Just once, I'd like to have a project that's not full of a billion problems. A project that starts and ends on time. A project where the client and the developer are happy. Where I don't have to wrestle with arcane IE CSS rendering bugs. Where I don't have to beat down MySQL databases or Apache aliases or PHP casting bugs. Where I don't spend more of my time fixing problems, but rather I spend it creating things.

A project where I'm not up until 2:00 am two nights in a row because I'm trying to solve the problem before everyone gets into the office in the morning.

Just once. Is that really too much to ask for?

Might be.

It might be the world's most boring project.

When I was working at Pacific Title, back in my former life in Los Angeles, I worked with a man who confused the hell out of me. He wasn't that much older than I was, maybe six or seven years older, but he had, what I thought at the time, some very strange ideas about software and drivers and such.

It was my first introduction to open source software, and I thought this guy was a jerk. I wanted some system brought up and it needed some new graphic drivers installed on it. He had installed some proprietary drivers on the system and they failed and he couldn't fix the problem. After fighting with it for a day or two he downloaded some open source drivers, ones with fewer features but missing the bug of the proprietary driver. In a fit of exasperation during the work, he declared (very loudly) he was never installing another driver he didn't have the source code to, this was it, he was done.

I thought him looney.

In those six or seven years since, I've come around to his way of thinking. I understand why he feels the way he does. Not being able to fix a bug that you can see RIGHT THERE is unexplicably infuriating. Just give me the darn code, I'll have it fixed in 10 minutes.

I'm also leery of installing software on my systems now. Having to close all of my programs while the HP All-in-One installer does some voodoo to my system, only to watch the whole system freeze up, is not my idea of a good time.

Today is the saddest day of ever.

Today is the first day I have received an unsolicited commercial spam email to my main email address. I use throw away email addresses for my commercial dealings, meaning I know when some company has a virus on their systems or has sold my email address. It's not hard to figure out when the address kittsprint shows up on electronic goods emails that Sprint sold my address, or when kittameritrade shows up in a spam email that Ameritrade has a virus on their systems.

This second one actually happened, with kittameritrade being my second email address I used with Ameritrade. The first time I reported the virus on their systems, they insisted the problem wasn't within their systems, it was within mine. I asked them to switch email addresses, and four months later the new email address was getting financial spam to it.

After getting the run around from Ameritrade again with the virus in their systems, I reported their breach of privacy policy and leak of personal information to the SEC. Now THAT got Ameritrade moving.

I couldn't help but think, "You know, people, not everyone uses Microsoft products, and that's a good thing. Homogeny is a cracker's dream, especially when all of the products are flawed."

I have to admit, my run lasted a long, long time. I've used my personal email address for about eight years without spam to it, and without any email spam filters on it. In this day and age, that's pretty good.

I guess it's time to switch to one of the other five top level domains I have for my last name. Since hodsden.org is being spammed, how does hodsden.com sound?

Back in the late-90s, I was introduced to the concept of CostCo, ne PriceClub, where you can buy more than you need in bulk, saving money per product unit, but ultimately very little money because you end up throwing away half of the product.

One of the first products I was enamoured of was the GINORMOUS (read: gallon sized) box of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish crackers. The Kleins often had those crackers, we rarely did, so they were like little buddles of orange happiness. How could I resist a FULL GALLON of these delightful crackers?

Answer? I couldn't.

I brought a box to work to work the day after I purchased my first one, tucked it under my arm, and proceeded to munch on them all day. I shared with my coworkers, I played with them, I ate them. At one point, I had a trail of Goldfish crackers down the hallway and around a corner so that my co-workers could follow the trail to the office I was in.

I mean, with a gallon of goldfish, why not?

Several days later, I was having health problems: unbearable chest pains. Deep breathes were difficult, lying down almost impossible. My visit to the doctor wasn't very encouraging either. When they heard the problems I was having, I was rushed into the various examination rooms for many tests.

After the immediate fears were eliminated, I was scheduled for a chest X-ray. Great. Can't say I particularly wanted to have my body blasted with high-energy radiation, but I needed help, and I needed help now, so I agreed.

X-rays are fascinating pictures. Most of the features are shadows, but objects can be discerned. The thought of these shadowy objects being my insides is just fascinating.

So, when I looked at the x-ray of my chest, the first thing I did was try to determine what each shadow was. "These are my shoulder bones (those were "d'uh!" objects), this is my heart, these shadows are my lungs, this is my stomach. Hey, what's this?" I asked, pointing to two light shadows in the bottom middle of the x-ray.

The radiologist leaned in, and looked at the film carefully. He turned to look at me, and asked, "You're fairly young right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Those are your breasts."

I turned bright red.

"Ah."

"Yeah, you have dense breasts."

"I excel in breast density."

"So, I see."

Eventually, the radiologist shuffled me off to another room, so that he could consult with my doctor. After a while, my doctor came in to talk with me. Holding up the x-ray, he pointed to a line that ran up along edge of my right side, across my middle, and back down my left side, then said, "Here's your problem."

"Looks like my intestines," I responded.

"It is. When's the last time you went to the bathroom?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Um...." It took me a bit, "Uh... um..." For someone who is ridiculously regular, this was a remarkably difficult question. "Maybe a couple days ago?"

"Yeah, so, your intestines are packed. Something you ate before you started having chest pains?"

"Maybe half of a gallon of Goldfish crackers?"

"Yeah, that would do it."

The fix? Try eating a lot of prunes, maybe a dozen or two. If that failed, try a dose of milk of magnesia. I tried the prunes with no success, so I drank the milk of magnesia. With great success.

Guy and I had been having interesting toliet bowl content competitions up until this point, but, well, after the Goldfish Story™, as it will forever be known as, I was crowned Ultimate Champion of the Known Universe.

The whole episode taught me to watch my fiber intake.

More importantly, it taught me that no matter how competitive two people are, they can always find one more area to challenge each other in.

"What is that?"

"Oatmeal."

"Really? So what's that?"

"Blackberry sauce."

"Is that whipped cream?"

"Yes."

"Dessert at 10 am?"

"Nah. Breakfast!"