Bike. The Story.

So sometimes I get carried away with life and forget to chronicle certain things.  Sometimes that time is always, at least since September 30th.  It's not like the three people who read this actually care because they are people that I talk with more or less on a regular basis anyways, but the act of writing is enjoyable and I regret not getting my jollies off at your expense.  I regret not being able to talk more about my jollies.  Well this is My Blog 2.0, now with 100% more personal jolly removal, which will promptly be forgot once more until My Blog 3.0, Tokyo Drift is released.

The main reason I'm updating now is that I've finally finished purchasing all the parts that one needs to build a bike, and furthermore, I've even started building it.  There are a few things that got in the way of forward progress prior to last night.  One is that I don't actually own a decent set of tools, and there are more than a few specialized tools when working on bikes that make everything easier, if not outright possible where things were previously not.  For instance, there is this high tech tool for installing the fork crown race:

Yes, those are cassettes whose sole purpose for existence is to be a spacer.  Eventually we had another stem attached on there, with handlebars no less, to get the spacers about the top of the fork for hammering.  Also, a perfectly docile peice of wood was reduced to shards in this process.  12/15/2001 - The day the wood gave its life for bicycles.  Any professional mechanic who saw this would immediately assume that I was this animal:

Anyways, here is some bike porn.  Check out my parts:

Also shown, sick tablecloths.  I should take this opportunity to note that my friend Nate Mlot, who is a self-trained, entirely proficient, generally insane bike mechanic and grad student in Dr. Hu's lab helped me with many things, including but not limited to: having any idea what the fuck was going on; owning tools like the one above (also, some actual tools that are more exotic like bottom bracket tools and an improvised headset installer); and torquing things down when my pathetic excuses for shoulders exceeded their capacity to apply forces greater than 5 lbs.  With his help, the bike slowly went from looking like a pile of parts, a few old wheels, and a designer device for hiding the tops of tables from food items to a bike.

Slowly shit is getting added on.  Check out that sick saddle.  You like that matching blue, don't you?

Addition of fork, rear wheel, crankset, cassette, rear derailleur

SAME SHIT, DIFFERENT VIEW

Later, back at my place, it's starting to look like a bike!

So really there are just a few things to do at the moment.  One is I need to cut down the steer tube on the fork to the proper size and finish installing the headset.  Then I need to a bunch of smaller shit, like tape the bars, add the shifters, route the cable, adjust the cable tensions, put the chain on, add pedals, bask in the glory of a new bike, etc.  One minor thing came up, however.  Apparently without all the cabling in place, the handlebars will swing around violently if left to their own devices.  I had the bike propped up against a bike stand when this happened and the bike slid down the side of the stand and fucked up the paint on the top tube kinda near the Quest logo.  It's minor and cosmetic, but I know its there so now it's all I look at.  That being said, this thing is looking sick as hell.  When I get around to it, I'll take some photos with my G9 so that the camera phone blur is removed and you can be as excited as I am.  ETA for completion is Sunday (just gotta get that steer tube cut and the rest will be cake).  Badass. 

-Dt

You gotta help me

You gotta help me, doc doc doc doc docta beat



What is up with that hat?  It's like the flying nun meets Krusty the clown.  It's terrifying.  I don't know how I should handle my eyeballs anymore.

At least I know how to handle my earballs:



This song greeted me at Octane this morning and really just set the tone right for the rest of my day.  Getting work done, thinking about bikes, not getting work done anymore because I'm thinking about bikes, not being able to ride bikes because of my shoulder, stopping thinking about bikes, getting work done, etc.  And then at the end of it all will be this:

http://fluxprojects.org/

Balling with the ballerifics.  Big shout out to Eliot for his work on the dodecacycle, which will obviously be pulling a gypsy band in tow as it rolls through Castleberry Hill.  Obviously.  But wait, what is a dodecacycle?  12 wheels, 6 bikes, all linked together, riding like a parallel tandem bike down the street with Big Pimpin' playing in the background (sans the music).  Should be pretty wild.

And now, the last week in review:

Someone came to Ultimate on Saturday (in which I did not play, but partook with beer on the sidelines) with this crazy dog.  This crazy dog that fits in a frisbee.  Chester's frisbee.

 I super want this bag, although it's huge... but I guess that's the point.  Super weatherproof, super rad, can expand to 65 fucking liters.  That is the size of my backpacking pack.  Ridic.

 Picture review of Fox Bros BBQ in Atlanta:  We (Eliot + David) got to the restaurant, tucked away in South Atlanta and packed out because the weather was awesome.  We were seated inside almost immediately, after which we were assaulted by good looking waitresses demanding our orders for foods.  Because it was our first time at FBBBQ, we went for the tantalizing appetizer of deep fried pork ribs.  Yep, that happened.  Grade: A

 Part 2:  After (during?) a delicious Sierra Nevada Torpedo IPA, our main courses arrived, which were not so much courses as duplications of one course, because great minds think alike.  Pulled pork is, after all, the litmus test of good BBQ, and I was not disappoint.  The white meat was a little tough, but the darker stuff just fell apart, and the Fox-a-roni (brunswick stew + mac and cheese) was incredible.  Decent sauce too.  I can see the fuss (the ribs were better).  Grade: B+ (deductions for tough whiteys)

 Then I got bored in my Transducers class.

And ate some corn like a boss.

It's been a pleasure.

More to come after FLUX tonight.

-Dt

Tech Students be Stealin...

Fellow Yellow Jackets,

 

 

 

 

Students stealing the ‘T’s on Georgia Tech’s campus has become an urgent matter.  Not only is it aesthetically displeasing, it has also become a heavy financial burden on the Institute, costing well over $100,000 in the past year alone.  While the issue is more widespread amongst the undergraduate population, as a student you should be aware of the "Keep the 'T' in Tech"campaign.
 

We know that you have pride in our Institute and want for our campus to reflect that pride.  The campaign simply intends to remind all of us that we do not support vandalism of our beautiful campus and that we want to Keep the ‘T’ in Tech.  There are many ways to show your support this week-
 

All Week: Signature CampaignCheck out sga.gatech.edu/t

Tuesday: Open Forum
Want to be a part of the solution?  Stop by and share your opinion at 7:30pm in Room 117 of the Flag Building.

Wednesday: Amnes‘T’y Day
If you’ve ever stolen a T before this week, now is your chance to do the right thing.   Drop off your T to the Ramblin’ Reck on Tech Walkway from 11am-2pm or drop it off in the SGA office from 9-5pm.  We don’t care who, what or why. 

After this one Wednesday, the administration will be enforcing serious disciplinary measures in any situations where a student is found to have stolen a T at any point in time.

***Also Wednesday - Live the True Tradition***
Wednesday night, 8:30 pm, Tech Tower
See with your own eyes the tradition that you’ve only heard stories about.

Thursday: ‘Make your own T’ Day
You don’t need to steal Ts off buildings- make your very own!  Stop by Tech Walkway from 11am-2pm to paint, glitter and bejewel your very own T.

Friday: Check out the Technique!

Thank you for your time and for supporting Yellow Jacket pride!

Student Government Association

Hilarious.  I heavily appreciate the no questions asked T-returning day policy.  Reminds me of Dogma.

-Dt

So last weekend, I got seriously Mom'ed.  Yes, that's a word because I am the president of words, and yes, I got flown back to LA for a weekend (last minute trip) because Mom wanted me to get checked out by "real doctors".  I'll be the first to admit that the doctors at student health centers are typically not the elite members of their profession, but this seemed a little excessive.  Then again, even against fervent denials from Mom, I think this was a thinly veiled attempt to get me home for some quality time.  Can't say I didn't like it.

I arrived Thursday night and went to the see the doctor at 8:30 the next morning.  She moved my arm around, had me move my arm around, then had me move my arm around while pressing against her arm (not moving around), and lo and behold, the shoulder was still fucked in exactly the same way.  Science!  I did, however, get a flu shot and a tetanus vaccination out of the deal, so now I am well fortified.  Forty-fied?  That came later.

The real highlight of the impromptu vacation was the quality time I got to spend with my favorite LA residents (sans one or two, you know who you are): Mom and Joe, Sara and Dylan, John, Ian, and Dave.  In the short span of 3 nights, the world became clear once more and the shenanigans piled high into the sky like divine nachos.  Of course, considering that I was mostly drunk between the hours of 5pm and 2am each night, I didn't get a chance to take many pictures with my intelligent communications device, but I will do my best to use my words and describe a few highlights.  In the form of Haiku.

My shoulder is broke
Woe is me, what shall I do?
Barkeep, more beer please.

Music from up high.
Is that His divine presence?
Nay, John's house growls.

Sometimes you need air
As well as thirty dollars
To buy a giraffe.

Farmer's Market is,
among other things, a place
for great merriment.

A long time apart.
Old friends are the truest friends.
They become new again.

Drinking to excess,
To the past or to fight Zool?
Do them both at once.

Family is there.
Tired soul, weary body,
Family takes care.

And a smattering of pictures:

 Self explanatory

 That happened.

 It's impossible to put you in my head, but if you'd have been there when I took this, it would have been magical for both of us.

HAH.  It's a myth.

Not pictured: insanely good ramen, shrimp toast, and chicken meatballs at Robata Jinya (thank you again, Dylan!).  Get it.

-Dt

Yep.

Yup.

-Dt

Proof that Critical Mass is the source of all the world's misery

http://www.transalt.org/newsroom/magazine/2011/Summer/10

My favorite part:

Let's get right down to it: Do police officers hate cyclists?

No. But a lot of things have changed since the Critical Mass incident in 2007, when that rookie cop pushed a cyclist off his bike in Times Square. Now whenever an officer views a cyclist, he immediately associates them with Critical Mass riders and that incident. Even when I ride my bike to the precinct, I get that: “You riding Critical Mass? You one of them?”

Fuck Critical Mass.

-Dt

Man, I have to stop waiting so long between these damn posts.  Once a month is a terrible update schedule... I forget everything.  My mental sieve is completely incapable of retaining a single grain of time-sand, the most exquisite sand of all, not unlike kitty litter.  Each memory itself is too fine to be held in any meaningful container, but when the feline of experience takes a big fat piss and creates adventure, the time-sand clumps together so that we may observe said time-sand and admire its nugget-like properties.  Here are my recent time-nuggets.

Dagron*Con:

Dragon Con was a wild ride this year.  First off, they didn't let anybody into the con without a badge or a room key for a room in one of the host hotels.  The usual number of gawkers, crowd watchers, and general party dudes (cosplayers dressed as Michaelangelo notwithstanding) was drastically reduced because of this policy, but clever people, or people who were once clever and made friends the right sort of people, had no problem sneaking in and skulking about.  Meet spider 1 and spider 2:

 Spider 1: Obviously not a golfer.

Spider 2: Super green.  He doesn't want one solo cup, he wants all solo cups.

I got in with a little help from a Spartan:

Looks like a crime drama.

And then proceeded to drink a bike bottle half full of vodka (seriously, not a joke) and half full of monster.  The perfect social lubricant, and riding that high, Quonulous and myself began to weave our way through the crowd and play the pointing game.  The rules are simple:  Spider 1 picks any person they see and points at them and Spider 2 must go and engage in earnest conversation, usually around 5 minutes as a target.  Lets just say that I met a lot of people and had a lot of bizarre conversations.  I present to you a few of my favorite shots without commentary:

Thanks, Quon.

Also, if you even happen to be at Checkers at 3am, wearing an eye patch, and try to approach a group of people to talk to them by starting in with conversation about how you are missing an eye, and maybe, just maybe, some jerk decides to call you out and say you are faking with your patch, the best strategy (I have found) is to get really indignant and outraged about him calling attention to your disability.  Especially when you rally crowd support in your favor.  Just saying, if that ever happens, that might be the best bet.

*Wayne's World alternate ending woodelley woo effect*

Mobile Social:

So I did it.  I broke down and finally betrayed my own sensibilities.  I participated in a group bike ride (with a caveat).  

I'm sure all of you know why I hate Critical Mass.  I'm sure that, me being me, and me understanding that I'm me and what that means for the people around me, you've heard me say "don't get me started on Critical Mass" or "I don't want to talk about Critical Mass right now", which is immediately followed by me ranting about Critical Mass for about a half hour if nobody puts an end to the madness.  Lets just say it touches many nerves in many places in many interesting (from a Spanish Inquisition perspective) ways.  Thus when Eliot (again!  There is a common thread here) approaches me and tells me about a ride that follows traffic laws and doesn't parade itself around as false activism, I relented and joined.  I'm glad I did, because it's been a while since I rode anything with purpose other than commuting and it felt great to be the social part of a mobile social.  I find myself talking to random strangers a lot these days.  I guess it took a wakeup call to break the bubble.

I have no pictures (I was on a bike most of the night, fools), but a short summary includes a walk through a kind of shitty art gallery street, lots of hot dogs and beers at Elliot Street Pub, a free bike bottle, watching people pour molten hot iron into molds, and a night at Hand in Hand pretending to be a doctor/RN/Red Jesus in order to engage in conversation with a seemingly endless supply of first year Emory med students (called M1's I now know).  Ending with a cheesesteak from Woody's is only fitting.  Well played, David's life.

Tragedy:

And thus, we end on a sad note.  I have been getting into ridiculously good shape playing ultimate, soccer, and going to the gym a hell of a lot, and now all of that comes to a grinding halt.  While playing the first IM season ultimate game I tore up my shoulder, separating the AC joint (kind of a cool thing to read about, but shitty to feel) and removing myself from all athletic considerations for at least 3 weeks.  The upshot is that Mom doesn't trust the doctors at the health center and now I get a free trip to LA.  Time to get an MRI, mother fuckers!  I hear the best cure for shoulders is LA bar crawling.  I heard.  Somewhere.

Love and beers,

Dt

The Legend of the Guttenfruits

It was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon in Dirty Little France.  The Belgian air was thick with moisture and the sun battered the tops of the gathered rain clouds, partitioning the world into light and dark, dry and wet, hope and despair, good and evil.  Underneath the foreboding canopy, a mere speck on the terrestrial mass of Germany's favorite highway to France, was one man who knew.  One man to whom the secrets of the world had been revealed, to whom the sky held no mystery, and to whom even the Almighty itself asked for pro-tips on hair styling.  Steve Guttenberg sat alone in His residence, plotting the course of His actions that would alter the very fabric of reality forever.

The Guttenhouse

It began as a suspicion, slowly taking root in His mind like an Ophiocordyceps Camponoti-Balzani  in a Brazilian ant.   It germinated into a question: Why can't there be light under which the children can play and the world can be free?  The question immediately transmogrified into thought, becoming a burst of sentient energy.  Having co-developed the mass-energy equivalence with Einstein, it was natural for this energy, summoned into existence by Guttenberg's prodigious will, to undergo a brilliant transduction. It became at once a tangible and ethereal seed existing in two worlds, a duality intrinsic to all things but readily observable to no pair of eyes.  From this seed the first Guttentree sprouted in the fertile, Clostridium Botulinum infested soil of Brussels.  The seed grew beyond its nascent form and matured into the Guttentree in the land of Frites and Waffles (also Guttenventions) and began to give shape to a new entity, a ghost in the proverbial shell.  The Guttenfruit emerged from this hallowed architecture and sat inert and brilliant, waiting to be awakened by the First.

As Steve Guttenberg gazed on His creation, He understood two truths: (1) Guttenfruit was still in beta, and (2) it must be humanity that saved itself, seperate from the Guttenfluence, which was the source of His incredible charm and charisma.  As He watched from His lofty perch, it was a small child that first approached the fruit out of two parts curiosity and one part mischief.  As the First Child listened to the evanescent cry of the Guttenfruit, the marvelously androgynous being reached out and gave the Guttenfruit not one, not two, but three tickles upon its shimmering chrysalis.  The sky immediately sundered, flooding the earth with the radiance of the stars and the sun that had been held at bay so long by forces unmentionable and unnamed.  The rain ceased as the power from the Guttentree and Gutenfruit synthesis, catalyzed by the tickling touch of the First Child, coursed through the ley lines of Gaia and spared Belgium from the incessant storm of chaos and depression.  Steve Guttenberg watched it all, and smiled.

The tickling of the Guttenfruit

The brilliance returns.

The power endured only a few hours, but in that short time the essence had spread to the unseen mystical nodes of the world and the pullulating essence of the Guttenpower caused more Guttentrees to develop, sprouting more Guttenfruits and demanding more tickles like a Slow Lorris at play.  And thus, as the malaise slowly retook the transitory sky, the people still knew that they were saved; it would only take the gentle, innocent touch of the inner child to reawaken the Guttenpower. Thus, by the Guttengrace, humanity had learned to bring laughter to sadness, peace to tempestuousness, and love to the bitter hate of the unpredictable afternoon monsoons of Dirty Little France once more. And so it came to pass that the once proud Belgians became free, free to not elect a central government for as long as they liked, and Steve Guttenberg remains to this day in His residence, looking down upon His beloved children. And He smiles.

Bless you, Steve

So, there is a story behind this, but it's just better if you don't know it.

-Dt

http://imgur.com/a/ozNB2

That is all.

-dt

The weekend after.

Sometimes you need to bust the funk and get the fuck out.


Yesterday was a veritable cluster-fuck of activities.  Preset environment to 95F, add a healthy dose of humidity to a large city skillet, mix in ultimate Frisbee and a decent sized park, simmer for 3 hours, let sit over free food from Patrick's mom's mall food court restaurant and smoothie shack.  Then, add second portion of ultimate Frisbee and a tour of CRC for incoming youngins and stir, careful not to let lactic acid clumps accumulate in the sweaty mess.  Finally, cover with home-cooked Chinese food, infuse with rap music and Hood Internet, and the serve with a housewarming party at Bryce's new place.


Ultimate seems to just be getting better and better for me.  It's not so much the game... I've more or less peaked at how good I'm going to get, but that is completely missing the point.  It's a social event now, and as I meet more people it gets more and more satisfying.  The old guys are the best, the grizzled veterans who talk about the glory days of this and that, and there is something deeply satisfying about being brought into their fold, like fatherly approval.  The young guys are interesting, but it's a weird forum for getting to know them.  Maybe a bit of beering is in order to get the good shit flowing.  Also, there is a guy who looks exactly like Dave who plays and I keep having to stop myself from calling him such.  It's a poor substitute for the real thing.


Bryce's house party was like the days of old.  I can't remember the last time that I went to a party with a keg and had a good time.  This is especially pleasing because I wasn't planning on drinking due to Barca lung, but oops, sometimes you just trip and get fun all over you.  Highlights:  people (Bryce) dancing with pans on their heads, people (Bryce) not knowing how to play slap cup and ruining it for everyone, people (Bryce) tripping and falling into transvestites, not knowing they are transvestites, at Checkers while drunk, and Checkers while drunk.  Baconzirrrrraaaaaa!  Well done mates.  I hope your house is nice and cozy now.

And I haven't even begun to post about the crazy Eurotrip 2011.  Hopefully I haven't forgotten anything (jk, how could you forget?).


And now, off to a new semester.


-dt

A Moment

An intimate conversation between boyfriend and girlfriend for your viewing pleasure:


(4:47:47 PM) DeeTee: wow, touch and go at that house.
(4:47:51 PM) DeeTee: internet wise
(4:48:31 PM) Adrienne Little: here?
16:50
(4:51:47 PM) DeeTee: yeah
(4:51:50 PM) DeeTee: You keep cutting out
(4:52:42 PM) Adrienne Little: yea
(4:52:47 PM) Adrienne Little: its being a stupid little bitch tonight
(4:53:31 PM) DeeTee: Speaking of stupid little female animals, I had a moment with my cat.
(4:54:47 PM) Adrienne Little: ha
(4:54:47 PM) Adrienne Little: what happened?
16:55
(4:58:23 PM) DeeTee: We were cuddling
(4:58:25 PM) DeeTee: (awwww)
(4:58:42 PM) DeeTee: more like I was chillin and she jumped on my lap and spread out so I couldn't move.
(4:59:13 PM) DeeTee: then the little grey kitten with murder in its eyes (that is it's official name now, Murder Eyes) came up and was like "meeeee tooooooo"
(4:59:28 PM) DeeTee: And I was like "Go away, Murder Eyes!"
(4:59:48 PM) DeeTee: And Cleo looked at me and gave me a happy face and purred.
(4:59:51 PM) DeeTee: I don't think they get along.
17:00
(5:00:11 PM) DeeTee: I dont hate Murder Eyes, but I do't like cat fights occuring on my fucking lap so close to my penis.
(5:00:23 PM) DeeTee: don't*
(5:02:42 PM) DeeTee: So, a moment.
(5:02:58 PM) DeeTee: A moment in the exciting life of David Torello, 100 year old cat lady.
(5:02:59 PM) Adrienne Little: haha
(5:02:59 PM) Adrienne Little: nice

I think this snapshot explains itself.


-dt

Southern Hospitality

Good morning, David.  Welcome to you email inbox.  Would you like to see what is up in your neighborhood?

Ok, let me show it to you:

Clery Act Safety Alert

Off Campus Robbery 

Incident Date/Time:  Georgia Tech Police Department received notification today regarding an incident that occurred on June 1, 2011, at approximately 9:30 a.m.

Incident Location:  M Street Apartments -950 Marietta Street, NW

Incident Description: A Georgia Tech student was walking to his vehicle parked in the off-campus M Street Apartments parking lot, located at 950 Marietta Street, NW, when he noticed an unknown male sitting in the driver's seat of his vehicle. The student asked the male what he was doing, and the male demanded to student's belongings. The student ran back in to his apartment and the male chased after him. The male kicked in the apartment door and stole the student's laptop from the living room. The male then exited the apartment and was last seen running along the train tracks near Marietta Street, NW and Northside Drive, NW.

Description of Suspect:
Black male
Mid 40's
5'9" tall
150 pounds
Short hair
Wearing black pants and a red, orange, and black checkered shirt

Status of Investigation: This incident is being investigated by the Atlanta Police Department.Report any information regarding this and other criminal incidents to Crime Stoppers Atlanta at404-577-TIPS (8477).




Oh.  Thanks email.  


By the way, that guy did it in the wrong order.  Usually getting away in a car is easier.


-Dt

Moar Projects

More summer projects and progress reports:


This weekend I did two things that have been on the list for a long time, always seeming so easy to finish yet so hard to start.  I'm proud of me.


1.  Change the front break on my bike


This took a while for me to get to because I was afraid of having to do the first serious alteration to my mountain bike setup.  The backstory is pretty simple - my front brake pads kept rubbing my brake rotor (it's a disc brake setup) and it led to the most goddamn annoying sound that I've ever heard come from a bike.  It was like a banshee wail when I needed stopping power and would send shuddering spasms up my bike, like some sort of lever activated doomsday device.  Think Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber.


Anyways, I bought a new pair of Avid mechanical disc brakes and levers off of Chainlove for cheap and decided to replace the whole Hayes Stroker hydraulic assembly I had on before.  I probably could have just changed the rotor and seen if that helped, but I was curious about the whole process of installing the breaks so I went for it.  It was easy to mount everything, but a pain to align.  After a few tweaks and about an hour of messing around, I finally got it ready to go and took it for a spin.  No more Jim Carrey screaming in my ear, although I can really feel the reduction in stopping power from hydraulic to mechanical disc brakes.  At least theses are much more adjustable.


It's funny, all I had to do was start, and then it all went so smoothly.  Let this be a lesson to us all (me).

Like a boss.

2.  Make a planter


Bryce and I decided to go about this one the easy way.  I originally wanted to build it out of wood and make it look cool, but when confronted with the fact that money does not spontaneously generate in my wallet, it quickly became clear another solution was required.  We found that every goddamn planter in Home Depot is  either 30 bucks or higher for something that is basically just plastic, so we got a storage tub for 4 bucks and called it a day.  We have sweet basil, oregano, rosemary, cilantro, mint, and cinnamon basil in the storage tub and another plant of jalapeños in an old lychee jelly tub.  Ballin'.  Herbs ahoy.


Pictures forthcoming.


Mission accomplished.


Oh yeah, good job everyone on surviving the rapture.  I knew us heathens could do it.


Peas.
-Dt

Summer is upon us. Everyone, flee!

Summer starts June 21st.  I call bullshit, summer starts now.  It's hot, humid, and a healthy coating of Lacadaise (tm) has settled in, immune to cleansing/organizing efforts.  I can see it now - a huge list of summer projects swimming in my mind like fish, waiting to be fed with idea flakes or whole concept carcasses depending on their scale and ambition.  Time to sack up and swim in this bitch.

The summer project is an ancient form of torture, passed down from generation to generation with the best of intentions.  The problem is compound; there is the feeling of freedom associated with summer from childhood experience, mixed with the idea of the satisfaction from execution, sprinkled with the notion that a difficult path to success yields the most self-improvement.  The reality is simple; there isn't actually more time to complete anything than there was before, and the glory of a project's end is enough to obscure just how fucked up and difficult the project will actually be.  That being said, as humans we make these outlandish promises to ourselves and eventually have to pick up the pieces of our own shattered egos.  Bleak, but true.

This is my approach to the summer project - never commit.  It's defeatist, and without committing there's no assurance that progress will ever be made.  But the truth is that committing to a summer project and not finishing it is just as damaging as saying you will get around to it and watching your ambitions float away on the sea of time. In the end, your self-confidence is either unphased or scarred, but never boosted from the failed effort.

This does all assume you will fail.  While this is a reasonable assumption because of the over-exaggeration of one's abilities to which we are all prone, sometimes we really outshine ourselves.  In this case, there is another, more elegant path.  Aim low.  That way, failure costs nearly nothing, and success, for some strange reason, tends to be wildly more impactful than it's less fortunate counterpart.  Small successes lead to big gains, and you may even experience the sought-after snowball effect.  Stock market, why can't we all play by the same rules?

So now, honesty time.  Here is a list of my summer goals and the reasonableness of the effort.  Maybe even a few suggestions to myself thrown in for good measure.

1.  Learn the guitar

Evaluation: Hah.  To be fair, I've already started learning and I'm making progress.  I can even play songs.  But the scope of this project is just too great, and most people experience this one over a lifetime anyways.

Alternative: Focus on a few songs, a finger technique or two, and some smoothing out those chord transitions.  Baby steps.

2.  Build a bamboo bike

Evaluation:  Oh man, this one is waaay too lofty.  It also has the double whammy of being expensive.  That being said, of all the mad scientist projects I've ever promised myself I would do, this is the most likely because of its practicality.  Still, considering it's basically an eight week endeavor, it's probably not likely to finish.

Alternative: Design the frame and a jig in Solidworks and shelve it for a time when money is more available.  Trick out my current bike.  Both would provide distraction.

3.  Build new computer

Evaluation:  Easy, but the cost argument applies double here.  I would also be providing myself with a more powerful version of the major source of most of my distraction from project efforts.  Double edged sword.

Alternative:  Burn my computer.  Become productive.

There are more projects, but maybe I'll talk about them at a later date.  This post is long already.

Peas.

-Dt