Some of you may recall the great Facebook Privacy Debacle™ of 2006, which was larger in scale but equally as silly as the current snafu. Funny that those same liberal progressive hipsters who so clamor for change in some places would rally against it in others, but that’s exactly the mentality of a decent chunk of Facebook users concerning the site’s new look.

One such concerned soul sent me an invitation to the Petition Against the “New Facebook” group, which currently has over one million users and looks to have been created about three months ago. I took a look, but only because I want to make fun of the membership.

I even thought I might join the group in order to post some counter-protests on their discussion board, but decided to post here in lieu of that option. (A number of people seem to have actually carried through with that idea, as a quick perusal of the discussions uncovered a number of posts calling the group out on its whiny nature.)

Anywho, it’s pretty simple: if you don’t like the new Facebook, just don’t use it. Simple, no? Most of the changes are obviously for the better from a usability standpoint, and I don’t mind the purely aesthetic changes either. It makes more use of available space, presents more information in a more readable format, and generally does little to malign the unsuspecting user. What’s there to bitch about?

Perhaps the best thread within the group is one pressing users who dislike the changes to deactivate their account. It had a mere 61 replies when I noticed it, but I think the idea is absolutely fantastic! And, of course, I say that in order to fully support the protest of Facebook’s egregious, anti-user design practices, and not just because those who adhered to this policy would contribute to a reduction in the overall whininess of the greater Facebook population. Of course.

Let’s give Facebook 999,939 more reasons they won’t care about to listen to users! Deactivate now!

So I was mugged (see?) on the Friday of last week. I was just strolling down Walnut at about 1PM in the afternoon, minding my own business and enjoying what was a beautiful day, when one of three guys that had been walking in my direction on the sidewalk inquired, “Hey holmes, you have an iPod?”

At this point my brain didn’t quite register what what was about to transpire; I think my first reaction was the sort I’d normally have to a panhandler, so I managed to get out a “no” in response before a sucker punch came flying in my direction and took me unawares in the jaw. I’d never actually been punched in earnest before, and it was an interesting experience. It didn’t really hurt (and I didn’t even bruise afterward; it was either a glancing or a very weak-sauce swing), but it was rather disorienting, as one doesn’t normally expect to be punched by some stranger when walking down the street.

I sat down in an adjacent stairwell at that point, told them I had nothing, and ended up giving them my (cheap, free, Verizon) cell phone and $7 from my wallet. I really didn’t want them to actually take my wallet (it’s almost comical that my brain was thinking ahead to the pain in the ass that is dealing with credit companies and the DMV), so I just held it up and proffered the bills within. I also had my laptop in my backpack at the time, but I didn’t say anything about it, and these muggers weren’t very thorough (or intelligent, presumably, but then I wonder if any muggers are). All in all, a very poor take for the three (which looked about 20-ish), especially given the police now have a pretty accurate description of all of them.

Given the recent flurry of small (and not so small) crimes in and around Berkeley, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but at the same time, this occurred in broad daylight in Northside, a block from gourmet ghetto. It’s definitely a little scary, but things could have been much worse. Life goes on, and the initial look-over-my-shoulder apprehension I had for the first few days after the attack has disappeared. Perhaps the worst part is that those assholes made me miss lunch with Cami! Luckily, the officer who took my statement was nice enough to drive by Oscar’s, where Cami was waiting and worried given I was 30 minutes late and not answering my (by then stolen) cell phone. It was very nice to have her around just then, too, as I was a bit shaken after the initial shock passed.

Funnily enough, my iPod, which I would normally have with me (I never leave the house without it) had just bit the big one a week earlier due to old age and hard drive failure. Had I still been using it, the muggers would have had something more to show for their misguided efforts, which makes me almost happy that the thing broke when it did :)

And, while I’m here, I’d like to shout out to everyone that I need to collect phone numbers! I’ve felt so naked this past week without a cell phone, but I have managed through bumming my roommates’ phones and directing people to call me on the house line. Now that I almost have my new one, however, I’m ready to start rebuilding the contact list (and this time I have Bluetooth functionality, which means I’ll be able to keep a copy on my computer). It will be activated tomorrow, so feel free to call me so I can add you (619/823-9312), or just shoot me a message or post here with your number.

Happy end-of-finals and gradumation everyone ^_^

And I feel as if this week has been conducted under the influence of one. I’ve had the hardest time I can remember getting back into the swing of school, classes, homework, etc., and have instead felt like a big, lethargic Slacker McSlackyPantsâ„¢. Work hasn’t been as much an issue, as I was working during Spring Break already, but academia is not overflowing with appeal at the moment.

Maybe it’s the annoying campaigners on campus that feel the need to bug you whenever you dare venture outside the lecture hall (I’m wearing headphones for a reason, thanks). Or perhaps it’s my brain’s way of rebelling for not getting to sleep in all of last week, which would have been preferable. But I believe the main factor is simply an advanced case of that dreaded disease that eventually affects even the most studious of students. It’s been creeping up on me for a while now, but the past week–in which my brain practically turned off for the duration–was impetus enough to kick it into overdrive.

Or maybe underdrive?

The weekend is now here, so hopefully I’ll be able to satisfy the latent desire to vegetate for the next few days and pick up the pace come Monday. Of course, I’m always a procrastinatory son of a bitch to some extent; I just know that the key is reaching that threshold necessary to distract those responsibilities breathing down your neck for just long enough to pass muster. And yes, I know that they’ll return eventually. Then the process begins again.

But I won’t worry about that until next week.

Alas, the post-21 world is lacking in the anticipation of previous years, as there are really no further privileges to be unlocked with the arbitrary key of age. Unless, that is, you frequently rent cars, in which case the economic benefits of your 25th birthday will relieve you of great monetary hardship. I’m much more a fan of borrowing my roommate’s car, however, so the flair of that particular achievement doesn’t shine very brightly from four years afar.

I also received plenty of questions concerning the way I “feel” about being 22, a question which is invariably asked on every birthday yet remains eternally puzzling. Age is an artificial concept, one invented more for utility than anything; it is better, after all, than referring to individuals as “old guy,” “older guy,” and “oldest guy.” Yet people always wonder whether some magical change occurs on that one date a year, and my answer is more or less the same each time it’s asked: a shrug.

Yeah, passing the “legal” mark had its novelty, and proper access to alcohol was certainly appreciated last year, but the definition of “me” has not undergone any drastic alterations because of those events. The aging process is a gradual one, and though I may be surprised 18 years from now when I look back and realize, “Holy hell, I’m fucking old!”, it’s never that jarring when living the moment.

But, all pontificating aside, it was not a bad birthday, as there were plenty of friends, poker chips, and (most importantly) beer to tide everyone over. Cameron was down for the last few days of break, lending a nice touch to the otherwise testosterone-thick atmosphere (what a juicy image, ha!), and it was good to see the old gang back together on familiar turf. I rarely get to spend much time at home these days, so Winter Break in general is an anticipated and nostalgic event.

And of course, a big thank you to all those who left me electronic messages of well-wishing. It’s always fun to log into your neglected Facebook profile only to be buried under a pile of wall posts. One of these days I’m going to throw the party I’ve talked of for so long, and we’ll boogie down like we were meant to. In the meantime, stay classy, and much love for all those I cherish.

After considerable consideration, much wracking of my brain, and a fortuitous find next to the dumpster in our parking garage, I have at last found the solution! (Click for larger version.)

Finally, Charles’ marathon sessions will be able to continue truly uninterrupted! No more pesky bathroom breaks will be required. All that’s left is to bring the mini-fridge into the room, stock it with caffeinated beverages, hook his arm up to a nutrient-providing IV, and he’ll be set for life. To think that I, one of Charles’ truest and most cherished friends, have made possible such a glorious future for him. Sometimes I amaze even myself with my benevolence.

InDesign’s comprehensive Help system is available to you on your computer. Check it out; you may find all you need there. Be prepared to be told to Read The Fine Manual (RTFM) if you skip this step.

The emphasis is mine, but that bit sticks out even without the benefit of bold typeface. For the uninitiated, RTFM is a well-known internet acronym used to berate those who ask questions which have either obvious or easily locatable answers (Google is your friend!). However, the “F” definitely does not stand for “Fine”.

RTFM informal computing
read the fucking manual (used esp. in electronic mail in reply to a question whose answer is obvious).

That’s from the Oxford American Dictionary, which proves just how prolific the expression has become. It is well documented in popular culture, and though I’ve only heard it spoken out loud a handful of times, it is often used on the web in the presence of unintelligent life (which, alas, is even more widespread than this expression).

In any case, I appreciate Adobe’s playful deployment of this phrase, however mitigated, in their copy. Of course, humor cannot alter the fact that InDesign’s XML support is a horrid POS (Piece Of Stool), but I at least got a laugh out of the deal before resuming my seething anger over their ineptitude.

At first the University was shapeless, with nary a frosh to be seen. But the state hovered over the campus and said, “Fiat lux”, and the lux was fiated. Then were the younger separated from the older and wiser, and named “undergraduates” and “graduates”. This was the first day, and all saw that it was good.

On the second day, the buildings were made to rise from the bucolic landscape, a myriad of Towers, Gates, Halls, and Libraries, each filled with row upon row of seats and desks and years-old gum remnants.

And on the third day the gardeners were called to bring forth the plants and shrubbery so iconic of Berkeley, the pollarded planes and the everlasting eucalyptus, and Strawberry Creek was made to trickle amidst it all, lending its babbling backdrop to the landscape. All saw that it was good.

Then were the colleges separated so that hapless English majors mightn’t stray into the murky waters of the EECS department, and so Chemistry majors could avoid the dangers of Creative Writing. This was the fourth day.

On the fifth day the great edifices had their lecture halls filled with great orators and teachers, themselves edifices of pedagogy, so that knowledge might be shared with whoever wished it, whether it concerned the explosive antics of Muller’s Physics for Future Presidents or the archaic utterances of Miller’s Middle English Drama, and all were pleased with what they saw.

On the sixth day Welcome Week was formed, commanding the new students to bring forth all manner of bedding and toiletries and other dormitory paraphernalia. And then it was said, “Let us make these frosh and transfers and graduates in the image of happening individuals.” So they were started on a path that would fashion them in this likeness, and give them authority over their lives and the dreams each wished to realize. All looked upon what had been made, and were very pleased.

And on the seventh day, the semester began.

• While the hairstyle could use work, A Flock of Seagulls is fabulous
• I wear my sunglasses at night (NOT “stunna shades” you thieving hip-hoppers)
• Rubik’s Cubes rock my socks
• Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Goonies, and Back to the Future; need I say more?
• I have a pair of shiny, tight, slightly-stretchy black pants for 80s theme parties. The level physical of discomfort experienced while wearing these pants is a testament to just how authentic they are.

Of course, such modern niceties as the Interwebsâ„¢, Segways, and Prozac would no longer be available, but something deep within tells me that I would be too busy reveling in a sea of gaudy outfits, one-hit wonders, and mind-altering substances to care. Who says Reaganomics has to ruin your day? Trickle down the fun, baby.

“No, Johnny” she replied crossly. “Even if you were more athletically inclined, everyone knows that achromatic fellows struggle with bounding.” Johnny crossed his arms and glared upon hearing this rebuttal, but his mother continued. “You’d do much better to focus on your schoolwork, as pupils who fail to ponder lessons assiduously may enter into vocations with their appellations affixed to their garb.”

“This is unfair!” cried Johnny in an exasperated voice. “All the other kids are joining the team.”

“Including that ugly Smith boy, I imagine” she said. “His mother should have known that uncomely, aged gents make atrocious prized spouses. But that’s beside the point; my decision is final, and though it may seem unfair now, I know for a fact that this matriarchal institution will fashion you into an affable and alluring member of society.”

“Lily Schwartz is going to be there” responded Johnny with an affectation of meekness. “I thought that, maybe if I made the team, she might.. well, like me more.”

His mother gave a rueful smile. “Oh Johnny, my poor, poor Johnny. I know you think she’s interested but, despite her misleading disposition, the siren you seek will spurn your affections.” At this she reached out a hand to comfort the child, but he jerked away from her touch and buried his face miserably in his hands.

“If only he were of age,” she thought as her son let out a muffled sob. “Imbibing several spirits can make the homeliest barfly seem tantalizing, and I’m sure one of those horrid Smith girls would take a liking to my handsome boy in an instant were he willing.”

But that would have to wait.

It should be working as intended, but I did hack up the styling a bit to format the gallery in a more fitting manner for this site, so it’s possible one or two things might be broken or funky.  I’ll work out any kinks as they arise.  Otherwise, enjoy the now complete gallery!