Tsaot

I recently spent quite a large sum of money for the new Amazon Kindle 2. Part of what convinced me to do so is the amount of money I would save on buying new books, something I do quite often. Alas, the Kindle is $360 (or, if you’re like me, 377.98 with overnight shipping). As a result of this steep entry fee into the Kindle store, I would not actually see any savings for quite a while. If I buy enough books, I know I could start to see a savings, but again, only if I buy enough books.

How many books? Crap. This requires math. To the quick-and-easy Math Machine: Microsoft Excel! (I can’t count how many times I’ve used Excel to do quick computations. It’s just too useful.) After throwing in the cost of each book I have purchased and the kindle, I found that on average, I’ve spent $133.58 per book. This didn’t shock me but it made the numbers more real. This got me to thinking though. How many books do I need to buy before I reach the break-even point as compared to my normal purchase of dead-tree works? I bounced back to the Kindle store, grabbed the dead-tree price, the digital MSRP as I have read (painful as it was) whole works on my phone via MobiPocket, and the date I purchased my books. I plugged these in and found that ignoring the cost of the Kindle, I’ve saved 23.14 on paper books or 13.16 on digital books. These were just a side note however. I soon got back on track. First I wanted to know how many books I would need to buy on the kindle to break even on the paper. Turns out it’s 49 and a bit. I’ve already bought 3 in the week that I’ve owned it so if I keep at my current pace (which Anathem is severely slowing down), When would I break even? June 26, 2009. How much more will I have spent in that time? $349.17. For digital books on another reader (such as my phone) those numbers would be 83 books, September 30, and $631.23. (I expect to see the digital numbers to go down as they are typically the same, if not greater, than the paper versions. I have no idea why it’s like this.)

I will admit I’ve been spending more on books for the Kindle than I would normally. It’s a new toy, what can I say? This is something that needs tracking though. I know my rate of spending will decrease in the future, but I still want to know that I made a wise purchase. To that end I decided that this quick calculation needed to turned into an easy to use file. The result is this:

This is the main page of the calculator where all the fun info is shown.

I’ve prettied it up a bit and actually avoided using VBA macros on this one, so it will work on the Mac version of Office as well. As you can see it displays both real and imagined savings, so you can feel good and bad about yourself at the same time (or if you’ve already bought a mountain of books, you can feel good and better about your self). I now present this file in .xlsx and .xls formats for everyone else to play with. I’ve left my 3 books in it to give an example as to how to enter your own data. Please let me know what you think (a.k.a. ridicule my book purchases) in the comments.

Tsaot’s Kindle Calculator
Tsaot’s Kindle Calculator xls

Programs Excel Tools, Kindle

Jared stormed into his office building. Casual greetings were either ignored or withheld if his face was seen in time. In his hand he held a printout of an e-mail he had received earlier that morning. In short, it said statements made in his Twitter account about co-workers were offensive and disciplinary actions were to take place this afternoon at two. He slammed the door open as he strode into Andrew’s office.

Andrew was expecting this. He saw the anger on Jared’s face and pardoned himself on the phone. Can I call you back in an hour? An important matter just landed on my desk. Thanks. At least Jared had the decency to wait for him to hang up.

“What the flush is this?” Jared demanded, slapping the printout on the desk.

Andrew glanced at the clock, and, ignoring Jared’s initial outburst, spoke. “Jared, you’re about five hours early for our meeting. Can this wait until then?”

“No it can’t wait! What bung heap is reading my personal writings on the web?”

Andrew admired Jared’s ability to avoid Carlin’s seven words and still sound just as foul. “I really think you should wait until two o’clock for this.” A vein on Jared’s forehead began to pulse.  Andrew decided it may be prudent to calm the angered employee. “But, we can attempt to resolve this now if you so desire.”

“I do so poopin’ desire. This shouldn’t even be a steaming issue.”

Andrew leaned back in his seat, steepled his fingers in front of his chest, and spoke. “Several of your statements made on Twitter over the weekend about one of your co-workers were found to be somewhat offensive and threatening. The line in particular where you said you were going to,” he picked up the abused paper Jared had brought, “‘beat her to a slimy pulp,’ is what brought this to our attention.”

Jared slammed his fist on the desk. “That tweet was private,” he growled. “You people have no right reading my Twitter feed.”

Andrew found the violent display disturbing, but was not going to be intimidated. “That ‘tweet’ was in no way private, Jared. It was made was made in a public space.” He gestured at the screen beside him. “I was able to pull it up on this computer here. If you wanted us to not see it, you should have protected your profile. I am told this is possible.”

Jared leaned forward, his fists resting on the desk. “It’s still free speech. There is nothing you can do to me about it.”

Security arrived at the open door and began to enter before Andrew signaled for them to wait. “But there is, Jared.” He leaned forward so they were eye to eye. “You’re fired. Gather your things from your desk. I will have the necessary paperwork ready for you when you are done.”

Jared stood. His face was locked in a deadly sneer. His fists clenched and released repeatedly at his sides. Andrew wondered if the security officers would have to intervene. After a moment, Jared turned and left, closing the door harder than he had opened it.

Andrew leaned forward and rubbed a dent in the desk left by his visitor and shook his head. If he hadn’t confirmed his violent nature, he though, he could’ve just apologized at two. He reached into his desk and pulled out a pink slip.

Uncategorized

Wednesday. The hold my bank placed on the student loan I deposited is lifted today. Four thousand dollars (that, theoretically, is already spent) is mine to spend. Glee surrounds me as I climb down off my bed and under it to access my computer. I turn on the screen. What greets me is delicious.

The night before I had started some large video podcasts downloading, so the machine was left on all night. At midnight it began. The tracker in my Firefox browser started loading three to four new tabs an hour.

I sat down, the thoughts of all the money I now have grew from a quiet song into a roaring cheer. I scrolled down the page until I found the play button. I clicked and then sang along.

Get out the way, we got a Woot Off!
We’re pigging out down at the Woot Trough!
Ain’t gonna stop until the Woot Off is Done!

…

Woot.com, home of the unwanted, overstocked, and refurbished, had unleashed a flood of toys. How can I resist? How can I walk away from the web now? I was planning to get an oil change today! What if the Bandoleer of Carrots appears? I need a bale of cardboard! I cannot pass up a bag of cats. No, I cannot leave the computer for the two hours it would take. What about class? I must got to class! I can’t miss it. I missed yesterday because of this fever!

And the forums! They’re magical during woot-offs. Humor abounds! Lol-cats and other amusing images come out of the wood-working.

Money I can’t afford to spend is heating up in my pocket, threatening to burn my leg if I don’t free it. Class assignments that are screaming to be finished are pulling at my conscience. Breakfast is calling my stomach.
It has become the perfect storm, and I’ve only just woken up.

Uncategorized

Tom lay on his belly and sighted down the rifle barrel. He found the position uncomfortable. He wiggled, trying to find a more comfortable position on the sandy blue pad. On either side of him were other young men on blue mats, some adjusting themselves to the new experience, others at home on the range. Shots began to ring out as he found a position that didn’t bother him too much. Targets at the end of the range bled bright green as shots found their marks.

Tom grabbed the lever on the bolt and swung it up and back. He grabbed a bullet from the box beside him and slid it into the barrel. He slid the bolt forward and locked it into place. The butt of the gun he placed on his shoulder. Another shot rang out on his right. He ran through the steps he learned from the camp councilor only minutes before. Three large breaths in and out. He inhaled. Another shot on the right. He exhaled. While breathing, line the two nubs on the back of the gun with the one on the tip of the barrel. He inhaled. He exhaled. Three more shots rang in succession. Place the aligned dots on the target. He inhaled. The black target in front of him seemed to dance at the tip of the gun. Exhale halfway and hold your breath. The target’s dancing became less erratic. He placed the sights on the middle and squeezed the trigger. The gun recoiled.  The target bled green in the upper right.

Tom lay there for a moment. He had fired a gun. The target before him held proof of this. He stared at it. He felt something.

Tom grabbed the lever on the bolt and swung it up and back. The spent shell jumped out of the barrel and landed on the concrete beside his mat. Tom’s eyes were on the target. He reached into the box and grabbed another bullet and slid it into place. His eyes continued to focus on the target. The bolt slid back almost on its own. He inhaled. The sights lined up in front of him. He exhaled. The target floated in front of the barrel. He inhaled. Unheard shots rang around him. He exhaled. The dancing of the target slowed as he took control of the barrel. He inhaled. He let it out slowly until the dancing almost stopped. He stared at the target, the sights moving slightly around the center. He waited for them to stop. He pulled the trigger. The target bled green. Tom grabbed the lever on the bolt and swung it up and back.

Creative Writing, Fiction 300 Words

Anne sat on the bench facing the library. She couldn’t help but feel what she was seeing was partly her fault. She also thought it was a hoot. The library in front of her was covered in a tent, looking for all the world as if it were a circus. Men in hazard suits came in and out of flaps positioned where the front door would be.

Two months before, Anne and Pat had been going through books that had been donated to the library when Anne had found something unique. It was one of those cardboard gimmick books that doubled as a toy. This one happened to have an ant-farm in the back of the book.

“Would you look at this Patty? There’s an ant farm in the back.”

“Huh, look at that. They’re sure going at it in there aren’t they?”

“They sure are.” They stared at the scampering ants who had been shaken around.

Pat broke the silence after a moment. “Well, we can’t keep it. We can’t exactly loan out an ant farm.”

“We could put it on display though. It would be fun!”

Pat gave Anne a weird look. “If you do, they’re your ants. You’re feeding them.”

So the ant farm book became a new fixture in the children’s section. People loved it. Kids would stare at the little bugs going about their business and parents would ask where they could get a copy for their enthralled children.

A month after was when the ants became a noticeable problem.

“Patty, would you come take a look at this?”

Pat lumbered over from the front desk. “What’s wrong Anne? Have your ants finally died out? Those farms are only supposed to last a month you know.”

“No they’re not dead silly. And where’d you hear that? They’re still alive and thriving in there.” Anne waved the topic aside and continued. “In any case, look inside. It looks like they’re eating paper.” Pat frowned and looked in and saw what were clearly bits of paper in the farm. “Some of them even have words on them,” Anne continued.

“The… his… Monty…” It took a couple of moments before it dawned on her. “They’re eating the books!” Pat ripped open the glass case and snatched up the book. “These must be carpenter ants!” Dirt, ants, and bits of paper fell from a hole the ants had made in the back. “Geeek!” Pat cried as she dropped the book, scattering ants and dirt all over the floor. “No! The books!” Anne dodged back as her colleague began an exotic dance on top of the mess, clogging as though she were possessed. “What are you doing Anne? Get the Vacuum! Quick!” Pat shouted. Anne ran over to the janitorial closet and rushed back, dragging the pig by the hose, which was promptly snatched out of her hands.

A week later, one ran up Pat’s leg. Apparently they hadn’t been thorough enough.

…

Anne sat on the bench giggling. If she squinted just right, the people coming in and out of the tented building looked just like clowns.

“Excuse me,” came a young woman’s voice from behind. Anne calmed her mirth and turned to face a young woman in her late twenties holding what looked to be her son’s hand. “What’s going on today? Is the library closed?”

“I’m afraid so dear. It’s currently being fumigated.”

“What’s fer-mat-ga-ga-ga…” The boy frowned for a moment and tried again, “What’s furmigated?”

“Almost hon. Fumigated means we’re putting a lot of bad air in the building to kill off the bugs.”

“You got bugs in there?”

“I’m afraid so.”

The mother creased her forehead as she picked up her son. “Is it anything I need to be worried about? I bring my son here every week.”

“No dear, it just turns out the ant farm we had last month was a nest of carpenter ants and they started to eat the books.”

The mother gasped. “Oh no!” Her hand covered her mouth and horror was present in her eyes.

The young boy looked down at Anne. “The ants I gave you were cartpenter ants?”

Creative Writing, Fiction 300 Words

He raised his fist above his head violently, a sneer on his face. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her own. Each was ready to attack. They froze, eyeing each other, trying to gauge what the other would do.

“One,” he growled.

“Two,” she returned, narrowing her eyes.

“Three!” They both shouted as they swung their fists down at each other. His hand flattened. Her index and middle fingers extended. Their hands stopped mid-air nearly touching each other.

“The last cookie is mine!” she yelled.

Uncategorized

Man my head hurts. I’m driving home from a long day of classes and I can tell I’ve started a sinus infection. Snot is pouring down my throat like it’s the Mississippi. If someone were to ask me how I felt right now, I would answer “viciously unpleasant”.

I don’t want any more snot reaching my stomach. This headache is bad enough, I don’t need a stomach ache to add to it. I reach out and grab my McDonald’s cup from this morning and spit down the straw. Man that’s disgusting. Boy am I glad this cup is opaque. I live through ten minutes of this personal hell.

I pull into the driveway and spit one last time into the cup. I can feel the unwanted fluids inside it sloshing around now. It has to be at least a half an inch deep in there now. Grabbing my cup and bag, I leave my car and go inside.

It’s dark inside. Mom and my siblings are all at church for youth activities. I head directly to the kitchen for a drink to clear my mouth of the foul bile it was forced to expectorate. My dad’s in there. We exchange the normal pleasantries. My day was fine, how was yours? They did what to your program? Yeah, I agree, that person is an idiot to do that. Yadda, yadda, yadda…

“Where’s the garbage can?” I asked, seeing that it had been moved again.

“Your mom’s got it by her desk right now.”

“Ah.”

I place my cup on the cabinet and grab a fresh one from the cupboard and walk over to the sink.

I fill the glass as dad asks, “Are you done with this drink?”

“Definitely.” I turn back to face him and start to drink the blessedly fresh water. That’s when I see him lifting the straw to his lips.

Creative Writing, Fiction 300 Words

I was inspired by @gkneeisme’s recent blog post about Gadgettes to write about my own experience with podcasts, beginning with the first.

Three years ago, in late December, I was bored. Looking to remedy this particular problem, I started to goof off with my laptop. I installed iTunes out of curiosity, as it seemed to be the de-facto music store at the time, bought a song from it (Starry Eyed Surprise) to try out the service and immediately encountered the horror of DRM. The only way to get it onto my SD card to play on my Pocket PC was to burn a CD and then re-rip it back to the computer. It has been the only iTunes song I have ever bought.

In any case, I saw something I had seen mentioned on a couple of web-sites at the time: Podcasts. I clicked the menu and saw what they were: talk radio for my computer. Not too enticing as I have never been a talk radio fan. But I was still bored, and you do weird things when you’re bored. So I clicked on the Tech News link and looked at the top ten. The first one didn’t seem too enticing: TWiT: tech news from a bunch of twits. Beautiful, I get enough twits on domestic radio. Ignored… Buzz Out Loud however looked interesting. I subscribed and downloaded the latest file. I was blown away. Tom, Molly, and Veronica were amazing! There was news about things I cared about unlike the random stuff the local radio stations threw up. Tom was informative and factual, with a sense of humor that creeps up on you. Molly was loud and engaging, and when she let loose a rant, even if you didn’t know what it was about, you were on her side by then end of it! And Veronica, oh Veronica, was just dang cute. She apparently had just gotten comfortable talking with Tom and Molly and graduated from producer to co-host. She was well informed on every topic, but would introduce random bits of fun into the show. “What sound does a kitten with lasers make? Mew, pew, mew, pew!” (I admit to a little crush.) I was hooked.

Now I have a list of thirty-seven podcasts that I cannot keep up with and it’s all their fault. They made the news too much fun.

Creative Writing, Non-Fiction 300 Words

How can an idea so genius,
be executed so badly.
If you worked well,
I’d fall in love madly.

Teacher, meet student.
Student, meet goals.
Here is your homework,
please fill in the holes.

Instead, you place
a mirrored glass wall between us,
with poorly wired phones
that turn “progress” to “penis”.

Your homepage is empty,
except for a class list.
Your calendar is barren.
My first class I missed.

Your task-list disorganized,
listing items by name.
I missed the due date
have you no shame?

The professors  control,
What they can’t understand.
“Does this go in Course Info or Documents?
I’ll just give it to them by hand.”

Organization,
of which there is none,
Is up to the teachers.
Look! What they’ve done!

Assignment 3 is first,
Then number one,
But what about 2?
It’s past due so it’s gone.

Wait, what is this?
Assignment 4?
How long have you been there?
You require a week, maybe more.

It’s due in two days!
When did this occur?
The teach didn’t say you were here
Curse Her!

But I can’t really blame them,
The teachers that is.
Their side was made
by no programming wiz.

The control panel’s huge!
Near space shuttle size.
The number of choices
has shattered my eyes!

A grader I am,
so I use only one.
But I can only wonder
how the teach gets work done.

But the gradebook!
It sucks!
To learn how to use:
I sacrificed ducks.

The item to grade
has been hidden away.
To download them all
takes at least a day!

For each student I click,
at least ten or twelve times,
to download one file,
from a field of mines.

One click went astray,
I hate to admit,
it was my fault.
Please re-submit.

The site is a chore,
its usability null.
If it were a ship,
I’d cave in its hull.

Creative Writing, Non-Fiction 300 Words

I have a special arrangement with garbage: If it doesn’t show up, I won’t ignore it. This arrangement is quite difficult to manage, but we stick it out. Every now and then it needs a little help, but it manages itself pretty well on its own.

Throughout the week, it hides in the garage. It’s the one place I don’t visit that the trash accumulates with any noticeable speed. It grows at a steady rate, until it has filled four plastic cans. The local night life does its part to reduce the amount, but there is only so much a single opossum can eat. As far as I’m concerned though, it doesn’t exist; except for rare moments where some seems to have escaped from the garage and made its way into the kitchen waste bin. Once a week though, there is a reckoning.

Wednesday comes. The one day of the week that is obviously misspelled, but no one has the heart to tell it, the day that white and blue collars alike celebrate as hump-day, the day the cans reach maximum capacity: Garbage-Man Eve. Black bags with holes torn in them by curious claws stare at me. They sit on the floor of the garage where they have fallen out of a tipped over can. Negotiations break down. The garbage has shown itself. Left with no recourse, I step over it and enter the house, where it cannot reach. Not to be defeated, it redoubles its efforts. It sits there, waiting for me to come by again. I do not. I succeed in not ignoring it. I sit at my desk, taking a break from work and reading the day’s news, the fact that four cans full of rubbish are actively existing downstairs forgotten from my mind.

The garbage has comrades though: every other bipedal mammal that lives in my house. They call the refuse to my attention, forcing me to ignore it actively. I put on my shoes. It continues to sit. I exit the house. It waits. I wander aimlessly, looking at nothing in particular. It gathers flies. I reach down and shove something into a round container. The container is propped back up. I walk to the end of the driveway, my arms trailing behind me feeling heavier for some reason. I reach the intersection of gravel and pavement and turn around. Huh, my hands feel lighter now. I repeat this process one or two more times, depending on how heavy my hands get. I go inside and wash my hands for no particular reason. I go to bed.

Thursday I present the treaty to my foe once again. It graciously accepts.

Creative Writing, Non-Fiction 300 Words