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Thursday, June 21st, 2001
2:50a - unpolitical post, the last before the dropoff | memories and black ice
So here I am wanting to sit down and write something deep and philosophical, maybe, or maybe something a bit poignant about Lost Love and all. And, well, c'mon, if I write about Lost Love then there's only one person I could possibly be referring to. Who is, most likely, going to be finding a floppy disk in their mailbox tomorrow that they most definitely aren't going to be expecting, and, presumably, will visit this site.

So should I really be writing about them the *night before*? Like, maybe they'll think I'm trying to manipulate them or something. Of course, I could *say* so, and then say that I'm not - but maybe that's just part of the manipulation! And if I mentioned *that*, why, I'm a pretty canny person, maybe I'm trying to manipulate them that way?

"Oh, I knew you would know."
"Well, I knew that you'd know I'd know."
"Hmph. I knew that you'd know I'd know that you'd know that. Did you know that?"
"Why, no, I only knew that you'd know I'd know. Did you know *that*?"
"um . . . uh . . . why, yes."

(as I horribly mangle a Mystery Men quote, which incidentally is a great movie that everyone should see, especially people who love superhero stuff.)

So I think I'll just avoid all that and write the post I was thinking about, and screw canny political maneuvering. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.


I remember waybackwhen about, oh, six months-ish ago, during the time when things were going horribly wrong and I was doing things like crying outside my (now) ex's door. (The Bad Week. not to be confused with The Bad Years, which was about six months before.)

For reasons that I won't go into because they're long, convoluted, and not really that important, she was convinced that someone was trying to hack into her system. Which seemed mighty unlikely to me, since unless you've got the thing set up horribly, Win98 (what we had installed) might be remotely crashable but nothing permanent.

So, imagine: she's paranoid about something which I know is impossible. And she wants me to do something about it. So I tried explaining the situation to her, only she didn't believe me (she hadn't had a lot of sleep exactly either), she didn't want me to turn the computer on because she was certain she'd be hacked instantly. But obviously I can't install any software with the computer off. And I *know* that there's nothing they can do with its setup beyond crashing it, and I rather doubt they can do even that.


"Look. I know computers. You know that, don't you? And I'm telling you that it's safe. Trust me."

And oddly enough, she did - I put the protection software on her computer, she tested it out (with an application that she knew would try to connect to her computer - and it did indeed prompt her to see if she wanted to accept the connection) and she was a little more relaxed at that point.

So there's the point I'm trying to get across, I think - that there are people who know what they're doing in fields far more than you do (saying this to everyone who fits the definition of "you" - myself included) and when you go to their field of expertise, let them work.

Now that I'm thinking about it . . . that's one thing she *did* usually do. She knew I was a better tech than she was, so generally she'd let me show her how things worked, though I was always showing her how *she* could do it next time.

Geez, she could have been a fabulous tech . . . dunno what she's doing now, I heard she was taking a programming class but . . . eh. I don't know if she was good enough to derive object-oriented design from nothing. Maybe.

Oh, the most ironic part of it came about a month ago - the software I'd put on was called Black Ice, and I'd put it on basically because I'd heard a few of my friends say it was good. Well, I ran across a review of it for other reasons - turns out it basically doesn't do anything :) Well, I *did* say she was safe anyway, so I don't really feel like I set her up with a lousy system.

I dunno if this came out how I intended at all . . . ah well. Maybe she'll read it, maybe not. So it goes.

so it goes . . . I remember she got angry at me, long after she'd left me, because she explained why she'd left me and all I could say was "oh well". But . . . what *can* you say sometimes? I couldn't get her back with me. There was no point to going over and over everything in the hopes that it would change somehow. Sometimes you just gotta drop it.

Even if it takes six months.

Even if you *still* haven't succeeded after six months, and here I am going to her house to let her know how I am. Geezus I'm pathetic . . . oh well.

So it goes! ;)

current mood: sourly amused, slightly manic

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7:06p - schroedinger
I will explain Shroedinger's Cat for those of you who may not already know about it. (btw, I think I misspelled the name.)

Here's the idea. You take a cat and put it in a box. (This alone shows that it could never be done in reality.) Also in the box with the cat, you put a bottle of poison, a hammer, and an atom of a radioactive substance that has a 50% chance of decaying in an hour, and you set it up so that if the atom decays, the hammer hits the bottle of poison and the cat dies. Yeah, I know this is very Rube Goldbergish. Bear with me.

Now, you close the box and ignore it. In an hour, either the cat's dead or the cat's alive, and there's absolutely no way for you to tell which it is. In fact, until you open the box, you can consider the cat to be both dead *and* alive - the universe only "decides" once it's observed.

Some of you may have realized that this is an analogy.

A little over an hour and a half ago I left a floppy disk propped next to my ex's front door, then took the bus home (this being why an hour and a half - plus I stopped for a Sobe. I've never seen fully automated checkout machines before. More later.) She may have responded, she may not have - there's no way for a message she may or may not have made to reach me yet. There are 3 messages on the answering machine (2 when I left) but that doesn't mean anything because we get a mindboggling number of telephone solicitors. I haven't checked my e-mail, and I haven't checked livejournal.

It's frustrating to know that even though you've spent half a year trying to not care anymore, you still want to hear from someone you loved . . . and maybe still do :/

Time to check e-mail.

current mood: anxious

(comment on this)


Guess it's a bit soon for that.

Sheesh, as far as I know, she's reading it now. This is gonna be a stressful wait :/

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Three words:

Go Rent Cube.

It's an awesome movie. Only two problems. First - it will be hard to find. As in, "ah geez, *another* copy of Six String Samurai - they're all over the place! Where on earth can I find Cube?"

Second, it contains violence - if you were okay with Fight Club, then don't rent Cube, because having to consciously decide you were okay with Fight Club puts your tolerances far too low for Cube. (yes, this is directed at one specific person ^^;;)

But overall it rocks.

I'd make more comments, but . . . they'd spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it, and once you've seen it, you'll probably get what I was trying to say.

No news from the ex. in fact, tonight's been quiet in the comment-posting front.

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