to the butterfly's innate grace. Indeed, even the prettiest and most self-confident of my readers would have been driven to the brink of suicide.
That's why I grabbed my fly swatter and killed the thing. The End.
Ah, well, that was some much-needed relief. I'll try to do this in private next time...
And if you're wondering, the Internet is still down. Work sucks right now.
To: Thos
From: Friends
These were the words inscribed on a pale yellow sticky-note. The note itself was affixed in a loving manner to a red plastic bag. The bag's contents weighed but one pound, while the bag itself weighed little. It was, perhaps, the contents of the bag that intrigued me most, though the bag itself was also interesting. For you see, much could be gained from the contents, but the bag could only carry things and suffocate little children -- well, maybe it could suffocate large children or various-sized adults, but it had no indication of this ability. And so it was that I opened the bag and began to remove the contents. The contents were many and varied in size, shape, and quality. Even so, the love and care that had gone into each and every individual object was clear. This had been the work of years. And the bag lay sadly on the desk, alone and forgotten as its contents were admired.
As I began to examine the objects closer and test their abilities, I kept having this nagging thought that the bag could also be enjoyed. "But what about the little children?" I thought, for I did not wish them to suffocate since this activity often leads to death (or so I'm told). With this objection I was able to push out thoughts of the forlorn bag whenever they came. Perhaps if I had paid more heed to these thoughts, things could have turned out better...
But the children! Even now, the thought sickens me! Who could possibly expect me to risk the lives of little children for the simple pleasures of a red plastic bag? And yet... and yet in retrospect I know better -- these thoughts for the children are nothing more than vain attempts at assuaging my guilt... justifying my actions...
It is easy to look at what happened and think poorly of my deeds and judge me harshly, but hindsight is 20/20, as they say. I merely attempt here to lay out what transpired. You are free to judge, but be aware that in doing so you are no better than me (again, justifying...).
As I continued to enjoy this gift from friends, I began to think and wonder who these friends might possibly be. Why did they give me this unsolicited gift? How had they gotten into my office without my noticing them? And perhaps most importantly of all, since when do my friends do nice things for me? I reflected on these questions as I drank my delicious, very low sodium A&W Cream Soda, which was very delicious. As I threw my now-empty A&W Cream Soda aluminum can into the recycling bin (we have quite the recycling program at work), it suddenly hit me. I rushed back to my office and reached out for the red plastic bag, but it was gone! "Oh no! THE CHILDREN!" I screamed, before I could stop myself. My office-mate (behind his back I call him chump) looked up and said, "You don't have any kids. What's goING ON?!" He had to yell out the last syllables, as I was already running out the door.
About 30 steps down the hall, I had to take a break. Computer programmers aren't accustomed to running, after all, and I had to take a breather and massage my calves. I was sweating bullets and breathing hard, remembering those lost days of youth when I used to scream around the neighborhood on my bike with my childhood pals. "What has happened to me?" I thought woozily. It was then that I collapsed on the floor...
When I came to, it was all over. Chump had found me and called an ambulance. As I lay in the hospital, I watched the evening news. It was all there. The red plastic bag. The children. The "friends". Oh, how could I have been so stupid? And as I sit here, back at work and fully recovered, I can't help but think that perhaps things could have ended better if I didn't sit in front of a computer all day... caffeine free A&W Sparkling Vanilla Cream Soda excepted...
Here's how it looks as you enter our section of the office
I can even see it from my office
Here they are right outside my office window - I apologize for the poor photo, but I had to hurry and they flew away right after I snapped this shot.
