Why Nintendo Cartridges Required Blowing

There really is no way to word that title that doesn't sound weird is there?

[caption id="attachment_172" align="alignleft" width="268" caption="Blow Me"][/caption]

Anyway, this is super geeky, but I happened to look this up on Wikipedia a while back and thought that others might find this interesting.

I doubt that there is a single person in the world who owned a Nintendo and didn't have to do this at least once: You put a game in and press power. The screen as well as the red light on the Nintendo blink on an off. What do you do? You take it out, blow into it and put it back in. Problem solved...until you have to do it again (and again). Why?

To save you time I'll paraphrase the article:

There were a shit load of video game systems that failed in the early eighties. Nintendo wanted their system to stand out so they made a front loading system similar to a VCR. The problem with this design was found in the metal chips on the cartridge itself as well as those inside the Nintendo. When both were brand spanking new, the metal slots would align and info would pass between with no problem. After repeatedly putting games in and taking them out, the slots started to wear down and didn't connect too well. So, info didn't pass too well. Dirt and dust exacerbated the problem. So that's why blowing worked sometimes. Nintendo said you shouldn't do it, but hey it worked...sorta.

When it didn't work and you kept getting the flash, it was because of Nintendo's crappy authentication system. The technical aspects of it are beyond the scope of my knowledge, but it all came down to a timing mechanism that measured how fast info was transmitted to verify that it was an actual Nintendo game. If it didn't transmit correctly, then it locked out the game and you got a blinking light. Well, bent and worn down slots slowed down the timing which is why some games just blinked no matter how much you blew in them.

[caption id="attachment_168" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Mario is The One!"][/caption]

Being the inadvertent geniuses that we were, we all learned some way to slam the cartridge in there (mostly out of frustration) to get it to work...until someone bump
ed into it just as you were about to kill Bowser for the eighth time and then Mario turned into The Matrix with letters and code everywhere.

Homeless Depot?

I want to play a game. Imagine that you're riding down the highway on your way to Wal-Mart or somewhere. You get off the exit and you're on one of those four-six lane roads about to make a left turn to get to the Wal-Mart. Standing on the island/grass median is a homeless guy. What does he look like?

I'm curious if the homeless guy I'm imagining looks like one that you've seen before. I'm gonna be David Blaine on this one. Does your guy have on a long sleeved shirt that's dingy but not torn? Does he have on jeans that are technically dirty but they kinda look neat at the same time? Is he wearing Sauconys, New Balances or some of those cheap Nikes that you'd only find in Rack Room Shoes? Finally, is he holding a cardboard sign with black lettering?

I only ask because I'm noticing a lot of similarities in homeless people along the highway. It's leading me to believe that there is a Homeless Depot somewhere that sells begging supply kits. Think about it: How is it that every homeless person on the highway has a cardboard sign. Why is the lettering so perfect? It's almost like they used a stencil or something. How the hell did they get the edges of the sign so neat if they cut it from an old box?

Now I don't think homelessness is funny. I just don't believe most of the people on the side of the highway are really homeless.  If you live in the woods, why are your shoes so clean if it just rained yesterday? One day I was on the bus and this guy got on the bus, folded up his sign, pulled out a wad of ones and then sat down. He pulled some scrubs out of his bag, and put on his hospital employee ID badge. And no, I'm not making that up.

So I wonder where this Homeless Depot is. I bet their floral department sells all those half dead roses that you see people selling on the side of the road. The lime green and neon pink cellophane paper is probably their bread and butter. Speaking of the rose guy...how the hell do they get there? Who's supplying them. They usually have that bucket with like four bouquets, yet an hour later after selling three, the bucket magically refills. Someone is re-upping their flowers.

Hell, this thing may go deeper than we can imagine. What if this is like a growth program like the Boy Scouts. You start off selling Krispy Kreme doughnuts on the side of the road for your "fundraiser" and then graduate to roses and finally you become your own man and can get your own cardboard sign. If you don't pay your dues though they probably make you get out there with a shirt and tie and a bucket saying that it's for your church.

This is some Illuminati type ish. I'm scared. lol

Metro Rallies to Destroy My Sanity

So I had been looking forward to the Jon Stewart Rally to Restore Sanity ever since it was announced. I saw it as a way for a few hundred thousand people to band together to form one big middle finger pointed at the media and the fear-mongers. Unfortunately, I didn't get to enjoy the rally as I'd hoped. Metro got in the way.

If you're reading this from outside the DC area, you probably aren't familiar with the metro. It's our transit service. While funded by various governments, Metro gets its real power by feeding off the souls of the adults and the happiness of small children. So today, they made me their appetizer. 

In a normal world it would take just ten short minutes to get from my station to the Smithsonian station where the rally was being held. Knowing the wiles of Metro the way that I do, I got to the station an hour early. Train after train after train was packed to the point where no one could get on. I don't mean "comfortably." I mean period. There were people's shirts sticking through the doors. It was packed.

After 30 minutes of watching sardines go by I decided to just catch the bus. That would get me there in 20 minutes. Three different bus lines converge near my house. Not one bus would stop. Why? They were packed too.

Now you could look at this as "well it was a really popular event, there was nothing they could do." Don't! Metro sucks! They could have run more trains, buses or something. No, they had that stupid schedule today all the while running their dumb permanent "track advisory warning."

So I ended up walking the five miles to the rally. By the time I got there, I was in no mood to stand up. I stayed for a few minutes and then tried to go home. Alas! Same problem going home. Apparently other people wanted to leave too.

Metro Sucks!

True Hollywood Story: My Car is on Fire

Okay, so as a wedding present my mother decided to give us her old car. People with money give you new stuff. Poor people give you what they have. Still, we appreciated it. So we drive the thing from DC all the way back home to NC. No problems. The next day I drop the wife off at work, fill up the tank and then head to my own job. I get to a light and a guy pulls up beside me.

"Hey buddy, you got water spewing out the bottom of your car!"

It's some snaggletoothed guy who looks drunk so I'm like, "Thanks" and I keep driving. I'm thinking to myself, "the old 'water spewing out of the car' trick. Not today buddy." So I drive further and come up to another light. I look down and notice that the gas tank that I just filled up is now 1/4 full. That's when that nerdy brain of  mine starts working. "Water is clear. What else is clear? Gasoline!" I pull over and turn off the car. I get out and low and behold, there is a big puddle of gas under the car and I notice that I've basically made a huge trail of gas leading up to where I am.

So I pop the hood, notice that the gas valve came loose from the engine and I put it back where it goes. Problem solved. I fill the tank back up and go on my way. That evening I call the shop to see if they can squeeze me in the next day to fix the loose hose. The guy tells me I can come in tomorrow but he thinks they should tow me in because "riding around with a loose gas valve is dangerous." Once again, my smart brain tells me, "the old we need to charge you $80 to tow your car when you really could just drive here yourself trick." I decline and tell em I'll be there tomorrow.

Scene 2:

I get up the next morning, get in the car and put the key in the ignition. Now, I'm not stupid. I know that there is a chance that the guy was sincere and maybe riding around with a loose gas line in something that makes sparks and small explosions every other second is probably a bad idea but I was broke. I had about a hundred bucks in the bank and couldn't afford the tow PLUS the dealership was like a mile from my house downhill. At most, I could pull to the first stop sign and coast the rest of the way there.

So I say a little prayer, turn the ignition and BAM. I see a flash of light, hear this loud ass noise and the car lifts up off the front wheels a little bit. In my mind, I'm officially dead. I see the wedding playing out, all the hours I wasted playing Sega and Playstation and I'm back to my childhood days starting freeze tag with bubble gum bubble gum in the dish...

Then I realize that I'm not dead. I open my eyes to a bunch of black smoke and flames coming up from under the hood. In one movement, I unlock the door, open it and land on the sidewalk about ten feet away from the car. Then I think back to every summer movie where a car blows up. That's when the nerd brain cuts back on (yeah the nerd brain didn't come in handy a few minutes ago when I turned the key, but never mind that now). I start wonder if the car will actually explode if the engine keeps running. Can fire travel through the fuel line into the gas tank? So time slows down while the people in my head decide whether or not to risk diving back into the car to turn off the engine. After putting it to a vote, I turn the ignition off and run up three flights of stairs back into my apartment to call 911.

Scene 3

"911, what's your emergency?"
"My car is on fire.  Send a fire truck to 1505 Du..."
"Please state your name."
"Huh? My car is on fire. I need a fire truck at 1505..."
"Sir I need your name."
I give her my name.
"And what's the emergency?"
"My car is on FIRE!"
"What's your address?"
"1505 Duke..."
"Sir can you spell the street name please."
"WHAT!? Listen, my car is on fire. It's next to apartments. They could catch fire. I really need..."
"Sir, I understand that there is a fire, but I need you to spell the street name."
"D-U-K-E..."
"And you say that there is a fire here. What kind of vehicle is it."
"It's a Dodge Acclaim."
"Please spell that sir."
"WHAT THE HELL. LOOK I NEED YOU TO SEND A FIRE TRUCK"
"Sir, please don't use profanity."
"D-O-D-G-E..."
"And what color is the vehicle sir."
"I don't know what color it is now. What color flames are!"
"Is it burgundy sir?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Someone already reported that fire sir."

I hung up on her.

Scene 4:

I go back outside and sit and watch my car burn. The fire has consumed the entire front of the car but the passenger cabin is still intact. A guy comes running out his apartment towards me. I tell him that I'm alright but I notice that he isn't coming to help. This son of a bitch, gets in the car next to mine, peels out of the parking space and drives down the hill and parks his car, then runs back into his apartment without saying a single word.

The fire truck shows up. Rather than try to put out the fire, they try to open the car doors. I yell out, "Here are the keys!" They look at me, turn around and take an axe to the windows. They then stand there talking for a few minutes (maybe congratulating each other on breaking the windows for no apparent reason) and then spray down the engine to put out the fire.

So then the fire chief pulls up and tells me that he's with the arson department.

"Is this your car?"
"It was."
"Did you start this fire?"
"Huh? Uh no."
"Is the car in your name?"
"No it's in my mother's name. She gave it to me two days ago."
"Do you have a reason to believe that your mother may be trying to harm you?"
"WHAT?"
"I'm going to need your mother's contact information."

He goes on to tell me that it's possible that my mother rigged the vehicle. Rrrrrright.

So the wife and I sit outside on the stoop and marvel at the charred remnants of our wedding present all the while being thankful that I'm still alive when the phone rings.

"Hi, this is the management office for the apartment complex. We've been informed by the fire department that your vehicle caught fire. Is that true."
"Yes, thank you for calling, but everyone is okay."
"Uh, that's good to know sir, but that's not why I'm calling. Your rental agreement states that no resident may keep a dilapidated, non-working or vandalized vehicle on the property. You must remove the vehicle immediately or we will tow the vehicle and you will be responsible for the charges."

You know, part of me wants to tell you what I said in response, but even I have profanity limits for this website. Plus when you put that many curse words side by side, it really doesn't make a coherent sentence.

Anyway, they towed the car and we moved outta the apartment complex. Charges against my mother (the criminal mastermind) were never filed.

Back to the Future Part III

October 26, 2010

9:48PM

So here's the third and final installment of my tribute to the 25th anniversary of Back to the Future. I went to see it in the theater this past weekend and today I went and bought the blu-ray. It's geeky, I know, but it's one of those childhood things that you can't (and don't want) to outgrow.

It all started one day back in kindergarten. My friend Anthony noticed my very rough drawing of a car and asked me if it was a time machine. The thing hardly looked like a car, but the square in the middle with the words flux capacitor beneath a big Y gave it away. He told me that it was his favorite movie and we decided to build a time machine together. First, we decided that we needed to watch the movie a few more times and write down the stuff that Doc Brown said during the scene at the mall parking lot. You gotta love five year old logic: Knowing a movie line for line would somehow grant us advanced scientific knowledge.

As the year went on, I eventually came to know the movie line for line and my interest in building a time machine fueled a passion for everything science related. This continued long after kindergarten and actually up through high school. Throughout my elementary school years, I immersed myself in anything that seemed smart: reading the encyclopedia cover to cover, learning meaningless facts and watching a lot of PBS. It didn't make me a lot of friends, but, on the flip side, it kept me out of trouble...well, that kind of trouble.

I've electrocuted myself about ten times. I've blown out the power to the house at least three times and my grandmother had to rescue me from being struck by lightning more times than I can count. Back then there were no warnings at the beginning of movies and tv shows, not that it would've deterred the scientist in me. I way too many stories that I can share in one post, but I'll give you one example.

You know those stands that musicians use to hold their sheet music? I once got a hold of one. I ripped the part that holds the book off. I took a hammer to an old lamp shade and hammered it to the point where it would fit perfectly (upside down--think satellite dish) atop the music stand. I then took a broken television and stripped the rubber shielding off the power cord. I wrapped the wires around the metal music stand...Then I took it outside right before a thunderstorm and placed it in the yard. My goal was to see if I could get lightning to strike the stand, power the tv and blow the glass out of the screen. I was seven.

That was insanely dangerous and stupid (albeit kinda cool), but if only you knew how many books I read on lightning, electricity and conduction before I had that bright idea. It's a wonder that I'm still alive. Still, all silly ideas aside, you have to appreciate a movie that can make an inner city second grader hike to the library by himself and check out science fair project books when his school didn't even have science fairs.

Last week my family got together and out of the blue my aunt asked, Do you remember when you were little and used to quote movies by heart? What was that thing that you used to say that I thought was so cute? Being 28, I don't particularly enjoy entertaining old people with my childish wonder anymore so I told her that I didn't remember. Secretly though I wanted to stand in the middle of the living room and say,

No this sucker's electrical, but I need a nuclear reaction to generate the 1.21 jiggawatts of electricity I need. Doc, you don't just walk into a store and buy plutonium, did you rip this off? Of course, from a group of Libian nationalists. They wanted me to build them a bomb, so I took their plutonium and gave them a shiny bomb casing full of old pinball machine parts. Come here, I'll show you how it works...

Sony Retires the Walkman

According to CNN Sony has retired the Walkman cassette player. No surprise here. The thing became obsolete over a decade ago when portable CD players came out. Still, I feel the need to eulogize the device that made public transportation bearable.

Back in the late 80s/early 90s, the Walkman was what the cell phone is today: Something you never leave the house without. I guess before I continue I should be honest, I never had an actual Walkman. That's the official brand name of Sony's device. I had some knock off piece of crap made by JVC, GPX or some other knockoff brand you'd find in Radio Shack, Nobody Beats the Wiz and Sam Goody.

It's funny too, because GPX and other knockoffs always came with shitty headphones that either snapped in half, lost the spongy ear cover or only worked in one ear unless you held the cord in a certain position. Some, like the one pictured, had a radio on them that got crappy reception but was still better than the tape player itself.

Cheap ones didn't have rewind so you had to take the tape out, flip it over, fast forward a few seconds, flip it back over, play and repeat until you got to the part of the tape you wanted to hear.

As long as you didn't run, hold it sideways or move too fast, your tape would probably survive the trip outside and back home. Every now and then though (Every other day) you'd notice the music starting to slow down and sound garbled. You had a split second to hit stop and save your tape from the walkman. Then you had to pull the cassette out and sowly pull the ten miles of tape out of the machine. Next, you'd get a pencil, roll the tape back up and from that point on that one section of the tape would sound messed up.

Despite the hassle of protecting your tapes, the Walkman served its purpose. It gave me something to listen to on my way to school. Of course back then the pickings were slim. Unlike today, there was no "playlist." Hell you got 60-90 minutes of music and if you were like me you copied your songs off the radio. Sometimes, on a "good" tape, you had no commercials, no DJ and all of the songs started and stopped correctly. On a "bad" tape, maybe you didn't hit record in time. Maybe some songs cut off prematurely because you accidentally taped over them or you reached the end of the tape. And of course we all had that tape where you couldn't go past a certain point because the machine would magically eat the tape beyond that part.

Now that I think about it...good riddance Walkman! lol

Dedicated to the Legacy of Me

When Father's Day rolls around I expect a damn statue to be erected. My wife thinks I'm joking. Come next June, if there's no statue then I'm retiring from husbandry and fatherhood. I'm technically what you call a stay-at-home-dad, but around these parts I prefer to call myself a housebitch.

Today I got up and went grocery shopping. We don't have a car so that means that I had to hoof it. I got my little old lady cart and walked a mile up the street to the farmer's market. Along the way I saw that the video store was having a fire sale, so I looked through about a thousand movies for something that might (AOL keyword: MIGHT) keep my three month old's attention long enough for me to cook, clean, breathe and eat. No sooner than I'd gotten home and dumped the produce on the counter, I had to go back out to the real grocery store.

I dragged my old lady cart another mile down the street to the Giant. I spent a half hour in there (most of it in line) and then made the trek back up the mile-long hill to my house, all the while pulling my sleigh full of food. I put the groceries away and then went back out a third time to go to the CVS to buy diapers. Being the bastion of hell that it is, CVS didn't have any in her size so I had to walk another damn mile to the other CVS where they did have her size.

After four hours, I'm finally home and sad to see that the NFL decided to start the games without me...again. And just think, this is the weekend. Imagine what my weekdays look like. So yeah, next Father's Day there better be a damn ten foot tall marble statue erected in the park. I want a parade and rose bearers to lead me to it and when I get there, there better a feast in my honor. Oh yeah, my wife and daughter aren't invited. I'll bring them a plate though.