matt hackmann - web developer - artist - nerd

It is that time of year again as so can be plainly seen by the appearance of Vulgar Santa on my site. So, given the spirit of the season, I shell delve into Christmas related subject. Today, I will be violently tearing apart a Christmas song (no, not the Nat King Cole one).

On the whole, I enjoy Christmas music. Arguably, I don't quite as much now as I did in my younger years, but it still is an important part of the season. There are, however, some songs I cannot stand. The Christmas Shoes ranks pretty high on that list, for example. And, of course, let us not forget songs about attempted Christmas date rape. Not to mention that song that ISN'T EVEN A FUCKING CHRISTMAS SONG!!!

Sorry, that one always hits a nerve.

Today, however, I will discuss Do You Hear What I Hear?. Aside from being incredibly repetitive and musically blah, the lyrics (when over-analysed) make about as much sense as mayonnaise taking a brisk vacation on the shores of Hawaii. So, let's begin!

First of all, arm yourselves with knowledge: ARM

So, recently, my bros have had a couple accounts hacked (one email, one Steam). Fearing that I was next in line, I started changing all my passwords using the scheme laid out above: very long passwords consisting of easy to remember normal words/phrases.

First, I changed my facebook password. It complained that my password was "weak", but allowed me to proceed.

Twitter was all "dude, that password is very secure" and I'm like "hells, yes. They get it."

My bank limited me to 14 characters, so I said fuck it as that's the only place I use that password and my user name and banking institution would need to be known. Also, they lock my account after three failed login attempts at which point I must call. Whatever, we'll let that one slide.

And then we come to Skype. Now, Skype is the only program that didn't get a password change after my too-commonly used password was leaked (in md5 hash form) from one of the lulz sec releases in the spring. (Why I didn't change it, I don't know). I figured now may was well be that time.

So, I entered skypeissomehowmuchbetterthanvoip into both boxes and it gave me the green check mark of "you're good". Click the submit button.

Okay, I disapprove, but whatever. I'll roll with it.

skypeiskindastupid

18 characters, close enough. Green check mark, submit.

...

Okay, fine.

fuckyouskypefucky00 (hard to tell with Georgia, but those are zeroes on the end)

19 characters, with numbers, plenty long and certainly memorable. Again, green check, submit.

So, let me get this straight. My old, six character, one number, one caps password is just fine and dandy, but a long string which (yes, contains words, repeating even) isn't? Really?

Needless to say, I'm a trifle pissed. And as I write this, I still haven't changed that password. And I'm going to email this to Skype and tell them exactly what I think of this bullshit.

Okay, soapbox done.

I'm so close to making this month-of-blogging thing that I cannot let a little thing like writer's block stop me now. I suppose I can just ramble.

My Wal-Mart experiences of late have not been of the highest caliber. Granted, one doesn't usually expect world class service at the World of Walls, but this has been exceedingly blah. Cashiers who just don't give a shit, seem to be high out of their mind or cannot comprehend the English language are what greet me at my new Wal-Mart. Though, I just left my old one, full of good people whom I mostly know, after having gotten the worst cashier yet.

I was there to pick up the new Weird Al album (which was not in the new releases as it should have been) and made a bee line to express lane with the shortest queue. The cashier, some teenager named Jace, was trying to open his drawer, an action that locks up the register until a CSM has approved it from their keypad. Problem number one - you don't lock up your register when there are customers waiting and you don't have to. He then proceeded to get exceedingly pissed off, swearing and smashing the clear button on his keyboard. He was honestly becoming quite violent.

Now, I can understand his frustration with slow CSM response and the slowness to back out of an action on the aging registers. I've been on both sides of of that equation. However, he did unessecarily bring it upon himself and his display of frustration was absolutely not professional.

So, yeah. I guess this post became a rant about my Wal-Mart experience, but it still counts.

Hello, mother. It has now been over two weeks since I opened my wings and began life on my own. All has been fine with the exception of one problem that seems to have sprung up - your dirty antics with food preparation.

Yes, that's right. You decided that it would be a fantastic idea to make God's gift to man, this Memorial Day weekend. And that gift was potato salad. You made it knowing full well that I would not be there to partake of the feast. You made it knowing full well that it would drag back my brothers who were having a most excellent weekend at my bachelor pad.

Well, despite your best attempts I am not mad. I am not bitter, sorrowful or sad. For you see, Okasa, I am well within the means to make my own potato salad - a potato salad hewn from the kitchen of my own sweat and tears. A march of miles to acquire the ingredients needed to concoct this wonder of man. And, even if your own salad of tubers had been constructed of motherly love, the due hardships that I had to face in brewing my own makes the deliciousness become exponentially more so.

So, there it is, mia madre. You will have to try harder in the future to tempt me with your foody ways. But, beware. This is a road difficult and wrought with many perils, perils such as a public "shaming" on a blog read by scant few per month. Fear what I have created!

I'm pretty sure we can all agree that children's television nowadays pretty much sucks across the board, doubly so for anything that even tries to enter the realm of things educational. Why is it that if you're going to try to teach a kid something it has to be packaged in a brightly colored, make-the-kids-talk-to-the-TV-like-they're-actually-doing-something-and-then-proceed-to-talk-down-to-them package (Say MAP! What? I can't hear you? You gotta speak SPANISH, dipshit!). Well, I tell you what. Back in my day, we had AWESOME educational TV! Allow me a meander down memory lane...