On an unrelated note, Beril and I are not quite big in Japan. Oh well.

On an unrelated note, I found a book that would make it worth having children for.

May 10, 2005:
A ndrew pointed me at something which is too hot for me. I mean, I love hot sauce as much as the next fellow - perhaps more - but that's in the realm of products which only have military application.

May 9, 2005:
Once again, leonardr proves that it is possible to strain the limits of my taste

April 25, 2005:
Attention:
This is the single most obnoxious thing I've discovered in HTML since the blink tag! Annoy your friends! Irritate your enemies! Drive those who once supported you into ecastatic states of apoplexy! Be the first on your block to be reviled in ways not known since Gengis Khan roamed the earth!

On an unrelated note, today is the 90th anniversary of the ill-fated ANZAC incursion into Gallipoli, here celebrated in incredibly poor taste. Beril tells me that it's remebered quite differently in Turkey, where it's thought of as "that unfortunate time we had to kill all those poor Australians". She went on to explain that the word for "Australian" in Turkish means "rube for the British", but I have my doubts.

And speaking of games and poor taste, Leonard pointed me at an ongoing game discussion he's been having with some friends. I was touched to see that the touchy-feely spirit of "we're all winners here" had finally reached the world of the undead when it was suggested that there would be "... sort of recognition for the zombie who put the most work in". This, because zombies need appreciation as much as you, and the rest of the damned living, do.

January 11, 2005:
It's so true. This is probably why.

November 3, 2004:
Stupid country.

November 20, 2003:
Proof that I do occasionally leave the house. It was on the occasion of the departure of a most valued coworker, so I defend my actions in this case as exceptional. I realize this is not as radical a form of leaving the house as that recently taken by Mr. Richardson, but Arkansas scares me more than the Mission.

July 29, 2003:
I've hit nearly every one of these this week.

July 29, 2003:
Occupational hazards #1:

   kmaples: you know the axiom:
   kmaples: "debug the code, not the comments"
         c: it kills me that a developer can sweet talk a computer into 
            doing back flips but can't write a simple love letter.
   kmaples: and how did you come to that conclusion?
         c: dated 2 developers, then married a man studying to become one.
         c: not a single love letter writer in the lot.

July 29, 2003:
Capitalizing on process to improve the modern working environment:

   leonardr: kill me now
    kmaples: bare-handed?
    kmaples: well, I suppose I knew it would come to this
    kmaples: but you remember when you refused to do me the same favor?
   leonardr: yeah
   leonardr: i was sparing your life so you'd be aroudn to kill me
    kmaples: so clearly, what's needed here is a suicide pact
    kmaples: perhaps we could file a ticket w/ ops to do us both
   leonardr: they'd like that

July 28, 2003:
My explanation to all who ask: there was a girl involved. That pretty much sums it up.

Note: the author wishes to express his gratitude that she didn't say, "you'd look good with a full-body tattoo".

June 25, 2003:
I was right; time itself has slowed to a crawl. This is a function of waiting for a call you strongly suspect (or fear) will never come, which has led me to pathologically make lists of things I know and don't know. Oddly, the things I know are more (but less substantive) than the things I don't know, but this is probably due to my being unaware of the magnitude of the things I don't know.

Leonardr is at EuroPython, so that means I am not being distracted by his witicisms, nor do I have him to blame for the things I find busted at work, and for once I'm unexpectedly caught up on the things I need to get done. Looks like I'm going to have to find creative ways of keeping myself busy whilst I await the passage of time.

I can only imagine what my attorney thinks of all this.

P.S. - I finally fixed the slot machine. Apparently things got upgraded to PHP4 without my knowledge

June 24, 2003:
For reasons too complex (or admittedly, blindingly simple), last week was the longest week of my life. I expect this week to be so too, which is a bit of a paradox.

Mar 24, 2003:
Obeservation for the day: i18n is a pita. Let's hear it for esperanto.

Mar 10, 2003:
Piracy is alive and well.

Jan 5, 2003:
The anniversary of the Great Boston Molasses Disaster.

July 25, 2002:
The politics of programming - an introduction to the class struggle:

kmaples: python doesn't support autoincrement?
leonardr: nope
leonardr: it's decadent
kmaples: objects are bourgeoise
leonardr: the negation operator is also decadent; you should use "0 - x"
leonardr: in fact, all unary operators are decadent because they hoard object binding instead of sharing it

July 25, 2002:
Splatter films for admins: Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill -9

July 17, 2002:
Apparently, the perfect breakfast food: Okonomiyaki.

May 13, 2002:
The following review, to coincide with Leonard's much-anticipated 1999 release:

Once again, the tireless efforts of Leonard Richardson to capture the existential frustration endemic to the post-modern software engineer have borne fruit: "If I had my way, there would be just one ascii character, and if I had my way, there would be one character per line, and if I had my way, there would be one line per page", is the defiant rallying cry which explodes forth in his most recent reissue, 'Are You An Organism'. Richardson shows that he is capable of expressing exactly the sort of perverse techno-luddite urge I think we all can relate to, although many of the other references in 'Ode to a Porcelain Puppy' possess Richardson's signature obscurity (doubtless the expressed desire to be the queen of Sweden is a cryptic reference to Kierkegaard's 'Either/Or', although it may simply be misheard lyric to be clean and squeaky). This 1999 release is at once a window onto earlier, simpler times, and a urgent call to examine the motivations of e.e. cummings before all our shift keys are lost.

Continuing with the themes which have been (and will eventually have become) the hallmark of his musical legacy, Richardon continues to challenge the boundries of what can be realized with a cheap mic and three and a half chords, even in advance of his subsequent breaking and rediscovery of those very boundries. By deliberately confining himself to the artistic limitations of the second-hand karoke machine, Richardson demonstrates that you can do more with more, and somehow less than that, and that by breaking free of the 10-second limit which would later be imposed upon him by his (alleged) friend and long-time (alleged) collaborator Mr. Berendes, Richardon has demonstrated that through the use of time, he can produce songs which are actually longer.

Richardson's current work (reissued here for the first time since first failing to achieve proper chronological order) explores themes both universal and personal, from the common experience of satisfaction derived from taking Gamera to show-and-tell, to the tumultuous love-hate relationship Mr. Richardson has had with his digital watch. But Richardon is no stranger to the political, and is capable of taking bold stances on controversial issues such as the 'boogie as biological imperative' debate (as in the song 'Get Down Or Die'), and the the inhumane use of adhesive fish as car decorations (a composition which he performed at great personal risk, and one for which he continues to receive murky threats from various factions of pro-fish-on-car lobby - Jesus, Darwin, Satan, and Gefilte alike).

The album closes with an introspective note revealing the truth which is the refrain for our era, 'be kind, rewind'; a quiet reminder that we all know in our hearts what the right thing to do is, and perhaps a glimpse into the forces motivating this tortured and occasionally bored genius.

Richardson himself recently explained these motivations in one of the rare interviews he grants in exchange for burritos: "I've always felt that my earlier work grew into the exploration of the obsessive preconscious urge to introduce variance into dynamic systems at the expense of static behaviors. I call it 'wanting to change things'." This represents a radical departure from what would later become the focus of his creative interests, which centered around an examination of the individual's complex need for interaction with the greater sociopolitical and cultural matrix as both passive witness and active participant, a phenomena Richardson characterized as 'wanting to do stuff', which he maintains has a much better sounding name in German.

"I've felt this way ever since the time before I gave up my later philosophy", he said, explaining his rejection of 'doing stuff' in favor of 'changing things'. "I certainly wouldn't have been able to produce such groundbreaking work as I did back in '99 if I'd still been mired in the discredited positions which are the current focus of my work. In this way, I expect to be able to continue produce worthwhile work throughout my earlier years."

April 30, 2002:
I may now be referred to as 'esquire'.

Apparently, the release that my compatriots and I have been working on for months is no longer a lowly 1.3.0, but with the wave of the product management wand, is now 2.0. I feel suddenly elated!

April 29, 2002:
It's music to my ears - not since the groundbreaking songstylings of 'death and destruction (we're all gonna die)' has Mr. Richardson produced a song of such depth and emotional complexity as his new release, After School Special. Heartwrenching. Especially the fate of Scot Baio. Fancy trio Richardson heads up there, too.

On an unrelated note, it turns out 'foobar' is properly known as a metasyntactic variable. I suppose this would have occured to me had I thought on it earlier, but it's nice to know. Have to figure out ways of throwing that term around at parties. It's also the case (according to dictionary.com) that we don't mean FUBAR in programming circles, though I'd argue that it's always implicit in software engineering.

Only too late, the day before I close escrow on my new house, my attorney points out that I could have done better.

April 23, 2002:
Statements like these are why I retain my attorney:

for the record--and you can quote me--i have never stated a belief that they have a right not to be killed by me at my sole and exclusive discretion.

April 20, 2002:
Interviewing a prospective housemate last night, I was asked if I was homophobic - after realizing that she wasn't asking if I was afraid of people of the same sex, I had to wonder why she didn't bother to ask about the rest of my more interesting phobias. Ah well, all in due time, I suppose.

April 18, 2002:
Observed whilst Leonard reupholstered Noodle in rich corinthian leather :

02:41 PM     Bezoar: I have a statement to make.
02:41 PM     Bezoar: InstallShield's scripting language combines the power of 
             BASIC with the flexibility of BASIC.
02:41 PM     Bezoar: That is all. Thank you.

Programming humor - priceless.

April 10, 2002:
Time flies ... Leonard stumbled across an article for the casting company I used to work for. Strange.

February 4, 2002:
Apparently I had it easier in college than some - consider the poor bastard on the mozilla.org mailing list who began his inquiry, "I am a student currently undergoing industrial attachment ... ". Worst we ever had were finals, and although they may have seemed so, were never quite so invasive.

February 4, 2002:
I am unclear as to why anyone would think that Gene Simmnos has anything to say worth hearing. What I find alarming if the number of relatively (ok, somewhat) respectable information outlets which have recently made the mistake of letting him open his mouth in hopes that something other than drivel would pour out. Odd, that.

February 2, 2002:
It suddenly occured to me that what I have been assuming are vulgar displays of jingoism are actually evidence of a groundswell of popular appreciation for the early works of Jasper Johns. I feel much better now.

January 31, 2002:
Either there are some sick bastards in this world, or perhaps it's time we redefined vegetarianism. Or simply the true meaning of 'spork'.

More news from the folks on IRC: apparently Cheney is the knife-wielding psycho I've always suspected him to be. The GAO better watch its back in dark alleys...

January 25, 2002:
Engineering's getting violent. Folks are talking about 'laying the smackdown on the extranet', and just this morning, Mr. Richardson threatened "they're gonna get my (code) changes in the face". To boot, my boss has gone missing, and Richardson suspects Death by Burrito.

Best tread lightly ...

January 08, 2002:
I'm in love. I can say that here, right? Is this thing on?

January 05, 2002:
I had what was unequivocally the best birthday of my life yesterday.

December 03, 2001:
These irritating little pigfuckers were on the Bay Bridge this morning. Would that their mothers had a choice. Send Planned Parenthood a donation on their behalf.

January 26, 2001:
Leonard refuses to let me take the place of the baron as the minister of all evil. He refuses to even permit me to tickle the baron.

January 25, 2001:
To the SUV driver on the Bay Bridge this morning:

I apologize for the lack of sensitivity indicated by my comments. What I meant to say, had I been of clearer mind, was that you were "screwing the environment to haul around your big-boned posterior". It was entirely inappropriate to make light of what was clearly a genetic or glandular condition, especially in light of the evident mental challenges you have to contend with.

In my defense, however, I would say that taking that cellphone out of your fucking ear and driving might have made me slightly more sympathetic toward your condition.

Trick question for the day: is there anything odd about the woman who recently dumped you announcing that she's going to the 'Vagina Monologues' in the very same breath she asks if you'd like to go to a movie with her?
[Answer: yes.]

January 24, 2001:
The day that Microsoft died.

Were that it were so. Perhaps I overstate the case. Nonetheless, Bill's having problems, and you don't see us shedding any tears - 'cept for the poor bastards trying to squeeze some tech support from an M$ site (but we felt sorry for them on a good day, anyway - betcha they scarcely noticed the difference). This prompted Professor D. to pose the following conundrum:

"You're a marketing flack for MS (I know: repulsive to contemplate, but bear with me...), and you have to decide whether it damages your reputation more to portray the current outages as stemming from a hacker attack (upon your vulnerable OS), or as stemming from technical difficulties (having to do with your wacky OS)."

To which my attorney responded:

	deny everything.

	destroy the evidence.

	make counter-accusations.

And people actually wonder why I retain him as my attorney.

[Postscript: outwitting Professor D., MS chose 'both'. Good thinking, there.]

January 20, 2001:
Crunchtastic and metalicious, Very Metal Dave has done it again - and just in time for this darkest of all days - and produced a couple of snippets of noise that are exceedingly metal and indeed, "heavier than thou opening track". Full of the sludgy goodness that my attorney so enjoys.

[Today's update is brought to you by President George W. Bush - "The man who puts the 'W' in 'pin-headed fascist motherfucker'!"]

January 19, 2001:
Tomorrow the court-anointed idiot prince assumes the throne, and we shall all suffer. Mr. DeVault inquired as to why Ms. Carter needed to leave a week early to attend the inauguration - I explained that it was to receive and assemble the equipment.

Were that it were so.

January 18, 2001:
Freakiest thing - I showed up at work the other day, and my computer had just disappeared. Gone. Not where I left it. Damndest thing, too, since it was a desktop G4 - not some little laptop. And people were floating around till 4am ... what kind of world are we living in where thieves pass up perfectly good linux boxes to swipe the pretty little Mac? I tell you.

Things are looking up, however - the illustrious Mr. Richardson has passed me a beta copy of the game he's been working on, which were I not so tired would have me as excited as an amphetamine-addled chihuahua. Fortunately, I'm tired and am having trouble with the z-interpreter; thus I am spared the indignity of such a life.

Day-long software development meeting today inevitably turned toward speculation about fundamental precepts upon which Leonardland is built - for instance, strict punctuality and an aversion to watches, and a possible 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' policy. There was some discussion of 'making them pay', and who gets the death ray. Early indications were that Leonardland was just the sort of rigidly controlled kingdom that I long to live in. Later indications were that I suffer from delusions, and that Leonardland is nothing like I imagine it. Those that know have refused to comment beyond the remark, 'I've always felt there should be a mathematical crime show starring alfred tarski and alonzo church. it would be called "tarski and church"'. Make of that what you will, but mind your nots.

January 12, 2001:
I can't help but notice that the vast majority of email in my personal inbox bears the subject lines 'tonight', 'tomorrow', or 'Friday'. Apparently my email has reduced itself to three states. There used to be a fourth - 'stuff' - but that relationship is dead as the bag of ferrets in Mr. Samet's closet (a fact which Mr. Samet has yet to adequately explain).

January 11, 2001:
Fearless correspondent Leonard Richardson ('leonardr' to aquaintences and well-wishers) has risked life and limb to bring us a report on what happens when consumer electronics attack.

January 9, 2001:
Today I contemplate the scriptability of 'killing all humans', and take a nice trip to MacWorld SF. My attorney is kind that way. And by that way, I mean, 'showing me toys I can't possibly afford at the moment' - just like that thing with the death ray.

[Postscript: I expected to be - and was - creeped out by some of the attendees at MacWorld, until I hit upon masterful strategy of telling people who talked to me that 'I'm not enthusiastic about computers'. Suprisingly effective. Mr. Woodruff and I are contemplating attending monster truck rallys and telling folks that we're not enthusiastic about cars, purely to see how far this strategy extends. I imagine rodeos or WWF performances are the upper limit before 'ass whupping' ensues.]

January 4, 2001:
This is the day I dread more than any other day of the year.

January 3, 2001:
Disturbing as they are to all who view them, pictures are up of the boys' New Years' Eve beer brewing fiesta, as well as the evidence of Thanksgiving's offence against sanity and common decency, the turducken. Mind you, DeVault couldn't be stopped - I merely document. I was as horrified as you. It had all the charm of a 42-pound, meat-filled tick. Be glad it wasn't your house.

[On an unrelated note, to my great delight I have discovered that the esteemed Mr. Richardson is possessed of an inner life at least as rich and demented as the rest of us. Before criticizing, be aware that Mr. Richardson disclaims, "the coins are the enfant terrible of the piece".]

December 28, 2000:
Leonard "laughs in the face of hubris". We'll have to see how far this attitude gets him.

December 14, 2000:
To whom it may concern:
You want this to be easy like you want everything to be easy like you want to take a goddamned happy pill to make it all better like you want the handshake which says that everything's in good fun and we can all pat each other on the back. It's not it's not ever gonna be and don't be surprised when it keeps getting harder because outside of happy pills this is what there is. And if you don't like it when you do things and the things you do don't work out and they cause problems that you don't know how to deal with and they have consequences that the pills don't help with and you find yourself suprised that people are upset and won't settle for a handshake and a pill ... maybe you should have a carrot and fuck off.

October 20, 2000:
My attorney's no fun anymore.
All my attempts to cultivate a blood rivalry between my attorney and a certain Mr. DeVault(a system administrator of means with a love of the buttery meats) was cut short when Mr. Woodruff revealed a possible future in the form of a phone call:

Ring, ring.

Sky: Hello?

Kevin: Sky? It's Mr. Maples. I'm in Bolivia, and I've run into a bit of a
problem ...

Sky: Who is this? Do I know you?

I recognize that this conversation is inevitable. After all, that conversation is the entire reason one has an attorney in the first place. He continued:

the foregoing was not a comment on the current status of your account; rather, it suggested a possible outcome of your failure to remain neutral. fred and i are not jones and clark--we will not be egged into a to-the-death struggle for your amusement ...

Pity.

August 28, 2000:
An open letter to Pacific Bell:
Fuck you. Fuck you and your mullet-headed would-be DSL installation 'technicians'. May the Public Utilities Commission rain down firey vengance upon you and your kin, and may the weasely little denizens of Roswell NM anally probe the CEO of SBC Communications beyond whatever level he regularly enjoys.

According to the research, there's never been a better time to be screwed by Pac Bell, or one of it's new subsidiaries, like SBC-ASI (they say that ASI stands for 'Advanced Solutions, Inc.' - evidently hyperbole, or an indication of a perverse sense of humor):

LA Times
Forbes
Contra Costa Times

June 13, 2000:
The Beast Beset Upon by Moron!
In a TOTALLY unrelated event, an alleged author, struggling to comprehend the subtleties of intellectual property law and the English language has failed at both and decided to take offence at the Beast's use of the title 'murder.com'. Thus, she has demanded ... well, it's not at all clear what the hell she wants. Judge for yourself:

From: Monster328@aol.com
Date: Fri, 9 Jun 2000 14:17:50 EDT
Subject: murder.com
To: //hatemail@lfino.com
X-Rcpt-To: //hatemail@lfino.com

I enjoyed your title murder.com. unfortunately, this is a working title and 
not only copywrited (before yours) but trademarked. Our lawyers will be in 
touch with the paperwork.

Again, congratulations on an excellent title. I thought of it first though. 
Yes, how strange that this goes into a needlepoint website. I discovered that 
3 years ago. When did you?

You really need to investigate your titles before publishing them as your own.

Author,
Michele Landgraf

As the last communication I had with the Beast was a greasy scrap of paper shoved under my door which read, "im going to mallorca in spain to climb and lay on the beach with fat german frauleins surrounding me....ill roll them in oil and etc,,,", it is clear that he is in no position to defend himself from such scurrilous attacks, so I have been obliged to enlist my attorney in his defense. So far, he's told me that I CAN tell her 'go fuck yourself', but NOT call her a 'moron' (note: the caption under which this piece resides is in no way, shape or form intended to refer to anyone mentioned herein). Oh, and he pointed out:

1. she has, in fact, registered a copyright for a screenplay called murder.com. however, even if titles, rather than original works of authorship, were copyrightable, two other works called murder.com were registered before hers.

2. titles aren't copyrightable.

3. there appears to be no currently registered trademark for murder.com

... and something to the effect that it's ridiculous "for someone who doesn't own the site murder.com could trademark the phrase, especially since the domain existed before her use ...", but I'm not entirely sure - I stopped listening after he told me it was OK to tell her to fuck off.

The entirety of this perfectly lovely correspondence can be read under, "The Trials of Young Jimmy". Enjoy.

(Note that to date, the legions of attorneys she promised have failed to materialize. Not wanting to appear lax, our attorney, ever vigilant, provided the 'official' response with all due haste. Alerted to our actions in this time of crisis, the Beast himself was moved to send the following before returning to sucking the sewers in Mallorca, "Im totally small potatoes and she should fuck off". We, of course, would be behind him all the way, but that's caused problems in the past.)

December 1,1999:
It's finally here - the work of our days, the labor of our love, our passionate gift to the world - the great declaration of purpose and principles embodied here at www.lfino.com, distilled and flung at the world as a rebellious cry in the form of a bumper sticker. Think of it as the first shot in a revolution of bitter resignation. Let us know if you want one - it pretty much says it all.

November 26,1999:
As I was clearing my apartment of the rancid vestiges of turkey and familial liability today, I came across a small package in grease-stained brown paper wrap with a late October postdate. Fearing erroneously addressed porn, I opened it to find an envelope full of small shreds of paper covered in some viscous fluid that when reassembled, proved themselves to be two more installments from the Beast - 'Black and Blue', and the aptly titled 'You're Fucked Now'. Enjoy with a nice cup of gravy as winter's chill sets in.

October 22,1999:
Just in time for all hallow's eve, Little Jimmy has cooked up a tasty treat called 'Soldier Boys' - what better way to prepare for this holiday season than to treat yourself to this snack? The Beast himself introduces it thusly: "i wrote a new story, it's really mean and heinous, my teacher says i need to express more emotions besides negativity but I figure, hey, what else is there?" - indeed, Little Jimmy has hit rock-bottom and set up housekeeping. Come read some of the works which moved one of the finest professors at C.U. Boulder to rave are "the most extreme example of a writer with an exaggerated style but no subject matter"!

September 27,1999:
The ever-prolific Beast has cranked out two new stories - 'The Story of Rick' and 'F. Daryl Botsworthy' - showing that his time in isolation is for the best. As the Beast himself asked of the heavens in a cryptic message scrawled in the margin, "back in boulder, i feel the swarming masses dragging me down and all i want to do is drink...is this bad? christ"

Sample, and decide for yourself if the quiet time has been good for him. Personally, I'm glad I live in California.

September 21,1999:
Hot on the heels of his recent California tour, the Beast has graced us with two more tidbits (we understand he has been incarcerated in grad school for the safety of all concerned) - 'Happiness Is' and 'Dead Center'; two works which have made Little Jimmy proud. Compare, contrast, and savor - the Beast's previous works have inspired such testimonials as the following:

---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Wed, 21 Jul 1999 21:33:30 EDT
From: XXXXXXX@aol.com
To: x@altx.com
Subject: black ice

Hello there.  I just read something that I reached by typing
"murder.com" into a search engine.  Whoever wrote it is in need of
extensive psychiatric remediation.  He or she also could use spelling
lessons and a good English as a second language course.  In the
context of avant garde, just remember that you're not leading if no 
one is following you.

We can only hope that the author learns how to use a search engine (tip: if it ends in ".com", you probably don't need to BE SEARCHING FOR IT. Incidentally, murder.com is an entry point into a needlepoint site. Go figure). We here at Lfino want to assure the author that the Beast's interest in coming from the rear preclude his presence in the avant garde - this much should be discernible from his scribblings. It's also no secret that he has, for some years now, had issues with 'people' following him - so your observations come as something of a relief. Now if I could only deal with the golfers...

September 14,1999:
The Beast has new works; quoth the attorney:

even you, parentless child of the illicit, multi-party coupling of the cathode ray and the hard drive and the ether, even you have a family ... someone you love who loves you ... someone perhaps whom you love too much ... sister/bother, aunt/uncle, father/mother, son/daughter ... someone whom you love perhaps in a way that you aren't allowed to love ... but that love burns in you, burns in you in a way you cannot differentiate from hate, and you start to think that maybe murder is the only intimacy you could ever share with the one who stokes that flame ...

and you have knowledge born of suckling cathode ray tubes like mothers' tits, dotcha boy? you can stream video as easily as you can let loose a golden waterfall from your limp dick ... and so you begin to think (or what passes for thinking in your case) ... if i killed him/her, we could finally be one ... but if i could make some money doing it, that would really be something ...

Older 'news' has been moved where it won't cause any harm. For posterity.

Copyright © lfino.
So there. Take it or leave it.