What is worse than getting lost in the details?

Never starting because you're overwhelmed by the project.

Or starting, and stopping because one small, small detail stops you.

Back in college, a roommate of mine commented she didn't know anyone who had more self-help books than I did. I read science fiction, science fiction fantasy (think trolls and hobbits and wizards and magic), and self-help books. I never read the relationship ones, but I did read a lot of the "I'm fucked up, how can I unfuck myself up?" books. I hadn't noticed that I read a lot of self-help books (though it was obvious to anyone looking at my books), and needed this smack up-side the head.

And because of that roommate, I stopped reading self-help books. She had made the comment as an accusation ("What kind of nitwit reads this shit?"), thereby causing me to stop looking outside for help and to start looking inside.

I had many more years to go before I could say I was happy. And I had many friends that helped me along the way. I knew the day was closer, though, when my childhood friend Jessica told me she liked me better now (where now was many years after college) than before because I didn't hate myself anymore.

A small comment, made casually, that also had a profound effect on my life.

Jess is good like that.

With the help of Jenny, Jess, Yosufi, Bob, Wook, Mom, Kris, Bharat, Lisa, Mark, Mike and others, I've learned to accept myself, to realize what I like and don't like about myself, to focus on the good stuff (because chances are, I'm completely exaggerating the bad stuff). I'm sure I'll die disliking some parts of me (did I mention my short legs?), but I won't die hating all of me.

And that's a good thing.

Actually, that insight was a little much. I wouldn't have thought that not writing because I had a bunch of pictures to include in my Ticked Off post, and I was tired of downloading the images to my harddrive, resizing them, putting two borders around them, uploading them to the server and including them in the post. I want to have a nice streamlined approach to posting images; I've reached my pain-point with my current process. It sucks.

And pictures are nice.

So, technology to the rescue. (Or as Bharat once pointed out to me about the two of us: we use technology to make life easier for ourselves. Usually because we're lazy.)

What a silly reason not to write: I haven't been writing because I wanted pictures in my blogs, and posting them is a pain in the ass with my current process. Because I couldn't do everything, I did nothing. Lost in the details.

Another thing to fix.

Kris and I went over to Mike, Kate and Liza's tonight for dinner. It was a very nice evening. We met some of Kate's work friends: Brian and Kim with baby Alex, and Isis and Shaun. With the two youngsters in the house and another one on the way, talk naturally drifted towards children, and then not having children. In particular, when a couple decides they're done having children, who volunteers to go under the knife?

When most of the men agreed a vasectomy was the way to go (if their wives have to go through the pain of childbirth, the least they can do is undergo the surgery to prevent another one), Kim related the story of when the husband of a friend she knew underwent his vasectomy: he had the operation done and went home. Sometime in the middle of the night, this guy woke up with his testicles the size of grapefruits. He immediately dashed (drove? ran?) to the hospital, where they discovered the incisions had not stopped bleeding, causing the swelling, and, I can only assume, incredible pain. They were drained, stitched back together properly, no lasting harm done.

All fine and good. But I couldn't help but wonder, wouldn't you wake up once your nuts were the size of apples? Who waits until they're the size of grapefruits?

Heh. Today's meals included a Krispy Kreme donut, milk, Cold Stone Creamery chocolate ice cream with almonds, chocolate chips, then finally a real meal at Satsuma (sushi). My insides are lovin' me right now.

Yeah right.

Probably a good thing I don't do this very often (like never).

If you must drive the wrong way down a one way street, drive very fast. You're going the wrong way, so get the fuck out of there.

Ah, to be young and so sure of myself as to be arrogant. Those were the days.

Hey, wait a second.

When I was young, I was completely plagued with self-doubt, feelings of inadequecy, and self-loathing. Those were days of torture, frustration, anger and hopelessness. Arrogance? Maybe less humility than I should have had, but arrogance? Nah.

On the flight home from Denver, I had the pleasure of sitting next to a young man, presumably a college kid, on his way to San Jose for an interview with Apple.

Ick. "Young man." Sounds so snooty. I sat next to this young guy who was clearly a geek. And he didn't appear to be suffering the plagues of my youth, that's for sure.

After he shoved his rollerbag into the overhead bin, he threw down his Camel book (Programming Perl for those non-O'Reilly, non-perl folks out there), and sat down in a huff. I sat down in my aisle seat, and continued to read my magazine. After a bit, my curiousity got the better of me, and I asked him why he was reading his Perl book. He said he'll have an interview the next day, and he was studying hard for his interview. He had heard that Apple uses perl for scripting and that he should know it. So, full of importance, he opens the book (page 127) and starts reading (an hour later he made it to page 137, boding not well for my young friend here, in his hopes of completing his studies).

When I pulled out my mac to start working (that would be writing another "Letters to My Children" entry, entitled "Every Choice Means a Sacrifice"), he told me that it was a great computer, that I had made a good choice in purchasing it. I felt so much better knowing I had made the correct choice, because I could have pulled out the other laptop I had with me, the PoS PC.

Lordy, did I chuckle to myself on this one. He continued to try to impress me, with talk about Apple, perl, interviews, how his time would be completely filled, with grandiose sighs and self important glances, with mutterings about this and that. I didn't have the heart to tell him my experience. I'm sure they would have paled in comparison to his glorious achievements.

At some point, however, he must have sensed that he was talking to another geek, perhaps one a little more experienced than he was, because he asked with a stark look of slight terror, "I'm not speaking to an Apple employee right now, am I?" I chuckled, and said no.

I don't think he believed me. He didn't talk to me for the remaining 90 minutes of the flight. I almost feel sorry for the guy. I mean, here he is being out-geeked by the passenger two seats over from him on the flight out to his interview, and he's interviewing where there are hundreds of people who can out-geek her (me).

Did I mention said college kid doesn't play ultimate? Well, he doesn't.