[Home | Contact | What's New? | Products | Services | Tips | Mike |
Living with Schizoaffective Disorder

Please to Forgive

This site totally sucks when viewed on a smartphone.
I'll fix this Real Soon Now.

"No Mike. It's Too Expensive."
The Sociopath's Economic Insight

"Your mother doesn't know the cost of things." - My Blushing Bride, Conceptual Video Artist F. Bonita Hatcher

That was in Gaeta, Italy

The US Navy operated a tiny little convenience store in the basement of the converted apartment building where my sister and I went to elementary school - Joshua Barney School. That entire store wasn't a whole lot bigger than a bedroom in a typical suburban America house.

Only military personnel, civilian staff such as my schoolteachers as well as military dependents such as myself were permitted to shop there. Among my most-cherished possessions is my official Naval identification card, it looks just like my Naval Officer father's but I looked just like Donny Osmond when I was ten years old. Younger than that and and the Marine Corps sentries and government subsidized retail store employees are expected to recognize me by sight alone.

That is, at Concord Naval Weapons Station I could have walked through either gate without flashing my ID provided I were nine years old or younger. At ten years old I had to show government-issued Photo ID just to buy a ticket to the Saturday afternoon matinee.

I remember very well shopping for candy all by myself, for the very first time, one day after school at that Navy convenience store. I had a quarter I think I expect the Tooth Fairy left it under my pillow.

(One time I caught my father filling in for when the Tooth Fairy took a day of sick leave but I didn't let on that I knew.)

"How much is this Hershey Bar?"

"Thirty-five cents."

I dig through my pockets, no only twenty five cents so I politely put the Hershey bar back.

"How much is this Snicker's bar?"

"Thirty five cents."

One by one, patiently and thoughtfully I selected each type of candy in order of what I liked most to what I liked least until I had exhausted every last one of them.

"How much are these Tic-Tacs."

"Thirty-five cents."

Polite, thoughtful, patient. He never once pointed out that they all cost thirty five cents, I had a reasonable question so he provided a correct answer.

Just a few days later I read an entire Hardy Boy's Mystery all the way through in six hours while lying on my back on the living room couch.

Later that afternoon I asked Mom if I could have an allowance. Prior to that I only had the Tooth Fairy.

I was screaming and crying, overcome with grief desperately struggling to convince my own mother to permit me to purchase a candy bar roughly every week and a half with money I'd earned myself.

Mom eventually relented, said I could get my twenty-five cents per week allowance.

The following Saturday:

"Mom, my I have my allowance?"

"What allowance?"

"Twenty-five cents. My allowance is twenty-five cents per week."

"You don't get an allowance at all."

Screaming and crying, completely overcome with grief. Mom eventually managed to extract a quarter from her coin purse.

I never asked for my allowance ever, ever again.

When I was twelve I had this Jesus Big paper route all over the U of Idaho campus as well as Moscow's residential neighborhood next to the campus.

"Mike? You don't have enough money collected to pay for your papers this month. Have you collected from all your subscribers yet."


"Then what did you do with all that money?"

"I bought my own candy bars."

Mom and Dad were always happy to use their own money to buy me candy, ice cream and soda pop but in my entire life my mother has moved Heaven and Earth to prevent me from managing my own financial affairs.

This despite that I billed $120.00 well after the Dot-Com crash hit. My salary for 2015 was $150,000.

My sister and I started going to movies together - without either parent - when I was seven. "Mom? Can I have the money to pay for our tickets?"

"No Mike."

"You're too young to handle money. Jean is much older than you. Your sister knows how to handle money responsibly."

I was down with that I was only a little boy.

"Hey Mom. I just turned ten. Can I buy the tickets to the matinee today?"

"No Mike."

"You're too young to handle money. Jean is much older than you so she knows how to handle money responsibly."

At the age of forty-nine:

"WHAT'S THAT THING? Can I throw it in the trash?

"The Hell you talking about? That's my camera tripod! Set me back seventy bucks!"


As if I'd knocked over a liquor store

"Mike, please don't fall asleep with your electric heater running. It could burn the house down."

"No Mom, that's my Xeon box."

"Mike, your electric heater was running when I got home from dining out on phenomenally expensive gourmet cuisine with my sorority this evening. You left it running again when you walked to Starbucks."

"No Mom, that's actually my Engineering Workstation."

Get This:

"Mike, could you tell me how to perform an orderly shutdown of your space heater?"



So I carefully walk her through logging me off then clicking the Shutdown button. Mom just absolutely loves to dote of me, she really does. Whenever I ever fall asleep on the living room couch she will cover me with her father's army blanket then turn out all the lights.

So after that if I get too tired to work on my Core Quad 16 GB FB-DIMM 2.5 TB AMCC 3ware 9690SA hardware RAID with battery backup to enable write caching, Mom will quietly step into my room, turn out all the lights, cover me gently with my grandfather's olive drab Army blanket then perform an orderly shutdown of my space heater.

"That's not actually a space heater Mom. It's just that it generates a lot of heat because it is a very, very powereful computer. I built it from components that I carefully selected myself. It cost me $4,500.00"


"From my job, Mom. I'm a computer programmer." When I bought it I was a Principle Software Engineer writing RAID HBA Device Driver's for AMCC's 3ware storage products division.

While Mom is happy to lend me three or four dollars each day so I can walk to Starbucks pay for my table and WiFi by purchasing a Grande Drip, she will not permit me to pay thirty dollars a month for a Comcast cable modem with my own money. At a bare minimum my coffees are ninety dollars per month but there are other expenses such as bus fare, sometimes I have to pay for my lunch and so on. Mom is always completely cool to fund my high-tech startup for just one day because she knows that fast Internet is important to me.

"Mom, I left most of the tools of my trade in storage in San Jose. I have to borrow a hundred dollars from you every month to pay for my locker. So far that's come to three thousand dollars that I have to pay back to you somehow, but I have no hope of ever doing so because the tools of my trade are all in San Jose. I could go there, rent a U-Haul Truck then drive it back here for $1,600.00. I'd have a good client in a heartbeat, I could pay you back in a week or two then move out of your guest room into my own house in Portland in a month. Once I had my own house I could make quite a lot more money than that."

"No Mike. It's too expensive."

"But Mom! My computers!" Mom knows very well that "My computers" are the products of my own mental illness because I have my MacBook Pro with me here in Salmon Creek.

"My file cabinet! My business records! My technical books! My cables!".

I even have a Mother Fucking BeBox. And I Am Not Kidding: dual 133 MHz 603, I don't recall how much memory or hard disk.

Mom once wrote a check to lend me some money to pay my vendors but I forget to deposit it before I returned to California to fetch just my Fedora box. I got it all the way back to Portland on the Santa Cruz and San Jose busses, and Amtrack. All together the train and bus fare came to about ninety dollars.

"Mom, could you please find that check that you wrote? The one I'm going to pay you back for?"

"Please deposit it in my bank over by Burgerville. If you can't find the check please write a new one. You or I will eventually find your first check. I'll void it then return it to you."

"If you don't, my account will be overdrawn then closed so I won't be able to pay my consultancy's expenses this month."

"I would lose everything I have ever worked for since 1984," when three Caltech security guards beat the living crap out of me, hurled me bodily down a flight of stairs then all three sat on top of me until the Pasadena Police arrived, told them to get the Hell off me then shouted "If you don't leave Mike alone I'm going to throw you in jail!"

I was later expelled from Caltech because I slept just one night on a couch in the same Ricketts House hallway as the room where I lived when those goons attacked me.

Chris Brennan told me not too, see.

And yes I really did lose absolutely EVERYTHING I have ever worked for since 1984.

But it's coming quite rapidly back. Consider that Henry Ford lost his shirt a whole bunch of times and that Mark Twain was fired by the San Francisco Chronicle because he was such a very, very poor writer.

I Am Going To Crush Bill Gates Like A Bug:

A while back someone put the arm on my Early 2006 MacBook Pro. When I pointed out to a Portland cop that the theft of commercial trade secrets was quite a serious Oregon State and United States Federal Offense he howled with laughter then told me to look for my filesystem image on "All your hacker boards".

Actually I was more concerned that the thief would FedEx my hard drive to Moscow then pitch the rest of my MacBook Pro in the Willamette.

The Fedral Bureau of Investigation gave me a stern lecture on information security but I pointed out that "Agent Tom, Cybercrime Specialist" knew quite a lot less about information security than I. He wasn't real happy about that fact. I made plain that Agent Tom does not possess the first clue.

Tom then informed me the FBI only takes referrals from local law enforcement agencies, in my case the Portland Police Bureau.

The Officer at the downtown Police Station told me to use my computer to file a stolen property report on their website.

"But Officer, I don't have a computer. That's why I want you o take my stolen property report yourself."

He just kept insisting I file my report on their website.

Wy Police Cadets are just Cadets and not Sworn Officers

"It's simply not possible to recover deleted files from a hard drive. It's intractibly complex."

"Are you familiar with the CRU Wiebetech Forensic Storage Adapters?"

"No, why."

"Because CRU Wiebetech Forensic Storage Adapters are what the Portland Police Bureau as well as the occasional CIA Black Bag Job" -- Usama ben Laden's hardcore pornography -- "uses to recover deleted documents from hard drives."

(Wiebetech Forensic storage images are admissible prosecution evidence because it can be shown it is not possible to alter the data in the copy or on the original drive.)

"I invented the Forensic Storage Adapter as a consultant to Wiebetech in 2002."

James Wiebe sold his company to a much larger direct competitor, paid off his mortgage, all his debts, retired from the computer industry then founded a graphite fiber epoxy composite ultralight aircraft manufacturing company.

I got paid a grand total of $4,500.00 for inventing Forensic Storage Adapters.

Don't Even Get Me Fucking Started. Just Don't.

Mom still does not permit me to handle money because Jeannie is three years older than I.

My sister is fifty-four.

Lately I've clued into buying only a Tall at Starbucks, playing The Grinch That Stole Christmas with the Baristas' tip jar. Over a week or two I could saving up enough money to buy a back of Trojan Magnums so I can receive anonymous homosexual - in my own case, bisexual Oral Fellation through one of the great many Glory Holes at Fat Cobra Video in North Portland.

The key to financial prosperity is to save up absolutely as much money as one possibly can then purchase the very finest product or service that money can buy.

Not phenomenally overpriced items such as the Monster Power Surge Protector than Mom blew a metric fuckton of "It's Too Expensive" on so she could plug her cable box, flat-screen televsion and DVD player's Surge Protector into a Surge Protector.

Upon a few days of quiet contemplation I realized I was far better off with a large bottle of Wett Platinum Silicon Lube and some torrents rather than a transit day pass and the price of the video both at Fat Cobra.

Soon though. Perhaps one day I may grow so very wealthy as to command the price of a Cyberskin Ice.

My uncommon patience yields the insigh that a few months hence I shall purchase a Roll in the Hay with a Hooker.

Many of Portland's very most scantily-clad Sexual Professionals offer "Early Bird Specials": purchase the wares of any of several of the very finest High Class Callgirls before three in the afternoon and I can get a handjob, a hummjob and blow my load in her sweet warm organically lubricated Promised Land for a mere sixty clams.

However I can purchase all the same Penthouse Magazines as corrupted my Innocence during the misspent days of my your for but three bucks a copy at a collectible magazine shop in Oldtown Portland.

While not the very finest pornography money can buy, dead-tree Magazines of ill Repute are of far greater lasting value.

[Home | Contact | What's New? | Products | Services | Tips | Mike]