Rory's Journal

This entry is for all the C++ die-hard programmers out there. Some of you may not know about some of the hidden features of C++. Have you ever struggled with trying to work with combining a regular variable and a const variable? Well, try this:

varType functionOfSomething(const varType & copy)
{
return *this = const_cast<varType & >(copy);
}

Just like that, I have casted away the const restriction of the variable and am now free to use it anyway I please. If I caught your interest with that you can also try looking up some of my other favorites: reinterpret_cast (changes types to other types), dynamic_cast, and static_cast. The last two are obvious for static type definitions. But, be careful with reinterpret_cast as it is a way to circumvent the C++ type-cast restrictions that make it a semi-safe language.

Use of these is considered bad programming by some, including myself. If I can, I try to avoid them. But, to hell with me, it makes some stuff really easy to write! They are also ISO C++ compliant and are supported on all standards compliant compilers like GCC, Visual Studios, and Borland. Have fun!

Some of you may have noticed the Google ads that I put to the left of the blog. Google AdSense accounts are one of the ways people who don't do anything with their websites (me) make money. When I say make money, I mean I carve out a couple bucks a week. While this doesn't seem like much, it's only like that for me because I have about four people that read this. And, I sincerely thank you four for being here. In fact, I salute you. salutes | pokes eye out on accident | Cusses

ANYway, Google ads adjust the type of ads that are displayed based on the content of the page you are looking at. Because I haven't blogged that much all the ads are talking about how to relieve stress. Nutty. I'll try and talk about more interesting things. Not that you care what the ads look like, but it kind of makes me look crazy. And the voices in my head say that could be a "bad thing". Hmm....

"One in the hand is worth two in the bush. A Bush in the White House is worth five drunken sailors hitting on your mother."

I have been told again that my site doesn't make any sense. While I stand by that it is simply a place to hold my writings, and possibly a rant or two, I realize that I should probably put a translator on it so that people can easily understand what is going on. I have provided you with this link that will help translate my site into an easier to read source: RoryWeb Translation

If Microsoft made books you would have to buy a special "reader" in order to actually read the book. Once other companies began developing superior, more secure, and easier to use alternatives to the reader none of the fonts and standards for the book would continue to work for the book. Styles for the book would also be strange and text would be aligned improperly.

If Microsoft made books, after finishing a page and attempting to turn to the next page, you would be told, "You are trying to turn the page. Would you like to allow access to the next page?" This would happen on every single page.

If Microsoft made books the book wouldn't be readable in certain areas. Only Microsoft signed locations would be able to allow you to open your book. You would also be able to buy an alternative Gold Reader membership where you would be able to read the book anywhere, but the font and styles in the book still would not look like they do in other companies readers. This annoyance would be promised in future releases, but never actually happen.

If Microsoft made books you probably wouldn't enjoy reading, would you?

As I walked inside, the feeling of the past's painful reemergence grew inside me. It had been seven years since I had seen her, yet the memory burned in me as the damage she had done presented itself as the scar tissue it had remained. I waited in the lobby glancing nervously around. Trying to remain calm was useless. I felt as if I was under attack and that I had to manifest greatness I had never contained simply to stand there and be me. A strange feeling of standing outside of myself overcame me as I lost presence of time.

Then I saw her. Looking at her standing there was like staring at her from across the chasm of Time itself. I could not reach her, touch her, or even speak to her; yet my eyes remained locked to her back. It was her without a doubt. She stood there sorting out a customers purchase; calm and smooth. I had no idea how long I starred at her while the feeling inside me shot through my body. The same sick feeling I had when I was with her so long ago. But now, hate made my stomach churn. She who had hurt me so deeply was alive and well.

"Sir, can I help you?", a clerk next to me asked.
"Oh, yes..Um sorry. I'm here to have lunch with a friend of mine.", I managed.

After giving her the name to call and my name in turn, I quickly looked back to her. She had moved and was gone. I slowly scanned the lines and then down the service counter, and found her again. She was standing much as I was now. Waiting for something to happen, anything. She slowly turned around as I starred at her, still fixated. And then, for a moment where stars exploded and ancient warriors would have drawn swords, our eyes met, and locked. Did she recognize me; did she know me as I knew her now at that very moment for all her evil? A heart beat of time passed and I continued scanning the lobby as if I had never really seen her. I moved nonchalantly a few feet opposite of her.

When I summoned the courage to face my opponent once more, she was gone. I would never know if this woman had realized that I was really there, or if she remembered ripping my heart out, in first love's embrace, only to throw it to the ground never to beat again with it's passion. Never to close the everlasting gap between us.

The site has been hosed for the last few days, not that any of you bastards would have noticed. I switched hosts. I am hosting with a2hosting.com now and they kick ass so far. I have Ruby on Rails access now, and even SSH on a shared server. That was a big surprise. Usually hosts aren't brave enough to give that kind of access. They seem to know what they are doing and thankfully have a control panel. I configure servers by hand all day for my job, I don't need to do it for my website, too. So, welcome back...You bastards!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I do NOT have a brain aneurysm. Thank you and good night.

I'm finding, to my disappointment, that it may actually be me leaving the chocolate fingerprints on the TV remote... I am angry and sad.

Some people have asked me why I sometimes post the goofy writings in the italicized text. They say, "Rory, those don't make any sense. They just come out of nowhere." Well, after some recent silliness/abuse of my blogging position I decided to think about why I started this blog. I started it because I thought it would get me writing. How many times have you guys seen me write that? And, because I seem to get tyrannical with my blog if allowed to voice opinions, I am moving to the more existential area of my writing. That is, Creative Writing. I love Creative Writing. So, to avoid me getting medieval on people's asses (a now agreed no-no around RoryWeb), I am writing medieval... or fantasy... or whatever.

So, everyone will start seeing more of that "italicized nonsense". But, believe me, it's for the good of everyone. Especially me.

The blade shimmered in the moonlight streaming in from the window. It was the first time he had held his father's sword since the funeral. It held him entranced as the light glimmered off the hilt and into his memory. The blade had held many futures at one time. Yet, now it held only one. The need for strength. The instinct to hold the sword took hold and instantly was held high. There would be no more running, no more hiding, no more fear. No more fear....No more. The cold touch of metal against his face awakened him to the reality that was coming. They were coming, fast, unforgiving. They would be there any moment. He would be ready. He flicked his eyes towards the front door as the handle was forcibly turned. Then, they stepped through to kill him.

I've never worked for any place where I felt like I was great. I've worked for places where I've felt appreciated, but never like I was great. Feeling appreciated is nice, but it doesn't mean you are doing what you want to do. In some ways, it holds you back. Constantly giving you the feeling that you are making headway, when you are really still as stagnant as you were at the job that made you feel worthless. How many times is a pat on the back and a, "Good job!", going to satisfy you before you realize that you have sacrificed five years of your life and never made your dreams come true.

I feel great when I am creating. Whether it is writing, designing, or programming, as long as it is flowing from my pen or keyboard I feel like I could be something great. I miss the feeling of possibility I had as a kid. Now I feel like time is running out, and opportunity is slipping through my fingers. The time to act is coming soon, and I must do something great. Or, forever be appreciated.

I am under a lot of stress at work. I wouldn't call it an incredible amount of stress, because I would describe "incredible" as having to install a computer virus in an alien computer system with the five minute time limit it takes for them to fire their super-weapon and vaporize earth. That's pretty incredible stress. I am in no way under that kind of stress. I am, however, under the stress that makes you want to stab people. Wherever that is on your stress scale is where I am at. Let's call it an irregularly large amount of stress typical of an American blue collar job placement. Yes, that's right. It's also the right amount of stress to make me drink rum and coke. Ah, rum and coke...How ye understands me.

The chill was the first sign of it's advance. The stone was an unnatural clammy feeling. A supernatural moisture seemed to languish on the brick of the wall. A headiness could be felt that would encourage stumbling, loss of direction, and confusion.

"Then it could be felt in a truer sense. It was here. It was coming fast.

"The glance back would be the last, as the huge skeletal hand gripped the corner of the passage and pulled the massive, undead carnage into view. Horror would be the last feeling it would leave upon his world...

Lately, I've have been thinking about what happens when we feel we have been wronged by someone. In my case, I get angry and don't think about my actions until I am no longer angry. By the time I calm down and think about the situation sometimes it's too late and I have said or done something irreversible. Those are the times when I wonder what the costs are of "getting even". In fictional literature revenge ruins characters, sometimes causing them to lose everything. Yet, given these stories we still end up in our own tale of revenge, sometimes with the same losses the characters ended up having. I wish there was a better way for me to stop and think about things before I act, but when someone you love is involved it's even harder to control. This has happened to me a few times, the effects of which still haunt me, or could haunt me still.

Revenge is a battle, and no battle has a winner that comes out unscathed.

We would all do well to remember the costs that we can incur by letting our anger or passion consume our minds. Even knowing this might not help me in the future.

To those I have attempted to exact a "revenge" on, know that I prefer peace more than anyone. I like to be left alone to try and run my own life as best I can. So, in the way of my Butte heritage, I'll bring over a case of beer and drink to a more peaceful relationship. How does that sound?