January 27, 2005 Tweening Still working with Flash. Today, I got the concept of "tweening," which is a most excellent idea. I thought that if I wanted to have someone move across the screen, I'd have to do some sort of tedious stop-motion doohickey, but smarter people came up with a smarter solution than that. This one won't take forever to download. It's also in Quicktime, because, while I've caught on to the idea of tweening, I have no earthly idea why my swf files won't stop looping. Again. A book. I know. Here's what I did with tweening today. It's very short, and is of my favorite subject matter. And I didn't do the vocals, somebody much more fabulous than I did them. Please don't feel obligated to click the link. It's really just my homework. I don't expect the world at large to put it up on its fridge. Today I went to see Al the Hot Optometrist for my contact lens fitting. My old contact lenses are so old that I don't even wear them anymore, unless I'm going somewhere that I feel like I'd be better off without glasses. I actually like my new glasses, which helps a lot. Anyone who wore glasses from third grade on will tell you that s/he doesn't think the concept of glasses is cool. Cool glasses are for people who get them later in life, or who only need them for reading. That said, these glasses, I'm happy with. They're small and rectangular, which fits my face (which is roundish) much better than the oval frames I've been sticking with for the past ten years or so. I also chose brown frames, rather than try to hide behind rimless glasses. Rimless never fools anybody. At any rate, I was happy to get the new contacts. Like a little kid brought to the dinner table, I was instructed to go wash my hands first, and then the optician gave me the lenses. The right lens went in just fine. Very clear, very crisp after a few blinks (if you don't have astigmatism, you wouldn't know this, but contacts for astigmatism are curved so they're thicker on one end, and it takes a couple of blinks to get them to fall into place). I put in the left lens and...nothing. Worse yet, less than nothing. I actually saw worse than I did with no glasses on at all. At first, I thought it was a matter of blinking it into place, and when that didn't work, I manually adjusted the lens. (It's like turning the focus on a camera, only on a tinier scale. It freaks some people out, to watch me poking at my eye like that, but I've worn contacts for so long that touching my eye isn't a big deal at all.) Al came out of his office, looking all studly and professional, and he asked me how the fit was. I told him that I was having trouble with the left lens, and he told me to just sit there for a minute or two, and see if it would settle. So I sat, having no depth perception, one half of the world crisp and pretty, and the other half a big Impressionistic smudge. Al finally returned and said, "Let's see what's going on here." He ushered me into the exam room. He turned down the lights, sat very close to me, and...well, he took out that little flashlight thingie and looked into my eye. But he looked very deeply into my eye, so I'm sure he could see my soul. "This is fitting perfectly," Al said. "Hmm. It's the same prescription as your glasses. I have no idea what's going on." I've heard that line from medical professionals for so long now that it's making me paranoid. If the dentist next month tells me that he's never seen something going on with my teeth before, I'm building a satellite dish and calling the mothership. Al swung out the lens machine and had me try to read the eye chart projected on the wall. I told him that I knew there was an eye chart on the wall, because it was brighter than anything else, but I couldn't tell him if there were any actual letters printed on it. There could be a Glamor Shot of Al sitting in his silk boxers projected on that wall, and I wouldn't have seen it. He fiddled with a few knobs, and things became clearer. I went through the "one? or two?" game that optometrists like to play to torture nearsighted people, and finally got to a fit where I could see all the way down to the bottom of the chart. This, mind you, was with the left contact lens still firmly floating on my eye. Al wrote down some numbers and looked baffled. "This really makes no sense," he said. He got my glasses out and I removed the contact lenses and did the chart all over again. Perfect results from both eyes. "I don't see how this could be," Al said. Yes, yes, I've heard that before. Never saw a fever go on for five weeks without any apparent cause, never saw an episode of Hepatitis B with no symptoms, never saw Henoch-Shoenlien Purpura in someone over the age of six, blah, blah, blah... Could I wear contacts or not? He promised me that he'd get the new prescription out to the contact lens supplier right away, and I'd have to come back for a fitting. He was very apologetic about it, but I told him it was no problem, I didn't mind coming back for another appointment. In fact, I might lie and tell him that the left lens doesn't work several more times, just to have him be close to me. I never get straight-guy crushes. This is just wrong. After the appointment, I hopped across the street to the post office, to see if I had any mail. A CD from someone on The Usual Suspects had arrived. I've been eager to listen to it ever since she mentioned that she was a singer/songwriter (I love original works of art that haven't been "discovered" yet). On my way out of the post office, someone said, "Patrick?" I looked around, and saw a woman I thought I recognized from high school. "Pam?" I said. "Almost," said the woman. "It's Missy." Missy is Pam's younger sister, and I knew her in high school, though not as well as Pam, who was my lab partner in chemistry class. I haven't seen her for at least seventeen years, though, so mistaking her for her sister wasn't too embarassing. Besides, I didn't care about embarassing myself in front of her. It'll become clear in a minute. "How are you doing?" she asked, and I told her about living with Mom, and saving for a house, and Chris and Sean and the new baby along the way, etc. "Now Chris married Susan M___, didn't he?" asked Missy. "Yes. They've been married about twelve years now. Three kids of their own, plus Stephanie." "Oh yeah. Stephanie...(long pause)...how's she doing?" "Great! She's in college now, and is actually working at my company. A great kid. She wants to be a teacher. Listen, I gotta run, but it was nice seeing you!" I booked out of there as quickly as I could. You see, Susan got pregnant with Stephanie in high school, when she was 17. Before that happened, she apparently was a very popular girl in school, and especially with the Rainbow Girls (which is some sort of a Protestant cult for young girls...I've been to their Rainbow Balls, and it's a bit Stepford for me). When she got pregnant, all her friends shunned her, especially Pam. Susan was basically left to fend for herself, fully pregnant, navigating her way through her senior year of high school with no friends. I met her first at that time, when she was working at Friendly's with me. It was a weird coincidence that Chris eventually ended up dating her and subsequently marrying her, because Chris and I didn't share any common friends. At any rate, Pam turned her back on Susan for making the unforgivable mistake of having a baby out of wedlock. Later on, after having four children with three different fathers, none of whom she was married to (or really knew anything about), she didn't turn around and say that she was sorry for treating Susan in the manner in which she did. It wasn't like Pam waited until she was older. I think she had her first child at 19, and the next one shortly thereafter. So on top of being a big fat bitch in high school, she was a big fat hypocrite afterwards. And Missy followed the Rainbow Girl party line and had nothing to do with Susan, either. It was all I could do not to reach over and strangle the woman. Susan and I have our moments when we don't get along, but she's my sister-in-law, and you don't treat my family with anything but respect, especially if your own family turns out to be full of people who have had exactly the same sorts of experiences. However, I didn't want to cause a scene in the post office, so I was coldly polite and left as quickly as I could. I immediately drove home and called Susan to tell her who I saw. "That's why I don't go to the post office in our town," said Susan. "Too many people I know and don't want to speak to ever again." After that, I hit the grocery store and shopped on an empty stomach, so the house is now filled with food that's only going to serve to make me fatter. I really can't wait until I'm an 80-year-old man who can leave his cart in the middle of the aisle and obliviously stand looking at the soup while a line of people pile up behind him, waiting to get by. I think it's going to be fun. I came home and logged in, where I found Stephanie online. She was the first to say hi (I don't like to intrude too much just because she's online...she is a college student, after all.) Here's how our conversation went: Stephanie: Yo GrayXing1: yo yo yo Stephanie: What's up? GrayXing1: Nuthin. 'Sup with you? Stephanie: The same, getting ready to leave for work soon GrayXing1: Cool. Can I ask a favor? Stephanie: Sure GrayXing1: Can I come up and get you? You can't access the garage without a garage pass, and I don't want to wait in the lobby. If that's okay. If not, I'm totally cool with waiting in the lobby, or in the 4th floor TV room. Stephanie: I can take the t Stephanie: It's not a problem, I can take it to Govt.Center Stephanie: and my dorms are right up the stairs and to the right GrayXing1: No, that's not an option. Stephanie: Yes it is GrayXing1: Nope. Stephanie: Patrick GrayXing1: nonononono GrayXing1: We agreed. Stephanie: Yes it is, I can have someone meet me Stephanie: I don't want you coming in GrayXing1: You said it was creepy at Lechmere, and it is. Stephanie: Yeah but I can deal GrayXing1: So can I. GrayXing1: See, you're trapped in the office, and I can make Lara keep you there until I show up. Or, you can just accept the fact that I'm picking you up and decide where to meet me. Stephanie: I can take the T back here Stephanie: It's not a problem Stephanie: I swear it isn't GrayXing1: Good. I'll see you at midnight. Stephanie: C'mon! GrayXing1: I'm more stubborn than you are. And sneakier. Stephanie: Nope Stephanie: I'm taking the t and that's the end of that Stephanie: I appreciate your offer GrayXing1: And you don't have to be embarassed, because I'll totally hide and ambush you. Stephanie: but I'm taking the t GrayXing1: I'll drop you off a block away from your dorm, so you don't look like a dork. GrayXing1: No T for you. GrayXing1: No no no Stephanie: PATRICK!!!!!!!!! Stephanie: Yes, i took it last week and I made it back safely, I will have audrey meet me at the top of govt center GrayXing1: STEPH!!!! GrayXing1: See, I can be louder, too. Stephanie: I don't even know how to tell you how to get back to my dorms, i have my mother's sense of direction! GrayXing1: That's fine, I'll ask Chris. Stephanie: I'm taking the t, I'll find a way out before you find me Stephanie: So, don't come in GrayXing1: No, I'll show up at 10 Stephanie: No you won't GrayXing1: You forget, I have no life. GrayXing1: I live with my mother. Stephanie: You most certainly do GrayXing1: At age 36. Stephanie: So what GrayXing1: I'm very very sad. Stephanie: You have a life GrayXing1: You're making me very sad. Stephanie: Oh no no no GrayXing1: You're hurting my feelings. GrayXing1: You're a meanie. GrayXing1: Just do this for me. Stephanie: grrrrrrrrr GrayXing1: For ME! GrayXing1: PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZEEEEE? Stephanie: No, please just do this for ME, I can take the T GrayXing1: Nope. Stephanie: Are people still going to be holding my hand when I turn 21? Stephanie: or 30? GrayXing1: See, I don't care about YOUR feelings, only mine. GrayXing1: No, at 21, you can take the T. Deal? Stephanie: I'm trying not to hurt your feelings GrayXing1: But you hate me. I get it. Stephanie: Are you trying to use reverse psychology on me? because it isn't working GrayXing1: Okay, then, I have blackmail info on you, loose lips. Stephanie: What blackmail info Stephanie: I'll change my nag tag to Bubba S_____, I don't care GrayXing1: Oh, not going home until 5:30am on a Saturday, someone puking in your car, being on the T in "worse circumstances" than usual, that sort of stuff. Stephanie: Ok, mom knows about the car issue Stephanie: she's seen my away messages being on all night Stephanie: she stalks me GrayXing1: Doesn't matter. Stephanie: and she knows that I do drink sometimes GrayXing1: Get to work. I'll see you at midnight. Stephanie: PATRICK Stephanie: pleeeeeeeease GrayXing1: La la la I can't hear you. GrayXing1: What's the big deal? Stephanie: fine fine fine Stephanie: I'll see u at midnight GrayXing1: Yay! I win! Stephanie: Good-bye GrayXing1: Don't be mad. Stephanie: Thanks GrayXing1: Steph, don't be mad. Stephanie: I'm not Stephanie: see u later Stephanie: bye GrayXing1: Okay, bye. Stephanie is away at 3:29:51 PM. I don't think she was mad, just a little bit embarassed that we were treating her like a kid. But Lechmere station at midnight when you're an attractive 19 year old woman alone isn't the best of circumstances. I figured it was okay if she hated me a little bit, so long as she was safe. Mom was going to Klub tonight, so I had plenty of time to happily tween and chat with Saundra and Laurie. They're very different conversations. Apparently, there's a sex club in Lynn that's causing some controversy. Laurie told me about it while watching our local Fox affiliate. I was busy typing innuendos about meatloaf and latex allergies with Saundra, so I said something to the effect of, "They'll probably close it down. That's too bad, you have to drive to Rhode Island to get to a sex club nowadays." "I don't want to hear that," said Laurie. I forgot. With Laurie, I have no sex life, or at least not the adventurous sex life that I have had, because she gets squicked out by the details. But when I'm talking with Saundra, we get pretty raunchy, and some of that spilled over into my conversation with Laurie. We went back to talking about TV and Suzanne's new car and her plans on what to do with her bonus and tax money, and Saundra and I kept talking about why she's so obsessed with incest. It's okay to compartmentalize your friends, I've found. At 11:15, I took off to pick up Stephanie. She looked a bit miffed that I was there, but after we got out of the office, we started chatting about stuff, and everything seemed fine. She really does live close to the office, but that doesn't mean I'm about to let her go home alone at midnight from a job I got her. Gods forbid anything should happen to her anyways, but if it happened because she had to take a bus from a skeevy T stop? I'd never forgive myself. Heading to her dorm, I went down the street that Diego and I used to live on. It's now a one-way, going in the opposite direction than it did when I lived there. I didn't notice it until I was almost all the way down the street. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to come up with it. Stephanie was dropped off safely (I didn't stay at the curb to make sure she made it the three steps into her building, because I'm cool like that), and I headed home. Chris pulled into his driveway just as I pulled into mine. I walked over to him and said that Steph was safe. He told me he'd seen me on the highway coming home, but couldn't find a way to signal to me that he was right next to me. I just hope he wasn't watching me sing at the top of my lungs to my Evanescence CD. It doesn't really matter. He's seen me embarass myself more often and more spectacularly than that, anyway. And now I'm here, back in the comfortable chair, wishing I had more time to tween. Maybe it'll be slow at work tomorrow, and I can figure out that looping problem.