Legatissimo.info

Mark Foley signed in to AIM for a few seconds today, which got me to thinking, which led Justin to suggest an AIM Fight. Based on their algorithm, I'm in the top 5 percent of AIM users, but I've still only got a rank of around 700,000. Maf54 on the other hand is ranked as the 11,533rd most popular.

Still, as Justin pointed out... "seeing the 'maf54 Wins!' on the top of the screen seems ironic"

As of yesterday afternoon, I am no longer a student at the George Washington University, instead I join the ranks of alumni they'll hit up for money a few times a year. The Commencement ceremony was held on the national mall, just in front of the Capitol building. It's a pretty big thing, usually with around 20,000 people in attendance. It's full of pomp, circumstance, academic regalia, and two herald trumpet players.

Now what is a herald trumpet, you're wondering. This is a herald trumpet:

It often has a banner hung from the extraordinarily long bell, and folks play them when they want to look cool. Here's where I enter the equation. As a graduating senior in the music department, I was selected to be one of the two people who play the fanfares to open the commencement ceremonies -- this year, keynoted by former president George H. W. Bush and his lovely wife Barbara.

Okay, I thought, this should be pretty cool. I'll get to stand on stage with a former president, play a few notes, and go sit down with my friends. Except that's not exactly how it happened.

I was waiting backstage with the other trumpet player and the university marshall, when she told us it was time to go on. We walked towards the platform where we saw the Bushs standing there waiting. George shook our hands, talked to us a bit about jazz, and I thought that was pretty cool. I'm not a huge fan of his policies, but you've got to respect the fact that this man was, at one point in time, the leader of the free world -- that's pretty impressive.

Along with one other person I didn't know, the six of us walked up on stage. The university marshall pointed at us and we played. Then the graduating student started to process in. But, lo and behold, who was standing next to me? Why, Bush senior, of course. And for the hour while people processed in -- 45 minutes to an hour, I'm not exactly sure -- I stood next to him and chatted.

We talked about his grandkids. We talked about his advice if I go into politics: "Never get between a man with a camera and an Oriental woman." -- What? We waved at people. We talked about the research I did for my thesis on volunteer integration in political campaigns via emergent technology. The other trumpet player's phone rang -- it was on vibrate -- but when he told Bush that, the former president insisted that he give him his phone, and he called the person back and left a message saying something to the effect of "This is George H. W. Bush, number 41, sorry I missed you, congratulations." We talked about how it's a weird feeling to be elected president, how impressive the oval office is, and what it's like to go to school in the District.

The photo editor of the school newspaper was there taking pictures, and being the outgoing senior design editor, I was able to get a CD of all the pictures he took. I asked Bush if I could get the picture signed, and he told me to mail it to him, and then he gave me his business card. If I can find a scanner, I'll get a picture of it uploaded.

It was an unexpectedly awesome/surreal day. And now after that little adventure yesterday, I'm here at my full time job working away. I can't wait until I get the picture back signed. It's gonna look great in my collection.

A huge thanks to Sam Sherraden, outgoing Hatchet photo editor extraordinaire, who gave me a CD of a bunch of wonderful photos of Bush and me. Have fun in China, Sam.

Wikinews is running a story about a woman who had her custody rights denied because of her involvement with The Church of the Subgenius. Don't get me wrong, the subgeniuses are a bunch of crazies, but if you want to start taking away people's kids because of religious insanity, Marguerite Perrin's kids should be the first to go.

The problem here is the double standard. It's okay to be crazy if you're a Christian, that just shows you're dedicated to your beliefs. But if you're anything else, waaatch out.

ESPN has this thing called B.A.S.S. I don't have an account. Someone try this out and tell me what it's like. I imagine that fantasy fishing is incredible.

Julian and I went on a shopping trip to Pentagon City. While in Linen-N-Things there was a salesperson explaining to a customer why there were more comforters in the back, and why those weren't for sale.

Sorry, my manager told me that we're not supposed to sell those. We've got a sale coming up, and we want to make sure we've got plenty for when people come in with the ad.

Now, I understand that this is a short-term investment in the potency of advertising. If they start a trend of selling out of an item before the ad runs or before the sale starts, people will come to discount their ads, thinking "well, I made a trip out there last time and they didn't have any, why should I go out for this?" But in practice, this is a really dumb way to operate a business. The manager has instructed employees to turn down sales at a higher price because they want to have enough to sell at a lower price. Plus, this woman who wanted to buy a comforter is inconvenienced and annoyed, when all she wanted to do was give them money. If this is what it takes to succeed in corporate America, I think I'm sittin' pretty.

* Read Part 1 *

Still adjusting to the fact that she was the last human in existence, Deborah sighed after nearly 20 minutes of silence. LadyBot, who had assimilated this information billions of milliseconds ago had been waiting to initiate conversation, but the time was not a loss. While Deborah was lost in her thought, LadyBot had discovered the next largest prime number known to humanity and its creations -- that is to say, Deborah Barns and herself. LadyBot rolled over to Deborah.

"Hey," the computer said.

"Hi," Deborah responded lukewarmly, turning her head towards the metal creation.

"You know," LadyBot paused. "I saw, um, well I saw all the explosions, and I was wondering if everything is alright."

"No," Deborah turned her head back towards the window. "Nothing is alright."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"For what it's worth?" Finally Deborah was starting to feel emotions again. "Excellent. It's worth nothing. That's exactly what your 'sorry' is worth to me at the moment. LadyBot, do you understand? It's gone, the whole damn thing is gone."

Indeed LadyBot understood, she understood 3.2 milliseconds after seeing the blasts, however, she declined to point out this fact. Her intelligence may have been simulated, but she was no dummy.

Deborah, continued. "All the cities, all the people, all the water, all the little rabbits, all the damn people." She stopped and chuckled in that way people do (er, did?) when they know something isn't funny, but they realize just how atypical the situation is. "Except for me. But I guess everything is A-OK, because my navigation system is sorry."

The human's eyes were still locked on smoldering fires quickly depleting the oxygen and hope that anyone might have survived, other than herself. LadyBot's cameras were locked on Deborah. She knew that humans could be moody, but never before had she experienced this sort of human input. Then again, this was also her first time directly interfacing with a post-appocolytic human.

The question:

name: J.D.

email: ***police@*****.**m

re: http://www.gullible.info/archive.php?m=2005-12#post465

type of message: Positive

comments: Can you provide me with the source of you information on the drug pigs?

The answer:

Hello,

You asked a few weeks ago about drug sniffing pigs, and where the information was from. My apologies for not replying sooner, I have been traveling around the sub-Sahara on a quest -- of sorts -- and the strangest thing happened. You undoubtedly heard about the cold snap in that region. Well, it came to pass that I was there during that cold snap, and I wanted nothing to do with it. Rather than just come back to the US (BORING!), I figured I'd just open up the paper and see where the hottest temperature in the world was. As it happened, it was in Bombay, India.

Now, J.D., I am not a man of empty promises, half-hearted efforts, nor am I full of boloney. If I resolve to go to Bombay, I am going to Bombay. So I hopped on a train and was on my way. After five days of traveling I started to get bored, and took to wandering around to other train cars, trying to engage strangers in conversation, or at least to steal a loaf of bread I could survive on for the next week. But even a life of petty crime (you can't touch me if it happened outside of your jurisdiction, right? your jurisdiction isn't Bombay, India, right?) was ne'er enough thrill for my wandering heart. Bags in hand, I jumped train two hundred and one miles from Bombay and started off on foot. Let me tell you this: that was a mistake. Flat out, no bones about it. I am willing to say that I thought it would help, but it didn't. Not at all. I'm a big enough man to admit when I was wrong.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I made it to Bombay and got a tattoo so I would have a good conversation starter that I could use to segue into the incredible journey I had just taken. Tattoo or not, I was in Bombay. I had accomplished my single, overarching goal. Bags in hand, (ONCE AGAIN!) I got on a plane to fly back to America. Just before they were about to close the door on the jet, though, I punched a flight attendant in the kisser (it's okay, he was a guy!!) and said, "hold on one second, I've got unfinished business with India." Then I pushed the door open, and spit on the ground, shaking my fists, then turning my gaze skyward yelling, "I beat you, India. You are now mine." Everyone on the plane was Indian, and the airline was an Indian as well. So that meant -- because I owned everything there -- there were free drinks for everyone on the whole plane. And if that story weren't enough of a hoot, guess what I had to drink! YOU GUESSED IT! Bombay Sapphire. What are the odds? Ha ha ha.

Long story short, if you need some really chill people to hangout with in Bombay, drop me a line. I've got like 200 names and phone numbers and they all owe me a drink.

-Kyle

It's unlikely that I will ever start a band. However, if you ever start a band, you are more than welcome to select one of these names I thought of last night. I've got a few more pages. Maybe I'll add them, but they're probably not that interesting to you.

• Aptly Yours
• The Mysterious
• Banana-Flap Jack
• Born Apart
• Shoot Shot Gone
• The Shoestring Seven
• Terribly Tabby
• Bad News Call
• A Late Night Ring
• The Bottleneck
• Coffee and Cream
• Stuck In Front
• Impossible
• Bunions 'n' Things
• The Silk
• Whispering
• The Hattrick 3
• In Case of Fire
• The Last Call Motley
• Jonah and the Whale
• Saddled Pride
• Just in Case
• Quietly, Shadow
• Against Traffic Jams
• One Raindrop Falling
• Lights on a Timer
• The Batting Cages
• Since 1985
• Talking about Honey
• Bears and Related Matters
• Cool Kids Can't Count (later becomes CKCC -> CK^2 -> C3K (aka Potassium Tricarbonate))
• Nautical Larry
• The Next Lofty Plateau
• Reaching to Climb
• Here and Know
• Incredibly Simple
• Once you Know the Secret
• The Impossible Abominable Identical Snowflakes
• Should have Waited
• Gambling Debt
• Outward Moving
• Dante's Satan
• Religion and the Cold
• Everyone Else
• Christmas Dinner
• A Very Long Time
• The Echo of Enlightenment
• Purest Night
• EssentiallyOils
• Never Quite There
• Pastor in the Cart
• Late Night Theater
• Scribbling
• What's More
• Echoing