The retarded talking tea machine

8:11pm: OMG earthquake.

Aaaaaaaand done.

4:29pm: Holy jesus.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dyn/weather?local=true&zipcode=94070&go.x=0&go.y=0

In short: 4:30 PM, 102 degrees. I am camping at work because my top-floor, A/C-less apartment is actually, without exaggeration, unlivable. Goddamn.

10:25am: Pics!

Ye Argentina pics doth be here. Forsooth.

10:36am: Wacky weather.

Got mildly drenched walking into work this morning, despite a sunny sky. It was funny to hear a radio DJ (105.3?) use terms like "eerie" and "muggy" to describe today's weather. I'm going to visit my dad in swampy, rain-clogged D.C. this weekend, lady, so don't talk to me about muggy.

I thought this blurb would be about Argentina, but I haven't finished posting the pics yet, so that (and my random impressions of Superman Returns) will be next, w00.

4:54pm: Por favor, senor su llama comió mi pasaporte.

Woo! I'm writing from an internet shop in Buenos Aires. My folks and I (mom, stepdad, and grandmother) arrived here after spending four days in Mendoza with my uncle - he's actually my mom's uncle, but as he's only two years older than her, calling him a grand-uncle doesn't seem right. He's also much cooler than me; the high point was when he bribed a highway cop after being pulled over sunday evening.

Traveling here on an American dollar rocks; a huge (like, 10-course) meal at a really nice restaurant outside Mendoza cost about $12 per head (including some really good wine). Most everyone we've encountered so far has been very friendly, which is good because my Spanish sucks. Not that I expected some sort of bilingual awesomeness, but still. In desperation I resort to mangled Italian; considering my best Italian phrase is "Give me the cat!", this can be a problem.

My parents' pace is slow relative to that of the rabid monkeys I traveled with in Australia; I've snuck out to sit here since they passed out about an hour ago in the hotel room. Despite (because of?) the spontaneous naps, we've had a good time in and around Mendoza, even tramping around in snow beneath the Andes for a couple hours on sunday. We head back to Mendoza on thursday, and I fly home saturday afternoon. Today and tomorrow are our main days in Buenos Aires, so I think it's time to head back to the hotel and practice random noises until I accidentally wake up my folks.

Hola! (That's "Goodbye", for all you non-caballos).

10:52pm: OMG update.

Well frenz (frend? anyone?), it's Been Awhile. Here's what I been up to, yo:

Helped ship a third game in three years ... not too shabby. I took my Christmas vacation in February; crossed swords with a snow storm and spent 16 hours over two days trying to make a connection at Dulles Airport. Re-read A Confederacy of Dunces at my mom's, a great book. Trying to mimic the main character's "Working Boy Diaries" is fun, but I lack his special blend of educated insanity. Wandered the house in my ragged robe, playing God of War, reading Terry Pratchett novels (I think) and falling asleep on couches. I also watched "Harold and Kumar" for the first time (now on my Favoritest Movies list). Spent the second week home with my dad and Co. at St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands; I got sunburned for possibly the first time in my life, which made me feel like a hardcore vacationer. The Caribbean weather was great, each sunset a stack of reddish clouds set in endless azure sky. I went snorkeling for the second time, and saw both a sea turtle and a small nurse shark, which was very cool and a little scary, as I didn't know it was harmless =P.

Joined a tennis league this year; my results are terrible, but learning to play competitively is a good exercise. I went to Australia and NZ for two weeks, which was fantastic; the trip is better chronicled in my fancy new photo site. I have traveled a lot this year already, and it has been awesome.

Thinking about moving back to the city again; don't picture myself living in the Bay Area forever, and it would be nice to know the city better before I leave.

And that be about it! For now, anyways. Wurd.

11:50pm: Wow.

Battlestar is good.

4:41pm: Anti-penny?

A work cohort sent this to me; I like the righteous anger.

9:35pm: blarmiarmus! (the day in brief)

10:00 AM - Go to work.

12:00 PM - Eat.

05:00 PM - Ditch work for an advance screening of this.

09:30 PM - Gloat!

10:30 PM - Practice spell-casting, flying; accidentally fall over side of deck (tentative).

1:33pm: I would like to update ...

... but I've been too busy/tired to write anything. In lieu of the normal crap, here's a link to something great that Sha sent me. Whatever your current mood, it will probably make you laugh.

10:06pm: best trailer EVAR.

It was about at "he took a bullet for a mafia princess" that my brain started hemorrhaging. Someday poor movie-trailer-voice-over guy is going to just throw up on the mic, right in the middle of the clip.

To be fair, I didn't watch it through. Maybe they travel back in time and fight Nazis.

3:33pm: Random amination.

A short animated piece by a fellow named Michel Gagne, linked off of Bolt City. It's pretty cool, though admittedly I'm a sucker for fight scenes and bright colors. BoltCity also links to a video interview with Ray Bradbury. I haven't listened it through, but I'm hoping it's as entertaining as a talk of his that I attended during kollege.

11:08pm: That just ain't right.

Mother Nature delivers a hearty "fuck you" to the grasshopper. (Here's National Geographic's version.)

2:03am: I hope you were a tennis fan tonight.

That was easily one of the best matches I have ever seen.

1:36am: A little older, a little wiser ... or at least fatter.

Officially turned the big two-six on friday. A kind posse of clowns kidnapped me and plied me with lunch on the opposite side of the peninsula. They hoped, I think, that I would let slip the life secrets I have learned in my twenty-six years of sleeping, eating, napping and occasional snacking. As a backup plan, one of their dark order also revealed this very site to her brethren. Despite repeated warnings, they scoured the Poem of Awfulness (see earlier) for hidden meanings, and returned shaken by the wanton cruelties it had wrought upon the English language.

So little of merit was accomplished that friday, I feel safe in considering it the beginning of a four-day weekend. My first friend (of my entire life) unexpectedly called to wish me happy agings, and we promptly spent the next half-hour making fun of our parents. A couple hours later I dragged my face off the keyboard and treated it to "The 40-Year Old Virgin" with Buddy and Sha. Chatted about Louisiana afterwards with Yar; some on the uber(-scary)-right claim New Orleans was targeted by God for the alternative lifestyles it promotes. If that's the case, it's pretty ironic the French Quarter was spared; it's as if that same God really wanted to go to the Gay Pride parade.

I went sailing for the first time in ten years on saturday; this was vaguely terrifying in a "why is the boat turning jesus it's windy do i pull this rope now?"-kind of way. The whole experience was a kind of fun blur of wind, sun, and the occasional sea lion frolicking in the waves. The sharks were ominously quiet, doubtless plotting dark schemes beneath the fickle tides. Despite my best attempts, the day ended in Mountain View with an Indian buffet at the restaurant formerly known as Swagat. Thankfully, its new incarnation does not believe the quest for authenticity involves infecting the clientele with dysentery.

Sunday we caught the adaptation of John LeCarre's "The Constant Gardener", which was beautifully shot and (to me) depressing as hell. Afterwards, we dulled our sorrows at crepe-filled Ti Couz in the Mission (home of my pick for Best Dessert in the World). The Yar-Jan construct and Lil' Mo gifted me a cool set of comics; when combined with Sha's foreign robot, it's everything a normal 10-year old (or a really messed up 26-year old) could ever want.

Peter and The Sha were kind enough to host a Labor Day BBQ, during which many animal parts were grilled and consumed. Yar was my volleyball sensei; I was eventually traded to the opposing team, where I kindled his fury by managing to not suck. The weather was gorgeous, and we only quit the game when dusk introduced a hint of danger to the already well-established ineptness. For reasons unknown, I left with a pink flamingo balloon stashed in my trunk. Perhaps I intend to thwart some future crime: "Geriatric man ignites helium flamingo; family saved." My ticket to fame and fortune.

So that's how 26 began. Onward 27 I suppose ... but please, not too soon.

4:23pm: Eat your heart out, Lassie.

From the "What Type of Dog Are You?" section of the Gone2TheDogs website that Sha scavenged:

French Bulldog
Good-natured and courageous, this is a delightful companion although owners have to get used to its gentle snuffling. It also has the tendency to wander off and sulk on the rare occasions that it is in disgrace.

*snerf.*

2:26pm: Mah skool was in tha newz...

The Washington Post news, anyway. The article mentions my old HS chem teacher, Glenda Torrence. We called her "Dr. T", which instantly made her awesome. Well, that and the fact that she was a great teacher, and wrote one of my college recs.

Go Blue Devils, or whatever our mascot was.

1:37am: Roosevelt, F.D. to Churchill, W: "OMG Pearl Harbor."

Well, this is it: another goddamn blog. I can already hear you cheering, gentle reader; doubtless this page will occupy some place of honor on your desktop, perhaps next to your "Arrested Development" rerun or above your loop of vintage porn.

This thing took some time to create, mainly because I'm the last to know about a furor (apparently a crappy synonym for "fad" I am now strangely compelled to use). The color scheme, bland as it may be, will only deteriorate into something hideously ugly if I poke at it now. Ditto the formatting. I pray your monitor is not snapping under the strain of displaying this ill-formed garbage. Do not fret though; the epic misadventure known as "Rahul pretends he has graphic design skillz" looms dangerously on the horizon, like some sort of well-intentioned but drunken elephant.

Pull up a chair if you like, but don't sit too close.

As I mentioned earlier, I tend to arrive late to these parties. I'm still waiting for the day I find out it's no longer cool to wear cargo pants. Hell, maybe that day is already past. Someone will snicker, someone else will point, and this all-too-brief romance will be dead, the cargoes retired to the closeted depths from whence my mother's money spawned them. Like some hapless child my poor pants will be, a baffled urchin locked back in the basement by the parents who thought he should have one head instead of two.

It's not right, that something with so many pockets could ever be called a sin.

Well, if that is the fate of those pants, and of this journal, then so be it. I stand fast upon this outdated bandwagon, last bastion of the printed word. The future is a bleak vision of pants-less young socialites; they prowl the pathways of floating cities, their cold hands shaving messages into the sides of wild furry animals. Your "OMG" fox ate his "WTF" squirrel? I will be too primitive to reap meaning from that depraved scene. Perhaps a LOL-ed rabbit will stagger by, and put your dead mind into perspective. I will cower quietly in my cardboard box, eking out simple words on a dying laptop, tired and hungry and dreaming of Armageddon.

Luckily, my pants will be filled with cookies.