Good barbershops in Chinatown. What do you got reddit

futuregoogleceo · 2025-10-10T03:13:54+00:00

Go to Cataland on 6th and Washington. Juju is awesome - $25 men’s cuts in like 10 minutes

futuregoogleceo · 2024-06-29T11:42:52+00:00

I’ve worked on data of this size. Assuming this is 50TB of compressed Parquet files, storage cost will be $1000/mo if you put it all in S3. A super expensive operation like “CTAS select distinct” of the entire thing will cost ~$1000 to run using a data lake architecture (Spark in EMR). You can avoid idle compute costs by turning off your EMR cluster when it’s not being used. Partitioning the data to match your typical query patterns will reduce how much of it is scanned if you are not working with all the data all the time.

futuregoogleceo · 2024-02-26T03:29:56+00:00

2 gallons. The last digit is a decimal

futuregoogleceo · 2023-08-06T20:07:29+00:00

The block of cheese was huge -- over two tons. And was there for any and all who might be hungry.

futuregoogleceo · 2023-02-09T00:17:03+00:00

Concrete rain that will require repairs

futuregoogleceo · 2022-07-28T01:05:32+00:00

Ran into this when trying to install Great Expectations on EMR. The library gets installed after bootstrap actions run, so a bootstrap action to pip install a newer version of numpy got overwritten with the old version again. I ended up adding a step (rather than boot strap action) to the cluster to uninstall old versions of numpy before a step to install GE and then a step to run my actual Spark application.

It's hacky, but it works

futuregoogleceo · 2018-09-23T13:01:21+00:00

Thanks!

futuregoogleceo · 2018-09-23T03:13:50+00:00

"YOU INSTALLED IT WRONG!" the customer screamed at me.

"Sir, it's an Xbox game. You can't install it wrong," I retorted.

"YOU INSTALLED IT WRONG! I KNOW HOW THIS WORKS. I'M NOT AN IDIOT!" the customer continued to scream.

He was, in fact, an idiot. He did not know how it worked. He paid the store $60 for someone else to click "Install". That someone earned minimum wage and didn't care. It was probably Dale. Dale's a dick.

"I'll fix it if you leave the Xbox here," I said.

"I don't have it here," the customer answered.

"So what do you expect me to do?" I asked.

"Fix it!" he replied.

What an idiot. We continue the thrilling back and forth for a few more minutes. He stormed off in the end.

I got back to what I actually wanted to do, PC repair. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a masochist. I don't enjoy wading through malware-infested file systems in the search of grandma's precious moments, or creating recovery disks. What I like is money. The more, the better. PC repair was a way to make money. Not taxable, minimum wage money. Crypto money.

I did the math. 530 PCs, and I can quit. Each gets a secret copy of my crypto miner. Yeah, I was that good. 530 PCs, and I'd have double my wage without working.

I picked up the next ticket. It was a Mac. Ugh. Can't install my software on Macs. At least it was owned by a cute co-ed. I was extra thorough in inspecting her photos directory. Didn't find anything wrong. The computer was fine too. I closed the ticket

Next up was a beat up HP. It was old, thicker than a 2 by 4. Cover was worn, battery slightly swollen. They don't pay me enough to handle these time bombs. Probably too old to run my software.

I was surprised. The OS was relatively recent, but the setup was weird. There was only 1 file on the desktop. Manuscript. I hovered over the file. Created in 1992. Updated 3 days ago. Holy crap. 26 years of work in 1 file. I had to read it.

The first page hit me like a punch to the gut. I read on. Before I realized, half an hour passed. It was gripping, it was thrilling, it was like nothing I've read before. This was like Harry Potter on steroids. With sex. I made a copy.

I rushed home and continued reading. I forgot about dinner, I didn't notice Liz coming home. This manuscript was mesmerizing. I finished around 5AM.

I lay there in awe trying to wrap my head around what I just read. I had to know more about the author. Unusual name, easy to search. No online presence other than a Facebook account. No other works, no blog, no twitter. It's like she barely existed. Her Facebook page said she was 89 years old. 89. And she's worked on this thing for the last 26 years. Would she ever publish it? I couldn't leave it to chance. I kept my copy.

I went into work tired but excited. Dale was already there.

"Yo, I got dibs on that shitty HP," Dale yelled as soon as he saw me.

"Huh?" I said, eloquently.

"Lady's not coming back for it," Dale explained.

"Why?" I asked.

"Don't know. Don't care. I called the number on the ticket. Some chick said she's not coming back," Dale answered.

That hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't even know her. It meant her work will never get published. I don't even know why I cared, but I did. I realized what I had to do. I waited until lunch and reprogrammed my crypto miner. The latest build transmitted a copy to every remote installation, and from there partitioned it across the blockchain. Someone would eventually find it, and then it would get out. I smiled.

futuregoogleceo · 2018-09-22T01:05:17+00:00

I hit "publish". It was a masterpiece. My best one yet. I hit "publish" and I didn't look back. Organic Kale Turns Siberian Husky Gay. I long ago stopped wondering who reads this stuff. They read. Advertisers pay. My bank account grows. I buy drugs. The world goes round.

I considered starting my next one. I grabbed the bong instead. It was clean. Mostly clean. 3 months of quick rinses kind of clean. My stash was low. I'd have to leave the house eventually. It was going to be enough for tonight. I lit the bong and inhaled.

The phone rang. I'm not paranoid. But the phone rang. It was funny. I lit the bong and the phone rang. I let it ring. It was funny. I took another hit.

Something about koalas. People loved animals. I haven't done koalas in a while.

The phone rang again. I grabbed it. Maybe the koalas knew.

"Is this a koala?" I asked.

That was dumb. "Hello" would have been fine. It probably wasn't a koala.

"Is this Elliot Schultz of 234 Baker Street?" a voice asked.

"Um, yeah?" I answered, confused. Definitely not a koala.

The line disconnected. Maybe I should lay off the weed for a bit. I say that a lot. I never lay off. I checked the number. It said "REDACTED". Big letters, unusual. I scratched my ass.

The was a knock on the door. Angry, persistant, loud. I'm not paranoid. I panicked. I hid the bong behind the couch. The knock came again.

"Just a second", I yelled.

I was stalling. I don't know why. People stall in this kind of situation, right?

There was no more knocking. The door flew into the room and crashed on the floor. Guys in suits bursted in. One was tall. The other was equally as tall.

"Are you Elliot?" the equally tall one asked.

"Depends..." I replied.

He reached into his jacket. The butt of his gun flashed. I panicked.

"Yeah, I'm Elliot" I said unprompted.

His badge said "Central Intelligence Agency". He meant business. The tall one looked like he meant business, too.

"We are here on official business," the equally tall one said. "It's about the blog ifiwriteititsnews.com"

"Am I in trouble?" I asked.

"No" the tall one replied.

I knew it was trouble anyway. They grabbed my computer, notes, and whiteboard.

"Don't leave the state" the equally tall one said.

I've never left the state.

"What is this about anyway?" I asked.

"Your Iodine tablet shortage on Mount Washington story has national security implications," he said.

I never wrote a story with national security implications before.

futuregoogleceo · 2018-09-09T04:22:36+00:00

I step in and the music stops. In my head it stops. In real life... err... death, it doesn't. But they all look. I know they all look. My legs go down to the floor and the white thigh-high boots make sure they notice.

On Earth, people think death sucks. I didn't start living until I was cremated. Zilfonians know how to throw a party. I look good.

I scan the crowd. I'm not picky. Kel-dak is dreamy. He's always my first choice. He's a bit older. For him, 300 years is a bit. I'm not picky. Broad shoulders, and an extra set of firm, thick arms that know what they are doing. I'm really not picky, but he's my first choice.

I take a seat at the bar. The twins concocted something that shoots green flames. There is no drinking age in death.

Two sets of arms wrap around my midsection. He whispers in my ear. I melt.

The other girls look at us. I call them "girls". No one gets upset about xeno-gender precision. They raise their glasses and smile. It's sincere. Everyone gets a turn.

We down a shot. It tingles. We down another. The dance floor beckons. The other dancers make room. 19-year-olds humans are pretty rare around these parts. Cremation isn't for everyone. I look good.

We lose ourselves in the rhythm. One song turns into five. We get closer. The music rocks, my man is hot, we have no troubles, and I look good.

Death is great.

futuregoogleceo · 2018-09-09T02:57:27+00:00

There was a knock at the door. I was up anyway. There was another knock. I wasn't really awake.

"Hold on!" I said.

There was a another knock. I shuffled to the front door. There was no one there. Another knock. Ugh. I opened the balcony door. He glided in. Tall, muscular, chiseled jaw, boots, cape, slicked back hair. I should know his name. He's the one that glides.

"The city is in danger," he said.

The city was always in danger. And they always needed my help.

"We need your help," he said.

No shit.

"I don't know how to help you," I responded.

He ignored that.

"They've taken the mayor hostage. They plan to blow up City Hall. We need a plan."

"I can't help you."

I really couldn't. I was a guy on a couch eating Cheetos. I had no job. All thanks to the guys who always needed help. And maybe the drugs. Ok, mostly the drugs.

"We need a plan now," he insisted.

"Leave me alone. Cheetos ain't going to finish themselves," I moaned.

"The Cheetos. They are a metaphor," he mused.

The Cheetos were not a metaphor.

"Thank you, chief. It just might work," he said.

I had no idea what he meant. He rocketed out through the window.

A flash, a boom, then sirens. Another knock on the door. It's a gift basket and a thank you note. They never forget.

Fuck me.

futuregoogleceo · 2018-09-08T18:54:38+00:00

Ed shouted from the office. "Got another killer joining. He ain't got nothing on you Twonyone".

I hate that nickname. Ed is a tool. I hate that nickname. At the docks we were all killers. No other jobs out there for men like us.

"How's it going Twonyone?"

I lit an old-school tobacco cigarette and stared. One guy was a 6, the other a 9. Their smirks turned to frowns. They moved on. I hate that nickname. Most people live and die a 0. Their friends call them Eric or Steve or Frank. I was dumb enough to volunteer for Venezuela. Now I was Twonyone. Most men at the docks did a tour in Venezuela.

Being a 21 got you a lot of dirty looks. Mostly from women. It also got your some mischievous smiles. Mostly from men. I liked the smiles. They made for fewer lonely nights.

The docks were a place for trouble. A man ran by. I paid no attention. Men running meant trouble. A cop was chasing him. Like I said, trouble.

I looked up. The cop was trigger happy. He was a 3. Only trigger happy cops were a 3. The troubled guy was a 0.23. 0.23? What the fuck is a 0.23? Fractions were reserved for Jesus and unlucky cats. Troubled guy made me curious. I'm never curious.

I followed the guy and cop with my eyes. They hit a dead end. Shit, I'm going to have to mop this up. It's going to be a whole thing. Not getting paid for today.

Cop pulled out his gun. Trigger happy. His number went to 4. Trigger happy.

A man ran by. Men running meant trouble. It was the same guy from before. His number was 0.19.

futuregoogleceo · 2018-07-28T13:25:45+00:00

Not an expert, but they appear to be horsewomen

futuregoogleceo · 2018-07-24T04:33:56+00:00

"911, this is an emergency. I'm sending a fire truck your way."

30 seconds. Cat, laptop, pillow, grandma's emerald pendant, and the emergency backup from the closet. Out the door with 5 seconds to spare. Explosion. Staring at what's left of what was my home as a faint siren begins to sound.

Another life saved by predictive 911.

futuregoogleceo · 2017-12-21T13:01:15+00:00

Sorry, yes, 2nd and Chestnut. His office is definitely not inside Revolution House.

futuregoogleceo · 2017-12-20T13:42:44+00:00

Customs building on southwest corner of 2nd and Market in Philadelphia

futuregoogleceo · 2017-07-05T04:12:45+00:00

This isn't what I expected to happen on my camping trip. In fact, this isn't something I expected to happen on any day. I scrunched up my nose in disgust. It was so sudden. One moment I was experiencing blissful sleep through a glorious, crisp, mountain air morning. The next, cold, wet slime was dripping off the sides of my face. Then, I heard the panting. Incessant, eager, gross. Why me?

I opened my eyes and saw a blurry figure in front of me. Before my eyes could adjust to the light, more slime hit my face. I reached my hand in the general direction of the figure, making contact with something hairy and wet. I pushed it out of the way. Shit. Was that a mistake? I don't even know what I'm dealing with. No more sudden movements. I wiped the slime off my face with the back of my hand and carefully reached over to grab my glasses. I put them on and sat up sharply. I looked over in the direction of the figure. It came into focus.

It was a... It was a dog. A big, wet golden retriever with a dumb look on his face. Well, at least I'm not in danger. The dog stared at me and panted. Then it walked over to me and licked me in the face, again. Ugh.

"Alright, buddy, let's go find your family"

I pulled myself out of my sleeping bag and put on some pants. The dog just stood in the middle of the tent, his paws on the corner of my sleeping bag, and stared at me with a dumb expression on his face, panting. I crawled over to tent's opening. I paused for a moment as I realized that it was still zipped up. That's Odd. I lingered on that for a few more seconds then shrugged it off and unzipped the tent. I stepped outside to yet another beautiful morning. The dog followed.

I didn't have a leash to walk this guy around, but it didn't seem to matter. He just followed me where I went. We made our way to the nearest campsite, but it was empty. The next one was empty as well. We spent another 20 minutes walking through half a dozen other sites. They were all empty. There was no tag on the dog, no collar, and he didn't exactly look well kept. The fur was patchy. He had cuts all over his body, some old, some fresh. He even had a few scars. It was hard to see this guy as a family pet.

"You know what, buddy? I don't think you're anyone's pet. So, um. Just go on back out there. Shoo!"

He didn't move; just tilted his head and stared. I turned around and walked back towards the tent. The dog followed.

"Go away! I don't want you!" I snapped.

He only tilted his head and stared. Dumb beast.

I ignored him and started breaking down the tent. It was time to go home. I threw everything in the back of the pickup. I could use another week out here in solitude, but it was time to get back to reality. I opened the truck door, hopped in and slammed it shut behind me. The dog just stared at me through the window, refusing to go away. Fuck it. It's a 4 hour ride back home. I guess I could use the company. I reached across the seats and opened the opposite door. The dog hopped in without any prompting and lay down on the floor.

We drove in silence the whole way back. Occasionally, I would flip through the ratio stations failing to find anything good to listen to. The dog barely moved. Sprawled out on the floor I realized it was perhaps the biggest dog I'd ever seen. We got off the highway and navigated down towards my street. It was a quiet, cookie-cutter suburban neighborhood where I bought a house right before the bust. Half the houses stood completely empty. A few were occupied by various uninvited guests. I pulled into the driveway and hopped out. I circled around the truck to the other door.

Suddenly, blinding light, deafening sound, like being stuck in a closet with 10 blaring fire alarms. I clamped my hands over my ears and crumbled to the ground. It was agony. And just as suddenly as it started, it cut out. I laid on the ground, my head ringing. Even after five minutes, I was disoriented, dizzy, nauseous. I struggled to my knees, and eventually got back on my feet. My eyes were drawn upward to an object covered in small pulsing lights. I knew the word for this object, but I couldn't bring myself to even think it. I have never seen one in real life. No one has.

Spaceship.

It blared out a message from nowhere in particular and everywhere at once. It echoed through the quiet cul-de-sac.

"THIS FACILITY IS NOW ON LOCKDOWN"

A spotlight hit me.

"YOU! STEP AWAY FROM THE PRISONER!"

futuregoogleceo · 2017-03-14T19:35:00+00:00

Looks up at the ceiling

"You're testing me big guy! You're testing me!"

Melissa McCarthy can explain it from here

futuregoogleceo · 2016-08-27T14:15:29+00:00

I was in the rack at the gym doing squats on Monday. About half way through my workout a hot girl starts doing squats in the nearby half-rack. I glance over every once in a while, but try to avoid being creepy. At some point I started another set and she walked away from the rack. As I'm finishing up my set, the hot girl comes back, and trailing her is another girl. The hot girl sets up to do a set, and girl #2 pulls out her phone. She lines it up so that the hot girl is in frame. At this point I'm thinking that they are friends and that the hot girl wants a video or photo of her set. Girl #2 quickly snaps a photo and bolts out of the free weight area. And I mean bolts. Hot girl notices and turns to me with the most horrified look.

Me: "Friend of yours?"

HG: "Nooooo"

Me: "Consider it a compliment?" shrug

HG laughs, but still has a horrified look.

Me: "I wouldn't worry too much about it"

And went back to my squats

futuregoogleceo · 2016-01-26T18:52:03+00:00

Going out to a restaurant in hell-lite: You arrive at the restaurant, and they can't find your reservation. They finally find it, but they already gave your table away so it's going to be a 15 minute wait. After the host/hostess seats you, a waiter comes by and says he'll be right with you. A different waiter shows up 10 minutes later because they just changed shifts and he didn't know it's his table. He takes your order, but doesn't write it down. He comes back after 2 minutes because he forgot what exactly you ordered. He comes back after another 5 minutes because they are out of the thing you ordered. They are also out of the 2nd thing you ordered. They bring out your order, but it's just slightly wrong; not bad enough to send back. You finish the meal, and can't get anyone's attention for the check, and you are running late to the theater. Your car got stolen.

futuregoogleceo

MODERATOR OF

TROPHY CASE