In case you didn't know:
Nameservers are computers enabling emails sent for your domain name to be correctly received, as well as visitors of your Web site to come to the good site.
I love gandi.net. Parsing their broken english gives me a warm, fuzzy, francophilic feeling.
Oh yeah! Happy valentine's day! Often, just for the sake of digging a mire of self pity in which to wallow, I'll try to get myself upset that I don't have a girlfriend/spouse/sex slave on valentine's day. Unfortunately, it never works. This is partly because most of the time, and for the most part, I don't want a girlfriend, spouse, or sex slave. Holidays to me have significance measured by how many buildings and services are closed on them, and for how long.
I'm going to join the gaithersburg city civic-center exercise public communist pool-and-gym thing, because it's cheaper and more morally upstanding than "acme x-treme fitness" -- something like 1,000% cheaper, I believe. Shameful, shameful. City services are very much like university services, and both are very much like open source software (sorry): harder to get to, sniff out, and perhaps use, but in the end the result is the same. Poor marketing is at fault for this unaccessibility -- no one is trying to entice you to use the city's facilities; they're just sitting there for you to use if and when you want to. It was the same thing at university, I remember, and it always sort of shocked me to see these great services just sitting there, gathering dust, but totally available and functional.
Of course, the open source comparison is sort of stupid, especially inasmuch as I just wiped linux off my hard drive and replaced it with my good ol' copy of pirated (yaar) windows xp (courtest of a one mr. n.j. Worthey). I know he reads this occasionally, so I have to keep linking to him.
I tried installing some software, and read on the web that the way to do it was via the command line, and typing "% extr-b-xfff 124.515. %%%%% &&& >-- barf ass 2398092638. Ddd-----+" or something, whereas in windows you double-click the installer. At that point, I realized that I was doing everything I wanted and "needed" to do with windows: hosting my site, running python, typing in a text editor, playing mp3s, browsing the web, and perhaps one or two other things that currently escape my consideration. Furthermore, doing them didn't amount to a sysiphian task.
Sometimes I think it would be great to be a heroin addict; one's life would be so simple. The heroin user is sort of like the christian fundamentalist: suddenly, the truth is spelled out, and the path to happiness, truth, salvation, etc, is clearly mapped out for him. It's everything, and nothing else matters. He doesn't have to think about complex postmodern nihilistic options and the minutiae of everyday life, because the answer and goal is right there.
It makes life extremely simple to focus on just one thing, and potentially very satisfying: when you have heroin, the universe is good. When you don't have it, the universe is bad.
I can see why drug addiction is appealing in and of itself, apart from chemical need -- it gives a purpose to life, something to stave off the meaningless void, or the zen of the One of existence, whichever you prefer. It really is very much like worship of a god, the more I think about it.
But a god-substitute (or purpose-substitute, or whatever) -- the antidote for nihilism -- can come in may forms; it's just that heroin and fundamentalism are rather striking examples of it. You hear a lot about money becoming someone's god, or sex becoming someone's god, etc. What they're really saying is that money has become that given person's "one thing," just as the way god is supposed to be that person's "one thing." I believe this is why the religious are so confused and horrified when they hear that someone is an atheist. "but...but...why do you go on living?" an atheist (who hasn't yet embraced money, heroin, etc) is someone who has lost everything, has lost the one thing. The purpose has gone out of his life, and it's empty. Or, if he's never had it, he doesn't know what he's missing.
This is what nietzsche was talking about when he said "god is dead" -- this very loss. Not that god doesn't exist anymore, but that no one believes in him, and that the result is nihilism -- a total lack of purpose, meaning, understanding, or even life-force. People no longer have an effective "one thing," and attempts to replace it with money, drugs, power, etc, are only going to have detrimental effects.
Eastern thought has some answers there. It never proclaimed there to be a grand purpose of life, or one single thing or pursuit -- the only thing "advocated" was existing. In an old "artist's statemnt" (haha, dear lord), I mentioned how zen is the resolution of nihilism -- "if you have no reason to be, then just be." nietzsche talked about nihilism and how its consequences would be disastrous for human civilization. I think if he'd been into this whole eastern thing, then he might have suggested meditation and zen as an effective solution.
Of course, antidotes might also be going back to god or taking up heroin, but I think once god is dead, he can't be brought back to life -- going back to a purpose in the face of everything philosophy and science has expounded upon is something reserved for only the culturally sheltered or the simple-minded. Once you lose god, you can't get him back. But it's still tempting -- to renounce reason and knowledge, and embrace monotheism (that "one thing"), in order to stave off existential depression and the void. For those of us who never had him to begin with, well...we look around for a heroin dealer.
It's hard to "believe in" something that's not there; only so much insanity can be self-induced. I think this might be why religion is so effective -- it grabs people early on, before their reason is fully intact, and says "look -- here's your purpose!" and then, in the face of everything we know and see, they cling to this even though they know better on some level, because the loss of purpose is too terrible to think about, let alone induce. Heroin is a good god-substitute -- it's more expensive, but at least it exists.
Heroin is to god as methadone is to heroin.
Howard D. Butt is waiting to die.
I walked around in a graveyard yesterday while my car was getting its oil changed. The cemetary was in bad shape, with gravestones neglected and tumbling over, and squares of frozen earth sinking over burried coffins. There were a few stones that caught my eye. One was large, and had carved on it, simply, "BLOOD." this was someone's last name, apparently, but it might have been a good idea to include a first name or a pair of dates, so as to avoid the monolith of blood residing in a graveyard. It would have made a good photo.
I also saw the stone of a burried baby, born in the 1920s, who had died after only two months.
Most notable was a stone commemorating the couple sharing the sirname "Butt," which is funny in and of itself. The husband, one mr. Howard d. Butt, has not ("had not"? It's been a day) yet died, but still had his name inscribed ominously next to his wife's: "Howard D. Butt: 1943 - _____." so, as I walked through the graveyard, I thought about howard d. Butt, who is waiting to die.
Also on my oil change wanderings, I went into kinko's to take a morning dump in their restroom. Although supposedly public (a big sign reading "RESTROOMS" faces out to the sales floor), it's nestled back in the tattered and freyed background world of "employees only." there I read some notice about "team members must do so and so and blah blah," and when I thought about it I realized that every service industry business now refers to employees as "team members." I also saw a notice by a closed door that read (paraphrase) "leaving this door open will result in termination." "to terminate" means "to fire."
You must remember the formula for advertising success (apologies to internet culture):
I am not a team-player, nor am I detail-oriented, nor am I enthusiastic, nor am I fast-paced, nor am I motivated, nor am I a people-person. I operate isolatedly in reactionary opposition to the will and action of others who share with me an immediate, contextual culture, in careless, broad strokes, sullenly, slowly, because I am forced to survive, and I hold little but contempt for humanity.
The ironic part is that these qualifications don't necessarily make me a bad employee; note that I left out "lazy."
Sharp and astute readers might have noticed that I don't blog anywhere near as much as I used to. Possibility one: after two and some odd years, I've finally run out of steam. Possibility two: I'm going through a not-unheard-of slump, and things will pick back up again in some time. Possibility three: working 10, 11 and even 12 hour days doing "general tree care" didn't leave me much time or energy to write.
I tend to think it's the last. Well, that problem is solved -- I'm back to delivering pizzas, one of only two jobs I've really enjoyed, the other being cashier at a gas station. I like these because they're almost entirely stress-free, as well as solitary. Something like "gravedigger" would probably be ideal, especially considering that I like some physical labor along with the solitude and placidity. A big disadvantage of pizza driving is that it's very hard on one's car.
Mine has 110,000 miles on it, which might be problematic. My old car, the first car to have my name on the title, a 1987 chrysler lebaron, the ugliest piece of shit ever made, made uglier still by fifteen years on the road, died in 2002, not while but when I was pizza-driving. Granted, its death may have been unrelated to careening all over east baltimore county and west baltimore city in a filthy jersey, smoking marlboro reds, and listening to "98 rock" while in the charge of a grimy wad of money and a few fat, sticky, red, plastic-leather, pizza-containing envelopes -- the car may have been getting ready to conk out anyway. It was sold to me in 1999, just a bit before I left for school near balitmore, by a weasely mechanic who worked at that same gas station I mentioned. I think he rebuilt the engine, and didn't touch anything else (brakes, transmission, etc). I got a few miles out of it, at least, and a few years.
When it broke down, finally, on i-70 and in the dead of winter at midnight (i had a friend follow me), I entered a pleasant phase of what seemed like self-sufficience, but of course was the illusion thereof, considering that I was dependent on thousands of federal dollars. I had a bike I bought for $150, used (same bike I have now), and I rode to school every day through the grounds of a mental hospital. I had a bushy beard then, and I remember some teenagers driving the hospital grounds while I rode through. They saw a silent, sullen man riding his bike along, wearing a white dress-shirt and grey, tattered pants cut off to mid-calf, and one of them yelled out the car window "did you ex-cape?"
Those were the golden years -- one period of time in my life in the united states where I can say I was content. I rode my bike to and from campus, and spent a great deal of time on said campus. Some weekends, I took a train to gaithersburg (not sure how often that happened). My memory is sort of hazy, and I don't know exactly how long this happy time lasted. However, it can be calculated, using some reference points. I took a job at pizza hut in order to pay for my trip to japan in the summer of 2001. I kept working after my return, and my car died in the winter, so it must have been January of 2002 then. Since I graduated in may of 2002, those golden years were actually more like a golden five months.
One thing that certainly contributed to their luster: I didn't have a job, and as I mentioned was suckling at the teat of federal student loans, which I'm now paying back, sort of. Sometimes I think being a bum wouldn't be so bad, if I were to choose the right locale. Ie, san francisco, vancouver, seattle, etc -- someplace where the elements wouldn't kill me (even though they might make me miserable). Another possibility would be to relocate somewhere in mexico. I practiced my spanish with the hispanic tree-climbers at my tree job -- I know more than I thought I did. If I were to take a class, I think I'd pick it up quickly. I've been hearing it and reading it regularly for 20 years or so, even if it's just something like "horario domingo" on the ride-on bus.
So, I feel like I'm back in my element, delivering pizza.
Thinking about suicide is a good way to get through just about anything -- one can think to one's self: "this isn't so bad; if it gets really horrible, I'll just kill myself." then, suddenly, the world doesn't seem so serious anymore, because consequences and situations don't have to last longer or have more impact than you want them to have. So long as you're free and a free agent, you always have the ultimate power to "end it all," as it were, and everything else becomes of very secondary concern if you know you have this power.
The danger comes when this power is taken away, in the case of the disabled, elderly, imprisoned, religious, etc. So, I think it's good to have that suicide button ready at all times, just in case it's needed at the spur of the moment. It's not a "depressive" thing -- suicide is a "power" thing. "if I don't like it, I have the power to make the decision to stop it."
I remember something someone said about suicide. Maybe it was nietzsche. To this day, I use my trick to remember how to spell that name -- first of all, the "i" and "e" are in the order they should be to get the "ee" sound in german. Then, you have my mnemonic acronym: "Tomorrow's Zen Seems Corrupted Hearsay." finally, it's just matter of appending that final "e," which isn't tough to remember. I've made correct "nietzsche"-spellers of you all, in just one easy lesson! Anyway, the quote (it is, indeed, from nietzsche's writings):
The thought of suicide is a powerful solace: by means of it one gets through many a bad night.
Mr. Nietzsche is talking about precisely what I am -- that the pain of life can only be taken so seriously because of that eternal option the free agent has of, from his perspective, annihilating the universe. If you're lying there at night, stewing about the petty stressors of the waking world and feeling sorry for yourself, then thinking "geez, who cares? I can always kill myself" is an effective comfort. After realizing this, getting lost on a pizza run doesn't seem so bad. If life is just a little game that can be ended when the player doesn't want to play anymore, then any and all possible action cease to have but trivial, laughable, imaginary consequences. suicide is the ultimate freedom, and it's interesting to note that it's been made into a sin by the abrahamic religions (we're all familiar with their record on preserving human freedoms).
The prospect of ending life itself reveals the discomforts of life to be temporary at best, if not totally meaningless.
Suicide is the most powerful, noblest thing a person can do. The greatest thing any man has to fear is his power to die, to end his own life, being taken away from him. This is the ultimate impotence, and the ultimate torture. I have another nietzsche quote for you:
There is a certain right by which we may deprive a man of life, but none by which we may deprive him of death.
I have to reiterate that I'm not being morbid, or depressive. Discussing suicide rationally is taboo in our society, because it's the ultimate blasphemy: the power of life and death, which is supposed to be god's greatest power, is placed in your own hands. This is a pompous, defiant act, thumbing your nose at your creator -- deciding how and when you're going to die is unforgivable by god.
Suicide, properly and dispassionately analyzed, is a tool for living life to the fullest. If you aren't afraid of life because you know you have the power to end it, then this can only have beneficial effect on your life choices, and how you view those choices. The only thing to fear, to fear terribly, is being deprived of this right to die in the time, place, and manner of your choosing.
Shit, it's late. See, this is why I don't blog -- it eats up sleepy-time.
It's happening...losing the urge to blog...fading...fading...
I was thinking some more about yesterday's spam, and I realized that the reporting I did was probably useless. The folks at arenanc.com registered their domain through securewhois.com with itsmydomain.com, but they host the site themselves. To my knowledge, a registrar isn't going to care, nor is it obligated to care, what people do with the domains it provides.
Sending an email to "telecom italia" (with a "grazie molto :-)" at the top) was also probably useless -- the computer it came from is pretty clearly infected with malware that is sending out spam. In other words, this is some innocent italian teenager with a PC in his room, opening and executing bizarre attachments and/or hanging out on the net without a firewall. These are not idiots at arenanc.com; they're coding sophisticated trojans that autonomously send spam from a victim's computer -- spam that's well-designed enough to slide its way past gmail's spam filters.
The question remains: how do you report a spammer that doesn't send its own spam? Even if I were to report them to their ISP, it doesn't constitute definitive proof that they ever sent the email -- it's just some forwarded text. I tend to overuse the word "constitute."
My first steps were to run a reverse DNS querry on the domain arenanc.com, the penis pill mongers to which the spam linked. This gave me the hosting ip address: 58.56.12.76. Running a WHOIS from one service told me that arenanc.com uses namervers at themilktrucks.com (cool domain). Another WHOIS shows me nameserver at ezmass.com. Both http://themilktrucks.com and http://ezmass.com point to the same page. Furthermore, those two along with http://arenanc.com all point to the same IP address (58.56.12.76). The next step was to find the ISP of that IP address.
Whois.arin.net tells me that 58.56.12.76 falls under the APNIC, the "regional internet registry (RIR) for the asia pacific region." I'm getting a bit out of my league here -- I'm not entirely sure how regional internet registries, iana.org, and ican.org all relate to one another, even though they do. The internet is complicated. Maybe I'll try to read something more about that at some point. Moving along.
One WHOIS querry (i can't remember the service) run on 58.56.12.76 shows me a reference to a nameserver at lacnic.net, the latin american and carribeaninternet address registry (analogous to apnic, I believe). I don't know if this has anything to do with anything. I'm going to ignore it.
I asked whois.apnic.net about 58.56.12.76, and came up with a record for "china telecom," where I found this email address: anti-spam@ns.chinanet.cn.net.
Here's a summary:
Another way of looking at it:
Unfortunately, there's no proof of malicious computing, because arenanc.com doesn't send out its own spam -- they leave compromised computers worldwide to do that, this one happening to have telecom italia as its ISP. If only I could show china telecom that I actually did receive this email, and am not a competing penis pill vendor, eager to put anaranc.com out of business.
Anyway, this is more of a hobbyist thing, obviously -- no one in their right mind is going to go through this sort of trouble when they can just delete the spam and be done with it. But it was sort of fun, and provided a blog. I seriously doubt anything will come of it; themilktrucks.com is already on a few blacklists.