And Then I Thought I was a Fish

IDENTIFYING INFORMATION: Peter Hunt Welch is a 20-year-old single Caucasian male who was residing in Bar Harbor, Maine this summer. He is a University of Maine at Orono student with no prior psychiatric history, who was admitted to the Acadia Hospital on an involuntary basis due to an acute level of confusion and disorganization, both behaviorally and cognitively. He was evaluated at MDI and was transferred from that facility due to psychosis, impulse thoughts, delusions, and disorientation.

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Observations of a Straight White Male with No Interesting Fetishes

Ever wondered how to justify your own righteousness even while you're constantly embarrassed by it? Or how to make a case for your own existence when you contribute nothing besides nominal labor to a faceless corporation that's probably exploiting children? Are you clinging desperately to an arbitrary social model imposed by your parents and childhood friends? Or screaming in terror, your mind unhinged at the prospect of an uncaring void racing to consume the very possibility of your life having meaning?

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This is the story of a boy, a girl, a phone, a cat, the end of the universe, and the terrible power of ennui.

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⬅ Books for monies

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Composed on the 31st of January in the year 2016, at 3:00 PM. It was Sunday.

JavaScript Ninja

Are you passionate about JavaScript? Does Nodejs get you hard or wet, despite that whole null is an object but not really thing? Check out our team of front-end ninjas, who are as comfortable deploying Backbone models as they are severing the c2 vertebrae on an upstart warlord!

Do you know React? Do you know how to react when there are sixteen bodyguards when your intelligence reported four? Our devs need to be flexible, on the ball, synergistic and energized, whether they’re handling a zero-day exploit in a third party integration or going zero dark thirty on a competitor’s sole heir.

We drive hard. What’s life/work balance when your work is taking life to balance the corporate power structure? You might be here until midnight, heck, you might be in South Korea at three in the morning poisoning a rival CTO, but you’ll love our Free Lunch Hump Day and our Not Exactly Mandatory Friday Evening Game Nights That You Don’t Have to Come to But Might Get an Email Wondering Why You Don’t Want to Spend More Time With Your Coworkers Who are Also Trained Assassins.

Your skills: HTML because that’s still technically a skill we think, XML see above, jQuery because we’re proud of capitalizing that properly, JavaScript duh, React, Flux, Backbone, Node, Prototype, MooTools, Linux like it matters, OS X because everybody uses a Mac and maybe that matters, Photoshop, SQL, PHP, Python, and Ruby because you’re not actually a front-end dev you’re just our bitch, Iron Fist, Five Point Palm Exploding Heart, Shaq Fu, Gun Fu, and ten years’ experience with poisons that look like heart attacks or strokes during autopsy.

Must be able to change appearance and social security number on a tight schedule, and should be available by satellite phone on weekends. We’re a casual office, but provide your own camouflage and weaponry.

(P.S. Your code is owned by the company, but we allow all our employees to take credit for their assassinations.)

Python Rockstar

Were you born with a pep8 validator in your hand? Do you wield decorators the way a lifetime alcoholic wields a shot glass? Are you consumed by a sense of entitlement fueled by underage groupies and an exploitative contract from a record company that will gut your career as soon as you insist on creative control? Have we got the job for you.

You know how to handle an ASCII error. You know to clear the pyc files when a nonsensical bug that you’re pretty sure you’ve fixed continues happening. And you KNOW that your drummer isn’t really a musician and your bassist is just a guy who couldn’t play guitar. Code not working? Ops problem. API timing out? User error. Show cancelled? Boston isn’t a big college town. You take the credit when there’s credit to take, opine on a wide range of topics you know nothing about, and throw tantrums when your roadies transport your equipment with insufficient care. Your reputation precedes you: all your previous companies failed because they didn’t recognize your genius. QA specialists are really just drummers, after all. The GIL isn’t really a thing, that had nothing to do with your code performance.

You know: Python, pep8, Ruby because Ruby, MongoDB, webscale, webscale, more webscale, how to drink a fifth of Jack, how to refuse better whiskey on principle, how to fire all the talented people on principle, complain constantly until the numbers come in, drink self to death after firing and—more importantly—before litigation.

Systems Guru

Let’s get real. You know what a sysadmin does. The unsung hero. The guy who has to read the traceback. The gal who has to fix something that doesn’t have a traceback. The cat who has to find an error caused by a set of words that would give Fox Mulder a stiffy.

But a sysadmin is a sysadmin is a sysadmin. We need more. Sure, you’ve recovered a hard drive with no /bin directory, but have you consciously misled a group of people seeking spiritual guidance? Have you written a book describing a simple cure for all disease and existential panic? Have you stockpiled guns in a sparsely populated American state? Have you inserted the word “quantum” into randomly selected bible verses or Taoist koans? You know, for kids?

You: present yourself as above earthly concerns. Your resume is a PowerPoint describing where Jesus went wrong and how you are his older sibling sent to carve God’s true word into the ec2 pricing model. You have the ability to convince our CFO that your one hour of work a month builds pyramids on Venus.

Please provide three references, desired salary, and a five-point plan for exposing the Illuminati.

If you don't work with your hands, you're a leech. Typing doesn't count.

Hi there! You should totally go buy my book for the low low price of 6.73! It's like buying me a beer at an out-of-the-way dive bar in Brooklyn! Not in Manhattan. Manhattan prices are ridiculous, though there are a couple of decent Irish dives where you can snag a drink for five bucks. Otherwise, you're looking at a two or three book beer.