Quasitronic

Hi, ate us!

2007-03-12T20:38:00.000-04:00

Eh, wot? Well, it seemed a good a title as any. I've not bothered to post here (or anywhere, really) in a while, so thought I'd drop by an let you know that I won't be bothering to post here (or anywhere, really) for a while. This blog was an experiment to see how I'd feel about blogging and, well, I really like it. I've decided, therefore, to move this blog to its own domain and do this thing properly. But at the moment, I'm a bit busy trying to a move 'n' find a job 'n' that, so when it all sort of settles down, I'll get back to it.

Chow fer now.

(I do know that it's "ciao," actually, but thanks for your concern.)

Fuckbugs

2006-09-12T15:46:00.000-04:00

Okay, so you're probably thinking that this blog is inappropriately named, that all I write about are bugs. And I have to admit that that's true, but you have to consider where I have the misfortune to currently reside: the swamp. Life outside one's doors here generally consists of a lot of bug encounters; at least, it does for me. Maybe it's just me, I dunno.

Today's story is about, surprisingly enough, bugs. When I moved down here four and a half years ago, I noticed over the course of the first year that there are no major climate changes here (it's pretty much always hot and humid) but that there are seasons. Bug seasons. Really.

There is the season of dragonflies, and that's actually kinda fun. You see these wee ickle dragonflies in all these lovely iridescent hues, and they hover so elegantly, like hummingbirds but not, seemingly defying the laws of science.

Then there is the season of lovebugs. What are lovebugs? Well, I'll tell you. These little orange and black bugs fill the air around you, flying around your car, flying at you at petrol pumps. They don't fly alone, they fly in twosomes. Attached at the butt. Yes, my friends, these exhibitionist insects come out once a year, their only reason for existence apparently being to fuck, mid-air, in your face.

Last year, around this time, I drove home and parked in the driveway, and saw a pair of them on the other side of the windshield. Unfortunately (ha), one of them had died, but they were still attached (at the butt); the other one was trying to extricate itself from this miserable situation. When it finally did, it walked a few steps before flying away, and I had to chuckle aloud at the sight: its gait was that of a man who's just dismounted a horse after a long day of riding... or one who's been thoroughly buggered, as the case may be.

Anyhoo. The thing is, there is no deep, meaningful conversation; there is no foreplay; there is no post-coital cuddling; there is definitely no satisfied, content cigarette smoking; there is no monogamy or commitment. In short, these creepy crawlies hook up for some public nooky and go on their merry way. So you'll forgive me when I insist--because I do, indeed, insist--that they are very poorly named.

Fly, my pretties, fly!

2006-08-21T04:07:00.000-04:00

Except see, there's nothing pretty about them. What they are, see, is big. fucking. roaches.

Now, I'm no stranger to roaches. I grew up in New York City, in a flat where I never got up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water because I didn't want to see the roaches scatter when the kitchen light was turned on. Where nothing that was meant to be ingested by human beings was ever left uncovered. Where we had to be careful that the white chalky stuff (boric powder or something, a special trip to Chinatown in any case) that lined just about every visible edge was never too near our food. Where drawers and cupboard shelves had to be lined and frequently re-lined, and opening them evoked cries and shudders of revulsion. So yeah, y'know, those are normal roaches. We might have mutant rodents in the trees of Central Park or the tracks of the subway stations, but we have normal. fucking. roaches.

It's 4am and, as usual, I can't sleep. It's too damn hot. Never mind the electric bill, I think, I'll just turn up the A/C so I can catch a few zees.

And there it is. My spidey sense. Somehow, whenever there is mutant bug life in this house, I happen to have reason to encounter it. I head toward the thermostat and hear the sound a moth makes senselessly smacking against a lightbulb. I like butterflies. I hate moths. So already I'm none too happy.

I look up, and instead of the moth I'm expecting, I see a big. fucking. roach. And it's flying. I ask you, where is the justice?

I saw one of these BFRs once, when I was a kid. It was in our kitchen. Since all I'd seen were NFRs until then, it pretty well scared the crap out of me. My father, saviour of every living thing but his wife and child, was chasing it around the house, attempting to catch it (with his bare hand. I have no words.) and open the window of our second floor (first to you non-Americans) flat to let it go. The BFR flew behind the fridge and I never saw it again. Even after I made my Dad move the fridge.

Some 25 years later, I'm 5 years old again. The new BFR, having been sprayed by something that claims to be able to kill the things that can survive atomic bombs, did not have the decency to fall to the floor (it was happily crawling upside-down on the vaulted ceiling, you see) and DIE. Oh no no no no. Instead, it flew into my closet. Well that's just great, innit. So I'm watching for movement, poking and prodding the contents of the closet carefully with my smiley-face bugsquasher (there is a time and place for sadism). Nothing. Suddenly, I hear a splat. The mighty BFR has fallen! Yes! Victory is mine! Morbid fascination and a compulsion to make absolutely sure it's dead make me draw closer. Closer. Closer. Eh? I don't see anything. I moved and overturned every shoe on the floor of that tiny closet, but the BFR is nowhere to be found.

How am I supposed to sleep now?! Guess I'll be saving on that electric bill, after all.

Whatwhowherewhywhenhow

2006-08-20T05:23:00.000-04:00

What: Well, it's a blog, obviously.

Who: Erm... Me. Hiding under a cloak of anonymity. Muhahaha.

Where: See browser's address bar, navbar on page, and profile. I'm a bit underwhelmed by beta Blogger so far, but we'll see what Google does with it. Right now I'd rather be on TypePad, but I can't afford it (read: the wifey won't let me).

Why: I felt the need to pontificate anonymously. Here I can be profane, I can be downright offensive. I wouldn't do that blogging on my own domain. I mean, gawd, my Mum could read it! Then I'd be up a warm, brown, sludgy creek without a paddle, wouldn't I? Granted, those familiar with the nym or my writing style or the anecdotes they've heard on innumerable occasions that I'll no doubt take the opportunity to repeat here will easily recognise me, but the point is, Mum won't!

When: Whenever I damn well please. That's sort of the point, innit.

How: Oh c'mon, really now.

Say my name

2006-08-20T04:56:00.000-04:00

What's in a name? Well, on the web, just about everything, I'd say. So how came this blog to be called Quasitronic? What's it mean? Erm, well, nothing really. My naming methodology is quite simple: "It was the first thing that popped into my head." When that name needs to be an URL, an easily remembered and recognisable word or phrase, it's more like: "Well, everything else was taken!" And so it is with Quasitronic.

I wanted to call this thing Anonymouse, but that was taken. I wanted to call it clevername, but that was unavailable as well. At this point, out of ideas (I never proclaimed to be a fount of creativity, after all) and not interested in spending years coming up with another, I got frustrated.

I came up with the online identity (nym, username, whatever) Quasi Modem some time in '93, as a freshman at uni. Thoughts being what they are (meaning rarely original), I'm certain I'm not the first to have come up with it, but it was pretty unique at the time. Since then, of course, it's become an oft-used nym by many. Still, as I considered it "mine" back then, I presume to stake some small claim to it now (no offence, Ms. QuasiModem [yep, that's right, you guessed it -- taken!]). So, starting with that as a base, I just did the whole word association thing for a bit: quasi, electronic, electron, positron, quasitron, quasitronic. Ta daaaaa!