Underpants On The Outside

This weekend was the robot competition.  The way the competition works: after a day and a half of seeding matches, the top eight teams pick their alliance, schoolyard style, and 24 of the 32 teams go on to the playoffs.  After the first day, it’s pretty clear who the top teams are, so the lower teams run around trying to look impressive.

When I showed up, I was given a quick briefing.  First off, the rollers never worked.  Not even a little.  Not even as ballast.  The shooter, in comparison, worked much better, in that it made good ballast.

There was still optimism.  As it turned out, our robot was terrific at driving around wildly, tripping up opposing robots and generally being a nuisance.  In other words, our robot had the functionality of a Labrador, and just like a Labrador, we were likable and popular.

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Last season, I got into 24 quite a bit. Most people I know say it’s the best show on television, and I have to admit, I see their point. I’m mostly impressed by how much Jack Bauer manages to squeeze into a day. To illustrate, I’m going to compare each hour of Jack’s day to the corresponding hour in my own day.

Jack’s day, 9-10 PM: So far, Jack’s enthusiasm for torture and interrogation makes it seem like a fetish.  So when CTU higher-ups have Audrey “prepped for interrogation”, there’s no way Jack is going to miss out on this action. 

Of course, management says it’s a conflict of interest for Audrey’s ex to interrogate her, but I think they don’t want the furniture stained with Jack’s “interrogation fluid”.  They want Audrey hooked up to the pain machine, run by a guy named Burke.  (I think Burke is going to be the next Tony, but I’m really basing this on the fact that they both wear tight t-shirts.)  They call what Burke does an “invasive interrogation,” but there’s no way it’s less invasive than what Jack wants to do.  Still, Jack manages to talk his way into his eighteenth interrogation of the day.  It’s like he’s trying to make a quota.

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So I got published again a couple days ago.  It’s a little ditty (NSFW) on Yankee Pot Roast, a great site that doesn’t just make me laugh, it makes me feel smart.  Usually I need a toddler to do that.

Normally, I never miss a chance to toot my horn, but I wasn’t expecting it to go up for a few days, and I hadn’t checked out the site since the weekend.  This made for a fun conversation when I wrote the editor to ask him when it would be going up, days after it actually had, giving him every reason to believe that I was not a devoted reader, and perhaps a halfwit as well.

Hope you enjoy it.

Last season, I got into 24 quite a bit. Most people I know say it’s the best show on television, and I have to admit, I see their point. I’m mostly impressed by how much Jack Bauer manages to squeeze into a day. To illustrate, I’m going to compare each hour of Jack’s day to the corresponding hour in my own day.

Jack’s Day, 8-9 pm:   Jack, apparently in possession of the world’s strictest work ethic, goes right back to work minutes after the death of his dear friend.  I like to think that when everything is taken care of, Jack will hold the mother of all wakes.  There will be drinking, a six foot memorial sub for Edgar, someone (probably Curtis) will have to leave early with a bullet wound, and right before Jack and Chloe drunkenly copulate, Jack will wail “I miss Tony!” as Chloe cries, “I miss Edgar!”

Jack is informed of a woman who has been supplying the terrorists with information.  I guess that makes her yet another terrorist.  Throw her on the pile. Unfortunately, I have another problem with her.  She has hacked all kinds of things, like security-access-whatnot and schemato-whoozits, all while being WAY too hot to hack anything more technical than a scrunchie.  Now, I’m willing to concede a lot of things.  For instance, women might not be awful drivers who endanger everyone on the road, and who knows, maybe they do deserve the right to vote.  Who am I to say?  But I will never believe in a hot woman hacker.  I’m not saying hot women aren’t intellectually capable of hacking, they just have better things to do.  Therefore, I will refer to the hot terroristess as “The Unicorn,” because neither will exist until incredible advances are made in genetic engineering.

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In the pursuit of nerditude, I recently decided to start playing Magic: The Gathering, after a ten-year hiatus.  Let’s see how it’s going so far… 

Went down to Neutral Ground yesterday.  Or at least I thought it was Neutral Ground, instead it looked like I’d wandered into detention.  There wasn’t a single nerd in the place.  Instead, the place was packed with kids with shaved heads, doo-rags, and graffiti on their backpacks.  The trash talking sounded like a basketball court, and on two occasions I thought there was going to be a fight.

Instinctively I was frightened. Here I am, returning to my childhood, and the kids whose attention I’d sought to avoid all through middle school were there!  In the nerdatorium!  The foxes were in the henhouse!  Then I realized the foxes were laying eggs.

That’s right. The tough kids were playing Yu-Gi-Oh, a similar game to Magic with Anime artwork.  It even has a cartoon show based on it.  And it wasn’t just younger kids, either; I would say that a majority of the guys were 15-18 years old.  They weren’t playing Magic, but who cares… THEY WERE PLAYING!  My initial reaction was to wonder how I could reenroll in high school.  Clearly the social dynamic had been flipped on its head, and somewhere there was a quarterback praying a janitor would come let him out of the locker the chess club had shoved him in.  I’d be PROgraMming KING in no time.

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For days I hinted a nerdy endeavor of grand proportions.  Well, it’s time to reveal my secret:

After ten years away from the game, I have decided to get back into Magic: The Gathering.

Some of you might be unfamiliar with Magic. It’s a trading card game, like Dungeons and Dragons for people who need pictures.  The title of this post is a reference to the game’s old slogan: “All you need is a deck and a friend.” I always thought this was Magic players taking a frank look at themselves and acknowledging that they tended to be awkward and anti-social, often with offensive body odors.  The slogan seemed to say, “C’mon, geek, all you need is a friend.  Just one. Even you have one, don’tcha?  How about the Asian kid who doesn’t speak English very well?  You two get along, and he always has good video games. Or the fat kid? He’ll play any game that doesn’t require him to run.  If you get them and the kid who plays clarinet*, you’ll practically be able to start a gang.”

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A few days ago, I posted an open call to all of my Berkeley friends.  I wanted a fan to hear their stories of the illegal, tales of the illicit and accounts of debauchery, some of which I witnessed firsthand.  I wasn’t there when they turned the firehose on (indoors), and I missed the Russian-Roulette party (five shots of vodka… one of everclear).  But I left for Reno at one in the morning, cranked up on “dietary supplements”.  I hauled sand for the indoor beach party in the middle of December, and I got a midnight tan from the 1000 W bulbs…that we had…y’know… for no real reason.  And when the women wrestling in suntan oil ran out of suntan oil,  I was there when someone grabbed the olive oil and butter.  (The women left soon after, but that’s beside the point.)

So I know that good stuff happened, but nobody stepped up and told the stories, not even to impress the impressionable teenager who thought I was funny. 

I’d stay away from Cal if I were you, Corey.  The women you hump will be ugly, and your friends will let you down in the end.

(That being said, go Bears v. NC State later today!)

Update: The Bears lost.  DAMN IT!

Check this out: Valentine’s day has met its match. (Yes, I know I’m a day late.)

Last season, I got into 24 quite a bit. Most people I know say it’s the best show on television, and I have to admit, I see their point. I’m mostly impressed by how much Jack Bauer manages to squeeze into a day. To illustrate, I’m going to compare each hour of Jack’s day to the corresponding hour in my own day.

Jack’s day, 7-8 PM:  Jack starts the hour in a room surrounded by nerve gas, trapped with a bunch of women who haven’t gotten off his back since eight am and the guy who’s railing his daughter.  On top of that, he just had to watch a good friend of his die.   I keep hoping someone will turn to Jack and say “At least you have your health,” but no dice. 

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A week ago, I received the following email:

Dear Zach,
As a high school senior who is very frequent on collegehumor.com, let me say first of all that I think your writing is hilarious as well as intelligent.*  I noticed that you graduated from UC Berkeley, and having applied there myself, was wondering if you had any comments about the school.  I did some research, and I found out that most people view the school as extremely difficult with a poor social life (not to mention a complete and utter lack of attractive females).  Anyway, I’m assuming that you’re pretty busy doing whatever it is that you’re doing right now, but I’d really appreciate your input on the school.
Thanks a lot,
Corey

At this point, I want to turn the mic over to the readers.  I met many of them at Cal, and most of them are funnier than me, so here you go guys; we’re looking for advice, anecdotes, and anything else that will convince Corey that UCB is the greatest school ever, particularly if you like having sex with ugly women.  I’m counting on you.

You can post them in the comments section, or email them to me at zach@underpantsontheoutside.com, and I will compile them in a seperate post in a few days.  Also: you don’t have to keep it clean, but let’s not name names.

Go Bears!

*After this first sentence, I assumed the letter was spam.  All it needed was bad diction and an offer for millions of dollars worth of Nigerian currency.