fontosaurus

I cannot tell if I am just cranky as shit today, or if people are just being obtuse obstructionist idiots that can't seem to rub enough neurons together to understand that, hey it's time to move, when I approach the bovine herd that's blocking the entire hallway. There is no safety in numbers, fuckers, and if I could release a hungry tiger in here to prove it, I totally would.

I've got an awesome idea for an Arduino project, based on the fact that all my data sources on the bike will be using the ANT+Sport protocol for communication.

The plan is to build an advanced data logger than can keep track of more than just the basics. I'll be adding two buttons to the handlebar that, when clicked, will log food or fluid intake so that I can use that data to see how my power output, heart rate, and speed were altered further down the line. Include some basic weather -- temperature, humidity, and air pressure -- to see how that changes things, and you could have a pretty awesome black-box data recorder that covered a lot more than just the basics.

What I haven't decided is what to do with the data. With Arduino, I can store it to a 1GB SD card and then download that data when I get home, or if I'm feeling particularly saucy, I could get the cellular shield for the Arduino and dump all that data to my home server as I'm riding, which would create a really cool situation in which you could see everything via the web in realtime. And that, compadres, would be AWESOME.

Away from the geeky and the snarky, we move on Teh Sads. Kate leaves on Sunday to go to NC for nine weeks. Sure, I'll get to see her here-and-there, but I'll still be missing her like mad. And it sucks.

What's new with you, Internets?

From Gizmodo: "Batman VS Iron Man... now THAT would be a great movie."

Mmmm, not so much, okay? You've just described a movie with the plot summary of: "Two Rich White Dudes with Psychological Issues Stemming from Dead Parents Throw Their Toys at Each Other." That's the encapsulation of a TBS Sunday afternoon movie that could only manage four stars on a SUCK-O-METER.

Here's a hint, kid. Stick to living in your parents' basement and going to Star Trek conventions, because Jerry Bruckheimer already has a job, and Hollywood doesn't need another of him.

...anyone that calls me before 9pm CST during the week will have a copy of my $320 cellphone bill that I have no idea how I am going to pay shoved up their ass. After I soak it in gasoline and light it on fire.