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Tuesday, April 4th, 2006
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8:32 am - To live free...
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To live free, and resound throughout the world,
Wearing a hawk's feather to ward off the shackles;
To live free, and conquer through the songs,
Let boulevards of world remember the music of your footsteps...
Yes, my mood is indeed soaring, and I find the above verses ( © Djordje Balasevic ) to be uniquely fitting as my anthem of the moment as I walk with a bouncy step, silly grin, wind-ruffled hair and sunburned cheekbones. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris? Because I did something I was dragging my feet about of over two years now.
About a month ago, prompted once again by tender mockings and forceful encouragement of my friends, I started looking for a motorcycle. And here, I have to stop, and say a great Thanks! to Max. He was the one who not only goaded me into action, but also made sure that I went and took the best safety & riding course in vicinity; in addition, he cheerfully spent days driving around with me, checking out 'the market', and even hauling one old bike to mechanic's shop (I'll tell you about Bob'n'Rolf the Bike Mechanics some other time) - said bike afterwards turned out un-repairable on my meager budget, so back to search we went.
Ultimately, two weeks ago, the constellations were in conjunction (I guess - I suck at astrology & astronomy, but everything mysteriously fell in place so...) and in space of one weekend, I bought my first motorcycle, one Kawasaki Vulcan 750, '94 (photos to come), and passed the driving tests. In the days to follow, I also blew a small fortune on riding gear, including a most awesome helmet ever (makes me look like Voltron, I'm told :) and, after a couple of rounds 'around the block', I finally hit the serious roads last weekend.
It was, to be honest, tough. Sunday saw winds in excess of 60mp/h (~100 km/h, for you europeople) around the clock in Boulder basin and outlying plains - but the mountains seemed a bit better, so I had a blast skirting the foothills of Rocky Mountains - I managed to rack over 400 miles that weekend alone. The feeling of being in motorcycle saddle, engine rumbling under it, while machine shifts almost effortlessly in response to rider's every weight change or control adjustments, is pretty amazing. In truth, it did take me some time to get used to wild stunts like cornering without crossing into the other lane - secret, apparently, is brake before curve, accelerate through it, and keep body upright in respect to the road while leaning the whole bike into the curve as much as one dares - I'm still surprised to discover I can lean the bike more than 45 degrees and not flop...
So, overall, life is good. Or, at least, the overwhelmingly awesome things in my life overshadow, at the moment, anything that might be annoying me...
Reading :"Ivan's War"
(Yes, still on it. The book is written in quite an academic style, bristling with references to other books which I of course had to cross-ref. So it's taking me a while.)
Listening : Yello - Best Of (Oooh, Yeah!)
Mood : Springtime-wild.
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| Saturday, April 1st, 2006
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11:05 am - Haiku for the day
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Well, here's a bit of a verse for the day...
Hear the playful peals
and patter of fool's dancing
- but beware the pranks.
Entry might come in later... but now, it's time for me to take my iron horse for a spin.
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10:20 am - A crazy kook
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 | You scored as Captain Jack Sparrow. Roguish,quick-witted, and incredibly lucky, Jack Sparrow is a pirate who sometimes ends up being a hero, against his better judgement. Captain Jack looks out for #1, but he can be counted on (usually) to do the right thing. He has an incredibly persuasive tongue, a mind that borders on genius or insanity, and an incredible talent for getting into trouble and getting out of it. Maybe its brains, maybe its genius, or maybe its just plain luck. Or maybe a mixture of all three.
Captain Jack Sparrow | | 96% | Lara Croft | | 79% | Maximus | | 63% | William Wallace | | 63% | Indiana Jones | | 63% | James Bond, Agent 007 | | 54% | The Terminator | | 54% | Neo, the "One" | | 50% | El Zorro | | 46% | Batman, the Dark Knight | | 33% | The Amazing Spider-Man | | 33% | </td>
Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
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| Thursday, March 30th, 2006
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7:55 am - Autumn of soul
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I find myself, these days, content far more often than not. True, there are always, like pebbles in shoe, small annoyances at work and in personal life - but I can hardly go on to complain about every single one of them. Nevertheless, for all the shortage of pains and troubles I find myself in, I can't help noticing the damper on the whole range of positive emotions I'm used to having around. I laugh just as rarely as I cry. I'm up no more than I'm down.
I must ask, then, is this Zen? The calm balance of soul at peace with itself and the world? If that is so, I don't think I want it. Truth is, what others preceived about me as 'being overemotional' is something I am rather attached to. I used to laugh out loud, resoundingly and explosively... I used to find myself crying, or at least swallowing hard, or seething with anger that made my knuckles hurt because I clenched my fists too hard. Nowadays, I find all of those, and all other reactions to world and events around me to be few and far between.
Perhaps I am not right to complain - but I am deeply unsettled by the fact that things that used to enrage me, sadden me, lift my spirits or amuse me in past, fail to do so now with increasing frequency.
Like judge's gavel,
Heavily footsteps resound
- another dream gone.
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| Monday, March 13th, 2006
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12:18 pm - Living in winter, dying for summer
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The glimpse of summer,
A maiden's teasing laughter -
Drowned in stormwind's howl.
...and once again, the world around me plays the cruel game. Just as I hoped the winter was gone, and just as I hoped I finally got rid of the two-month cold I've been dragging around (along with all the crappy feelings & moods that come bundled with it), the blizzards of Colorado returned with vengeance. Now, I sniffle, while my throat turns to sandpaper, and my mood is just as gray and bleak as the skies above. To put it simply...
I'm playing in a minor key again.
And no, I am not talking about the local meteorological situation alone - my state of mind is much the same. For a couple of weeks, I walked around with a smile and a whistle, and everything seemed great, even as Colorado flirted with approaching spring. Apparently, I was asking for too much.
In other news, I must admit not everything is bleak. A birthday party I attended last night was quite brilliant - tabletop card / board gaming in a rather relaxed company really helped me relax and have fun... I even won some (Settlers of Catan in particular, where I went from underdog to overlord in a matter of couple of rounds... Though Betrayal on the House on the Hill was smashing fun too, despite the vague rules that prevented us from wrapping up the game properly).
Reading : "Ivan's War : Life and Death in the Red Army 1939-1945" by Catherine Merridale
Listening : Parni Valjak - Best Of (anthology of one of finest croatian Rock bands)
Mood : * SIGH *
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| Friday, February 17th, 2006
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5:57 pm - A quiz...
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I know, I said I don't like these things... but look below and you'll understand my moment of weakness:
 | You scored as Serenity (Firefly). You like to live your own way and don't enjoy when anyone but a friend tries to tell you should do different. Now if only the Reavers would quit trying to skin you.
Serenity (Firefly) | | 100% | Moya (Farscape) | | 94% | Deep Space Nine (Star Trek) | | 94% | Bebop (Cowboy Bebop) | | 88% | Nebuchadnezzar (The Matrix) | | 88% | Babylon 5 (Babylon 5) | | 81% | Millennium Falcon (Star Wars) | | 75% | SG-1 (Stargate) | | 75% | Enterprise D (Star Trek) | | 69% | Galactica (Battlestar: Galactica) | | 69% | Andromeda Ascendant (Andromeda) | | 63% | FBI's X-Files Division (The X-Files) | | 50% | </td>
Your Ultimate Sci-Fi Profile II: which sci-fi crew would you best fit in? (pics)
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Comments? Serenity, oh yeah. Starscape sadly leaves me a bit flatlined, ditto for DS9... but Bebop? Score! I perhaps wish Millenium Falcon was a bit higher on the list...
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| Thursday, February 16th, 2006
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6:31 pm - Twilight zone moment
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I'm sick. Some kind of cold, probably not flu, but rather obnoxious. Sinuses hurt, head hurts, throat hurts...
So I eloped from work today. I stayed home, thermostat cranked way up high, humidifier running full steam (pun intended), sleeping in late, drinking lots of tea. I even had a garlic soup for lunch, and although I reek now, it did me good. So, after the day spent mostly asleep, I decided to see if sauna would help me, and I headed out. Sure enough, it felt great - I especially appreciate the fact my gym adds some eucalyptus into the sauna steam, it was positively wonderful. Eventually, I craweled out and headed home... then decided to hit a store and buy some stuff.
And then it happened.
New King Soopers, west Table Mesa. In walks me. Whoa. It's clean. It even -smells- clean. It's insanely well stocked, and ohmigod so tidy. All the salespeople seem... normal. Sane. All of them are even politely smiling. Everything I wanted was right there where I looked... so I stuffed my handbasket and walked over to the cashier (no line!). I'm standing there, young asian girl is scanning my merchandise... and suddenly she looks up. Are you familiar with Sartre? Huh. Blink moment. Sure I am familiar - we're not exactly drinking buddies, but... OK. I bit the hook, and started chatting... 'Childhood of a Leader' seemed to be main focus of our Sartrean dialogue, though we did share a gossip and giggle over his friendship with madame Beauvoir. And as we stood there and chattered, for good 10 min, no one interrupted us. No obnoxious buyers, no asshole bosses...
A definite Twilight Zone moment. I'm sure if I return to that King Soopers now, I'll discover it is an old, almost-derelict slaughterhouse, and has been for decades... instead of philosophically-inclined young asian woman, there'd be this ox-man with hairy arms, rolled up sleeves and blood-spattered apron. I must be delirious.
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| Friday, February 10th, 2006
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9:43 am - No shit, there I was....
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...driving down the Diagonal from Longmont to Boulder, last night after midnight.
In front of me, one of those annoying state patrol cars is waddling through the snow... but for once, I didn't give a single scoop of poop. You see, I usually breeze down the Diagonal at 75-80 MPH, if traffic permits it. The road is straight, pavement is good, not to o many lights... it's fun. But, with half a foot of snow on the road, and blizzard as thick as a republican, there was no point in driving over sixty... five. So I'm cruisin', ooohing as my car's Traction control cheerfully kicks in whenever I start sliding around, keeping me on the Right Path. all out of sudden, I notice state patrol car in front of me is kind of swaying & swerving.
I wonder if cop cars have traction control.
Nope, they don't. Into the ditch with you. So, against my better judgement, I pull over... get out of my warm and cozy car into the cold and not cozy blizzard... snow immediatelly filled my shoes. This will be great. So I snowplow over to the ditch, knock on the guy's window. 'Good evening, officer. Skiing license and sled registration, please.' I kid you not. Guy looks at me and laughs. Then he starts bitching that there's no chance in frozen-over hell that he'll get tow service out here and now. Meh. I drive a 2 ton, 300 horsepower piece of Caddy badassity. I have winter tires, chains, shovel and tow cables. I am PREPARED, officer. So I haul his sorry law enforcement posterior right on the Right Path. He thanks me... I ride off into the blizzard... and as I'm driving, I realise it. That cop didn't have chains for his tires. Nor a shovel. Nor a tow cable.
I am really happy roles weren't reversed.
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| Wednesday, February 8th, 2006
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12:30 pm - Quick update
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Ph34r my l33t h4xx1n6 5k1ll2!
Yahoo tech support sucks. Because my mail profile was corrupted, I couldn't verify personal info from it to prove that's really my account. So they refused to unlock my account. Which called for big guns. Took me a better part of the night & morning, but now I'm owner of my old Rocketmail ID again. I haven't broken into any computer accounts in ages.... it is almost depressing that I use my powers only for good these days.
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| Monday, February 6th, 2006
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2:49 pm - With baited breath....
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...and no small amount of trepidation, I'm waiting to hear back from the Yahoo support techs. My Yahoo account (both mail and IM portions) started refusing connections last night ~9PM, claiming invalid username and/or password, and despite my best efforts, it is still not letting me in.
So, why is that such a big deal? Yahoo IDs are free, after all... well, not really. my Yahoo ID is dunkelzahn.rm - most likely, it means nothing to most of you out there, unless you're a member in good standing of Revered Order of Illuminated Accolytes of Net. The .rm suffix on my ID means I am an original Rocketmail user. Rocketmail was one of first, if not THE first, available webmail service on the 'net; it appeared in early '90s. I opened my account there in 1995 - over 10 years ago. In 1997 Yahoo took over tthe Rocketmail, and majority of Rocketmail users simply gave up - according to an unofficial census, less than 1000 people still have original *@rocketmail.com mail addresses.
Thus, it is not just a Yahoo account... it is a mark of disctinction, proving my veteran status in the echelons of net-geeks and losing it, aside from losing 10 years worth of precious archived mail, would mean losing the very thing that makes me better than all the new-net-geek-wannabes out there.
I'm going back to stare at my secondary mail inbox in expectation of mail from Yahoo Helpdesk...
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| Thursday, February 2nd, 2006
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8:19 pm - Stories bones tell
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Sharp pain in my chest
Brought about by the snows -
remember the war.
As so many times before, when the winds brought about the change of weather, I felt today the familiar, sharp twinge in my side. Just enough to make me gasp, losing the air in my lungs. Almost, but not really, enough to make me stumble... and always, always enough to make me remember. The rib, cracked and notched by a sliver of steel - one of many - healed easily enough, and occasional stab of pain is dismissable, but other pains left behind by those days only seem to grow stronger with passing of time.
I cry. I sit, sometimes, with a glass of wine in my hand - red, usually, the sweet-dry sort of Croatian coasts (Contrary to popular belief, I don't drink vodka at those times) - and recall them all. The faces, the names, the voices. I don't keep the photos in albums, I keep them in my mind. Occasionally, I feel the deep, dull ache of guilt. I left the war behind with nothing but a few scars as souvenirs. So many of my friends never left. And whenever I re-visit Croatia, I go for a walk in the Panonian plains, or mountains of Dalmatia, where so many of my friends fell asleep forever, dying so that I might live.
At the end of the long agony that was nine hundred day-long siege of Sankt Petersburg during World War II, one of russian poets who spent whole siege in the town wrote these lines as last in the collection of poems she wrote during war.
'Let nobody forget. Let it not be forgotten.'
...how could I forget?
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| Sunday, January 29th, 2006
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5:18 pm - Wild, Wild Weekend
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 A long weekend of R&R is behind me... and to say I feel good would be a gross understatement - I had a positive, absolute blast, and I feel as unwound as one of those little tin drummer monkeys when they finally stop the racket and keel over. So, here's a brief overview of what adventures or intrepid hero dashed through in last 48 hours.
Friday afternoon, having wrapped up all the business in that den of scum, villainly and Walmart known as Bentonville, AR, I met a friend who drove down from Kansas City to the local airport. I promptly commandeered the steering wheel and turned the prow (well, hood) north-eastwards, towards the Saint Louis, engaged manual overrides, disregarded warnings about engine overheating and other superficial threats... Three hours and three hundred and fifty miles later (you do the math) we reached Saint Louis. As the mad race across the plains of Missouri sated my adrenaline cravings, more primal needs for food kicked in - fortunately, a well-informed friend sent me a mail that same day, quoting a Denver Post article that highly praised Bosna Gold - an 'authentic' oasis of bosnian specialties in the heart of USA, in Bevo Mill district of Saint Louis. As it turned out, guided by nothing more than my insane spacial awareness and address of the restaurant, I managed to locate them less than an hour before they closed. The dinner, first of many gastronomical stunts of this little trip, was a simple-sounding but masterfully prepared fare: cevapcici, pljeskavica, raznjici, sopska salata and kajmak left me both reminiscing of home, of little hole-in-the-wall food joints in Zagreb and the food-scented streets of Mostar in Bosnia, as well as more than sated. At the same time, I had a really fun time translating and explaining to my friend the nuances of Bosnian food. Finding a suitable hotel, I soon succumbed to sleep...
Small Glossary of Bosnian Food
- Cevapcici : Descendants of arabian 'kebab', a sausage-like creation of spicy minced beef roughly the size and shape of thumb, grilled on a hot plate and served in 'somun' - simple flatbread, with onions and kajmak</>.
- Pljeskavica : Flattened, spiced, and grilled meat of same type as cevapcici, resembling somewhat your typical burger patty with significantly more spices and seasonings added.
- Raznjici : Grilled skewers of beef and/or chicken meat, previously marinaded in a frequently spicy (notice the pattern) concoction of oil, beer and... spices.
- Sopska salata</> : Mixed salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, paprika and crumbled goat cheese, served with kajmak.
- Kajmak : A dairy product somewhere between yoghurt or sour cream and cottage cheese. Usually mild in flavor, it splendidly counters the frequently very spicy spawn of bosnian grills.
- Burek : Even though not mentioned in this entry, burek deserves to be here: It is a cousin to pita, made of filo dough stuffed with minced beef and onions and rolled into a roulade, then wrapped around itself into a spiral, and finally baked in a bread oven with a plenty of grease. It is a staple of workers and peasants, as well as starving students and exhausted party-goers on their way to home thorough the Croatia and Bosnia.
Simple, basic needs satisfied for the time being by the opulent last night's supper and hotel's relative luxury, I headed out with the friend to explore the town - alas, slow, cold drizzle of rain did its best to thwart our adventures, resulting in a bit of a sore throat and sinus headache I still carry around as a souvenir. Nevertheless, we did an admirable job of trudging through most of Saint Louis downtown on foot, crisscrossing it from Union Station to our final destination of St. Louis Arch. Here, a minor disaster struck - my digital camera treacherously ran out of batteries after I took bare couple of hundred photos of the town, and thus I decided to abort ascent to the Arch for tomorrow, and go off on a small quest to find a place where I could buy a charger or battery for my camera beforehand. For a town as abundantly rich with visual experience, Saint Louis turned out to be surprisingly frugal in establishments which would be capable of selling me either of items I so desperately sought, until I actually drove out into the suburbs and raided a Circuit City. By that time, the rain that had at least some mercy on our poor sightseeing heads turned with a vengeance into a full-fledged downpour, thick and cold enough that it made even driving around a difficult, headache-invoking task. Back to the hotel it was then, and only a with the aid of couple of hours of drowning in a scalding-hot tub and handful of aspirins did I manage to rein in and diminish (though not banish) my aches.
The stuborn pain called for drastic measures... and so me and my near-sushi-virgin friend headed for Sub Zero - a unique nirvana of superior blessings for my gluttonous side. Combining over a hundred vodkas kept in most properly chilled conditions and a master-staffed sushi bar, this place did what no amount of medications or steam could; within an hour, vodkas and wasabi-permeated sushi eradicated every remainder of my headache, replacing them with a blissful smile on my face and a serene glow in my stomach - not even the drive through the rain seemed like a problem suddenly. However, fortified by good sushi and better vodka, we were suddenly uninclined to go to bed - instead, we ventured to the City Museum - a chaotic, exceptionally expressive and impressive edifice filled floor-to-ceiling with a jungle of twisting steel tunnels, looming gargoyles, serene fish ponds and hordes of laughing, racing and exploring teenagers (the museum is open 'till bold 1AM).As expected, we crawled, we climbed, we explored, oohed, aahed and above all, laughed our hearts out, until we were both drenched in sweat, out of breath and full of wild experiences. The sleep that followed was the final act of triumph over semi-insomniac state I've been plagued for over two weeks now - full ten hours of calm, restful sleep, devoid of regular nightmares and middle-of-night awakenings I'm so used to.
Dizzy, dizzy... one of mirrored corridors of City Museum.
 Sunday morning, owing to the sleep like no other, I was out of the bed like Jack In A Box, bouncing and ready to do some more adventuring in the few hours my schedule had no use for. So, off to the riverbank and Arch it was - and the heavens, concealed previously behind the leaden overcast of clouds (fortunately sans rain) shed their gray cloak for a couple of minutes, allowing us to experience the Arch in its full glory, steel gleaming in the morning sun so fiercely it couldn't be either looked at directly or photographed from some angles (not that it's wasy to photograph in its whole from -any- angle - the unfathomable size and lack of mass make it neigh-uncapturable on camera). Cramming into the miniature pod-vagon of the elevator, we undertook the rattling, slow travel to the top of the arch - a surprisingly spacious, carpeted space with small slit-windows overlooking the city on both banks of the river, view stretching to very horisons some 30+ miles away. The ever-present gentle sway of the room was barely noticeable on conscious level,but I did find myself 'walking funny' as my friend called it - inner ear and habit of sea legs kicked in reflexively, to general audience's chuckling amusement. Finally, too many photos taken and not enough sights admired, we descended the largest work of Eero Saarinen and set forth in the search of last-minute amusements in still-sleepy Saint Louis. On impulse, I drove back to Bevo Mill and its Bosnian district - sadly, the Bevo Mill restaurant itself closed its door to general public couple of months ago and discontinued its notorious sunday champagne brunches, but a visit to one of local Bosnian stores, more than amply equipped with croatian and bosnian fine wares, and a quaint little food joint for the filling breakfast of donner kebab and schaumpitte entertained us and sated our hunger effortlessly.
And so it ended. Another crazy dash across the plains of Missouri to Kansas City - I scheduled my return flight from there, as St. Loius was really supposed to be a passing sight on the detour-trip from Bentonville to KC - and here I am. Kansas City airport. Smelly feet of sleeping passengers, loud voices of obnoxious TSA officials, overpriced coffee and wireless access... it feels almost like home. I'm certainly hanging around airports too much.
Reading : "Alexandria - City of the Western Mind" by Theodore Vrettos
Listening : 30GB worth of sing-along driving songs ;)
Mood : WHEEEEE! Ommmmmmm. Zzzzzzzz. (Rinse. Repeat.)
Please, don't steal my photos. They're kinda... mine. Thanks!
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| Saturday, January 28th, 2006
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3:46 pm - Natural born killers...
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Natural born.
You scored 49% Cold and 74% Level-Headed! | | You'd kill and probably not feel a damn thing. Maybe you need to think about that. |  |
My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: | You scored higher than 51% on Cold | | You scored higher than 90% on Level-Headed |
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| Wednesday, January 25th, 2006
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8:05 pm - Vash does it again.
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So, since I don't have time for a coherent entry, I'll just steal another one of Vashtan's - this time, spectral analysis.
Looks cool... I still need to find out if that 'pale' color is green or yellowih....
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| Sunday, January 22nd, 2006
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4:25 pm - Tartitude
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I've just returned from a great little hike up the Eldorado. Wind wasn't too vicious, snow was soft, sun was mellow and company was positively enjoyable. To wrap the thing up, we hit Hapa@Boulder for a light sushi lunch and accompanying bit of banter and breezeshoot - and then it came up in conversation.
TARTITUDE©
What is tartitude©? Oooh, that is the beauty of it. On the surface, tartitude© is that touch of rebellious attitude given to green tea ice cream by kiwi. Cousin to fortitude, this word posesses inner strength and dignity, but unlike the brutishness of its elder, tartitude© also carries itself with youthful joie de vivre and playfulness. Of course, you might say, that's all good for food attributes - but what about people? Well, chivalry forbids me to go into the dirty name-calling business regarding girls with tartitudinous attitude, but I have no doubt those of lesser morals among you will figure such ways to abuse the power of glorious tartitude© for yourself.
Reading : "Alexandria - City of the Western Mind" by Theodore Vrettos
Listening : '70s & '80s Croatian pop & rock anthology.
Mood : Calm and relaxed. (Now that's a first in a looooong time, eh?)
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| Sunday, January 15th, 2006
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9:06 am - It's all Vashtan's fault...
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Saw it on Vashtan's LJ, so I had to try it.
- Marie Antoinette never said 'let them eat cake' - this is a mistranslation of 'let them eat dunkel'!
- If your ear itches, this means that someone is talking about dunkel.
- Dunkel was invented in China in the eleventh century, but was only used for fireworks, never for weapons.
- Without its lining of dunkel, your stomach would digest itself!
- All swans in England belong to dunkel.
- Dunkel can clean his ears with his tongue, which is over thirty-nine inches long.
- Ancient Greeks believed earthquakes were caused by dunkel fighting underground.
- Four-fifths of the surface of dunkel is covered in water.
- If you keep a goldfish in a dark room, it will eventually turn into dunkel.
- Dunkel has little need for water and is capable of going for months without drinking at all.
..indeed. So much truth there. This just made my day...
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| Saturday, January 14th, 2006
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7:09 pm - Corporate executioner
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Well, I have certainly stooped to a new low.
When I joined the company I'm working for, it was, well, not a small mom and pop shop, but definitely not a soul-less corporation. Long haired dudes, bearded chicks, potheads all and jeans all over the place. I loved it. Then, an evil corporation noticed my employers are making a killing... so they bought us. Long hair fell off, beards were trimmed, potheaded bosses were replaced by asshat bosses... and jeans are gone. We became corporate drones.
So much for the preamble. Onto the crux of the matter: just as we were corporationalised, I got a new co-worker... the guy who was supposed to take care of our network. And he did a great job of it - for the first 2 weeks, before enthropy kicked in and eroding the good foundations laid by the previous network admin... Then, the new guy started fixing things. Funnily enough, I suddenly found myself up to my nose in Cisco manuals and network config handbooks... mostly fixing all the repairs new guy did.
That was... oh, four months ago? Six? Time passes so fast when one's working his ass off covering for his coworkers' mental shortcommings. Being thorough (anally retentive) as I am, I ran all the paperwork regarding network incidents and maintenance... mainly because he couldn't be bothered. Alas, even though my bosses spotted the... inconsistencies between name of network admin and name of person solving problems and filing paperwork, HR suddenly started vehemently resisting idea to fire the guy's ass. For some reason, danger of being sued (god knows sued for what?) was for them more real than danger of multi-billion-dollar company brought to a grinding halt because network admin doesn't know difference between Cisco and Crisco.
Last wednesday, shit finally hit the proverbial fan. Network segment crashed... he was not in the office.... wrathful VPs rained fire from above... Andro fixed. After that, my boss instructed me to assemble complete incident file for the failure-dude, along with full inventory of company equipment and software he's been using, to verify that nothing's missing. This friday, they escorted him out.
Now, seeing him gone made me sigh a sigh of relief. However, some of the proceedings certainly rubbed me in a very wrong way. The fact that I was ordered to basically act as prosecution's investigator and compile just about every bit of work-related dirt on my co-worker disgusted me. Sure, I did it... mainly because at that point I was ready to do anything just to see him gone - but the fact that my boss would tell me to do such things without thinking twice deeply unsettles me. Will I be told to do the same when they decide to lay off one of guys I enjoy working and hanging out with?
I think I'm looking for a new job.
Reading : IBM and Holocaust
Listening : Vivaldi's Gloria opus.
Mood : Angry.
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| Monday, January 9th, 2006
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6:01 pm - Heroes die nameless
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The sounds of battle
fall silent as She arrives.
Warriors, salute.
I have learned today that early on the morning of friday, january the sixth anno Domini 2006, we have lost Comandanta Ramona . And it will not surprise me in the least if whoever reads this entry blinks, and asks Who was she, and why did we lose her?
One of my strongest, earliest childhood memories is a monument to the fallen freedom fighters of Croatia in World War II. The base of the monument was inscribed with verses of one Croatian poet, written half a century ago. No, you fell not for naught, you beautiful heroes - your names still shine before us like rallying banners of victory. As a child, I found it a stirring, inspiring verse - I never failed to salute the monument, pausing to remember my grandfather and his brothers, whose graves are still hidden somewhere in mountains and forests of Croatia, where they fell defending our freedom. I knew then that their names are not forgotten.
Yet, as I drove home tonight, as I heard on the radio that Comandanta Ramona succumbed to the malicious cancer, I choked on tears. Not because she died - even though her passing saddens me greatly, it was inevitable. No, I wept because I realised that world of today doesn't know her name, nor will they remember it. We all grew up on the tales of heroes, antique, modern and future. Their deeds, feats and sacrifice inspired many childhoods. But... what are the names that world remembers? Sultan Suleiman Magnificent. Henrik the Eighth. Adolf Hitler. Josef Staljin. Not to name the politicians of today. We remember the names of conquerors, villains, tyrants and opressors. But heroes die nameless.
Not this one. Comandanta Ramona was one of leaders of Zapatista movement. Twelve years ago she led her comrades into San Cristobal De Las Casas. She then challenged Mexican government's ban on Zapatista participation at National Indigenous Congress in Mexico City, appearing there and speaking before more than a hundred thousand people. And she never stopped fighting. She voiced, passionately, openly and incessantly, her thoughts for the education of Mexican indigenes, women and poor. She was never silent about failings and flaws of Mexican government. And she was never hesitant to speak in public, in front of people and police equally.
She was a Hero, and world will never know how much it lost last friday. Heroes die nameless.
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| Friday, January 6th, 2006
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9:08 pm - Undead.
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So...
You saw Shawn of the Dead,. You thought it was wicked. Cool. Awesome. Or at least snicker-worthy.
You ain't seen nothing yet.
I just finished watching The Undead - the cute little lady with an awesomely evil taste at the Boulder Video Station whole-heartedly recommended it, and when a bubblegum-poppin', pigtail-totin', nipple-piercin' hottie with brains (no less) who brought me such goodies as Le Samourai and Vidocq recommends, I bark. Er, watch.
And indeed, it was all I dreamed, and never dared to hope for. The movie is extremely witty, in a most gruesome way, and its mimicry of cheap early D-production horrors puts imposters such as Van Helsing to shame. I know not how much more I can say without ruining the movie for any of you who decide to watch it, so I'll leave you with this quote:
"Time is short... so you gotta ask yourself: Are you a fighter, 'Fish Queen', or are you zombie food?"
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1:52 pm - Like a Lemur...
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dunkel's journal
