Category: Haightlife

General news and thinking about living in the Alderete-McCune household.

I Might Be a Crank, But I’m Not Alone

I wrote before about “downgrading” to a slower hard disk, just because it made less noise than the fast disk it replaced. I also spent a lot of time researching parts and putting together two PCs from nearly silent components, just to replace my old server and Rochelle’s aging — and incredibly noisy — PC.

After doing all of that, the noisiest item in the office was once again my Mac, which lost the title when I took out the noisy hard disk, but had a couple of fans that were quite a bit louder than the now-very-quiet fans in the two PCs.

I wrote before about “downgrading” to a slower hard disk, just because it made less noise than the fast disk it replaced. I also spent a lot of time researching parts and putting together two PCs from nearly silent components, just to replace my old server and Rochelle’s aging — and incredibly noisy — PC.

After doing all of that, the noisiest item in the office was once again my Mac, which lost the title when I took out the noisy hard disk, but had a couple of fans that were quite a bit louder than the now-very-quiet fans in the two PCs.

When I got my new girlfriend, that noise went away. My PowerBook is normally completely silent, because laptops run cooler than desktops and the aluminum case dissipates heat extremely well. There is a fan, and it makes noise when it’s on, but that’s only when the CPU is really crunching. Now, although they are pretty quiet, the server and Rochelle’s PC are again the noisy items in the office.

It’s really not a lot of noise. A quiet radio or a conversation would cover it, as does the street noise most of the time. But, it’s still there, and since I’m most efficient at night, when everything else gets quiet, it’s starting to be annoying. Which is crazy, because 6 months ago the reduced noise level from those systems made me ecstatic.

I’ve realized that I’m becoming a crank, someone obsessed with something most people find trivial, and I’m sure I will ultimately go mad trying to squeeze that last decibel or two out of the office. My only consolation is that I am not alone, and it’s now possible to find plenty of components, and even whole systems, that make computing quiet.

Rochelle Passes

Today Rochelle received her notification letter from San Jose State, informing her that the two papers she submitted for culmination of her Masters program had been accepted as passing.

Today Rochelle received her notification letter from San Jose State, informing her that the two papers she submitted for culmination of her Masters program had been accepted as passing. This was her last requirement for her program, and so she will soon be graduating, adding a Masters in Library and Information Sciences to her Masters of Tequila.

Congratulations Rochelle!

More Proof Windows is Braindead

Windows XP turned a slight mistake into a permanent file deletion. That sucks.

I just borrowed Rochelle’s flash-based pen drive to transfer a file from her old PC to her new one (some contacts data we forgot in the original migration). After transferring the file, I selected a couple of old files to delete, and dragged them to the trash.

It turns out, for some reason I had a third item selected, a folder of Rochelle’s, and it got dragged to the trash, too. No big deal, right, just hit Undo, or go into the Recycling Bin and retrieve it, right?

Wrong. Windows XP deletes items from removable drives (or at least pen drives) immediately; they don’t sit in the trash, ever. So hopefully Rochelle has copies of the stuff in that was in that folder. Otherwise, it’s gone for good.

Thanks Windows.

Fried Chicken!

Rochelle found a new soul food place in San Francisco through the Chowhound.com message boards, Miya, out in the Sunset. They’re terrific.

Rochelle found a new soul food place in San Francisco through the Chowhound.com message boards, Miya’s Place, out in the Sunset. It’s terrific. Our first visit I ordered something I almost never order out: fried chicken. The fellow at the counter said “it takes about 20 minutes” and that was all right with us. Rochelle ordered the smothered pork chop, and off he went to cook.

When our food arrived, I took one bite of the chicken, and I was in love. Rochelle got a bite or two, but that’s mostly because the chef brought out an extra piece he’d cooked for her. I devoured my serving of four pieces, methodically eating every bit of meat off the bones. Rochelle remarked that she’d never seen me eat like that. Amazing fried chicken, the best I’ve ever eaten. (Rochelle’s dish was excellent, too.)

A return trip for brunch was equally satisfying, with my fried pork chop disappearing under a similar attack, and really good hash browns (a rarity in SF). Rochelle loved her biscuits and gravy. Now if they have a great chicken fried steak, Miya will be the only place we’ve found the trifecta which makes for a perfect breakfast for us: chicken fried steak, biscuits and gravy, and hash browns.

Miya’s Place is on the corner of Holloway and Ashton, two blocks from Ocean, where the Muni line runs. Parking has been easy, and the place is always less crowded than it deserves to be. Highly recommended.

LTFP

I’ve been dicking around with WordPress on my test system long enough. LTFP.

“LTFP” was an acronym we used at Cymerc, the dot.bomb I worked at for 14 months before it imploded. We started using the term a couple weeks before we released the first version of our public web site. It stood for Launch This Fucking Pig, which basically meant we thought it sucked but were tired of testing, and just wanted it out the door.

LTFP is what I did very early this morning.

I’ve been dicking around with WordPress on my Mac OS X system, setting it up, configuring it to use the same URL scheme as my old weblog system, tweaking the template a bit, and — most importantly — importing all my old weblog posts from the old system. After four weeks of dithering and obsessing, it’s not done, but it’s going live anyway.

I’ve tried to not break any permalinks to pre-existing posts or the syndication feeds, and otherwise keep it compatible with the bookmarks that people may have for this site. But I’m sure there will be a few things to fix. Leave me a comment if you find something.

There’s also plenty to do on cleanup. I will probably have to edit every single post to clean up the HTML and re-link the URLs I included in old posts. And I’m not terribly happy with the design of this template, which is pretty basic, and virtually unchanged from the generic version of Kubrick, which I used to get started. It’s a great template, but there are well-understood steps I still need to take to make it my own…

Anyway, by switching to WordPress, a much more popular weblogging system, I should be back to posting regularly, as the system will get in my way a lot less.

Opal Divine’s Is Divine

Austin is a great city. One of my favorite things there is Opal Divine’s Freehouse.

On our trip to Mexico’s tequila region last year, we met the proprietor of an establishment in Austin, Michael Parker of Opal Divine’s Freehouse. Rochelle and I were thrilled to hear about a good place for tequila in Austin, and at the trip’s end, promised to visit him at his restaurant when we flew back for Thanksgiving, less than a month later.

And visit we did! We hit Opal Divine’s our second night in town, and liked it so much that in spite of a compressed schedule visiting Rochelle’s relations we found a way to squeeze it in again right before our return flight.

Opal Divine’s is quite a bar, with a truly fabulous selection of most liquors including tequila, a stupendous selection of interesting beers from here and abroad, and what must be a U.S. Top 5 selection of single malt Scotch — certainly the best I’ve seen (and we have a great Scotch bar in SF, The Irish Bank).

Rochelle and I certainly know how to entertain ourselves in a good bar, but what takes Opal Divine’s up to the next level, to our only must-visit in all of Texas, is the food. Really, there’s no requirement for Michael to have such good food — decent pub grub would be more than enough to make the patrons happy and coming back to drink more.

His food doesn’t need to be outstanding for him to be successful — but it is. We were reminded of that again this evening, when we made everything right with our day by going and having the tasting sampler of Scotch to start (six single malts from all the Scotch regions), and then eating a great chicken fried steak and an incredible patty melt.

Miserable Flight

We flew to Austin for Thanksgiving with Rochelle’s family today. The flight sucked, due to horrible passengers.

We flew to Austin for Thanksgiving with Rochelle’s family today. The flight was horrible, not for the usual reason, not because of anything the airline did or because air travel the day before Thanksgiving is near chaos. No, it was just horrible passengers.

It all started so well. We made it through the security line without a huge wait or hassels. We headed to the bar with plenty of time to down a couple of double vodka tonics each. And we walked onto our plane without any issues of overcrowded overhead bins, etc. We medicated ourselves further, and then settled into our audiobook, thinking this was going to be an easy flight.

Then some skate rat hits my arm and tray table on his way past, and knocks my red wine into my lap. Not so much as an excuse me. The flight attendant was great, giving me club soda and another mini of wine, but I still had to sit in soaked pants for the rest of the flight, and until we got to our hotel room.

Then on our approach into Austin, we had to turn off all personal electronics, and thus listen to our fellow passengers. Crying babies are one thing (and we had that going in stereo), but two tech people from the Bay Area swapping dot.com-era stories, in over-loud, penetrating voices from the seats directly behind us sent Rochelle over the edge. My god, hasn’t everyone told or heard that same damn story a hundred times by now? It’s only interesting the first time — except, apparently, to the person telling it to the stranger sitting next to them, who is only pretending fascination so they can tell their own story next.

Note to dot.bomb participants and victims: This is 2004, it’s been three years, your stories are officially boring. Find something new to talk about, please!

How to Hail a Cab

Billie has developed a new trick: hailing cab rides.

Billie is our littlest, sweetest cat. She’s a shut-in. Trapped in our bedroom by a roaming Basta policing the hallways (and any other room she’s not been chased out of), and frequently harrassed by a doting Luigi, who just wants to be her bestest friend, Billie retreats from the world when we’re not home, spending her time on her cat condo, under the bed, or in the closet.

That doesn’t mean she’s lost her curiosity, or thirst for adventure. She loves to visit other rooms in the house, especially the office, where we’ve set up a semi-permanent (but movable) bed on top of the printer, close to Rochelle. And she loves to go out to the back deck, and chew on whatever plants Rochelle is currently torturing.

But, how to get to other rooms, or the great outdoors, when the highways and byways of the house are controlled by the Evil Basta? There’s really only one way that’s safe from ambush: a cab rid on our shoulders. Billie loves to jump up — from the bed when she can, from the ground when she must — and cling to our shoulders, neck, or back, and be transported at a safe altitude to other, more exiting places. We’ve come to recognize the look on her face that says she’s coming aboard, and usually manage to crouch down lower, so her leap doesn’t involve quite as much claw when she lands.

The thing is, we’re often not in the bedroom. Mostly not in the bedroom. So, when we’re too far away, she’s taken to hailing us.

It’s a distinctive, insistent lowing that borders on a whine. She’s used it for some time to tell us she wants something, but it’s usually been food or attention. We know what it means in a general way, but lately it’s been more specific: come get me, and take me somewhere. Her chariot arrives, she leaps aboard, and the game’s afoot. Fun!

Tonight, she even started giving directions. When I came to pick up my fare, she kept on yelling, especially when I headed in the wrong direction. When I finally realized she wanted the back deck, she quieted, and lept off immediately when she arrived at her intended destination.

No tip.

Cancel Your Friendster Account

Well, OK, I won’t tell you what to do, but I’ll tell you what I just did: I cancelled my Friendster account (Friendster is a social networking company), because they fired an employee for blogging (participating in social networks).

Well, OK, I won’t tell you what to do, but I’ll tell you what I just did: I cancelled my Friendster account (Friendster is a social networking company), because they fired an employee for blogging (participating in social networks).

There’s been some coverage of the issue on weblogs and in more mainstream media

Frankly, I wasn’t using my Friendster account anyway; my LinkedIn account is more useful, and my Orkut account is more interesting. Friendter was trapped in-between being useful and being fun, which meant it was pretty useless. So cancelling my account to send a (tiny) message seemed like a reasonable thing to do.

After all, I have this blog, and someday I might be working 9-5 again…