Lonely Cactus

A life of punk, code and apathy

Monday, April 21, 2008

The end of the beginning

I spent Friday night with two friends of mine, a couple. Javier's was heaving. There was much time and margaritas in the bar before a table was finally ready. Through snatches of conversation that occurred when the respective partner was out of the room, I discovered that they were realizing something that I'd know for a long time...

Their relationship is over.

It is especially sad for me, because I held them up on a pedestal. They were the example of what I might have someday if I were lucky.

Depressed and wanting to detach myself from the world of feelings, I finally managed to track down a mandelbug in one of my libraries, using the awesome-yet-rarely-useful Valgrind.

School-boy error #1.

chtype *c_str = (chtype *) malloc (sizeof (chtype) + (len + 1));

If you don't see the mistake right away, I'm stripping you of your professional hacker's license.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Bit of Rough

Originally from http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/04/11/missing.marine/index.html

I've always liked the people that I date to be a little on the trashy, rough side. It comes from where I grew up, and from my constant ambivalence about what I do for a living, typing away on a computer all day. I want people to smell like home, and to have walked the path I rejected.

It is a cliche, although a common one, that effete city boys would rather be cops or cowboys than be the type of men that they are. This explains much of our retail culture. REI, North Face, Jeeps and SUVs. This explains soft lads hard hobbies: rock climbing, boxing, weight lifting, triathlons, gangster hip hop.

I am fully part of that demographic: despite being genetically ideal for occupations like filing, dusting or needlepoint, I still have my macho dreams. My 1323rd place finish in the Malibu Tri proves it. And while exercise does good things, but no amount of lifting will make me M&F material.

Somewhere in this tangle of roads not taken, dreams of lost youth, desire to be a real man, and ordinary gayness comes my dislike of the overly clean-cut. This explains why, for a couple of months, I went out with Tony, a guy from the old neighborhood, who was homeless, tattooed, swazied and occasionally on drugs.

Which brings me to my case in point. I open up the news, see some picture of a guy, think "yeah, I'd hit that" then read the caption only to find he'd killed someone.

Cesar Laurean. Yeah, I'd hit that.