Someone broke into my car this weekend. We were at the movies, and when we came out the widow was busted and a bunch of stuff was gone. They took a $30.00 boom box, some CDs and my cell phone plug. My first reaction was anger, but it's always tough for me to be angry at stupid stuff like this. I was a bit of a derelict when I was young, and it gives me very little right to be indignant in situations like this. It's not a karma thing for me. I just can't pissed off because some punk kid did something stupid. It also highlights for me how attached I can be to material things. Its just crap and a car. The insurance will pay for the window, and most of the CDs where ones I burned with music from Napster.

The things you own own you.

Tam has this theory regarding buffets and the elderly. She claims, when you reach a certain age limit, your taste buds start to decline, and you are unable to taste as well as you could in your younger years. She also claims that this is the reason the elderly enjoy overly stinky cheeses. She gives arguments that the elderly are more money conscious and lean towards frugality as apposed to the younger generations inability to maintain a bank account in the positive numbers. This inability to taste as well as they used to, and a penchant towards stinginess, creates an affinity towards buffets. Where else can a person obtain access to hot tray after hot tray of foods for $7.95 ($6.95 with coupon). Sure, it all taste like cardboard soaked in butter, but to the palletly disabled this is not an issue.

We took Tam's father out for his birthday this weekend. "We can go any place you want", Tam said. I never really thought of her father as elderly. He's probably twice as active as I am. This weekend that all changed as I looked out the window of his car to see a huge sign with the words <Golden Corral> imprinted on it. For the uninitiated, the Golden Corral is a buffet. It's not just any buffet. It's the grand daddy of buffets. It houses acres of hot tables containing all sorts of meats, casseroles and macaroni and/or cheeses. It's the buffet of the future. The hosts wear radio headset so they can communicate to the rest of the staff. "Table of five", one shouted into his headset, and a second later a pimple faced boy ran up and corralled the herd of five in front of us to their table. I was half expecting to be shocked by a cattle prod as we where rustled to our table. They must prod hundreds of cheap overweight people a day in and out of this place. They've become the modern day version of the cattle rustler. Giddy up not so li'l doggy.

A little slice of Americana. Well, a huge slice, with whipped cream.

In a sign of U.S. isolation, the U.S. delegate was booed when she told the gathering that the Bush administration is committed to tackling climate change even though it has rejected the 1997 protocol, considerably curbing the treaty's force.

I know this sounds pessimistic, but I don't think Christine has actually been to bitterpill.org. You think, maybe?

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I have spent the last few days listening to The Legendary Edith Piaf. It's sure a long way from the thirteen year old punk listening the Black Sabbath on his portable 8 Track player.

I feel like one of those guys on the subway that sleeps on the way to work. I meander to my car in the morning. I listen absentmindedly to the radio during my commute as I occasionally drive by an exit or two. I slowly walk towards the building entrance as I nonchalantly wave my access card towards the access door and shuffle to my cube for eight to ten hours of sloth filled work. I look up from an hour trance, involving staring at the ceiling or reloading the same web page over and over, and realize its quitting time. I shuffle back to my car and run the morning commute in reverse. If only I had to punch a time card, and a whistle blew at five everyday signifying quittin' time. I'd pick up my metal lunch box, tuck in my blue denim work shirt, leave my hardhat on the hooks by the door, then punch out and head home as I pass the evening shift workers. "Evening George," I'd say. "Evening Mark."

On a related note: looks like we will be selling our house and taking a long vacation. Australia and New Zealand first, and then maybe Rome or France. Its all in the infant stages, (or, for Matt, infant station) but the planning has begun, and god damn am I excited!

Another reason to love IMDB, they list foreign films in their original title.

Unfortunately for the world at large, bitter pill has not "ceased operations". I imagine most wish it would.

I made some needed updates to the "pill" this weekend. I updated the servlet engine to Resin, and I updated some CoWA stuff as well. I also made a bunch of small changes to back end and front end items. The bitter pill was getting a little shabby, so I threw another coat of paint on 'er.

Scott and I have been working on a project that will change they way we do business here at the pill. It is looking pretty cool so far. The nice thing is that Scott has done most of the coding and design so far, and I have just said things like, "Maybe you should rename the package, or at least change that class name." Its like I'm the the annoying project manager.

We have dubbed the new project cud (yet another stupid and nonsensical acronym) for Constantly Under Development, or Cheap Unskilled Developers, or Chafed Underbelly Desired?

"He who joyfully marches in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice."

-Albert Einstein