the coolest nerd

• I'm at New Sandy's Cafe & Deli (1382 9th Avenue, Judah, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/clqeIH #
• I'm at fat wongs (1780 el camino real, San bruno). http://4sq.com/bNAfcD #
• There is a speed trap between Riviera and Quintara on Sunset Blvd! #fb #
• Traffic on the way home — literally a crawl. My heart totally sunk when I found out it was a Mazda RX-7 Turbo II that was the cause. #fb #
• I'm at China first (336 Clement, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/c4sqk0 #
• I just unlocked the "Adventurer" badge on @foursquare! http://4sq.com/bnS4RJ #
• It's awkward to have left over Alaskan king crab for lunch in your cube. Delicious though. Thanks to @Marvin Lau again. #fb #
• Really tempted to get a 2009 Mazda RX-8. I found the perfect one but it's out of state. Gotta sell my 2005 though. Any interest? #fb #
• I'm at Mugu Boka (401 Balboa St, 5th Avenue, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/b9Wsg0 #
• I just ousted @jyamasaki as the mayor of Mugu Boka on @foursquare! http://4sq.com/b9Wsg0 #
• Just played through Star Fox (1994, Super Nintendo). What a satisfying game. I don't know why it was such a challenge when I was little.. #
• waiting in line.. (@ Tani's Kitchen) http://4sq.com/7Bt5Pq #
• stopped waiting.. backup plan at (@ Banana Island) http://4sq.com/5iJaAw #
• Abnormally nice weather.. And on a day most of the country is indoors. What a waste. #

• Even after the latest firmware update Ovi Maps on the Nokia N900 is horrible. Clear sky. Major area. No GPS lock. #
• It's like a HS reunion at the Shell station on Taraval. #fb #
• Note to self. Tutifruti (Fruit Punch) Jarritos soda is not good. #
• I'm at California Academy of Sciences (55 Music Concourse Dr, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/3wpbWU #
• I just unlocked the "Newbie" badge on @foursquare! http://4sq.com/aigqk8 #
• I'm at Hong Kong Lounge (5322 Geary Blvd, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/aqSS0z #
• I'm at M's Cafe (1376 9th Ave, Judah, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/cJeYV8 #
• they stayed open late for us! (@ House of Dumplings) #
• I'm at Mugu Boka (401 Balboa St, 5th Avenue, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/b9Wsg0 #
• I'm at Little Shamrock (807 Lincoln, 9th Ave, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/8eDm8L #
• I'm at Milano Pizzeria (1330 9th Ave, btw Irving St & Judah St, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/6zeU9Q #
• I'm at Jay 'n Bee Club (2736 20th St, at York, San Francisco). http://4sq.com/5e1B4W #

• No longer phoneless. Got a replacement N900 from Amazon. Installed Firefox Mobile — it's pretty slick. Needs AdBlock Plus though. #fb #
• Geez San Francisco. It couldn't hurt to put up signs if you are closing streets. Someone put up a barricade. Why not put a deadend sign up? #
• There still isn't a sign saying westbound MLK drive is flooded in golden gate park. Wtf #
• Having a $3 Cha siu baau by Charles Phan — it's good, but not $3 good. #

• Pacifica Esplanade Evacuations Overblown http://bit.ly/4n7345 #
• Spotted a car with a Symphonic sticker — haven't seen that in hella years. #fb #
• My N900 died during an update using Nokia Software Updater. They say I have to send it back and wait ten days for replacement. damn it! #
• I have the option of returning my broken N900 for a refund — should I get a replacement or go with the Nexus One? #fb #

• OMG My parent's Vista based PC has gotten two viruses in a year. Installing Ubuntu #Linux now. #
• I'm going to see how long I can last this year without drinking a soda. Mexican Coke exempted. #fb #
• Tired of the resturants on 9th & Irving. Maybe I should start walking all the way out to Geary or Clement. Good exercise, at least. #fb #
• What's with everyone putting color names as their Facebook Status? #fb #
• Today, I tried to log on to facebook. It said, "Cookies are required to operate." I thought to myself, "Me too, Facebook. Me too." #fb #
• Dim Sum King in Daly City is not as good as it used to be.. If this was my first time here I wouldn't come back. #fb #
• Both Lowes and Home Depot have their websites down for maintenance simultaneously. Conspiracy!! #

• Going to Gussie's to take care of my month long chicken and waffle craving. Gotta go to work afterwards – patching Exchange servers.. Ugh. #
• Going to Gussie's to take care of my month long chicken and waffle craving. Gotta go to work after – patching Exchange servers.. Ugh. #fb #
• The traffic in Golden Gate Park is the worst I've seen since we originally opened. Avoid Lincoln at all costs. 9th Ave too. #fb #
• In #Nethack, what is the command/key to use when there isn't an obvious way to proceed? Press ? against a wall at the end of a corridor..? #

• the food generated from my kitchen can be so delicious when I'm not the one at the helm — wild boar and schnitzel for the win #fb #
• When the Nokia #N900 fails to send via share to service (Facebook) it only gives an option to cancel it. It does retry after restarting tho. #
• Spent half a day doing prerequisites but I finally managed to get Microsoft System Center Operations Manager (SCOM) up and working… #
• My grandmother just called me a good driver after having done some twisties at double the speed limit. #fb #
• Does anyone have any DDR2 SDRAM laying around? My parent's computer only has 256mb! Any size welcome! #fb #
• Selling my Miata has backfired – $800 of it has gone into a Dyson vacuum and a Kitchenaid mixer. So much for buying a 09 Mazda RX-8 T_T #fb #

• #Sharepoint 2010 is actually pretty nice. Coming from a confirmed Microsoft hater, that's saying a lot… #
• not happy that the #Nokia #N900 keyboard doesn't have a tab key. Nor does it have ^ or >< so I can't make Japanese style emoticons (T_T);; #
• Thanks to @reijari I partially retract my last statement about not having the ^ key on my Nokia #N900 — still need tab though! #
• is it strange that I find that rewiring my home theatre system to be therapeutic? Finally going to take advantage of my Onkyo's features. #
• is copying @jenfer and enabling Selective Tweets on Facebook (test update) #fb #
• cleaned up my buddy list — it feels so bad to have to remove people who have died.. #
• Google calendar support for the Nokia N900 is essential — I'm tempted to return mine. Exchange support is kinda broken too… #
• Shipping my final NA Miata to Chicago. Hope it's taken care of well in that harsh environment! #
• Pokemon is evil! http://bit.ly/6v7bug #fb #
• The GPS on the Nokia N900 is close to worthless. No turn by turn directions – only route generation. Scroll though that manually. Ugh. #

• playing with my new Nokia #N900! #
• Got charged a 3% surcharge for "San Francisco Affordable Health care Legislation" – that makes tax 12.5% in SF! Shopping elsewhere now. #

Since I’m a huge fan of Jeremy Clarkson and spicy food here is his take on hot sauce.  I want a bottle!

Like any responsible parent, I would not leave a loaded gun in the children’s playroom or keep my painkillers in their sweetie tin. But it turns out that for two years there has been a nuclear bomb in one of my kitchen cupboards, between the tomato ketchup and the Rice Krispies.

It’s an American chilli sauce that was bought by my wife as a joky Christmas present. And, like all joky Christmas presents, it was put in a drawer and forgotten about. It’s called limited-edition Insanity private reserve and it came in a little wooden box, along with various warning notices. “Use this product one drop at a time,” it said. “Keep away from eyes, pets and children. Not for people with heart or respiratory problems. Use extreme caution.”

Unfortunately, we live in a world where everything comes with a warning notice. Railings. Vacuum cleaners. Energy drinks. My quad bike has so many stickers warning me of decapitation, death and impalement that they become a nonsensical blur.

The result is simple. We know these labels are drawn up to protect the manufacturer legally, should you decide one day to insert a vacuum-cleaner pipe up your bottom, or to try to remove your eye with a teaspoon. So we ignore them. They are meaningless. One drop at a time! Use extreme caution! On a sauce. Pah. Plainly it was just American lawyer twaddle.

I like a hot sauce. My bloody marys are known to cure squints. And at an Indian restaurant I will often order a vindaloo, sometimes without the involvement of a wager. So when I accidentally found that bottle of Insanity, I poured maybe half a teaspoonful onto my paella. And tucked in.

Burns victims often say that when they are actually on fire, there is no pain. It has something to do with the body pumping out adrenaline in such vast quantities that the nerve endings stop working. Well, it wasn’t like that for me.

The pain started out mildly, but I knew from past experience that this would build to a delightful fiery sensation. I was even looking forward to it. But the moment soon passed. In a matter of seconds I was in agony. After maybe a minute I was frightened that I might die. After five I was frightened that I might not.

The searing fire had surged throughout my head. My eyes were streaming. Molten lava was flooding out of my nose. My mouth was a shattered ruin. Even my hair hurt.

And all the time, I was thinking: “If it’s doing this to my head, what in the name of all that’s holy is it doing to my innards?” I felt certain that at any moment my stomach would open and everything — my intestines, my liver, my heart, even — would simply splosh onto the floor. This is not an exaggeration. I really did think I was dissolving from the inside out.

Trying to keep calm, I raced, screaming, for the fridge and ate handfuls of crushed ice. This made everything worse. So, dimly remembering that Indians use bread when they’ve overdone the chillies, I cut a slice, threw it away and ate what remained of the very expensive Daylesford loaf, like a dog.

Nothing was working. And such was my desperation, I downed two litres of skimmed milk — something I would never normally touch with a barge pole. I was sweating profusely as my body frenziedly sought to realign its internal thermostat. I felt sick but didn’t dare regurgitate the poison for fear of the damage it would cause on the way out.

Even now, the following morning, I feel weak, shell-shocked, like I may die at any moment. And all I’d ingested was a drop.

Limited-edition Insanity sauce is ridiculous. It’s made in Costa Rica, from hot pepper extract, crushed red savina peppers, red tabasco pepper pulp, green tabasco pepper pulp, crushed red habanero peppers, crushed green habanero peppers, red habanero pepper powder and fruit juice.

Well, that’s what it says on the tin. But I don’t believe it. I think it’s made from uranium, plutonium, fertiliser, sulphuric acid, nitric acid, hydrochloric acid and ammonia, with a splash of mace. I do not believe it’s a foodstuff. It’s a weapon.

And I may have a point, since on the Scoville scale, which measures the intensity of chilli peppers, the habanero sits just below the “daisy cutter”, that American bomb designed to wipe out nations.

At present you are allowed to take 100ml of liquid onto a plane because the authorities believe such a small amount could not possibly bring down an airliner. They are wrong. If I painted just 1ml of Insanity sauce on the window of a 747, it would melt. And this is stuff you can buy on the internet. Stuff that has been sitting in my kitchen for two years.

So, what’s to be done? As you know, I am not Gordon Brown. I do not think problems can be solved with a ban, even though I really believe that a bottle of Insanity sauce is more deadly than a machinegun.

The obvious course of action is to remove warning notices from household goods that are not dangerous — cakes, for instance, and staplers. This way, we would pay more attention when something is supplied with labels advising us of great peril ahead.

Sadly, however, since we are now one of the most litigious countries in the world, this will never happen. Nor can Insanity be uninvented. It exists. A bottle of the damn stuff is sitting on my desk now and I have no idea what I should do with it.

I can’t pour it down the sink because it would get into the water table. I can’t put it in the bin because it would end up as landfill. And that’s no good for something which has a half-life of several thousand years. I can’t even take it — as I would with a grenade I’d found — to the police because they’d be tempted to use it as a legal device for getting information out of criminals. And that wouldn’t work at all. Last night, when the bread had failed and the milk was finished, I would happily have confessed to 43 counts of homosexual rape. Plus there is a side effect — certain death.

via timesonline

Quote:

Like any responsible parent, I would not leave a loaded gun in the children’s playroom or keep my painkillers in their sweetie tin. But it turns out that for two years there has been a nuclear bomb in one of my kitchen cupboards, between the tomato ketchup and the Rice Krispies. It’s an American chilli sauce that was bought by my wife as a joky Christmas present. And, like all joky Christmas presents, it was put in a drawer and forgotten about. It’s called limited-edition Insanity private reserve and it came in a little wooden box, along with various warning notices. “Use this product one drop at a time,” it said. “Keep away from eyes, pets and children. Not for people with heart or respiratory problems. Use extreme caution.” Unfortunately, we live in a world where everything comes with a warning notice. Railings. Vacuum cleaners. Energy drinks. My quad bike has so many stickers warning me of decapitation, death and impalement that they become a nonsensical blur. The result is simple. We know these labels are drawn up to protect the manufacturer legally, should you decide one day to insert a vacuum-cleaner pipe up your bottom, or to try to remove your eye with a teaspoon. So we ignore them. They are meaningless. One drop at a time! Use extreme caution! On a sauce. Pah. Plainly it was just American lawyer twaddle. I like a hot sauce. My bloody marys are known to cure squints. And at an Indian restaurant I will often order a vindaloo, sometimes without the involvement of a wager. So when I accidentally found that bottle of Insanity, I poured maybe half a teaspoonful onto my paella. And tucked in. Burns victims often say that when they are actually on fire, there is no pain. It has something to do with the body pumping out adrenaline in such vast quantities that the nerve endings stop working. Well, it wasn’t like that for me. The pain started out mildly, but I knew from past experience that this would build to a delightful fiery sensation. I was even looking forward to it. But the moment soon passed. In a matter of seconds I was in agony. After maybe a minute I was frightened that I might die. After five I was frightened that I might not. The searing fire had surged throughout my head. My eyes were streaming. Molten lava was flooding out of my nose. My mouth was a shattered ruin. Even my hair hurt. And all the time, I was thinking: “If it’s doing this to my head, what in the name of all that’s holy is it doing to my innards?” I felt certain that at any moment my stomach would open and everything — my intestines, my liver, my heart, even — would simply splosh onto the floor. This is not an exaggeration. I really did think I was dissolving from the inside out. Trying to keep calm, I raced, screaming, for the fridge and ate handfuls of crushed ice. This made everything worse. So, dimly remembering that Indians use bread when they’ve overdone the chillies, I cut a slice, threw it away and ate what remained of the very expensive Daylesford loaf, like a dog. Nothing was working. And such was my desperation, I downed two litres of skimmed milk — something I would never normally touch with a barge pole. I was sweating profusely as my body frenziedly sought to realign its internal thermostat. I felt sick but didn’t dare regurgitate the poison for fear of the damage it would cause on the way out. Even now, the following morning, I feel weak, shell-shocked, like I may die at any moment. And all I’d ingested was a drop. Limited-edition Insanity sauce is ridiculous. It’s made in Costa Rica, from hot pepper extract, crushed red savina peppers, red tabasco pepper pulp, green tabasco pepper pulp, crushed red habanero peppers, crushed green habanero peppers, red habanero pepper powder and fruit juice. Well, that’s what it says on the tin. But I don’t believe it. I think it’s made from uranium, plutonium, fertiliser, sulphuric acid, nitric acid, hydrochloric acid and ammonia, with a splash of mace. I do not believe it’s a foodstuff. It’s a weapon. And I may have a point, since on the Scoville scale, which measures the intensity of chilli peppers, the habanero sits just below the “daisy cutter”, that American bomb designed to wipe out nations. At present you are allowed to take 100ml of liquid onto a plane because the authorities believe such a small amount could not possibly bring down an airliner. They are wrong. If I painted just 1ml of Insanity sauce on the window of a 747, it would melt. And this is stuff you can buy on the internet. Stuff that has been sitting in my kitchen for two years. So, what’s to be done? As you know, I am not Gordon Brown. I do not think problems can be solved with a ban, even though I really believe that a bottle of Insanity sauce is more deadly than a machinegun. The obvious course of action is to remove warning notices from household goods that are not dangerous — cakes, for instance, and staplers. This way, we would pay more attention when something is supplied with labels advising us of great peril ahead. Sadly, however, since we are now one of the most litigious countries in the world, this will never happen. Nor can Insanity be uninvented. It exists. A bottle of the damn stuff is sitting on my desk now and I have no idea what I should do with it. I can’t pour it down the sink because it would get into the water table. I can’t put it in the bin because it would end up as landfill. And that’s no good for something which has a half-life of several thousand years. I can’t even take it — as I would with a grenade I’d found — to the police because they’d be tempted to use it as a legal device for getting information out of criminals. And that wouldn’t work at all. Last night, when the bread had failed and the milk was finished, I would happily have confessed to 43 counts of homosexual rape. Plus there is a side effect — certain death.

I want a bottle!