Tuesday, 6/24/2008
Fell asleep very quickly the night before. My wife was talking to me and I went out. Slept undisturbed through the night. Woke at approximately 10 a.m., very groggy. It was going to be a bad day.
Weather: Occasional rain in the morning, clear by 4 p.m.
Breakfast: Stonyfield Farms yogurt, 1/4 cup with some Basic 4 cereal and fresh strawberries mixed in. Took medication with breakfast.
Text message with Clare regarding proper preservation of strawberries. Called father to confirm. Cut up strawberries and packaged for freezing.
Put some dishes in the dishwasher.
Talked to attorney.
Went to sleep on the couch.
When Clare got home, made some coffee.
Clare left for work, weather cleared up. Ate dinner. Fed kittens, got dressed for ride on motorcycle. Rode through Watchung resevation, approximately 45 minutes.
Upon returning home, felt very strong symptoms in my head. Feeling of numbness on left side of face, irritation of left eyebrow, swollen feeling, difficulty managing thoughts, feeling of mental fogginess.
Went online to post about an incident with a motorist. Short post that took almost an hour to type. Took Lunesta at 1:30 a.m. Preparing for bed.

Small Considerations

I drove to the grocery store today for a few essential items, no more than I could carry in one hand. On days like this, I opt for the hand baskets that are usually located somewhere near the door into the grocery store rather than use a four-wheeled shopping cart. I did my shopping, went to the checkout aisle, emptied my basket onto the conveyor.

When I went to put my basket in the area below the conveyor where the baskets normally go, I was disturbed (but hardly surprised) to see a massive jumble of these baskets, some with their handles folded inward, some stuck in sideways. It was a mess, and would need to be dismantled and reassembled. I took the time to do this so that I could put my basket in properly.

Would it have required any greater effort for those who came before me to have put their baskets down properly? These are the little things that happen when we, as society, stop giving a crap. A person who puts the basket down there haphazardly doesn't care about the customer coming to that checkout aisle after him. He doesn't care about the employees who will have to later go fix the problem he created. He doesn't care that the baskets become damaged from being smashed into jumbled piles, rather than stacked neatly. He doesn't care that you might get the damaged basket, but I am pretty sure that he will be the first person to complain about how poorly the store is run when he gets a damaged basket!

When I was walking out to my car, I noticed another interesting phenomenon of human grocery behavior. A person will usually walk past a dozen shopping carts on his way to the grocery store's door. At that door, he will usually take a "fresh" shopping cart from the long row of carts that have been gathered by the cart gathering folk. But why is that? Why will they walk past all those other carts, only to take one from a different location? Do people feel that the carts in the parking lot are "used" and therefore inferior? Do they not realize that the stacks of carts near the door are just as used?

Further, why are those carts in the parking lot? Are we so lazy, or in such a hurry, that we can't return the carts to where they belong? When those carts are left in the parking lot, they present hazards to the other cars that are parked there. They can cause dents in other peoples cars. They can roll into a roadway. They can take up valuable parking spaces (like handicapped spaces) without reason.

In your efforts to reduce your burden upon humanity, do the following things:
1) Put your basket NEATLY into the stack of baskets at the end of the conveyor.
2) If the stack is a jumble, don't just throw yours onto the jumbled pile. Fix it.
3) If you bring your groceries to your car in a shopping cart, bring the cart back where it belongs after you've unloaded your groceries. Don't just leave it in the parking lot and drive away.
4) If someone else has left a shopping cart in the parking lot, and you happen to need one, use it! Don't walk past a bunch of functional carts!
5) Even if you DON'T happen to need a shopping cart, if there is one in the parking lot that someone else left there (because they are inconsiderate), bring it with you, and put it back where it belongs.

Really, is it that hard to just be considerate in this small way? We want the world to change and we want everyone to be better to each other, but we can't even stack freakin' grocery baskets.

Pitstop Before Bed

While weaving some chainmail tonight, I was watching The History Channel. They were showing a program about the evolution of bullets. (I wasn't really interested in the history of bullets, but I had a pair of pliers in each hand, and operating the remote was too great a challenge.) Toward the end of the program, the spokesman for a particular firearms company proudly boasted and demonstrated their creation: a single weapon capable of a rate of fire in excess of one million rounds per minute.

Take a moment, and try to conceive what that really means.

Sixty seconds. One million rounds.

The question that first sprang into my mind was, "What the hell could your target possibly be to cause you to use a weapon like this?" If the object you're shooting toward doesn't die within, say, the first 50,000 rounds (3 seconds), it's a fair bet to say the next 950,000 are just going to piss it off even more.

What really struck me, though, was the zeal, the facial expression of this company's representative, as he spoke proudly about their technical achievement. He was absolutely thrilled that they were capable of producing it, and from a purely scientific perspective, I suppose it really is a technical marvel. But I don't think there is a single person on the planet who would argue that this device will, in any way, benefit humanity. The engineers who design things like this are probably paid substantial sums to do their work, and this is where failure of conscience is evident. People who put human conscience before them could not possibly create these things. This is the type of job at which I would put down my drafting pencil, and simply walk away.

Chainmail armor has been proven completely ineffectual against bullets from any era, regardless of the armor's material composition, weave density, weave style, and assembly method.

Counting Backwards from One Zillion

"Do you know what your problem is?" Her hands were clamped around her hips, her head tilted slightly forward and to the side in a mixture of genuine concern, and genuine antagonism.

He stirred the amber drink in his hand with his pinky, the icecubes clacking dully against the glass as they spun. "From the manner of your address," he replied without taking his eyes from the painting he was studying, "I suspect several things. First, you believe that I don't know what 'my problem' is. Second, you believe that you, however, do know what 'my problem' is. Third, you presume to treat me to your assessment despite my sincere assertion that I am not interested in hearing it. Finally, by revealing your perspicacious observation to me, you mean to induce me to reflect and undergo some kind of transformation as a result of hearing it." He withdrew his pinky from his drink, stuck it in his mouth, and pulled it free with an audible pucker as he shifted his eyes to regard her sidelong. "Am I correct?"

She did not miss the hint of a smirk that tugged the corner of his mouth. Arrogant! Her hands came away from her hips as she took two short steps toward him, but she resisted the urge to thrust her index finger under his chin. His defenses were already up, and she did not wish to compel him to further fortification. Her outward serenity and composure persevered against her impulse to scold him. "No, Nathan," she responded gently, looking down at him with eyes as full of sentiment and earnest as she could manage, "you are not correct."

A flicker of incredulity, the tiniest expression of doubt, passed over his face and was gone, replaced by his characteristic smugness. It had not been much, but she had seen it. Although he had probably estimated dozens of potential responses from her, his brief skepticism meant that either he had not considered the fallability of his conclusions, or he knew that she had lied. He had accurately described her intent, but perhaps surprise would keep him unbalanced if she did not admit it. She took another tentative step forward, delaying momentarily as she realigned her thoughts around the ruse she had begun.

He did not shrink from her when she placed her hand lightly on his sleeve, but she nearly retracted it when his eyebrow lept into an arch. She continued, investing in her new tack. "Your brilliance is regarded by everyone as inestimable, and none would dare propose their own small notions to you -- especially not those of us who know and love you best. Especially not me." She gave him her most adoring smile and let her hand rest more firmly on his forearm. "It would serve no purpose to insinuate any concept to such intellectuals when it is assured that those concepts have been previously considered, and subsequently assimilated or rejected."

He turned to face the painting again, but did not pull away from her. Emboldened, she continued. "I misspoke before. I did not mean that I intended to apprise you of some flaw that you possess. I meant to entertain you, as I have been entertained, with the silly rumors that fly amongst our friends, aloft on winds stirred by simpler minds. I thought it might make you smile, or even laugh."

"Do you know the origin of this painting?" he asked, gesturing with his beverage.

Her resolve withered slightly at his response. She had hoped to engage him, but he meant to evade. She also knew that he would be irritated if she attempted to bring the conversation back under her topic; instead, she assented to his whim and offered, "Of course I do. You have spoken of it before."

"In those times, I bet it was easy to smile, and to laugh. I remember how I used to--"

"Nathan," she interrupted, "I detest that painting and wish you would never look at it ever again. It is horrible."

His shock was barely concealed, but he recovered quickly. "This is, perhaps, the most profound work of beauty ever created, Lydia. You said as much when it was purchased, and again when it was hung here. How can you now say that it is horrible?"

"It is horrible because it is a lie!" she protested. "How often you 'remember' things as they appear through these smudges of paint! We are here, and we are real. Here, our home, our friends. They are real, Nathan. The circumstances that brought us here, to this room, to this chair," she shook his wheelchair roughly, causing his drink to spill over onto his hand. "They are real. Do you believe that, because this painting does not depict suffering, there must have been none to depict? You feel that you are suffering now because of what has happened, that you have suffered greatly and are trying to reestablish or understand your place in the world. But that is the painting, Nathan. You are not struggling against a world that will not conform to your needs and desires, or cannot accommodate you and your condition. Your problem is that you are nostalgic for a world that never was, nor can ever be!"

A drop of scotch clung to the underside of his hand a moment more, then let go and fell away. He set the glass down on the table beside him, watching the liquid pool around the bottom. It would leave a stain on the wood. Wordlessly, he operated the controls of his chair and maneuvered around her, leaving her hand suspended in air where it had rested on his arm.

As the whir of the electric motor diminished down the hallway with him, her hand fell to her side.

On Humanity

Like others have done before me, I fear for the decline of human society and social conscience. Generally, we are inconstant as the wind, often quick to judge, and too quick to dismiss or abandon others for their foibles. I have witnessed how quickly people will set aside their allegiances for some perceived benefit or personal gain, and although these gains are usually illusory, the perfidy through which they are attained is real, and permanent. These things I have done myself, and have lived with regret -- but have learned from my mistakes.

As you are aware, my successful career as a computer engineer came to a sudden halt with the onset of an insidious and unforgiving illness. Were it not for the benevolence of my fiance, I do not know what would have become of me -- but I know it would be very little. In the time since then, I have necessarily turned from a man of fortune and status into a man of virtue and humility, but not without a great deal of agonizing frustration and lament. Although I scrabbled desperately to hold onto my career while searching for a cure, it was a struggle against the inevitable, and I ultimately lost. However, what I suffered from most greatly was not my illness or its symptoms. It was realization that, when my career was gone, my fortune spent, my arrogant self-importance demolished, and my belief in myself as indestructable removed, all that remained was insubstantial, amorphous, and without merit. It was the realization that, up until that time, I represented a great deal of what is wrong with our society, and very little of what is right.

As I set out to design the coat of arms for my married House, I have spent a considerable amount of time thinking about heraldric symbols and their meanings. I have encountered two essential questions as a result of this effort. The first: Does this symbol represent what I am, or does it represent what I would like to be? The second: Why is there a difference between what I am, and what I would like to be? The answer to the first is a matter of perspective and subjectivity, and will waver until there is no second question to ask. The answer to the second question is...the frailty of human conscience.

If we find there is a difference between who we are and who we wish to be, the cause can invariably be traced back to a failing of conscience. We are trained, in our corporate social upcoming, as predators who prey not only upon each other, but unwittingly upon ourselves as a result. We strip the flesh from the bones of integrity so that we may dominate over the skeletal, wasted remains of society, and in our predation, arrive at destinations at which we have neither reason nor desire to be. We only seem to realize these things when they are presented to us as reflections of ourselves, mirrored in the eyes and hearts of those from whom integrity has not fled, or whom we regard as superior, not because they are socially elite, but because their tenacity to basic human virtue remains. The second question IS this reflection, and if it requires an answer, the answer will always be the fragility of human conscience. By making decisions in our lives with human conscience as the most important consideration, we most reliably assure that there is not, and will not be, a difference between the person we are and the person we would like to be -- not because we fail to perceive a difference, but because we know in our hearts that they are the same.

A friend of mine said to me, "It is easy to stand upon principle when principle is all that remains for one to stand upon." Her point was that, because I am no longer faced with a barrage of daily challenges to my ethics (I'm pretty sheltered), I am placed in a position to unfairly judge the actions of others. We must not judge others, though, as that is very certainly the pathway to hypocrisy. However, if we believe that someone has acted unethically or without conscience, we must not allow it to pass without remark. This is not meant as judgment, but is designed to raise the question in that person's mind as to whether they have followed their own conscience in their actions, and allow them to judge themselves. If, by this mechanism, that person later scruples over a decision of ethics, then humanity has benefitted. Unethical actions persist in our society because we allow them to persist. Every time we turn a blind eye, we signify our acceptance, give a stronger foothold to unethical behavior, and encourage those who act without conscience. Denying them this victory is one of the most difficult challenges to human conscience, as it is usually accompanied by tremendous personal sacrifice.

Skills of Former Employ

Ordinarily I do not spend much time passing along my tidbits of computer information, usually because someone else out there has already figured out the same things I have, and has already posted it. But today is different.
Hopefully the search engines will pick up on this post, and this will be useful to someone.
The key items here are:

VBS/PSYME
abc123.pid
checkin[1].htm
or, for the search engines, let's call this one checkin.htm
solution, removal

McAfee was complaining that a file "checkin[1].htm" was infected with the VBS/PSYME virus, and had been deleted. This file was being created in %TEMP% along with another file named "abc123.pid"

Searching around the Internet, I found a few clues, but couldn't find anything that really nailed it, so it was down to old school detective work. Rather than give you the long route that I took to get to the answer, I'll give you only the important part that I was able to boil it all down to.

Whatever virus this is, it's actually almost kind -- it doesn't actually "infect" existing files, and in fact, makes backup copies of the existing files before inserting itself in their places. Needless to say, this makes restoring the files very easy.

First, do a search on your computer for all folders named "bak" and you should see a results list with quite a few folders named "bak" Sort the view by file name so that the folders are on top.

In some of the "victim" folders, you will find executable files that bear the same filenames as those that are listed in the startup portion of your computer's registry. If you don't know what or where this is, don't worry about it. It's good to know, but not necessary to fix the problem.

From the search screen, open one of the "bak" folders, and copy the file that you find there (there should only be a single file in this folder). This is the backup copy of the file that the virus replaced. Then, do another search for the exact same filename as the one you found in the "bak" folder. When you find a file with the same name that is exactly 21K, you have found the virus that causing the headaches for you. Paste your "bak" file over this 21K menace, and you will have fixed part of the problem. Repeat this for as many files as you find in "bak" folders (but please be smart about it -- this post assumes you work in IT or have enough experience to know exactly what I'm talking about without further need of explanation).

I hope this shortcut helps someone. It took me about six hours to peg it; it should take you less than 30 minutes. If you aren't sure what you're doing, ask me for help before you botch it.

EDIT: 11/11/2006
If you find that this solution works for you, then I ask that you spread the word to make it easier for the search engines to find it. If you have a blog, or web page, take a few minutes out of your life to write about the problem you had, and post a link to this page (URL provided below), so others can find it too. I am constantly receiving email from sysinternals forums pages from people with this exact problem, because they are looking in the wrong place for the solution. Help me to help them.

http://ganellon.blogspot.com/2006/10/skills-of-former-employ.html

bellum in capite meum pugno

Cleansing

In ownership, there is pride in the physical things that one acquires. There is pride in the beauty, or the function, or the simplicity. Eventually, pride in other things seems to go away. Pride in one's ability to play guitar, or in one's ability to be the best chess player on the block. They are replaced by pride in physical things.

But what happens when those physical things are altered? What happens to your pride, and your sense of worth, when the physical things you loved, and were prideful of, are no longer worthy of even a second glance.

Today, I removed the remains of the couches that I once loved, and dragged them, without ceremony, to the end of my driveway, to be taken away by the township folk who collect things no longer loved. I loved them because they were fuzzy, and green, and we'd sat on many couches before finding that particular type. There were some minor tears in the fabric, sure, on the underside, but the upholstery was practically new. Unless you count the dribbles of cat urine that have since detroyed them.

Let me not sound too bitter. I assure you, I am.

Today was a complete waste. I woke up without feeling the urge to do much at all, and though I tried to study a few times, I couldn't find my rhythm. I attribute this to the frantic comings and goings of my fiancee, who, when she is in a hurry, becomes simply intolerable. I prefer to lock myself in a room when she is thus preoccupied and only come out when she's gone.

She took one of the kittens with her to work this evening for adoption, and evidently that bit of things went well enough. Numbers were exchange, promises were made, and the kitten will be coming back here for another few days until the customers are ready to take delivery.

Personally, I don't like splitting up pairs of cats. Anyone who has ever owned cats will tell you that they belong in pairs! Pairs! Pairs! Pairs! That is how they get along best, and how you prevent them from otherwise destroying your home. They tend to be far too busy destroying each other to take much note of the expensive things you might have lying about.

I have several hundred pounds of books that have no more use to me, and they are also impossible to donate because of their topics. Where does one actually go to dispose of a thousand pounds of books? It's really amazing how difficult this process is, and I will let you know more about what I discover in the coming days.

For now, that is all. Remember...

Introductions

Let us begin simply. I am Ganellon, and you are my audience, real or imaginary.

My intention here is to reclaim what has been lost. In battling a particularly insidious illness, both my mental and physical abilities have suffered substantially. Symptoms of this illness include memory loss and difficulty concentrating. Words often escape me, and I stop talking mid-stream because I simply can't produce the word that was trying to fall out of my mouth. I hope that writing my thoughts down will help me in some way, and I am going to write those thoughts here.

I am much more hopeful about my mental recovery than I am about my physical recovery, and while I have no expectation that either will come to fruition, I am making an effort. The priority I place upon my intellectual recovery should come as no surprise. What use is a physical body without a mind to compel it to worthwhile pursuits? Much more worthy is the mind that functions at a fantastic level, even when trapped in a body that is useless. It is with this conviction that I have undertaken to reeducate myself in areas where I was formerly versed.

I will not bore you with the details of my study, but will say the topics are numerous, and of classical origin. With the rudiments again in hand, the rest will hopefully find a natural place in my recollections, and I might regain some of my former self.

For now, I will say no more. Rest, friend. The days ahead are long.