Reading (For Dummies)

High Flying

Got back late last night from a trip to Tulsa. I can't believe I'm happy to be back in Syracuse.

I went to the Cybercorps conference, basically a bunch of government employees telling us what they do as far as computer and national security is concerned. Some of it was good, some of it was very over the top. Case in point, The Diceman: an NSA worker who makes a patriotic argument that we should self-censor ourselves. I found it hilarious -- it feels like at the end of the cold war, open information was touted as the way to beat communism. Let them see how things really are, and let us see how things really are, and everyone will realize that our way is better. Now, our NSA friend says even open information should be guarded. Security through obscurity. I still feel like it might make silly people feel safe, but a dedicated adversary is going to find out who has family on a military base.

Complaining about Mr. Diceman (Semka?) aside, there were all kinds of interesting observations about the University...

Look carefully

A close observation of their school seal reveals a cross laid underneath an open book (one could only presume a book that commonly starts with the Pentateuch and includes some more recent writing in it, as well).

History

Tulsa also sits right next to Route 66. Unfortunately, this stretch of highway is not what it is cracked up to be. Reminiscent of the new South Jersey, it is laden with strip malls. Unlike New Jersey, the diners are only open until 10pm.

This fact got me in some trouble on Sunday night, when I was quite hungry. I wandered down Route 66 and found a Papa John's pizza joint, and walked inside around 11pm. The young gentleman at the counter, Devin, informed me that he could not sell me a pizza without an address -- the computer system only allowed delivery at that hour. I told him I was living in a sorority house on campus, and asked if he knew the address. He did not. An idea came to me: I stepped outside of the store and read the phone number off the window. I called them. I read the address off the storefront and gave that as a delivery address. About 10 minutes later, the manager came outside and handed me my pizza.

This little story alleviates some of my fear about working for the government. I realize that I can come up with some creative solutions to bypass the normal bureaucratic process. I might actually be successful. At the very least, I will have some fun and get a few good things done.

Later that night is another Tulsa story. A young couple decided to take to the warm summer air in the bushes outside my flat. Apparently the gentleman William has many qualities that the young Tulsan lass found admirable, and indeed pleasurable. I have to say that I have never heard such noises coming out of a woman's mouth before, which leads me to believe that I have been doing something wrong all these years.

I somehow thought this "bush" was an appropriate closer