It’s sad that we can never be together. It’s sadder that you already know why. But the saddest thing of all is that you’ll never know it’s you who I speak of. HGP
Secret
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Could I Not Help You With That?
A crack? Really? This is so 1997. Neither could I believe that running mundane installations on a budget HP notebook would be an act of digital vampiric submission, letting the constipated CPU cycles suck the will to live straight from my nearsighted eyes. Despite knowledge of the habit, my back curves as I’m hunched over the laptop’s keyboard like some indigent 84 year old hermit. I really hate this. I really hate computers.
It’s not that computers are bad, they’re just poorly designed, and improperly used. Apple has resolved many issues, but only certain configuration workflows have become a pleasure to use, WiFi selection among them. For those still in the shackles of the technoslavery that is Windows, the flows, well-intended or not, feel like a face grinding against the shattered remains of disposed hypodermic needles. In this cruel world, it takes a special person to ensure the Internet isn’t broken, the pirated software is ho-ho-ho-ing across the straight of activation bullshit, and that every printer is printing from every lousy box in a house riddled with wireless dead zones. Reaching this El Dorado usually falls on “computer guy”, and as being a software engineer seems to qualify me I become the poor sap family and friends joyfully force into the fire, the torture, and the soullessness that is computer tech support.
After several total man-months of propelling my cranium into the nearest hard surface I’m convinced that every software engineer must endure these sort of insanities in an effort to truly understand and appreciate great design enough to make its practice a civil duty. We owe it to ourselves and to the world to make Geek Squad find some other line of work. HGP
Bolon de (Platano) Verde
Green Plantain
Butter
Salt
Cheese
Smash. Roll into ball. Fry. Enjoy! HGP
A Boy Named Julio Cesar
Julio Cesar is 10 years old, the youngest of three children. Everyday, from 7 to 5, he shines shoes on the busy streets of Quito. Two hours later, he runs to school where he stays until 10 at night. You couldn’t tell business was slow by the polish that soiled his hands, but his labor was voiced through the hunger in his eyes. I gave him half of the mochaccino I ordered and he thanked me, running off to find more work.
As I got up to pay, I could see him from the corner of my right eye, and when I acknowledged him he approached me again. I placed my hand on his shoulder and told him to work hard, to stay in school, because that’s how he could progress in life. I just hope by the time he matures that we still live in a world where people can acheive their dreams. HGP
Bosque
I hate doing things I have to do.
Just don’t want to have anything to do with normal life.
Just been wanting to get away from all that.
I feel so much better now that I’m outside.
No computers here. I hate those things. They suck the life out of you.
Not even sure they are a necessary evil.
Still haven’t learned to write. I just need to relax,
Or else I won’t be able to write at all.
It hurts my wrist but I have so much to say.
The computer will never do me justice.
Sometimes I wish I could just speak so the words are burned somewhere in space,
For everyone to see. For everyone to hear.
It’s like learning to write all over again.
It is now dusk, and even though it’s just a park full of old trees,
It feels like a forest full of timeless mystery. HGP