Timothy J. Gibbons

Thursday, January 24

I am a Gauntlet Adventurer.

I strive to improve my living conditions by hoarding gold, food, and sometimes keys and potions. I love adventure, fighting, and particularly winning - especially when there's a prize at stake. I occasionally get lost inside buildings and can't find the exit. I need food badly.
What Video Game Character Are You?

posted at 12:34 PM by Timothy J. Gibbons | link

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Wednesday, January 23

I didn't really mind having my Hotmail (or HoTMaiL, as they were known before selling out to the minions of Microsoft) account shut down for a couple days after exceeding the memory limits. Heck, I only use the thing as a spam catcher, it being my email account of choice when I sign in at sites that I never want to hear from but require an address.
But spam is one thing. Four hundred messages telling me "Your diploma is ready" is really going overboard ...
It's not like the messages -- which filled up six pages in my junk mail folder -- were even good advertising:
Obtain a prosperous future, money earning power, and the admiration of all.
Yeah, a fake diploma is going to earn me the "admiration of all." I don't think my real degrees have done that. And I didn't realize it was quite common, during salary negotiations, to have an employer say, "hey, you have a degree from a school I've never heard of. Let me give you lots more money."
Diplomas from prestigious non-accredited universities based on your present knowledge and life experience.
Ah, they're prestigious non-accredited universities. As far as fake schools go, these are the top of heap.
No required tests, classes, books, or interviews.
I'm glad they made that clear. I was worried that I'd have to do some of that thar book-learnin' or maybe take a test based on my life experience and present knowledge. Hey, that'd be fun: It'd just be one question: What do you know now? I'm sure some people would still fail.
Bachelors, masters, MBA, and doctorate (PhD) diplomas available in the field of your choice.
I wonder how far you could go with that "field of your choice." I want an MBA in stapling. Hey, it's a business skill!
I haven't gotten a diploma message in a few days; maybe the bounces that occured after they shut down my account got me off their list. Of course, my inbox is still filling up with junk mail: several offers for something that lets me burn DVDs -- hardly useful since I don't have a DVD player; a variety of ads targeted at stupid people, who obviously open anything with a "re:" in the subject line (hey, I don't remember writing to xlybg@hotmail -- but I must have, since it says it's a reply ...); and porno ads that make me really wonder about the mental health of the country. Pregnant and horny? Farm animals? Britney Spears vidoes? I don't know which is scarier ...

posted at 6:22 PM by Timothy J. Gibbons | link

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Tuesday, January 22

It was a little game I'd play with myself as I got ready for bed each night this past week. Sure, you're sleeping on the floor -- but Snoring Guy isn't two beds over. So you don't have to hear his duet with Hacking Cough Girl. Or the background music provided by the Turkish Dance Combo in the nightclub downstairs. Or the percussion section provided by every freakin' person walking by and hitting my feet, which hung off the too-short mattress.
It never made the floor softer, though.
Finally, though, some three weeks after getting to Hamburg, I got to sleep in a real bed again.
I moved out of the hostel (a domicile complete with the loudest snorer I've ever heard and the biggest pot dealer I know this side of .. well, any other pot dealers I know) a week ago, claiming a chunk o' floor space at the flat I was -- allegedly -- moving into. Turned out the guy who owned the place wasn't heading out of town as early as he planned, so I was stuck with a roommate for a few days. And then a few more days. And then, since I thought he was leaving yesterday afternoon and he hung around 'til 10 p.m., a few more hours. It wasn't that I minded him being around; it was just that he was insane.
The first night I came home, we sat around talking and he laid out his theory that the CIA had hypnotized the terrorists who flew the planes into the WTC ... something to do with starting a war to help the sagging economy. I wasn't really sure how to respond to that.
This was coupled with the fact that he chuckled everytime he said my last name, saying it was a "great name." Then it turned out he thought my name was "Givens." When I said my name was actually Gibbons, he became even happier, explaining that gibbons are his favorite type of monkey.
I don't have a favorite type of monkey. I hadn't known it was required.
He then spent the next week explaining little quirks of the place, such as when the throw rug is dirty, it can be cleaned by shaking it out the window. And when you're cooking something at a low temperature, you don't have to turn the oven temperature knob all the way up. Oh, no, I didn't say these were useful explanations. His elucidation of how to operate the washer included an exegesis on why the spin cycle was marked by a little cyclon figure, but didn't feature the step in which he put the outflow hose into the sink. (I discovered that when I went to do laundry last night.
But he's gone now and I have a bed. It's amazing how comfortable the dang things feel when you haven't slept on one in a while.

posted at 8:04 PM by Timothy J. Gibbons | link

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