Finger info for

If I knew that updating a .plan file was this entertaining, I would have 
started doing semi-regular updates a long time ago.  Oh well.  My web space 
is located at and I can be reached via e-mail 

*03 January 2002 - I Always Cry Because Of Weddings*
Leslie leaned over to me and said, "drive REALLY fast.  I'm so
late... she's going to kill me."  She glanced at the clock in the
car's dash and groaned.  "She's probably starting to panic right now."
I didn't know what more she expected me to do... I was already
blasting down I-805 at around 90 MPH.

I was squirming in the driver seat, in expectation of the impending
disaster that was due to start in about an hour or so.  While Leslie
was going to be 15 minutes late to this wedding by the time we
eventually arrived, I was going to be a whole 45 minutes early.

I'm getting ahead of myself here, though.  I think I need to back this 
whole thing up and start this story a little earlier.

Quite a few weeks ago, Leslie (my cohort in crime) asked me if I'd go
to a wedding with her.  She had been invited to the wedding of a girl
that she had known back in high school.  Other than the bride, Leslie
knew a bridesmaid or two that was going to be in the bridal party.
So, since Leslie was going and getting dressed up, she wanted me to go
along and get dressed up as well.  I wasn't too crazy about the idea,
since Leslie knew about 3 or 4 people there and I knew no one.  Leslie
assured me that she'd be there with me so that there wouldn't be a
problem.  Leslie assured me that she'd even wear a dress, which is
quite a suprise since she is decidedly anti-dress, anti-skirt, and
anti-high heel.  Leslie assured me that we'd have a good time since
we'd be there together and we'd get to spend time with each other.

So I agreed.  Probably not the best choice in retrospect.

Flash forward a week or two after that to the bride's bachelorette
party.  Leslie was invited to this little shindig, and she went.  When
she came back, she was telling me how tame the party had been, since
the bride and her family are hardcore Christians.  She also told me
that the groom and his clan was even MORE hardcore Christian than the
bride and her side.  In fact, the bride-to-be and groom-to-be had
never even kissed each other.  Their first kiss was going to be at the
end of the wedding ceremony itself.

Even worse to consider, that kiss was going to be the first time the
groom had ever kissed a girl.  Ever.  I didn't know people like that
still existed.

In spite of all of this rather amusing and kinda disturbing news,
Leslie dropped one more bombshell that really put an interesting spin
on this whole event.  She said that one of the bridesmaids couldn't
make it to the wedding, had cancelled at the last minute, and that
Leslie had been asked to be a bridesmaid at the party.  Leslie, of
course, said that she'd do it, since women tend to jump at the chance
to do things like that for some odd reason.

For the matrimonially defunct portion of the audience out there, being
a bridesmaid (or a groomsman, for that matter) means that at the
reception after the wedding you sit at the head table where the bride
and groom sit.  Away from everyone else.  That meant that I couldn't
sit with Leslie either during the wedding or during the reception

This left me in the rather undesirable position of:

Going to a wedding...
... where I didn't know the bride and groom...
... where I wasn't allowed to sit with the one person I knew...
... where I was surrounded by religious zealots.

Alright, enough of the history lesson.  Back to blasting down I-805
in San Diego.  Let the disaster begin.

Leslie needed to get to the church ASAP so that she could get her
picture taken with the rest of the bridal party before the wedding.
Leslie tends to have her own timezone that lags around 15 to 30
minutes behind the rest of California.  This makes her perpetually
late for everything.  The fact that she had gotten lost on her way
back from the hairdresser was the reason for us being so late, but I
choose to blame Leslie's personal timezone.  Just because I can.
Besides, she got to the hairdresser's place late, too.

Leslie smoothed out her bridesmaid dress and then started digging
around in her purse.  She started pulling out various make-up thingies
as she told me, "try not to hit any bumps."

"Leslie, we're going 95 in a Paseo.  If I hit a dime in the road,
we're airborne," was my relatively accurate response.  Leslie didn't
respond to this, but began the process of facial enhancement.

At the very least, we were making good time.  The freeway was six
lanes wide, and I was in the leftmost lane tearing right along.
Leslie looked at one of the many signs rapidly approaching us, pointed
at it, and said, "that's our exit.  Right there."  I noted that I had
about 3/4th of a mile to get from the leftmost lane to the rightmost
lane of a six lane freeway.  I was going 90.  Things were about to get

I looked at my rearview mirror before I began my suicide sweep to the
exit ramp.  I was rather shocked to discover it had vanished on me.
Leslie had commandeered the rearview mirror in the name of makeup
application.  I cranked my head around to look over my shoulder
(quite a trick when you are sitting and wearing a suit jacket) as I
swept across all the traffic lanes in one quick movement. Suprisingly,
I actually made the exit.

When I was on the exit ramp from the freeway, Leslie looked over to me
and said, "oh, sorry... did you need this?" as she cranked the
rearview mirror back to the position where I could actually use it.

"Well, I don't need it NOW," I said as I tried to slow the Paseo down
to the point where we wouldn't do a Dukes of Hazzard off of the turn
in the 20 MPH exit ramp.  Leslie said, "Oh, OK!" as she grabbed the
mirror and cranked it back to where she could continue to work her
makeup magic.

We managed to get to the church a few minutes later, and Leslie
started to bail out of the car as soon as I approached the curb.  As
she was scrambling out, she tossed me her 35mm camera and asked me to
try to figure out how to load it. She then ran out to the church and
disappeared inside. She was only 15 minutes late, and from my
experience with weddings I was guessing that she wasn't late for
anything.  Pictures always tend to start late anyway.

That left me sitting in the parking lot, glaring at a rather large and
modern-looking church.  I figured that I should start fiddling with
Leslie's camera, since that would delay my going near the church for a
few minutes.  I still had 45 minutes until the ceremony started,
anyway, so I wasn't in any rush.  That much religion in one place
gives me the heebie-jeebies.

This would be a good time to give you my quick rundown on religion.
Despite how it may appear, I don't hate religion.  I don't even really
mind it that much.  What I hate are religious PEOPLE.  You know who
I'm talking about.  The people that preach tolerance constantly
because it's in the bible somewhere but can't stand to tolerate people
of other religions.  The people that feel it is their mission in life
to convert anyone who doesn't think exactly like them to think exactly
like them.  Or, perhaps more directly, the people that mention God or
Jesus about 500 times in a 10 minute conversation and use adjectives
such as "awesome" to describe them. They quite accurately refer to God
as "my God" or "our God", simply because their wacky little views on
how to get your afterlife ticket punched varies from all other people
on the planet.

God, please be aware that these people are giving 
you a bad name God, please be aware that these people are giving you a bad name.
Anyway, across the parking lot from where I was sitting was a building full of "religious people". I was going to be in uncomfortable territory on my own for the next few hours, but I was just going to have to suck it up and deal. After taking a quick trip to buy a few rolls of film (since Leslie's previous film-loading effort must have exposed half of the roll of film in the camera), I finished fiddling with Leslie's camera and peered down at my watch. The ceremony was going to start in about 20 minutes, so I figured it was about time to bite the bullet and go check out the church. I got out of the car, brushed a few rogue fuzzies off of my black suit jacket, and walked across the parking lot to the church entrance. The facility itself was pretty nice... apparently the parishoners had tithed a pretty hefty amount of money. The carpet, seats, and paint on the walls all looked brand new. This was a far cry from the Roman Catholic churches I grew up with in my home town. Catholics tend to favor the "our building is going to fall apart any time now" look for their churches. I grabbed a program from the young lady at the door, and noticed that no groomsman were nearby to usher me to a place for me to sit. That wasn't a problem anyway, since the first thing they would have asked me would be, "are you here for the bride or the groom?" Since I didn't know either of them, I guess I could have said I was there for the bride. At least that way I could make faces at Leslie during the wedding while she was doing her bridesmaidly duties. Rather than logically think it out, I relied on instinct. I headed for a section of the seats towards the back of the church where no one was sitting. I wasn't thinking about how that section of the seating was on the groom's side of the church. That meant that everyone around me would be from the super-uber-religious portion of the guest list. But for the moment, I was safe, right? No one else was nearby, so I could suffer through the whole event in relative peace. Or so I thought. Next Wedding Update: The religious terror begins. ***************************************** *02 January 2002 - No, I Am Not Dead... * ***************************************** ... but I sure came a little too close for comfort. You see, over the past month or so I've been battling with mononucleosis. Actually, the mono wasn't too bad in itself, but it wore me out to the point where all sorts of secondary stuff started munching on my insides. In the span of about 4 weeks, I managed to catch and then ditch mono, bronchitis, and hepatitis. Well, you actually can't ever really ditch mono, since it's in your system for life. But I beat it into submission, damn it, so I count it as a technical win for me. So there. Let me be the first to tell you that the worst flu that I have ever managed to get was a birthday party compared to this whole medical adventure. Why, I even went to see a doctor, which is an event I usually reserve for occasions where I need an amputation or I've received a very, very large gunshot wound. Remember kids, only kiss the clean ones. Mono primarily gets passed through saliva, so a smootch might be the that gets you. Or I guess you could just kiss the really drunk ones, since all that alcohol in his or her mouth will have done a number on any mono critters lurking about. Anyway, you came here to be entertained, right? Well, you might as well take a look at some pictures from Thanksgiving and Christmas: Thanksgiving over at yoda's parent's place: Christmas in New York at my parent's place: I hope everyone has a happy (and healthy) new year. ************************************************ *09 November 2001 - Just How Dangerous ARE You?* ************************************************ -----BEGIN GEEK CODE BLOCK----- Version: 3.1.2 GCM/CS d- s: a-- C++ UL++ U P++ L++ E--- W++ N++ o-- K- w++ O+ M- V PS+ PE Y+ PGP t 5 X+ R(++) tv- b++ DI+ D++ G e++ h r++ y+ ma- k F+(++)3(4) x++ ------END GEEK CODE BLOCK------ This is not just your stock "Geek Code" block. The last line of the block sports the "Geek Code Weapons Extensions", of which a description can be found at: The stock Geek Code block can be decoded via a web-based form at: Just use the web-based decoder to decode the whole block, and then look up the last line's worth on the "Weapons Extension" web page. The web based decoder will just ignore the extensions. Happy decoding. **************************************************** *08 November 2001 - Everybody Needs A Hobby, Right?* **************************************************** Well, the day has finally arrived... the world is either a little safer or a little more dangerous, depending on your point of view. I was reviewing my extracurricular "police and worst-case scenario" training to date (small arms, penal code 832, tear gas...) and doing some checks against the laws and rules of various states in the US, and I've come to a startling conclusion: I now can legally act as a fully qualified freelance bail fugitive recovery agent in the states of New York, Ohio, Tennessee, and Montana. "Bail fugitive recovery agent" is the official legal term for what people refer to as a "bounty hunter." You probably don't need me to tell you that it would be a good idea to move if you live in one of those four states I just mentioned. If the law allows a freelance vigilante like me to run around your state with a stun gun and handcuffs in pursuit of justice, I would sure as hell think it high time to consider a change in scenery. This will undoubted irk my family to no end, since they are always afraid I'm going to end up doing something dangerous and get myself killed. It's even worse when you consider that the majority of my family still live in my home town, which is located in upstate New York (which, as you can note from my little list above, falls within "freelance bounty hunter" territory). On the bright side, though, I could quite easily make a decent living by just visiting my parents on occasion and then swinging by the local trailer park and bringing my ex-high school classmates to justice. Last I heard, most of them peaked in their senior year of high school and still live in my home town. And only about half of them have been arrested at one point or another for "domestic disturbances". While kicking in doors at the trailer park for $300 a pop doesn't sound like the healthiest way to make a living, I can at least take comfort in the fact that I'm giving something back to my old community. I can also take great satisfaction in stunning and then handcuffing the wife-smacking ex-star center of the football team that decided it would be a great idea to give me a wedgie and hang me on a showerhead in the locker room when I was a high school freshman back in 1993. Oh, and for the folks living in Florida, Illinois, Kentucky, North Carolina, South Carolina, Oregon, or Wisconsin, you can rest easy... freelance bounty hunting is illegal in your state. ******************************************** *17 October 2001 - The BioWare Strikes Back* ******************************************** I bet you thought that the Canadian software company BioWare wasn't going to reply to the "rejection" mail I mentioned in my 04 October 2001 .plan update! Well, much to my suprise, they actually did reply: > Hello Andrew, > > I have to tell you that is the most interesting acceptance/non-acceptance > letter I have ever received. It took me a while to figure out what you > were saying! > > We hope you hang on to the unique sense of humour, and perhaps our paths > will cross again someday. > > Best to you, > > XXXXXXXXXXXXX > BioWare Corp. I have a feeling that my original "rejection" response mail is hanging up by the BioWare water cooler. Or maple syrup dispenser. Or whatever the hell Canadians stand around while they talk about last night's hockey game. OK, BioWare... you guys are good sports (even if you are a little SLOW to respond to resume submissions), so I guess your office gets removed from the list of buildings I am required to pee on each day. It would have been a rough commute from southern California to Canada every day, anyway. ******************************************** *16 October 2001 - My Blind Date From Hades* ******************************************** (If you haven't read the 05 October 2001 .plan update, read that before reading this update.) I had punched my search criteria into before and come up with a list of prospective young ladies, but I was somewhat reluctant to try to contact any of them. I was hoping that I'd never have to cross that line, but it looked like it was about time to get with the program and start acting like all the other scumbags on So, I started off at the top of the list of prospective matches. A 19-year old Mexicali girl was the closest match for my profile, and she only lived a whopping 5 miles away. While I was a little reluctant to date someone that young, her interview showed that she was working as a medical assistant at a clinic while working towards her RN. She could actually spell, use punctuation, and capitialize words correctly. I figured that it wouldn't hurt to send her a message. After all, she did have an attractive picture posted and she didn't look like an axe murderer. At the very least, I figured that I'd get a good story or two out of the experience. And boy did I. It was a while before I heard back on my message, but I wasn't disappointed when it arrived. The young lady's name was Paloma, but everyone calls her Lomi. Lomi seemed very happy to hear from me, and she mentioned that I 'sounded normal'. As she put it, "Believe me when I say that sounding normal is a very good thing. I've gotten some messages that were just awful from some people. But you sound like a nice guy." OK. The foot was in the door. Now what? The delay on hearing back from Lomi was because she didn't have net access at her home. She only got a chance to check her mail and surf the web a few times a week when she visited her aunt here in Tustin. She had mentioned this in her mail and "emphatically apologized" for not getting back to me sooner. She also mentioned that she'd be on AOL Instant Messenger the next time that she'd be online and that she'd like to ask me a few questions. Sounded like a plan. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all... Anyway, I did catch her online and we shot a few IMs back and forth. She seemed very nice and she was somewhat assured by my responses that I wasn't insane. After 20 or 30 minutes or shooting messages back and forth, she asked if she could have my phone number so that she could speak with me over the phone, since AIM is "great and all, but too slow". Seemed reasonable enough. Ten minutes later, Lomi and I were talking on the phone. She had a touch of a Mexican accent, but her English was just about perfect. And very, very fast. Boy, that girl can talk. After talking with me for about 20 minutes, she really let her guard down a lot. I could tell by the big increase in the number of questions she was asking. She was very friendly, but I could tell that this was not a girl to mess with. At one point, she asked me to hold a second and then began screaming something in Spanish off into the background. Then, she came back and talked in the same tone as before. Yikes. The upshot of this whole phone conversation was at the end when Lomi asked me what I was doing the upcoming Saturday night. When I said that I had no plans, she replied, "Well, you do now!" I guess that I didn't have any choice in the matter. Not that I really NEEDED one. She gave me her cel phone number and her pager number. The plan was to meet up at 'The Block', which is a big outdoor mall, and go see a movie. 'The Block' is known for having one of the few Krispy Kremes in California, so it's a popular place with the locals. It's only about 10 minutes North of Tustin, and I never even knew it was there, so I guess that shows how much of California I've made it a point of visiting. Fast forward to Saturday night. I found myself driving up to meet Lomi while wondering what in the heck I was doing. I had never done anything like this before, so I was flying blind on this one. Still, I managed to calm myself down and convince myself to just enjoy the evening. Oh, if only I knew the suprises that were in store for me. Two suprises, actually. Dinner and Mimi. Since I doubt you've ever dated someone that hails from south of the border, you probably don't know that it's Mexican custom to have another girl that is a close friend or relative tag along on a first date as a chaperone. I sure as heck didn't know. In this case, Lomi's cousin Mimi was waiting with Lomi when I met up with her at the outdoor cafe at Starbucks. Both Lomi and Mimi were dressed to kill... Lomi was wearing tight black everything and Mimi was wearing a tight full-length denim skirt and a tanktop-type shirt. I had not been in the company of one girl that looked as good as one of these two did in quite a while. And there I was, sitting with the two of them. This whole situation was something that I was NOT expecting. Another thing that I wasn't expecting was that Mimi was only 18. She looks at least four years older than that. But, 18 year olds have 10 PM curfews (Doh!), so the plans for a movie got scrapped in favor of a quick dinner instead. Of course, I wasn't the least bit hungry, but oh well... I'm flexible. So, it was off to Wolfgang Pucks for dinner. After a dinner with Lomi and Mimi, I think I could handle myself if I ever had to testify in court. I was hit with questions non-stop once we were seated at the table. One girl would eat while the other questioned me, then they'd swap. Sometimes, they'd both ask questions at the same time. Tag team Mexicali questioning threw me off balance a bit since I was on defense the whole time, but I handled myself OK. It was becoming apparent through the thorough questioning that I probably wasn't what Lomi was looking for. There were enough points of difference between the two of us that I could tell she had already written me off by the end of dinner. Lomi had a pretty good idea of what she was looking for, and I sure ain't it. But, that wasn't all I noticed. Since she had first laid eyes on me, Mimi had been eyeing me the way a tiger eyes a can of tuna. I had been doing my best to politely ignore Mimi's flirting, since I was NOT on a date with her, but it was pretty apparent what was going on. "So, what kind of music do you listen to?" Lomi asked. I replied, "A lot of different things, actually. While I'm working or just spending time at home I usually listen to 80's tunes." Lomi scowled at me and said, "That's strike number one, pal." "Now come on... what's wrong with U2, huh?" I said to Lomi with one eyebrow raised. "Hey! I really like U2!" Mimi chimed in. ... and on and on. I was now trapped in a bad hypothetical sitcom. When the bill for dinner came, I tried to do the galant thing and pay it. I was rewarded for my effort by having Lomi's hand smash into the arm that was holding the bill. She snatched the bill out of my hand and stated triumphantly that she was going to pay it. Mimi was trying to hold back a snicker, and she wasn't doing a very good job of it. I was just trying to hold back the spreading of the massive black and blue mark. I probably forgot to mention that Lomi was offered a college sports scholarship for softball because of her strength and pitching skill with the same arm that swatted me. "Hey man... how was your date last night?" "She belted me!!!" Anyway, Lomi whipped out her credit card and paid the bill. Chivalry ends at the threat of physical pain in my book, so at that point I was more than happy to let her pay it. I'm getting too old for this. Next Dating Update: The blind date horror continues. ************************************************** *12 October 2001 - A Whole New Level Of Rejection* ************************************************** I have come to realize that the computer gaming software companies have joined forces in an attempt to keep me out of the gaming market. Not a single one bothers to notify you of your state in the HR evaluation process for employment without your constant e-mailing and calling. Most won't even return your calls. It oftens takes a few weeks to a few MONTHS for these companies to get back to you with an indication of their interest in you as a job candidate (yes, I'm talking to those people at Bioware, Black Isle Studios, Blizzard, Interplay, and Westwood). In fact, the speediest results I've seen came from a damn web comic:
you have to pay to get embarassed this badly. Normally, you have to pay to get embarassed this badly.
You game companies need to really revamp your HR departments. I know that you must get flooded by resumes that really aren't up to snuff, but COME ON people, get with the program! At least Black Isle Studios apologized when they finally got around to contacting me (three MONTHS after I submitted a resume) to say that my resume looked great and that they were eager to talk to me. Westwood replied with a "well, we were busy... suck it up and deal" type message when they finally got around to telling me that they wanted me to come in for an interview. Blizzard takes a "contacting us will make us want you less" approach (which I can understand, considering that they must get pestered by people non-stop). You have no excuse, people... what the heck are your HR departments DOING? Do you have a stack of resumes sitting around that you never look at? Do you look at them and then never even give a response? At least give an auto-mail back or something within the first few WEEKS after an application has been made, OK? As for all you fanboys out there that want to "break into the gaming industry", are you SURE that's what you really want? It's not as fun as you think it is... trust me on this one. ************************************************************ *11 October 2001 - Requests For .plan Updates Will Be Eaten* ************************************************************ Yes, I know you all want to hear about my horrible blind dates. The amount of mail I've received ranging from polite requests to out-and-out demands for .plan updates has been pretty impressive. Don't you people have cable or something that you could be watching, rather than camping for .plan updates? I've been rather busy lately (hence the lack of updates). I've been doing important things as of late, and they've kept me busy. Important things... like playing Xenogears on the Playstation. Anyway, just be patient. Updates are coming. Stop pestering me.
Damn you, 
SquareSoft! I place the blame on SquareSoft. Oh, and Canada, too.
******************************************** *05 October 2001 - The Scoop on* ******************************************** I'll spare you the details of how I stumbled upon this site. I'll even spare you the details of why I decided to fiddle with it. What I WILL tell you is the scoop on how this "blind date" web site works, and how I had terrible experiences because of it. The sanity you save might be your own. So, on to Normally, I'd make fun of anyone who would even consider using one of these sites. In fact, I DO make fun of people who use these sites. I'm an equal-opportunity heckler. Since you probably aren't familiar with the way these sites work, here's the scoop. The first step is filling out a basic profile about yourself. This part is pretty easy, since it's the criteria that the search database sorts you by. Hair/eye color, age, race, height, religion, education... on and on. The one zinger category is the 'body type' category. This category leaves a lot to interpretation because the available choices are 'slender' (you are a rod), 'average' (you are a few pounds overweight), 'athletic' (you can crush bowling balls with your thighs), 'full figured' (a few pounds overweight, but all in the right places), 'a few pounds overweight' (you influence tides), and the enigmatic 'other' (which leaves everything to the imagination). There are exceptions to every rule, of course, so there is the occasional person that actually reports truthfully for this category. By far, the most common one is 'average'. Liars. Now that we've got the simple stuff out of the way, it's on to the details. There are two essay-question style interviews that you can fill out to bump up your chances of having someone bite on your profile. The first interview is the 'intimate' interview. This one asks you all the stock questions about what you do for a living, what type of person you're looking for, what you think you're biggest flaws and strengths are, etc., etc.. Pretty standard stuff, and it's primarily what the saner folks out there use as a guide. The second interview is the 'adult' interview. That's the interview to read if you are looking for someone that likes to be tied to the bed or enjoys having sex on the kitchen floor at 2 in the afternoon. So, you've done the basic info and the detailed info. What else? Pictures, of course! If you haven't posted a picture of yourself, you'd better have a pretty amazing adult interview or no one will even bother to contact you. In fact, there is an option in the search criteria that filters out all profiles that don't have pictures. So, if you want to know what you're getting into, check the box and filter out 70% of the profiles out there. There's always a chance that there is a 'diamond-in-the-rough' that you filter out by checking 'profiles with picture only', but that's Russian Roulette dating. Then again, chasing after some woman because she has a cute picture isn't necessarily a mark of sanity either. Caveat emptor. By the way, a note on having pictures in your profile: Apparently almost everyone searches just the profiles with pictures. Once you post a picture, you pop up on the radar of a lot of wacky folks. Be forewarned. I'm not the most ideal physical specimen out there, but I kinda like to think I look a bit better than average. The point when my picture first showed up next to my profile was when some interest stirred up and my stories really begin. A scant 24 hours after the picture was up, I had my first nibble. From a woman who worked in the IT/telecommunications field. Who was 40-something. Being only 23 at the time, this was a pretty scary proposition for me. She said that she really liked my profile and that she wanted to go out and get a drink in the evening sometime. I sent her a message back with a very good-natured and polite refusal. The fact that her picture showed that she had teeth that reminded me of Mr. Ed wasn't helping her case, either. I held back the urge to ask her if she had any cute daughters. A few days later, I received a very odd message in broken English. From a woman in the Philippines. At least this one was the same age as me. While the mangling of her sentences was reaching the Zero Wing level of proportions, I could roughly make out the gist of her message. She wanted a husband in the United States. I wrote her a nice refusal back, saying that I wasn't that interested in mail-ordering a wife at this point in my life. I silently wondered how many other guys she's hit with this request before. I bet she's the type to search the profiles without pictures, too. After another few days, a young lady who seemed to have a lot on the ball contacted me. She seemed to have everything going for her: good job, only 25 years old, and a graduate degree. Her message said that she thought I was a good match for her and that she'd like to get to know me. There were two major snags to this one. Number one was the fact that she didn't have a picture in her profile, so I had no idea what this girl looked like. Still, I was willing to give it a shot if her profile matched me really well. Second, her message said that she was looking for "a GOD fearing gentleman". Yes, the 'GOD' was in capital letters. The 'gentleman' part I think I could manage... it'd be a stretch, but I could handle it. The only reason I would ever fear God is if I thought he/she/it actually had a chance at getting back at me for calling Sister Kate 'Atilla the Nun' in my Catholic confirmation classes back in high school. One more polite rejection stating 'agnostic tendancies' was sent out and was understood and well received. That girl actually sounded very nice, and I hope she finds what she's looking for. I'm pretty sure that what she was looking for wasn't me, though. I tend to start smoldering when I step inside of a church. Strike three, and I was out. It was time to start going on the offensive. I had burned a week already and I wasn't getting anywhere. Hanging out in bars was starting to look pretty good. Next Dating Update: My blind date from Hades. ********************************************** *04 October 2001 - You May Already Be a Loser* ********************************************** This is the e-mail I received when I applied for a job with the Canadian entertainment software developer BioWare: > Hi there Andrew, > > We would like to thank you for your application, however, presently we > do not have any positions available for someone with your > qualifications. > > We would like to keep your contact information in our files and let you > know if something should become available in the future that may fit > your profile. > > Best regards, > > XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX > BioWare Corp. Here is the response that I sent back to BioWare: > To XXXXXXXXXXX: > > Thank you for your somewhat belated response to my 17 January request for > a job with Bioware. After careful consideration, I regret to inform you > that I am unable to accept your refusal to offer me employment with your > organization. > > This year, I have been particularly fortunate in receiving an unusually > large number of rejection letters from the gaming industry. With such a > varied and promising field of candidates it is impossible for me to > accept all refusals. > > Despite your organization's outstanding qualifications and previous > experience in rejecting applicants, I find that your rejection does not > meet my needs at this time. Therefore, I will be starting employment with > your company in a software development capacity immediately following the > finalization of my plans to relocate to the Great White North. I look > forward to seeing you then. > > Andrew Henderson Hear that crackling noise? That's the sound of bridges burning. I have yet to hear back from BioWare in regards to my response. I'm guessing that I probably won't hear anything back. Lighten up, eh? Hosers. ************************************** *03 October 2001 - Moral of the Story* ************************************** It just kind of popped in my head this morning while I was making an attempt to not fall asleep in the shower... I remembered back to my days of my first post-college job. I was working as a systems engineer at a Lockheed Martin facility in Orlando, Florida. Since I was still living in Daytona Beach at the time, I had a massive commute of 150 miles round trip to work and back each day. Aside from my usual 40 hour per week work load, I was also doing management training. That meant that I was also taking masters degree classes at the University of Central Florida after work. So, back then, my days were about 12 hours long at a minimum. I even slept at my desk from time to time. I spent a lot of time working on homework and management project papers in the evenings at Lockheed Martin. Around 8:00 or 8:30 at night, I'd be the only person around amongst the vast sea of cubicles that dominated the development area I worked in. I'd take ten minute breaks and stroll up and down the rows of cubicles, reading the comics and looking at the pictures that people had posted around their cubes. One evening, I was taking one of those breaks when I wandered past a sign with moveable letters that had apparently been part of a tour at one point. Since Lockheed had so many military contracts, it was very common to have colonels and even one or two star generals touring through the work areas to see how the Army's weapon development budget was being spent. This sign's message was pretty simple: LOCKHEED MARTIN INFORMATION SYSTEMS Now, you and I both know that a burnt-out engineer isn't going to leave a sign with moveable letters alone when no one is around to stop him. I started shuffling around the letters and after about 20 minutes, I came up with the following: LMT STOCK SHARE IS NOT MY IDEA OF WINNER I even used all the letters. There're a few important points here. First off, "LMT" is the NASDAQ ticker symbol for Lockheed Martin. At the time I fiddled with the sign, the company's stock was at an all time low. This was great for me, since my retirement fund was composed mostly of stock. So, I was getting a ton of stock for the amount of money I was investing. The old timers that had been putting stock in their retirement plans for the past 15 years, however, were getting kinda nervous. Talk about the dropping stock value, possible corporate take-overs, and even layoffs were common watercooler banter. Anyway, after messing with the sign, I worked for perhaps another hour and then started the long drive home. When I got into work the next day, I found out that the sign had been discovered. My supervising manager didn't even know the sign had been changed, but my manager's manager heard about it and thought it was one of the funniest things he'd even seen. Most employees looked at the sign, snickered, and then went on with their work. It wasn't a real show-stopper at work, but my handiwork was silently appreciated by quite a few co-workers. Upper management, however, didn't think it was funny at all. They smelled dissention in the ranks... possibly someone from Raytheon or Boeing that snuck in somehow for the sole purpose of lowering morale. For some reason, upper management tends to come up with odd conspiracy ideas like that. Anyway, they decided to take immediate action to quell the impending uprising. They sent out a memo. Not just any memo, though... the memo stated that there would be a company wide pizza party to raise morale. I was told by several other employees, peons and managers alike, that the memo was a direct result of the sign getting changed around. Now, if your stock is tanking, you probably shouldn't spend $20,000 of your overhead budget on pizza because some yahoo fiddled with a sign. But what do I know? I had only been doing management for a year or two by that point, and the folks comprising upper management had been managers since the days when flogging employees was still considered acceptable business practice. Moral of the Story: "The squeaky wheel gets the greasy pizza." *************************************** *07 September 2001 - Investment Advice* *************************************** If you bought $1000 worth of Nortel stock one year ago, it would now be worth $49. If you bought $1000 worth of Budweiser (the beer, not the stock) one year ago, drank all the beer, and traded in the cans for the nickel deposit, you would have $79. My advice to you is to start drinking heavily and recycle.
Stick it in the Vogel and go "Setzen sie es in das betrunkene deutsche ein und reisen sie ab." (Or, quite simply, "Stick it in the Vogel and go.")

When this .plan was written: 2002-01-03 20:47:56
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