Fish Tales

As many of you are aware, I have been complaining about the skill level of the other programmers that I work with. I present this post as evidence supporting my incessant complaints. My apologies to those of you that find this post mind-numbingly boring but it had to be written.

Still here?

If you are … you are a complete nerd.

I’m just sayin’.

Problem:
Write a method that accepts a Date (d) and a Number (n) as parameters. The method should add n hours to Date d and return a string representation of the resulting date. The method must allow for crossing over into new days, years, leap years, etc. (All the normal date mathematics issues). The method must not alter the input Date object (Assumption: All objects are passed by reference).

My Solution:

public static function dateAddHours(date:Date, hours:Number):String
{
    var d:Date = clone(date);
    d.setHours(d.getHours() + hours);
    return toISO8601(d);
}

Their Solution:

public static function dateAddHours(myDate:Date, myHours:Number):String
{
        var myYear:Number= myDate.getFullYear();
        var myMonth:Number= myDate.getMonth()+1;
        var myDay:Number= myDate.getDate();
        var myHH:Number= myDate.getHours();
        var myMM:Number= myDate.getMinutes();
        myHH= myHH+myHours;
        trace("hour = " + myHH);
            if(myHH==24){
                //turn the clock past 12am
                myHH=0;
                myDay=myDay+1;
                //its now the next day, did we got to a new month????
                if(myMonth==1 || myMonth == 3 || myMonth == 5 ||myMonth == 7 ||
                   myMonth == 9||myMonth == 10|| myMonth==12 ){
                    if (myDay>31){
                        trace("weve got month");
                        myDay=1
                        myMonth=myMonth+1;
                        if (myMonth>12){
                            myMonth=1;
                            //it is now the next year
                            myYear=myYear+1
                        }
                    }
                }else{
                    //CHECK FOR February in A LEAP YEAR
                    if (myMonth=2){
                       if (myYear==2008||myYear==2012||
                           myYear==2016||myYear==2020){
                            if(myDay>29){
                                myDay=1;
                                myMonth=myMonth+1;
                            }
                       }else{
                            if(myDay>28){
                                myDay=1;
                                myMonth=myMonth+1;
                            }
                       }
                    }
                    //then it is just 30 days in the month
                    else{
                        if(myDay>30){
                            myDay=1;
                            myMonth=myMonth+1;
                        }
                    }
                }
            }
        if(myMM>0 &&myMM<30){myMM=0};
        if(myMM>30 &&myMM<60){
            myMM=30;
        }
        var myMonthF = format(String(myMonth));
        var myDayF = format(String(myDay));
        var myHF = format(String(myHH));
        var myMF = format(String(myMM));
        var theDate:String=""+myYear+"-"+myMonthF+"-"+myDayF+" "+myHF+":"+myMF+":00";
        return theDate;
    }

Need I say more?

We had visitors! Our first since moving to California. Our former neighbors, Garth and Kate, flew in last Thursday and stayed with us until Tuesday. We had a terrific time despite the fact that Garth arrived in San Diego seriously ill. He spent the first two days of the trip passed out on our couch but then proceeded to recover nicely for the rest of his time here. By Tuesday morning, he was eating. We figured that was an improvement. In fact, it was comical to watch Eric, Kate and I grow excited as Garth consumed an entire piece of toast or half of his breakfast burrito. We clapped and hooted as if he needed a cheering section at the breakfast table.

As a result of Garth’s illness, the first two days of their visit was low key. We spent most of our time in the Ocean Beach area which is to become our new neighborhood in a few weeks time. We did some hiking on the cliffs, lounging on the beach, shopping in the shops, and coffee drinking in the cafes.

By Sunday, Garth was up for a trip to Tijuana so we spent most of Easter Sunday being chased down the street by small children trying to sell us Chiclets and woven bracelets. The shopkeepers yelled to us from their storefronts. They called us honeymooners among other things and offered to sell us anything from bikinis to speed. We had a light meal accompanied by beer which cost us next to nothing in American dollars. We didn’t do much shopping although Garth walked out of Tijuana with a bottle of tequila and the four of us walked out with fresh Mexican pastries.

On Monday, the four of us went sea kayaking. A little rental shop in La Jolla offers guided kayaking tours of the coastline and marine reserve in that area. Since Garth is a hard-core whitewater kayaker, we thought he might enjoy the ocean variety so we signed up for a tour. It was awesome. From the moment I sat in my kayak I was hooked. In order to get out into the open ocean, one has to paddle through the surf near the shoreline. I had a blast maneuvering my kayak through waves which were crashing down on top of me as a feverously paddled through them. Once we got out into the ocean, we saw all kinds of things: hundreds of leopard sharks (harmless to humans), sea caves, sea lions, pelicans, the kelp forest (one of the largest in the world), and dolphins which surfaced so close to my kayak that it took my breath away. I took pictures of the adventure with a disposable waterproof camera I bought at the shop. However, those photos have yet to be developed.

In lieu of the kayaking photos, I give you Eric doing his impression of a cactus:

And the laptop gang:

My breasts were invited to a shindig this Sunday by a chatty drunk man who introduced himself as Pablo. Pablo cornered me at the intersection of Broadway and 13^th to extend to me an invite to this “bad ass thing” in Balboa Park on Sunday “in that place where he plays dominoes but two blocks further up” which is going to have “all kinds of fun kids shit and shit.” Only Pablo didn’t really tell me about the party. He told my breasts. He spoke to my boobs with the same attention and enthusiasm one might give to a close friend in the heat of conversation. If I wasn’t so appalled and a little bit terrified, I might have been amused. He was quite animated, very excited, and oddly polite.

Oh Pablo! If my boobs had teeth, they would have bitten the tip of your nose off and spat (spit?) it back at you. Ass.

Eric and I viewed a two bedroom/two bathroom rental property the other night that boosted ocean views from the dining room area. I stood in the dining room area searching for the ocean view. I saw the tops of a lot of houses. I saw palm trees. I saw telephone poles and cables and concrete. But I did not see the ocean. Then I moved to the very left corner of the large window in the dining room area, stood on my tippy-tip-toes, and leaned forward so that my face was smashed against the glass. In that position, I caught a glimpse of the ocean. I think.

Oh, St. Patrick’s Day! The day when everyone who is not Irish pretends to be Irish because… well… I am not fucking sure. To drink Harp and Guinness until the cows come home? To squeeze into an urban “Irish” bar with five hundred other people? To wear over-sized, stuff top hats with a Guinness logo? Oh, I know! It’s the beads, right? Every one of you has a burning desire to wear green mardi gras beads? After all, they are a perfect accessory to go with the “Kiss Me I’m Irish” t-shirt you bought at Target for $7.99. Right? Am I right?

Then there are the real Irish people who try to pretend they are not Irish as to spare themselves the humiliation those pretending to be Irish who are not Irish undergo as they drink themselves beyond stupid in the name of a heritage they never before paid attention to. But let me guess: That Irish DNA swirling around inside that obviously non-Irish body of yours really comes out after a dozen Car Bombs. ‘Cause there is nothing more Irish than guzzling a curdling pint of frothy beer in the name of Ireland which is… uh… near England… which is… uh… located in Central Europe right next to… uh… France? Yeah, that’s it. Next to France.

Hey, I need another Killian’s Irish Red! My liver isn’t green enough! And yes, that is a leprechaun in my pocket! And no, I am not happy to see you!

Every year between December and March, the gray whales of the Pacific Ocean embark on the longest mammal migration in the world. They travel over 10,000 miles from the Bering Sea in Alaska to the waters off the coast of Baja California, Mexico where they mate and give birth. Following the birth of their pups, they then return to the Bering Sea. During this roundtrip migration, the whales hug the coastline of California much to the delight of biologists, tourists, and entrepreneurs.

This morning I boarded a whale watching boat in hopes to catch a glimpse of these magnificent creatures. Although they rarely breach the water on their yearly migration, their “blow” (as it is known) and tales can be seen up to one mile away on a clear day.

Today, I did not see a gray whale. However, I was given a voucher by the company who offered the tour to return for free anytime. They guarantee a sighting, you see. So, I think I am going to go back on Friday. Hopefully, the whales will not be as shy my second time out.

Nonetheless, I did see dolphins. Lots of dolphins. The naturalist on board the ship estimated numbers upwards of a 1,000 regarding the “pod” of dolphins which converged upon our boat. Watching thousands of dolphins leap from the ocean at once was one of the coolest things I have ever seen. My pictures do not do the sight justice, but I thought I would share anyway:

If you have not been able to tell from the marvelously boring posts as of late, not much has been going on in the Fisher household.

Eric goes to work. Eric comes home from work. Eric complains about work. Eric goes to bed.

Aubry watches Eric go to work. Aubry occupies herself during the day. Aubry makes dinner. Aubry goes to bed.

A riveting drama, eh?

But boring is not necessarily a bad thing. It is the calm before the storm. In two months, I will be busier than hell with school, the weather will be more consistent, and the beaches will be calling our names.

I can’t wait.

Dear Albertson’s Cashier:

I am not amused. Your comments were unwarranted. They were also unnecessary. Surely, in your vast experience as a clerk, you have encountered a number of individuals who appear younger than their years. Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant. It is not your job to judge. It is your job to scan my items and take my money. In the future, I’d appreciate it if you’d shut the hell up and give me my wine.

Yours truly,

Fis(her)

PS – Your teeth are crooked. So there!