A bit of a note here first: this started out as a good idea (meaning, one of those silly little few rhyming lines that mistakenly thought I could work with) but then went to hell in a handbasket long before i tried to give it regular rhythm, a rhyme scheme, or a theme. i post this now against all my better instinctsenough rubbish reading already exists. still, i haven't blogged in a while, and my brain's wrecked from being racked, and, well, who knows, maybe something is salvagable.
Things that make me smile
Let's just put in a nice big Author Unknown here, right from the start
I smile out of joy
When I see one playing coy
Girl or Boy,
But mostly lass who shyly laughs
Around an older boy.
I smile knowingly
When a boy finds apathy
"Look, that's me"
And finds it scholarly employ
In all his poetry
I smile, almost tear
The beggar nigh is drawing here
Oh how queer
In theory have I sympathy
Than Pitiful is near
I smile, still confused
A little laugh to try and lose
the foreign ruse
And all the lookers on who leer
Before I blow this fuse
I smile, all is lost
These last three verses should be tossed
'Stead of glossed
This garbage you should just refuse
For fear it leaves us cross
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Saturday, May 20, 2006
lemonade. because summer starts in a month
the one, and probably only, benefit to having an ant problem is that when i accidentally squish a small gecko in the door i dont have to clean up the gooey mess. rather, i wait a couple days, and then just have a few, tiny bones to sweep up.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Since when am I up before the sun on a Sabbath?
It's about 4:30 am, and I'm already awake. I guess my body doesn't know what to do if it's allowed more than 5 hours of sleep. But I guess this is what i get for going to bed before midnight.
So here I am, listening to NPR podcasts, wondering how Sunderland drew a tie with Man U (in Old Trafford!), being disgusted at how long my past few posts have been, and contemplating writing something a little more personalized in a vain (and probably vain) attempt to amass myspace comments or gmail inboxes.
Oh, right, so I lost my voice again last night teaching English classes. Also, those kids are far too keen to know stuff about me. I've managed to keep wildly evasive. They've managed to stay wildly intrusive. And intrusively wild. I am not a disciplinarian. Nor really a self restraint...arian. Well, that's less than true. I can be indefatigably abstemious. Maybe we'll just say I'm a bit like my writing--well composed when it doesn't matter, and unbridled when I should (Oh the moralizing "should") be of tempered spirit (and sometimes, too, vocabulary. But cmon, who really can resist that thesaurus widget?)
I promised myself this would be short. I suppose I can stifle volubility this once.
So here I am, listening to NPR podcasts, wondering how Sunderland drew a tie with Man U (in Old Trafford!), being disgusted at how long my past few posts have been, and contemplating writing something a little more personalized in a vain (and probably vain) attempt to amass myspace comments or gmail inboxes.
Oh, right, so I lost my voice again last night teaching English classes. Also, those kids are far too keen to know stuff about me. I've managed to keep wildly evasive. They've managed to stay wildly intrusive. And intrusively wild. I am not a disciplinarian. Nor really a self restraint...arian. Well, that's less than true. I can be indefatigably abstemious. Maybe we'll just say I'm a bit like my writing--well composed when it doesn't matter, and unbridled when I should (Oh the moralizing "should") be of tempered spirit (and sometimes, too, vocabulary. But cmon, who really can resist that thesaurus widget?)
I promised myself this would be short. I suppose I can stifle volubility this once.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Light Urple
Today I learned that while it is unnerving to find, late at night, a spider whose legs can stretch farther than my fingers (if it was stronger it'd probably be a magnificent pianist, or Shelob) perched on the wall above the showerhead, it is equally worrisome for that arachnid to be missing the following morning, given that it had no escape save the door to my lair (aka, the rest of my apartment).
Oh, I guess I forgot to mention it earlier, but I've started teaching some (six in total) English classes at night to little 7-13 year-olds (a hundred some in total). They're loud. I end up screaming half the time, just to have them scream back. Not mad, angry screaming, but excited screaming. They're so excited to learn a new word that they just have to scream it. The other way to keep their attention is to sing. So I sometimes sing lessons. I think they prefer being able to shout. I'd prefer being shot. But no, it's just my voice that ends up so lucky.
It must be almost 40 outside. Not the good 40. The Celsius 40. A muggy, buggy Celsius 40. I cannot but think that it must have been the original inhabitants of this land who invented air conditioning. Their Prometheus must have stolen not fire, but ice. Or maybe that's what Uncle Ho Chi Minh did for this nation. God bless Uncle Ho. He stood years of torture, shackled by Papa Zeus to the Caucasus Mountains, to keep us cool during these stifling spring months. Or at least that's my best guess. I never saw Apocalypse Now, and our history classes never made it more than three sentences past Nagasaki. From what I can gather, post-World War II history goes something like this: J.D. Salinger writes stuff worth reading but then stops publishing even though I think he's still alive (what a selfish bastard), Watson (who also designed a beautiful water bottle for Hong Kong) and Crick (who named all streams in Pennsylvania) discovered DNA^2's structure, Kennedy went swimming in Castro's Pork Pond (Tobias: I thought it was a pool toy!) but then King David wanted his hot wife so he sent JFK to the front lines of the Alamo vs. the Philistines (MLS teams?), MLK gets shot too (James Bond never bothered to protect black men, which is why the world now loves Jack Bauer more. Coincidentally, my nickname is JB; Hollywood and hotties take note), some guys went to the moon so we could make an IMax movie about it later, some other guys tried to go to the moon but had space ship troubles so Tom Hanks could make a movie about it later, Henry Louis "Hank" Hadley Aaron hit a bunch of home runs (while not on anyone's fantasy team, or cow steroids), there were hippies (which Cartman killed, but some escaped to San Francisco and Oregon, where they then captured Harrison Ford, stuck an earring in him, and made him do the Super Bowl this year), Mr. Lucas had a brilliant idea (it involved Harrison Ford, but then someone had the bad idea to exclude him), Mr. Nintendo (or maybe it was Mr. Atari; either way, some Japanese dude) had a brilliant idea (it involved Mega Man, but then someone had the bad idea to exclude him), and then suddenly Reagan was President.
Game, set, match, oil.....errr, national security.....errrr, democracy.
I need a syrupy, frozen treat. Wonder if I can find Otter Pops anywhere.
Oh, I guess I forgot to mention it earlier, but I've started teaching some (six in total) English classes at night to little 7-13 year-olds (a hundred some in total). They're loud. I end up screaming half the time, just to have them scream back. Not mad, angry screaming, but excited screaming. They're so excited to learn a new word that they just have to scream it. The other way to keep their attention is to sing. So I sometimes sing lessons. I think they prefer being able to shout. I'd prefer being shot. But no, it's just my voice that ends up so lucky.
It must be almost 40 outside. Not the good 40. The Celsius 40. A muggy, buggy Celsius 40. I cannot but think that it must have been the original inhabitants of this land who invented air conditioning. Their Prometheus must have stolen not fire, but ice. Or maybe that's what Uncle Ho Chi Minh did for this nation. God bless Uncle Ho. He stood years of torture, shackled by Papa Zeus to the Caucasus Mountains, to keep us cool during these stifling spring months. Or at least that's my best guess. I never saw Apocalypse Now, and our history classes never made it more than three sentences past Nagasaki. From what I can gather, post-World War II history goes something like this: J.D. Salinger writes stuff worth reading but then stops publishing even though I think he's still alive (what a selfish bastard), Watson (who also designed a beautiful water bottle for Hong Kong) and Crick (who named all streams in Pennsylvania) discovered DNA^2's structure, Kennedy went swimming in Castro's Pork Pond (Tobias: I thought it was a pool toy!) but then King David wanted his hot wife so he sent JFK to the front lines of the Alamo vs. the Philistines (MLS teams?), MLK gets shot too (James Bond never bothered to protect black men, which is why the world now loves Jack Bauer more. Coincidentally, my nickname is JB; Hollywood and hotties take note), some guys went to the moon so we could make an IMax movie about it later, some other guys tried to go to the moon but had space ship troubles so Tom Hanks could make a movie about it later, Henry Louis "Hank" Hadley Aaron hit a bunch of home runs (while not on anyone's fantasy team, or cow steroids), there were hippies (which Cartman killed, but some escaped to San Francisco and Oregon, where they then captured Harrison Ford, stuck an earring in him, and made him do the Super Bowl this year), Mr. Lucas had a brilliant idea (it involved Harrison Ford, but then someone had the bad idea to exclude him), Mr. Nintendo (or maybe it was Mr. Atari; either way, some Japanese dude) had a brilliant idea (it involved Mega Man, but then someone had the bad idea to exclude him), and then suddenly Reagan was President.
Game, set, match, oil.....errr, national security.....errrr, democracy.
I need a syrupy, frozen treat. Wonder if I can find Otter Pops anywhere.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Anecdotes, Thoughts, and Dinner Menu: 10 April, 2006
Today I was designated drinker.
On three occasions in my life, alcoholically speaking, have I come to a point where it's just easier to give in. Today marked the third such occasion. Under none of those circumstances have I done so under the influence (ha!) of that oft-warned-of scourge, peer pressure. No, on every occasion it has been supeerior pressure.
The first time was beer. This crazy Serbian scientist (who was teaching me how to use a scanning electron microscope) got it fixed in his mind that I should try his beverage of choice (he had two crates of this stuff in the laboratory stockroom, which looked more like a carport since it had a garage door and was messy, but he knew his way around it pretty well). He then got it in his mind that this libation should be further cooled (Belgrade is quite warm in the summer), and as he was a loss for liquid nitrogen (he regretted to me later), he used a fire extinguiser to take the liquid to a temperature at which gases are more soluble. Such an offering is not easily refused, and I found it worthy of a real sip, and a couple subsequent fake sips just to appease the guy. He really was nice. I'd have drunk the whole thing (it didn't taste good, but it didn't make me want to vomit either) if he woulda showed me how to use the transmission electron microscope.
The second time was at a party. It was again at the Vinca Institute of Nuclear Science (oh yeah, that's where the first one was). Anyway, the head of the whole lab asked me to sit at his table (how could I refuse?) and while I was there he poured me some sort of something (rather moderate, 120 proof i think, but it sure beat the alternative, red wine), and when we got to toasting, well, I had to be polite.
Today's revelation. You can't say "no" to the People's Committee. When the boss says drink, you toast, gulp, and grin back. Then you ask for your Fanta back, which was taken from you when the shot glass was thrust in your face in the first place. In my defense I was able to fend off the advances by the people from the Department of Agriculture and Rural Development, but when the real soldiers showed up, well I guess you have to pick your battles. (Well, there went all the vaunted bravado of my recently issued battle-indiscrimination policy. Instead of you teasing me about this, can I just give you points for being right in the first place?)
I guess it's something of an unwritten rule here (and also in Bangkok, so I hear, which means it undoubtedly extends even further): No drink, no work. If you don't drink, you don't get work. The other two ADRA employees I was with somehow managed to decline the officials, but I guess it was because I was so obviously young that they wanted to recruit me. I tried to tell them I was Buddhist, but I guess that only excuses me from meat (though I could have sworn it was supposed to give me R-OH exemption as well). On the plus side, the potent stuff I drank probably killed any of the germs that probably crawled over the rest of the meal.
My real feelings about alcohol: It's overrated. The people who think it's evil blow it way out of proportion. Yes, sure, fine, it can become an addiction and all that, and it does lead to rude, lewd, and reckless (wreck-full) behaviour, but it's not going to keep you out of heaven. It is not liquid sin. It is not inherently evil. Doug Bachelor, you do not have to pretend that Jesus turned the water into very tasty grape juice at that wedding. Besides, ethanol can be used to treat methanol poisoning.
BUT! It's way overrated the other way as well. The stuff tastes terrible. It smells bad. OK, it'll loosen you up, but I'm not really a fan of looseness. It causes much more trouble than it's worth as it hardly facilitates a) good conversation b) good manners c) good relationships d) good driving.
In conclusion, it is not an activity of mine (except under the most extenuating circumstances), in no way do I support consumption of alcohol, nor do I see a legitimate and rational appeal in it, but I refuse to be fanatical in my abstinence from it and I am tolerant of those who engage responsibly (does anyone actually know what "responsibly" means, besides having your pit crew take the tires off of your car when you arrive at a party or asking your drunk friend for his pants because they have the keys to his car) in such an activity. Actually, I just don't think it's as big a deal as everyone wants to make about it. Or at least I just wish the extremists on each end would stop all their foofaraw.
I'm a little irritable. I need to start getting at least 5 hours of sleep at night.
Dinner (my fourth meal in 3 days, but this is the simplest, so don't anyone go throwing a worry hissy. If anyone DOES mention how skinny I must be getting, I will take a picture of my awesome body, and post it, unless the comment was made only so that I would post a picture of my awesome body (Doug I mean you)):
3 Vege-Links
2 handfuls of almonds
1 small orange
A decent amount (by my sensible standards) of brown rice
On three occasions in my life, alcoholically speaking, have I come to a point where it's just easier to give in. Today marked the third such occasion. Under none of those circumstances have I done so under the influence (ha!) of that oft-warned-of scourge, peer pressure. No, on every occasion it has been supeerior pressure.
The first time was beer. This crazy Serbian scientist (who was teaching me how to use a scanning electron microscope) got it fixed in his mind that I should try his beverage of choice (he had two crates of this stuff in the laboratory stockroom, which looked more like a carport since it had a garage door and was messy, but he knew his way around it pretty well). He then got it in his mind that this libation should be further cooled (Belgrade is quite warm in the summer), and as he was a loss for liquid nitrogen (he regretted to me later), he used a fire extinguiser to take the liquid to a temperature at which gases are more soluble. Such an offering is not easily refused, and I found it worthy of a real sip, and a couple subsequent fake sips just to appease the guy. He really was nice. I'd have drunk the whole thing (it didn't taste good, but it didn't make me want to vomit either) if he woulda showed me how to use the transmission electron microscope.
The second time was at a party. It was again at the Vinca Institute of Nuclear Science (oh yeah, that's where the first one was). Anyway, the head of the whole lab asked me to sit at his table (how could I refuse?) and while I was there he poured me some sort of something (rather moderate, 120 proof i think, but it sure beat the alternative, red wine), and when we got to toasting, well, I had to be polite.
Today's revelation. You can't say "no" to the People's Committee. When the boss says drink, you toast, gulp, and grin back. Then you ask for your Fanta back, which was taken from you when the shot glass was thrust in your face in the first place. In my defense I was able to fend off the advances by the people from the Department of Agriculture and Rural Development, but when the real soldiers showed up, well I guess you have to pick your battles. (Well, there went all the vaunted bravado of my recently issued battle-indiscrimination policy. Instead of you teasing me about this, can I just give you points for being right in the first place?)
I guess it's something of an unwritten rule here (and also in Bangkok, so I hear, which means it undoubtedly extends even further): No drink, no work. If you don't drink, you don't get work. The other two ADRA employees I was with somehow managed to decline the officials, but I guess it was because I was so obviously young that they wanted to recruit me. I tried to tell them I was Buddhist, but I guess that only excuses me from meat (though I could have sworn it was supposed to give me R-OH exemption as well). On the plus side, the potent stuff I drank probably killed any of the germs that probably crawled over the rest of the meal.
My real feelings about alcohol: It's overrated. The people who think it's evil blow it way out of proportion. Yes, sure, fine, it can become an addiction and all that, and it does lead to rude, lewd, and reckless (wreck-full) behaviour, but it's not going to keep you out of heaven. It is not liquid sin. It is not inherently evil. Doug Bachelor, you do not have to pretend that Jesus turned the water into very tasty grape juice at that wedding. Besides, ethanol can be used to treat methanol poisoning.
BUT! It's way overrated the other way as well. The stuff tastes terrible. It smells bad. OK, it'll loosen you up, but I'm not really a fan of looseness. It causes much more trouble than it's worth as it hardly facilitates a) good conversation b) good manners c) good relationships d) good driving.
In conclusion, it is not an activity of mine (except under the most extenuating circumstances), in no way do I support consumption of alcohol, nor do I see a legitimate and rational appeal in it, but I refuse to be fanatical in my abstinence from it and I am tolerant of those who engage responsibly (does anyone actually know what "responsibly" means, besides having your pit crew take the tires off of your car when you arrive at a party or asking your drunk friend for his pants because they have the keys to his car) in such an activity. Actually, I just don't think it's as big a deal as everyone wants to make about it. Or at least I just wish the extremists on each end would stop all their foofaraw.
I'm a little irritable. I need to start getting at least 5 hours of sleep at night.
Dinner (my fourth meal in 3 days, but this is the simplest, so don't anyone go throwing a worry hissy. If anyone DOES mention how skinny I must be getting, I will take a picture of my awesome body, and post it, unless the comment was made only so that I would post a picture of my awesome body (Doug I mean you)):
3 Vege-Links
2 handfuls of almonds
1 small orange
A decent amount (by my sensible standards) of brown rice
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
In this one, you can't see the end from the beginning
For some reason, and I really don't know what it is, and even if I did know, which I dont, I might not tell you what it is and I might even go so far as to say I don't know the reason even if I really did, but in this case I don't. I'm just trying to warn you that my writings aren't altogether transparent. Rather, I bend the light (truth) so that you might see (believe) what I'd prefer you to see (believe). Not that I lie. I like to think I create literary illusions, MC Escher/GOB Bluth-like. But still, I probably allude and elude more than I illude (not a real word. oh wait, yes it is. but i didn't think it was when i wrote it.). If you're already lost, then elusion (and maybe even elution, you silly chemists {hey, that's me!}) successful.
But back to the "for some reason." For some reason I remembered today that when I was first up at Walla Walla as a freshman we had to take some sort of entrance exam, only it was like one of those initial assessment surveys that didn't actually mean anything except that Walla Walla statistics people could compare it to the senior exit exams (which I don't remember taking) and brag about how much smarter they made their students. In effort both to help it make WWC feel good about itself (as I would be doing bad on this test and probably good on the later one) and to entertain myself, I used the scantron sheet for that test to help me imagine what my name would look like in pencil-blackened braille bubbles. But I don't know Braille, and all that beginning stuff was just guesswork, so next I went for something a little more tangible. Block Print. This was the result.
OOO?OO????OO?OO?OO?OO?OO
OOO?OO?OO?OO?OO?OO??O?OO
OOO?OO?OO?OO????OO?O??OO
O???OO????OO?OO?OO?OO?OO
well nevermind, it didn't turn out here. the question marks are supposed to be big black dots.
But in the test I was rather pleased with myself, except that it only took me a couple minutes and the test was to last for 45 minutes and we couldn't leave early. Or maybe we could. I forget some of the details here.
But moving along. It was during that test, when I was done bubbling and looking around at other people's answer sheets to see how we compared that I noticed I was sitting next to (by virtue of the alphabetical surname arrangement that testing rooms enjoy so much) a boy who, upon closer inspection, I recognized to be my best friend from third grade, who moved away after third grade.
Oh wait, maybe that's what happened. Time for an emendation. Ok, so maybe we were allowed to leave the test early, but I'd recognized this boy, and for fear of not finding him around campus in the future, I waited until the end of the test so I could say hi to him. And wait I did, and so after the test I reintroduced myself (something I don't particularly mind doing, since I myself have a propensity for forgetfulness in these things; ask any of my second cousins), but upon reintroduction he had exactly no recollection of who I was. Or he decided not to show any recollection, for fear that our friendship of old would somehow now obligate us to reacquaint ourselves. I don't think there's necessarily such an obligation. People force it sometimes, or maybe even so much as often. I'm not saying not to test the waters, I just mean give change a chance. Reminisce about old times, but there's no real reason to try to recreate them (though, the Braves could use Glavine and Maddux these days. And the Lakers probably would be better with Shaq. I bet Jordan still has game. But if you think Gretzky's gonna slip on skates and rake in 200 points in a season or Joe Montana can save the 49ers from another losing season, well do what you want, but I don't want to hear about it).
Every moment passes. Things will get better and things will get worse. Plans will succeed and plans will fail. You will live and you will die (rapture permitting). Everything dies. Mayflies, Mayflowers, radiation, superpowers. Your watch band is going to break. Your car will blow a tire. The Simpsons will go off the air. Oprah will retire.
Is this so bad? Is Michelangelo really better off being immortalized in his Sistine frescoes, or Shakespeare in his stories? DiMaggio in his super streak, or Einstein in his theories? Is Jesus any better off because people pray to him, or because of a Mel Gibson movie? Will you truly be improved if you ace that test, land that job, wear that dress, get that guy/girl, stick that landing, make that sale, donate to charity, go to vespers, call your sis, win that election, get invited to that party, get accepted by that school, or by those people, secure that distinguished prize, resist that urge to gamble or tell a foul joke, or have your seat in that full upright and locked position?
I'm just asking. I don't pretend to know. Or maybe I think I do.
One last thing. You can't cut God out of your life for six days a week and expect everything to be fine for just one in seven. Or, maybe you can, if you're as serious about God as you are The OC, provided you don't think about The OC or talk about it with your friends except for Thursdays. That includes looking up Music From The OC playlists in the iTunes music store, or seeing if the clothes were from Urban Outfitters again, or even making sure that Anna and that girl from the Bad Day music video are one in the same.
But back to the "for some reason." For some reason I remembered today that when I was first up at Walla Walla as a freshman we had to take some sort of entrance exam, only it was like one of those initial assessment surveys that didn't actually mean anything except that Walla Walla statistics people could compare it to the senior exit exams (which I don't remember taking) and brag about how much smarter they made their students. In effort both to help it make WWC feel good about itself (as I would be doing bad on this test and probably good on the later one) and to entertain myself, I used the scantron sheet for that test to help me imagine what my name would look like in pencil-blackened braille bubbles. But I don't know Braille, and all that beginning stuff was just guesswork, so next I went for something a little more tangible. Block Print. This was the result.
OOO?OO????OO?OO?OO?OO?OO
OOO?OO?OO?OO?OO?OO??O?OO
OOO?OO?OO?OO????OO?O??OO
O???OO????OO?OO?OO?OO?OO
well nevermind, it didn't turn out here. the question marks are supposed to be big black dots.
But in the test I was rather pleased with myself, except that it only took me a couple minutes and the test was to last for 45 minutes and we couldn't leave early. Or maybe we could. I forget some of the details here.
But moving along. It was during that test, when I was done bubbling and looking around at other people's answer sheets to see how we compared that I noticed I was sitting next to (by virtue of the alphabetical surname arrangement that testing rooms enjoy so much) a boy who, upon closer inspection, I recognized to be my best friend from third grade, who moved away after third grade.
Oh wait, maybe that's what happened. Time for an emendation. Ok, so maybe we were allowed to leave the test early, but I'd recognized this boy, and for fear of not finding him around campus in the future, I waited until the end of the test so I could say hi to him. And wait I did, and so after the test I reintroduced myself (something I don't particularly mind doing, since I myself have a propensity for forgetfulness in these things; ask any of my second cousins), but upon reintroduction he had exactly no recollection of who I was. Or he decided not to show any recollection, for fear that our friendship of old would somehow now obligate us to reacquaint ourselves. I don't think there's necessarily such an obligation. People force it sometimes, or maybe even so much as often. I'm not saying not to test the waters, I just mean give change a chance. Reminisce about old times, but there's no real reason to try to recreate them (though, the Braves could use Glavine and Maddux these days. And the Lakers probably would be better with Shaq. I bet Jordan still has game. But if you think Gretzky's gonna slip on skates and rake in 200 points in a season or Joe Montana can save the 49ers from another losing season, well do what you want, but I don't want to hear about it).
Every moment passes. Things will get better and things will get worse. Plans will succeed and plans will fail. You will live and you will die (rapture permitting). Everything dies. Mayflies, Mayflowers, radiation, superpowers. Your watch band is going to break. Your car will blow a tire. The Simpsons will go off the air. Oprah will retire.
Is this so bad? Is Michelangelo really better off being immortalized in his Sistine frescoes, or Shakespeare in his stories? DiMaggio in his super streak, or Einstein in his theories? Is Jesus any better off because people pray to him, or because of a Mel Gibson movie? Will you truly be improved if you ace that test, land that job, wear that dress, get that guy/girl, stick that landing, make that sale, donate to charity, go to vespers, call your sis, win that election, get invited to that party, get accepted by that school, or by those people, secure that distinguished prize, resist that urge to gamble or tell a foul joke, or have your seat in that full upright and locked position?
I'm just asking. I don't pretend to know. Or maybe I think I do.
One last thing. You can't cut God out of your life for six days a week and expect everything to be fine for just one in seven. Or, maybe you can, if you're as serious about God as you are The OC, provided you don't think about The OC or talk about it with your friends except for Thursdays. That includes looking up Music From The OC playlists in the iTunes music store, or seeing if the clothes were from Urban Outfitters again, or even making sure that Anna and that girl from the Bad Day music video are one in the same.
Friday, May 05, 2006
gone phishing
The purpose of this blog is to shamelessly try and get as many comments and/or kudos as possible in an overly narcissistic effort to convince myself that people do read this and have some sort of reaction. To accomplish such a task, I feel it is probably necessary to bring out my big guns, aka my fearsome powers of insight.
Insight number one: people get riled up if you talk about things they strongly agree or disagree with. Disagreement is especially powerful because they usually want to add in their two cents (if I got 50 million people to add their two cents I could be rich!) and tell me why they're right and why I'm wrong.
It is commonly known, and rightly believed, that all people get to love two things, and I think those two things should be nuclear energy and Indian casinos that don't pay taxes.
Insight number two: people, especially girls, relish the opportunities to console handome young men whom the much admire if or when the young man should befall some illness of misfortune.
I've been sick all week. Fever, sore throat, headache. It's pretty miserable, especially since I still have to cook and clean around here, and take care of my boss's place while he and Paul are gone. My other friends are gone two; Marford's job has taken him to Malaysia, Espy will be forever stuck in Thailand, and Dinh is visiting his fiancee, who lives near Saigon.
Insight number three: people love being made fun of. Just look at how many people were laughing at Stephen Colbert when he roasted Bush at the White House Correspondents Dinner (there are 3 parts to this).
My favorite part about myspace is how all these nice people get all gussied up for the occasion. They take their most flattering photos, couple them with some new hot music that they think everyone should find fresh and awesomely, drop a bunch of "hey gorgeous" to the girls and "DUDE YOUR [sic] AWESOME!" to the guys and then go on to say how much fun they had with that person the other day (because comments like that let the whole myspace world how fun you are and private messages don't), fudge a few quizzes or surveys, blog with their (or just as often, someone else's) best prose or poetry, describe their heroes or people they want to meet as "people who are real and everyday live life to the fullest" (and would someone tell me if that actually means something, or has it become one of those ceremonial figurehead phrases like "gay rights" and "orphans" and "save the rainforest" and "Jesus died for me" and "I pledge allegiance to the flag" and "I do" that we all agree to (like governments agree to tobacco control) but then really don't take all that seriously. or maybe it's one big package. like to be real and live life to the fullest, you have to care about gays and orphans and Jesus and so you get baptized and sign those Amnesty International or those World Wildlife Fund petitions and buy hats and pins from them so they can tell you how many cheetahs your dollar can save, or could save if half of it didn't go into advertising. Speaking of full of it, those bloggers who go on hypocrisy rants sure have some nerve).
Insight number four: that last paragraph was way too long. I'd revise it, but it's awfully big and intimidating. Let's hope everyone's attention span is as short as mine. Plus everyone loves to be able to skim an article and have the last couple sentences wrap everything up. That's bound to win me some thank yous. In fact, I should write some thank yous myself to all the writers who bother to sum up long discourses in a few concise sentences. They truly understand the something of my ways. Wisdom? Must be wisdom. (Hey, that's not original.)
And that's why you never trust the media. Liberal sycophants. Yup, that's what we've learned today.
Insight number one: people get riled up if you talk about things they strongly agree or disagree with. Disagreement is especially powerful because they usually want to add in their two cents (if I got 50 million people to add their two cents I could be rich!) and tell me why they're right and why I'm wrong.
It is commonly known, and rightly believed, that all people get to love two things, and I think those two things should be nuclear energy and Indian casinos that don't pay taxes.
Insight number two: people, especially girls, relish the opportunities to console handome young men whom the much admire if or when the young man should befall some illness of misfortune.
I've been sick all week. Fever, sore throat, headache. It's pretty miserable, especially since I still have to cook and clean around here, and take care of my boss's place while he and Paul are gone. My other friends are gone two; Marford's job has taken him to Malaysia, Espy will be forever stuck in Thailand, and Dinh is visiting his fiancee, who lives near Saigon.
Insight number three: people love being made fun of. Just look at how many people were laughing at Stephen Colbert when he roasted Bush at the White House Correspondents Dinner (there are 3 parts to this).
My favorite part about myspace is how all these nice people get all gussied up for the occasion. They take their most flattering photos, couple them with some new hot music that they think everyone should find fresh and awesomely, drop a bunch of "hey gorgeous" to the girls and "DUDE YOUR [sic] AWESOME!" to the guys and then go on to say how much fun they had with that person the other day (because comments like that let the whole myspace world how fun you are and private messages don't), fudge a few quizzes or surveys, blog with their (or just as often, someone else's) best prose or poetry, describe their heroes or people they want to meet as "people who are real and everyday live life to the fullest" (and would someone tell me if that actually means something, or has it become one of those ceremonial figurehead phrases like "gay rights" and "orphans" and "save the rainforest" and "Jesus died for me" and "I pledge allegiance to the flag" and "I do" that we all agree to (like governments agree to tobacco control) but then really don't take all that seriously. or maybe it's one big package. like to be real and live life to the fullest, you have to care about gays and orphans and Jesus and so you get baptized and sign those Amnesty International or those World Wildlife Fund petitions and buy hats and pins from them so they can tell you how many cheetahs your dollar can save, or could save if half of it didn't go into advertising. Speaking of full of it, those bloggers who go on hypocrisy rants sure have some nerve).
Insight number four: that last paragraph was way too long. I'd revise it, but it's awfully big and intimidating. Let's hope everyone's attention span is as short as mine. Plus everyone loves to be able to skim an article and have the last couple sentences wrap everything up. That's bound to win me some thank yous. In fact, I should write some thank yous myself to all the writers who bother to sum up long discourses in a few concise sentences. They truly understand the something of my ways. Wisdom? Must be wisdom. (Hey, that's not original.)
And that's why you never trust the media. Liberal sycophants. Yup, that's what we've learned today.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Weekend Homework
Due Monday, May 1, 2006: Compare and contrast the two days of the weekend. Pay particular attention to having awesome topic sentences.
Every weekend seems to be comprised largely of two daysSaturday and Sunday. I hold both in rather high regard, both because of the ways in which they're similar and the ways they differ from each other. It may be stating the obvious, but the experience I have with Saturdays and Sundays, even any particular Saturday or Sunday, will vary largely from the encounters of others, and so this should not be seen as any sort of definitive work on the subject, especially since this essay will seek to focus on Saturday, April 29 and Sunday, April 30, 2006.
The particular Saturday and Sunday in question were similar in many ways. Firstly, I awoke both days to discover that the Pirates had won their games the night before. Secondly, I talked with four people (Jarrod and Jill on both days). Thirdly, I read. Fourthly, I ate rice (which actually happens every day, but on these particular instances it represented the better portion of my caloric intake). Fifthly, I thought about practicing trumpet, but then didn't. Sixthly, I think I took naps both days (or really, I fell asleep while reading). Seventhly, both days were rather boring, at least compared to that time when Brian Giles threw me a baseball and then my cousin Joe got a foul ball at the same ballgame, or that time when that lady threatened to call the cops on us because we were rolling eggplants and throwing pomegranates from my hillside onto Redlands Boulevard.
Saturday and Sunday were, for all their similarities, remarkably different from each other. On Saturday, I didn't go outside, but Sunday I did. On Saturday, I didn't actually speak aloud to anyone, whereas on Sunday I went and got a key to the Cooper's apartment from Santosh so I could water the four plants on the Cooper's porch, and in the process engaged Santosh in conversation (well, we alternated talking about 3 times, and less than 30 words were said). On Saturday, nothing broke in my room, while on Sunday, one of the crossbeams that runs underneath my bed and supports the mattress broke (no, i'm not getting fat, I weighed myself up at Cooper's apartment and I'm still the same) and so I rearranged the supports, and in the process had to face the dust bunnies and spiders that live under my bed (I chased them away {into a corner} with a broom)fortunately for me, the rabbits were Disney Bambi Thumpers and not Watership Down brutes, and the arachnids weren't on the scale of the Aragog I'd seen before.
As you can probably see, Saturday and Sunday were quite alike and quite different. I never was in the habit or writing good conclusions to my papers, and I think it would be quite out of character to try to do so here. So instead, I think I'll just end mid-sentence and see how that works out for me. Oh, well I missed my chance at that. Whatever.
How about a haiku. Surely Michael can't be the only poetic one. Oh wait, my last entry was a poem. Yeah, but I didn't really like it. Did I just promise you a haiku? I'm sure I can make one up here right quick.
i do best with words
that can mean two diff'rent things.
like impertinent
(If I had to score this, I'd probably say post one of those yellow warning "12% downgrade" signs and then put a runaway truck ramp with those loose gravel slopes that your tires get stuck in somewhere in the middle of the contrast paragraph.)
Every weekend seems to be comprised largely of two daysSaturday and Sunday. I hold both in rather high regard, both because of the ways in which they're similar and the ways they differ from each other. It may be stating the obvious, but the experience I have with Saturdays and Sundays, even any particular Saturday or Sunday, will vary largely from the encounters of others, and so this should not be seen as any sort of definitive work on the subject, especially since this essay will seek to focus on Saturday, April 29 and Sunday, April 30, 2006.
The particular Saturday and Sunday in question were similar in many ways. Firstly, I awoke both days to discover that the Pirates had won their games the night before. Secondly, I talked with four people (Jarrod and Jill on both days). Thirdly, I read. Fourthly, I ate rice (which actually happens every day, but on these particular instances it represented the better portion of my caloric intake). Fifthly, I thought about practicing trumpet, but then didn't. Sixthly, I think I took naps both days (or really, I fell asleep while reading). Seventhly, both days were rather boring, at least compared to that time when Brian Giles threw me a baseball and then my cousin Joe got a foul ball at the same ballgame, or that time when that lady threatened to call the cops on us because we were rolling eggplants and throwing pomegranates from my hillside onto Redlands Boulevard.
Saturday and Sunday were, for all their similarities, remarkably different from each other. On Saturday, I didn't go outside, but Sunday I did. On Saturday, I didn't actually speak aloud to anyone, whereas on Sunday I went and got a key to the Cooper's apartment from Santosh so I could water the four plants on the Cooper's porch, and in the process engaged Santosh in conversation (well, we alternated talking about 3 times, and less than 30 words were said). On Saturday, nothing broke in my room, while on Sunday, one of the crossbeams that runs underneath my bed and supports the mattress broke (no, i'm not getting fat, I weighed myself up at Cooper's apartment and I'm still the same) and so I rearranged the supports, and in the process had to face the dust bunnies and spiders that live under my bed (I chased them away {into a corner} with a broom)fortunately for me, the rabbits were Disney Bambi Thumpers and not Watership Down brutes, and the arachnids weren't on the scale of the Aragog I'd seen before.
As you can probably see, Saturday and Sunday were quite alike and quite different. I never was in the habit or writing good conclusions to my papers, and I think it would be quite out of character to try to do so here. So instead, I think I'll just end mid-sentence and see how that works out for me. Oh, well I missed my chance at that. Whatever.
How about a haiku. Surely Michael can't be the only poetic one. Oh wait, my last entry was a poem. Yeah, but I didn't really like it. Did I just promise you a haiku? I'm sure I can make one up here right quick.
i do best with words
that can mean two diff'rent things.
like impertinent
(If I had to score this, I'd probably say post one of those yellow warning "12% downgrade" signs and then put a runaway truck ramp with those loose gravel slopes that your tires get stuck in somewhere in the middle of the contrast paragraph.)
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