Update: July 26, 2001

Oh, my. It has certainly been a while. Despite being thoroughly and repeatedly admonished for not updating, I have not updated. My thoughts have been mine alone. I have collected no pennies. It's just as well, really, since loose change is the bane of my existence.

But you, my dear reader, have been patient. While I have been sitting here, quietly, basking in the lukewarm glow of insanity, you have been diligently checking for non-existent updates. I might cleverly point out the futileness of constantly checking for anything that does not, in fact, exist, but I am reminded that the updates in question should have existed. They did not. I have not fulfilled my part of the bargain. Without my meager contribution, the stone soup of madness has grown cold, and gone uneaten.

For that, if for nothing else, I apologize. I hate to see good stones go to waste.

I would like, at this time, to plead my case. As I have stated on several occasions, to rant like a madman, one must think like a madman. Madness, yes, is a requirement. But, you see, I have finished my schooling. It is over. And I have no job.

While you might think the rat race of unemployment would be reason enough to break out the straightjacket, I must first point out that I am, truth be told, as rested now as at any point in the last five years. I am more laid-back than your average rat. I simply assume that the scientist will break down and feed me long before I actually die of starvation, and any tiny, cheesy treat that awaits me simply isn’t worth the trouble.

I have always liked mazes, though, so I occasionally work it through, if only for the intellectual challenge.

Update: November 15, 2000

If—and the thing is wildly possible—the charge of writing nonsense were ever brought against the author of this brief but instructive web page, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line

In view of this painful possibility, I will not (as I might) appeal indignantly to my other writings as a proof that I am incapable of such a deed: I will not (as I might) point to the strong moral purpose of this page itself, to the arithmetical principles so cautiously inculcated in it, or to its noble teachings in Natural History—I will take the more prosaic course of simply explaining how it happened.

I simply went through the looking glass.

This is (in part) the work of Lewis Carroll, without whom I would not have a metaphor to explain my transition. Without language, without a means of escape, I may have had to keep my madness to myself.

This is (in part) the work of those whose madness is not so manifest, without whom I may never have noticed my own. I would peer at them and see my madness reflected in theirs, peering back at me from the cold, shiny depths behind their eyes. It was bewitching me, begging me closer. I went to it and crossed over. It was a short trip.

There is a madness in you. I can see it. Let it out.

Update: May 17, 2000

My brain feels distant today. It doesn't want to take orders. A chemical imbalance? Perhaps. But I still have the upper hand. I will deprive you of sleep and caffeine. And pleasure. I will torture you. I will win.

The spectre of mental incapacitation looms large—I am not yet past the danger point. What am I to do? How do I prevent this unseemly fate? Or is it already too late? Only time will tell. Perhaps it already has. We may never know.

Goodbye. It was nice to meet you, finally. It is my hope that I have made an impression.

Update: April 13, 2000

Here I sit—writing and drinking a beer—at work. And I set my mind to thought. The thoughts are coherent, but make no sense. It is a typical day, although atypical in so many respects. My thoughts spill onto paper:

If only I could cook. I might, then, have a good shot at success. A chance to smite my enemies.

Update: January 16, 2000

Is my voice passive? Apparently so, grammatically speaking. I must, therefore, embark upon a rigorous voice-training program—a strict song-singing, crystal-shattering regimen of voice exercise. Make my voice more active, I will.

But I jest. I was just pulling your leg, like that of a cricket whose leg I would like to remove.

I will cease. And desist.

Centum oculos Argi videbitis in cauda pavonis.

And that's no joke.

Update: January 8, 2000

Update! you scream. Update! And slowly I turn around and smack you a few times. I will update! All in good time. Good things come to those who wait. I've been eating too many daisies in the garden.

But I've been chastised. You needn't worry about me. As you can plainly see, I am still here. Waiting. Biding my time.

The days are short now. Too short. You should see how short the days are. Very short. I don't like it. Should I complain? To whom?

Update: October 11, 1999

A duck's quack doesn't echo. No one knows why.

Update: September 29, 1999

Have you ever noticed how fucking hot the water in the bathrooms in MC is? No? What, you don't wash your hands?

Try it with soap. Your first reaction—the self-preservation one—will be to immediately yank your hands back. Then you'll realize that your hands are still covered in soap, and you'll put your hands back into the stream of steaming water. And you'll scald yourself. If you're careful, you might only get third-degree burns.

But not me. I'm smart. I've learned not to touch hot things.

So you may see me washing me hands in the fountain outside the washroom sometimes. Please don't laugh. I'm just trying to survive long enough to pass on my genetic code to my offspring, allowing me to die in peace, knowing that I've done my part to better the human race.

And besides, it's demeaning.

Update: June 27, 1999

The proof is in the pudding. A picture is worth a thousand words. Yes. So they say. Judgement day is at hand. Judge for yourself.

You didn't warn us! you shriek. But, in fact, I did. And now, as the children lay dying, I ask you to think about that. And read. History will vindicate me.

My will is made of iron, so leave the kids at home. And the baby goats too.

Mares eat oats.

Update: June 15, 1999

Seattle is where it's at! At least, it's where I'm at. So I assume—only naturally, of course—that it's also where it is at. I don't have the wherewithal to disprove it, so I choose to assume it's true.

The Microsoft Campus is hoppin' (metaphorically). There's about 600 interns here now, and you can find some sort of intern event going on any time you care to look.

Work comes and goes. The only thing held constant is the stream of intern events.

I'm livin' in paradise. I'll will prove that one. Shortly. There will be a reckoning.

Update: April 16, 1999

What is a psychologically lower-triangular matrix?

I may have just recorded my first course failure. CS370—Numerical Computation (AKA "The Course that Sucks"). That was definately the worst exam I've ever written. I should've just dropped my pants and bent over, 'cause I'm fucked either way, and that would have been quicker.

Do I deserve to pass? Probably not. I didn't learn anything. I couldn't answer a lot of the questions on the exam. I've never left so many pages blank before. But I don't care if I learned anything, since this stuff was destined for my brain's equivilent of a garbage can anyways. I just don't want to have to do it over again.

However, since everyone seemed to have problems on the exam, they'll probably adjust the marks. In anticipation of a passing grade, I'm having T-Shirts made up. Front: I survived CS370 and all I got out of it was this stupid T-Shirt. Back: Wei-Pai Tang, Winter '99. Get your orders in soon, as quantities are limited, and this is sure to be a hot item!

Update: April 11, 1999

Rather than study for exams, I've been playing with Cascading Style Sheets. I'm now using them exclusively for formatting. If your browser doesn't properly support CSS1 (this includes Netscape 4.x), then, well, fuck you. Get a better browser.

Update: April 8, 1999

I'm back at school now, after spending a week at home playing with the old man. Exams are upon us, and I'm getting ready to fly out to Seattle for another internship with Microsoft. Sleeping with the enemy? you ask. Yes, apparently.

I've sold my soul. There's no turning back now.

In other news, Western Digital's 'Accept Only the Best' slogan has turned out to be very appropriate, if you redefine 'the Best' as 'Pieces of Shit.' The replacement drive they sent me last fall broke, and sector upon sector of lovingly hand-crafted data is gone forever. I'm upset.

After an quick phone call on Saturday, I had a replacement drive by Tuesday. Their drives may be shit, but their tech-support is fast. Some silver lining, eh?

Update: March 15, 1999

Today, the ducks were standing in the middle of traffic. There were only two of them, though, so I guess it's open season on ducks. I bet rush hour was fun.

Why can't I find any web pages devoted to Dudley Do-right?

Update: March 12, 1999

I saw four ducks today, sitting on the roof of a house across the street from me. As I stood there, looking at the ducks, I wondered to myself.

I do that on occasion. Wonder. You might say I'm wont to wonder. Or you might not.

Is there a point to this? Probably not. But as I stood there, excogitating, my face broke into a wide grin. Four ducks were sitting on the roof of a house across the street. My spirits lifted. I like ducks.

But what, exactly, were you pondering? you ask. I was wondering, of course, why these four ducks were sitting on the roof of the house across from me.

But to have the mysteries of the universe revealed might take the joy out of life. So I didn't think about it long.

Update: February 27, 1999

Guess I can cash in those RRSPs. Barring any medical miracles, I die on March 31, 2014. Done to a turn, you might say. Oh well, you'll just all have to put up with me until then.

It was recently brought to my attention that Germans now account for a mere 8.33% of my visitors. That's simply unacceptable. And after all I done for you guys, you simply leave me here, dangling by a thread, trying to keep my head above water, so I don't go out like a light.

To mix metaphors.

So I put forth a challenge. I need Germans. Lots of 'em. Tell all you German friends about me. They don't count unless they live in Germany, though.

This is my crusade. My holy war. My reason for living.

At least for the next 15 years.

Update: February 23, 1999

<sigh> I sit here, alone, in the dark, and think. I think about the great questions of life. I think about my future. I think about my past. I think.

And then I conclude. I don't know where I am, or how I got here. I don't know where I'm going. The conclusions are strong, and—most importantly—trustworthy. I've minimized bias and variability via standard blocking and randomization methods.

My life, after all, does seem rather random.

I wish I spoke German. Perhaps, then, I could make my site more appealing to my German visitors. Apparently, more than nine percent of my visitors are from Germany. That's one in eleven.

And I mean that literally.

Happy Birthday.

Update: February 6, 1999

Update more often. Seems like a simple plan. I've made it my new month's resolution. Now that I'm back at school, I get to spend almost every waking moment in a state of mind not wholly under my control.

Not under my control at all, in truth. And this is, after all, the safest outlet for my rantings.

So I will update. Sporadically, probably, but I'll try. Resolutions are not my cup of tea. And I'm not British. Tea itself doesn't even fit the bill.

So if you're as mad as I, and you enjoy my rantings, come back often. Stand up and be counted. Perhaps you'll get lucky.

Update: February 4, 1999

What joy bringeth the new year? Not much, it is plain to see. The Snow cometh, blanketing the landscape with its snowy whiteness.

And School! It resumes, and brings with it countless evenings of doubts, and fears. And uncertainty. Yes. Things are uncertain.

Tang is bad.

Enough to make one lose one's sanity.

Update: December 11, 1998

I was fontless. Without font? Yes. So I fonted, and chose a font. Here. You see?

Then, when the time was right and the turtles and pigs weren't looking, I formed a kingdom of my own. I snuck one past those turtles. And the pigs will rue the day they messed with me. My kingdom's better than your kingdom...

To HELL with the pigs! I want to see them burn a firey death. A nice, big, pig roast. Mmmm... pig.

Update: October 17, 1998

I'm in Seattle. At work. On a Saturday. I must be mad.

Did you know that Snickers is the Official snack food of U.S. Youth Soccer?

Didn't think so.

I want to watch Wallace & Gromit. But I can't. So I'll settle. Damn Aardman. Won't make some Wallace. Or Gromit. I will be vindicated.

Update: August 9, 1998

They say I should update this page, they do. Need new stuff, they scoff. But the mad surrender to no man. Or woman. Or elf.

But I surrender. I give up. My thoughts shall spill onto paper, and be published for the masses to peruse.

So peruse. I will update. Often, or not, I cannot say.

Who needs content? I ask. Perhaps you do. Perhaps we all do. It is the way of things.

Would you like some bacon? When every man, woman and child has bacon, the world will be a much better, and much happier place. Imagine a world in which everyone's daily pig requirements are met! I yearn for the day.