Linkstew

I left my office and walked down Bancroft, on my way to see Rush Hour 2 with my roommate. "Hopefully Spud Brothers will reopen before school starts," I mused. "I'd really like a potato." But when I passed Spud Brothers, a sign in the window caught my eye.

"Asuka's Donburi House Coming (very) Soon"

Oh, that's not right! It would seem that Spud Brothers is gone, leaving behind countless fans of their work. Students will return in a week or two, and when they go to get a potato, they won't find the store they were hoping for. And worse, thousands of freshman will be deprived of the spud brothers part of the Berkeley Experience.

Well Shit, ain't this a bitch? So there's already one casualty in the next generation console war, and several of the best Dreamcast games are now also bound for other systems. There are still a lot of good looking games due for the Dreamcast in the next year, and I'm looking forward to a lot of them. And the prospect of Sega games on a lot of systems also is appealing. In general, I guess the only thing that I don't like about this announcement is that the general public will see this as Sega giving up. They're not giving up, they're just realizing that they'll kick ass doing just software. And since I already have a Dreamcast, and all of the next generation systems have a place in my home, this announcement doesn't matter to me much.

Why? Because it's the games, stupid.

Today in Geography, we were shown a video on nuclear testing done on Bikini Island in the Pacific in 1946. Here is the Navy FAQ on operation Crossroads. Also, here is a nice page describing a lot of the nuclear tests performed by the U.S.

Now first, let me say that arguing over the morality of Hiroshima is a moot point. Second, let me say that Nagasaki should not have happened. Both countries should have known better at that point (Japan should have given up real quick, the U.S. should have said "holy shit", and the U.S. should have said "Oh, Japan? By the way, that was a small one..."). Nuclear testing on that island, however, was downright wrong.

First, they had to evacuate everyone from the island, stranding a culture forever. Then they effectively killed a lot of their own men by having them watch and not considering the effects of irradiating the water. Finally, they left animals there to see what would happen... Not like they were able to find any pieces when all was said and done. The only thing that was at all good about that whole mess was they documented it well. Now people will forever be able to look back and with mouths agape that anything like that could have happened.

The video was very well done. The effect of the carefree pacific music playing as the island was evacuated and the former chief spoke of his confusion was full of pathos. The sudden realization that the navy veteran who was talking about his experiences didn't have any legs (and the description of his leg bursting from the knee to ankle because of his radiation caused cancer) was a little horrifying. And the two notes at the end of the film that the veteran had died shortly after the making of the film was almost as sad as the note which pointed out that the chief and his people would never be able to return to the irradiated rock formerly known as the paradise of Bikini Island.

Hopefully, the collective we will learn from the past.

Some people in the office just reminded me of a tragic event that happened in the CS 61C class I took in the spring of 99. On Valentines Day, a guy stood up in the middle of the class in a suit and holding a bouquet of flowers and asked "Is Sandy Here?"

No one stood up, and the poor fellow left the class in his suit with his flowers looking more than a little let down.

A week ago, Kurt Vonnegut ended up in the hospital after a fire in his house. He was hospitalized due to smoke inhalation, which is quite ironic, given Vonneguts oral fixation. He should come through alright.

The really strange thing was that when I heard this news, I became very concerned. You see, through Vonneguts writing, I came to feel like I knew him really well. Which is silly, because I've never met the man, let alone communicated with him. All the same, though, through his writing his personality became very clear. Which should serve to illustrate just how well Vonnegut wrote.

Wrote. Past tense. He shouldn't write anymore. He's written enough, he should just finish living now.

Actually, apparently, my brother claims to have seen Gwydyr. Good thing! She's not gone, she's just gone wild after living outside for like three months.

I wonder how hard it is to find housing in Berkeley that allows pets.

I wonder if it'd be harder to catch Kitty than it'd be to find housing in Berkeley that allows pets.

My Palm III is dead. Long live my Palm III.

During my EE42 midterm Wednesday, I had my Palm III in my pants pocket as usual, but as that grew uncomfortable I took it out and put it in my shirt pocket. And then, as the room grew warm from many bodies sweating over a test, I removed my flannel and placed it on the ground. When the test ended, I grabbed my things and made my way the aisle. And then my Palm III fell from the pocket of the flannel which I held in my hands and bounced down the stairs of 2 LeConte.

I grabbed it and stuffed it in my pocket, turned in my test, and wandered home. It wasn't until after I'd been home for about 30 minutes that I opened my Palm III to check on something that I discovered that the screen had been shattered. More than that, though, the whole thing was toasted, beyond hope of repair.

So I ordered a Palm V to replace it a few hours later. I found a place with a $100 discount, so it was cheaper even than the Visor. Also, I would have had to have waited almost 2 months to get a Visor, whereas my Palm V should be in RSN. This gives me plenty of time to break my Palm V before the supply of Visor's becomes better, though.

It's mildly amusing, though, that I expected my Palm III to have survived that fall. It's survived many other falls before, though, so I didn't give it much of a second thought at the time.

I came home after visiting Keith and Michael last Saturday, and the fan wasn't working. I cursed and screamed and beat it against the ground, and it still didn't work. And I wept, for it was a good fan, and it served me well, but all good things must come to an end.

My fan has died. Long live my fan.

As if on cue, of course, Berkeley got mighty hot again. Figures. I'm not going to get a new fan until it starts to get hot again next spring, and when I do, I went to get one of those fans you can set on the floor and step over, rather than a standing fan. I'll worry about it when the time comes.

Hell, I dunno, I forgot most of them already. I'll certainly forget all the people in Foothill I didn't know, thanks to living with Keith and Michael. I've already forgotten, or gotten a mental block against, Clancy. I don't want to remember the math.

I want to say that La Loma seems empty, because everyone has moved out, but it doesn't seem any less empty than it always does to me. Throughout this entire year, I didn't go in Building 1 once, aside from laundry, and I didn't go into building 2 aside from Fadia's (My RA) suite. And now that I think about it, I was only in one other suite in all of Building 3, and I only entered one suite in all of Hillside.

Jeez, I only went in four suites, counting my own, all year. That really sucks, and I feel really bad now that I realize it. There's nothing that I can do about it now. This is the primary source of my not knowing anyone around here. And the reason I didn't go in other suites is Keith and Michael.

The first other suite I went in was because Keiths friend Nick was invited in during welcome week, and I ended up watching a movie there. That's all. I never went back. Then I went in Fadia's suite, and I only went over there when I had to help her with the MESCHA web page. And then there was 7A40, where I went during Welcome Week to visit Heidi Price, and where I went maybe on average of once every two weeks over the course of the school year. The only other residence hall I went to was the 7th floor of Spens Black Hall in Unit 3, where I visited Steve about 7 times over the course of the school year.

During this time of change many things have failed to stay the same. As we graduated and are making the transition to a new period of our lives, our gaming shop, Inner Sanctum Comix, is closing for various reasons too petty to go into. It makes everything seem so much grander than it really is, even if it isn't. It's just one store. A place where a bunch of guys with nothing better to do went and hung out, and a few of us actually bought books and tried to keep the place in business.

All of the things which I could say here have already been said in some other context. With the loss of Inner Sanctum, I'll lose four years of memories, for better or for worse. I'll loose a place to go to to remember. I'll lose a place to go and hide when everywhere else seems to be against me.

But for me, this loss of Inner Sanctum comes at a perfect time, as I'm moving to another school and another city, where I'll have to find a new gaming shop and new friends.

If graduation itself didn't make itself apparent upon my psyche, this event has. This is what finally made it sink in that I'm not a kid anymore. I don't have somewhere to hide. I have to face what I'd run from. I don't have somewhere to goof off. I have to goof off in public.

It's the end of the world as I know it. Es el fin del mundo lo sabemos.

In other news, I got my Palm III today. It was a graduation present, and it is as great as I'd heard. It is simply intuitive. I cannot recomend a Palm III enough to someone in the market for a PDA. WinCE machines simply do not hold a candle to this marvel.

Well, That's it then. Perhaps it'll be better next time.

And now the song is over now
And now the song is over now
And now the song is over now
The song is over now.

I graduated about 24 hours ago, and that was all that could come to my mind. I kept mulling on those few words. Some people cried and others shouted for joy. I knew that I wouldn't shout for joy. It's not how I am. I suspected that perhaps I would cry, but I didn't.

I didn't do anything.

It didn't mean anything. It was just over. Monday, my last day of high school wasn't anything special. It was just another day of high school, that ended just like any other day.

It just ended. No trumpets, no fanfare; It was just over.

Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

At least it was a whimper for me. A few other members of my lovely class of '98 made their own bang. Monday evening, they came onto campus and made a mess of things. The chalk on the walls was almost excusable, and the toilet paper was cliche. The fence which they which they put around viking hall (more explanation on this later) was damn funny, and I wish I'd thought of it. And the trash cans on the roof of viking hall, had they been evenly spaced so as the aesthetically pleasing, would have been excusable.

But, the vandals took the Drama departments prop car and overturned and generally trashed it in the middle of the quad, which was not good. And they broke the kiosk down. The plaque at the base of the kiosk says "From the class of 1991." So the gift of the class of 1998 seems to have been destroying the gift from the class of 1991.

One of the bits of writing in chalk, on the wall of the K building, said "98 is best." If those actions are what the best was, then it is obvious to me that I know nothing about excellence. And I am sorry that I am part of what the best from west had to offer.

So after graduation ended, I went to Ragnarok.

First off, there were far too few people present. I gave away my raffle ticket and all of my gambling money (fake money, used to buy more raffling tickets) to my friends. But then a few friends left before the raffle took place, so they gave me all of their tickets. And with those tickets, I won an AM/FM Cassette radio, which I gave to Jordan. In addition to prizes, they were giving away money based on names and not raffle tickets. They gave away amounts ranging from $25 to $250. My name was drawn for one the $250 prizes, and it has gone straight towards college.

I also won a free haircut from Mr. C's.

As I type this, I have finished all my finals. My graduation is in six days. And I leave for Berkeley in a little more than two months.

The bluntness of the situation really didn't hit me until last thursday, when I got my yearbook. I slowly turned the pages, remembering. All I could do was remember and regret. There was so much that I didn't do that I wish I had done. But all I can do now is attempt to have a jolly good time in the last week.

Monday I will go to school, and sit and not do much of importance. What can one do on the final day of classes? Regret or Rejoice. Tuesday is the senior breakfast and senior dinner. The breakfast isn't worth much, and I neglected to buy a ticket for the dinner, so it went. Wednesday is the senior trip to Magic Mountain, which I am going on, and I will be able to have a good time if I can find some group to wander about with. It shouldn't be too much of an issue. Thursday is nothing. A void of a day. The calm before the storm. And friday is it. We graduate. Practice at 8, Graduate at 20, Ragnarok following graduation at the fairgrounds.

I will have a good time at Ragnarok.

Ragnarok is such a fitting name for that event. It will be exactly as it implies.

Groovy.