04-06-07_1920.jpg: 630 views
Images make blog entries more interesting, so here is a picture of booze.

I always think up all these good things to write about, and I phrase them in my mind in a fantastic way; I'm never around a computer or have a method of recording my thoughts at those times. Funny how that is.

<geekrant>I've been spending a lot of time with XPath and XSL lately at work, XSLT in particular. It's neat at first, but then it dawns what a bitch it really is. Then I try using XSLT 2.0 because it really simplifies many things that are a bitch about XSLT 1.0, but then I figure out that Xalan only implements XSLT 1.0 and I think out loud, "Son of a bitch." It's alright though, XSLT 2.0 is/would also [be] a bitch.<sigh audible="yes" /></geekrant>

For the first time since since I attained my current job, I grow disinterested. I'm tired of dealing with peoples stupid web sites. I'm tired of going through the same repetitive motions to fix problems of all similarities. Then I realise, it is very likely that whatever job I hold, I will find myself repeating repetitive tasks. Somehow it seems inevitable. I only like to appreciate repetition in nature, art, and music. At least I know more firmly than ever that Web Developer is not my career of choice. I sometimes wonder why I work so many hours. Particularly lately, I find I wish I had more time to do other things. I haven't touched my SLR camera in half a year. It's tragic. I also grow increasingly disgruntled as I believe I am greatly under-payed. The lower 25th percentile bracket of those with analogous jobs to mine earn 43% more than I do. Look at all the "I"'s in the past few sentences. Yikes.

I am lost in thought as I write this entry at a snails pace.

"Mommy how much is this?" asks a little girl of her mother.

"That's six dollars."

"Mommy, I want it! Mommy six dollars!"

"Mom! Look. I want it!" gestures a young boy pointing at a DVD of some stereotypical movie you'd expect a spoild kid to point at because he's been brain washed by a commercial. With an attention span shorter than the time a Wii spends on the shelves in a retail store, the kid promptly gestured at another movie. "Mom! Can I have that one!?"

"Oh my god these pants are only $35 for two!?" moans some too-many-stops-at-Mc-Donalds, hair-bleached-one-too-many-times, got-trigger-happy-with-her-make-up woman in her early twenties to whoever is not interested on the other side of her phone call through her pink Krazr with little hearts and glitter on it, her nails longer than the claws on a tigger and less useful than a lighter under water. 

 This was the scene throughout Target this past Sunday afternoon while I was in search of a new belt. A scene where everyone was in an awkward hurry, not a single smile on any face that I could see, uneseccarily pushy, and spoiled kids, teenagers, wives/husbands, and elderly people scattered everywhere. I left before I got to the belts, disgusted with humanity, consumerism, and myself for even wanting a new belt in the first place.

 As I left empty handed, I thought it odd that I felt guilty of stealing something whilst I walked out of the store empty handed, even though a thief I was not. 

Funny how that is.