About ianhawkins82

Student at Byron City Community, work taking and developing photos at Byron Main Street Photo and do freelance photography gigs on the weekends. Considering being a journalist one day. I think most people in this town are completely insane.

I’m not mad, this is just the face I make when talking to a crazy person

You look at my face, and you can tell something is wrong. “Are you mad?” you ask? No, this is just the face I make when I’m talking to a crazy person.

You may have first noticed it when you told me how much you laughed during Tyler Perry’s Madea’s Witness Protection. Or when you told me how much you enjoy going to poetry open mics. Or that you’re voting for Obama because he’s “cool.” You may not have noticed when I make it every time you post the latest meal you ate on Facebook. Or tell me you’re going to start your own fashion blog. Or complain that guys at dance clubs don’t take you seriously.

Yea, I’ve made that face a lot since I’ve known you.

I was making that face when you asked me for a ride home, which I agreed to, then asked if your three friends could get rides, too, since I was already on the way, and then I ended up helping them move a sleeper sofa and TV from your place to theirs in the back of my Camero. Even if I wasn’t expressing it, I was thinking it.

I make that face every time you complain about how you’re tired of people staring at you all of the time because of how good looking you are. Or when you SWORE to me that you are honestly attracted to boring, responsible men and not that penniless guitar player from the party you went home with.

But it’s not just you. I make this face at a lot of people. Like anytime I see a girl carrying a dog in a purse. Or when I see guys who are sure that sending a pic of his junk is the fastest way to win a girl’s heart. Or when I talk to that college drop-out working the Clinique counter who thinks everyone around her is stupid. Or when I see those people who protest about not having jobs by sitting in a park doing nothing all day but making clever anti-establishment signs.

Oh yea. They get the look big time.

I have other looks you might have seen, too.  The “I’m scared but will smile to hide it” look, the “Did that really just happen? Really?” look, and the “This is going to be a long, long day,” look. I’m sure you’ve seen those looks, too. But lately the “crazy person” look has been the most frequent.

My mom told me that if you make a funny face too much, it’ll stick that way. Living in this world, she may be right.

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CAPTCHA Was Written By Epileptic 2nd Graders From Hell

I waited online all morning, my mouse ready to click ‘Purchase’ as soon as the clock struck 10am. Radiohead tickets are hard to get, and I was going to be ready. But even though I clicked right on time, picked my tickets right away, and proceeded to Checkout in an orderly fashion, I still didn’t get my tickets. Why? Because of CAPTCHA, a form of security code written by epileptic 2nd graders from hell. And I couldn’t solve the acid-induced riddle for the life of me until my time ran out and I lost the tickets.

This is the last time I miss out on a concert because of some stupid, unintelligible garble of letters that are supposed to thwart hacker bots while leaving human beings unharmed. If we’re at the point where the only way to beat bots is to create an ever-changing cryptic language code system that would make Jackson Pollock stab his own eyes out, then they have already won and the eve of the apocalyptic robotic uprising is upon us.

Just look at some examples I pulled up from online. It’s beyond ridiculous:

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Upside-down, Disney-fied, pixellated, and just plain confusing with a taunting message at the bottom that looks like a Japanese teenage girl’s fake American t-shirt.

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Letters, floating in space, with no definite time or order. Why does this feel like Inception?

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Seriously? None of those letters belong to any human language. This is what the Ancient Egyptians saw when they did ‘shrooms.

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So the male symbol is an “x” and the horse chess piece is a “p” and the diamond, radioactive symbol, and the square spell “kill me now.” Tell me, Captcha Man, what does the middle finger symbol stand for?

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And now we’ve added drawings of cats. If you couldn’t tell, some of the letters have dogs, not cats. Only enter the letters with cats. This is not a captcha, it’s a kindergarten logic puzzle. And I still can’t get it right.

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I think what you’re trying to say is “Mua ha ha ha ha haaa!”

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Who is more likely to solve this captcha: a mathematically advanced computer, or the guy who just finished watching “Charlie Bit My Finger” for the 100th time?

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Yes, this is a real captcha. The meanest part is not objectifying these poor young girls, but the fact that it is impossible to tell which three are the hot ones.

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Now they’re just messing with us.

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Yup, pretty much sums up the life of the average CAPTCHA writer.

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I’d tell all you CAPTCHA writers to go to hell, but you’re already there and love bathing in hot lava and stealing the souls of human beings from their eyes through the computer screen. Seriously, please come up with a better way to beat computer hacking programs. If the best idea we can come up with is to lock up a bunch of toddlers in a room with finger paints, alphabet magnets, and an endless supply of Pixie Sticks, then we might as well just give criminals our credit cards numbers

Post-April Fool’s Day Thank You’s

I’d like to give a big THANK YOU to my roommates, Stan and Jeff, for a fantastic April Fools Day yesterday. You really got me. I mean, the way you set my alarm clock an hour ahead so that I’d be late for work was brilliant. And the way you put red Koolade in the showerhead so I would have splotchy red hair and skin for the entire day? Comedy gold. And I must saw I got a good chuckle when I discovered that you had cut the front out of all my underwear and drew phallic symbols on the cover of my collectors copy of Moby Dick. Will Ferrell and Jim Carey better watch out, because you two are the true comic geniuses of our generation.

I love how the duct tape just lifts the paint job right off my car when I tried to remove it. You guys are hilarious!!!

But the fun didn’t stop there. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you two had so ingeniously duct taped my entire car shut. And once I finally got to work and finished being chewed out by my boss (not just for being late, but also for the bomb threat that I apparently had called in that morning), I found that you had ordered a male stripper for me to do his show in front of all of my co-workers. You guys are truly the Steve Jobs of the prank world.

That alone would have been enough for the April Fool’s Day Hall of Fame, but no, you two went the extra mile. Putting used Band Aids in the sandwich I packed for lunch and laxatives in my coke had me giggling all day. And hacking my Facebook account to message all my male friends that I was “super gay” and wanted to “be all gay on you” really made me envy your genius, while changing my profile picture to a picture of someone’s butt was the cherry on top.

This picture of a toothless Chinese man represents how funny I think you both are.

But my favorite part had to be getting a call from the FBI asking me about all my “anti-american” posts on http://www.deathtoamerica.com/jihad. It’s so exciting to be on the No Fly list at airports now! Weeeeeee! Or maybe my favorite part was actually when you called the girl I’m dating to let her know how “cool” you think she is for “being willing to date a transvestite.” Ruin my work life or ruin my social life, I’m not sure which I think is funnier!

So again, thank you for making my day yesterday so perfect. I’m shaking with happiness right now. Oh, and Stan, let me know when the IRS calls you about the fact that you haven’t paid your taxes for five years, and Jeff, let me know when your office calls you about the copy of the fake college degree you sent them when you were hired. I’m not sure who tipped them off about these REAL things you’ve done, but good luck with that. I’m sure there’s a funny story behind all of that somewhere.

Please do not self-immolate yourself on Valentine’s Day

Everyone in this town is insane.

I’m begging you all, and I can’t believe I’m actually typing these words on my keyboard: Please do not self-immolate yourself at the Valentine’s Day Lover’s Ball.

I’ve been reading this blog since its start last year, and I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved in the lunacy that was sure to follow. I finally caved last week when my girlfriend unknowingly admitted to cheating on me in her last post. Then I read the comments following the Event: Byron City Republican Caucus / Lovers Ball post, and couldn’t help but intervene again.

Now I don’t think the people who threatened to do this are really serious, especially since one thinks she can do it by covering herself with enough hairspray and standing over a scented candle. But I still feel the need to step in and tell people to take a deep, giant breath. Tibetan monks doing it to protest an oppressive foreign power is one thing. Heartbroken girls doing it to get attention, and political wingnuts doing it because they think Obama is a secret communist is another.

I won’t be there for the dance, but I will be there for the caucus, so please, don’t light yourselves on fire. Just…don’t. And Tiffany, please stop emailing my family telling them I have erectile dysfunction, sending your newest “date” over to my place to “borrow some eggs” without his shirt on, and harassing any girls I just happen to talk to by painting threatening notes on their car windows in lipstick while they are shopping.

Sigh…I need to move to Florida.