How many folks watched the lighting of the tree in NYC tonight? I'd say probably a lot.
Since so many of us are (at least in the confines of our own living rooms) prone to being somewhat a touch perverted and giggle-prone, I doubt I was alone when I observed that there sure were some huge balls on the set in the background while that one guy was singing that one song.
It begs the question: What would people say if I put huge balls on my front lawn, you know... as Christmas ornaments? Would people innocently admire my giant balls in the spirit of Christmas? Would some passers-by be jealous of them because they made their own Christmas balls seem inadequate?
Would they cause a stir? Would they (as any attention getting obnoxious yahoo article might say) "spark outrage"?
I imagine that if my name was, say, Wakefield... the headlines in the local newspaper might read something like this:
"Local Neighborhood Shocked and Outraged by Wakefields Huge Balls"
It's something to think about.
TSN
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
This Is Difficult To Look At
I drew it it MS Paint, using only straight lines. Now my brain hurts.
TSN
Freedom
Phil looked down at the ground whizzing by and had to close his eyes to regain his calm. Once he found his zen center, he took a savory sip of his still-steaming mocha latte, purchased not ten minutes earlier from the Java Shop in car 21 and considered two options that were staring him in the face. They were as follows:
A: Stay on the train.
B: Jump off the train.
Option B looked sketchy, given the blur outside that would have looked like sharp rocks had they not been moving so fast. He knew however that if he failed to choose option B, he would be forced to go with option A and he certainly didn't like the idea of being forced to do anything.
If he stayed on the train, he knew exactly where it would take him and that when he got there he would be a pleasant combination of alive and intact. If he jumped off there was a distinct possibility that he would not survive at all (much less remain intact), and the implications of that eventuality confused and mystified him. Phil sipped and pondered.
From the perception of anything traveling at speeds approaching that of light, not a lot of time went by. To anybody else it was quite a while, enough to make continued descriptions of what transpired during that time seem monotonous, pointless and otherwise generally trite.
At long last, Phil decided that since there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to jump off the train, he would go ahead and stay on. He went back to his seat and read a newspaper until the train arrived at its destination.
He found his car, paid for the parking, snagged some drive-through fast food, gave ten dollars to a homeless woman and went home feeling good about all of his decisions that day, at least until the fast food caught up to him at which point he began to regret that one.
The world is crazy when you realize just how much freedom you actually have, isn't it?
TSN
A: Stay on the train.
B: Jump off the train.
Option B looked sketchy, given the blur outside that would have looked like sharp rocks had they not been moving so fast. He knew however that if he failed to choose option B, he would be forced to go with option A and he certainly didn't like the idea of being forced to do anything.
If he stayed on the train, he knew exactly where it would take him and that when he got there he would be a pleasant combination of alive and intact. If he jumped off there was a distinct possibility that he would not survive at all (much less remain intact), and the implications of that eventuality confused and mystified him. Phil sipped and pondered.
From the perception of anything traveling at speeds approaching that of light, not a lot of time went by. To anybody else it was quite a while, enough to make continued descriptions of what transpired during that time seem monotonous, pointless and otherwise generally trite.
At long last, Phil decided that since there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to jump off the train, he would go ahead and stay on. He went back to his seat and read a newspaper until the train arrived at its destination.
He found his car, paid for the parking, snagged some drive-through fast food, gave ten dollars to a homeless woman and went home feeling good about all of his decisions that day, at least until the fast food caught up to him at which point he began to regret that one.
The world is crazy when you realize just how much freedom you actually have, isn't it?
TSN
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Wheee! D'oh!
If I had a head like Charlie Brown...
But enough about that. Today I saw a bird nest that was built in a bundle of cables for an omnidirectional ground to air antenna.
"I wonder if it helps keep them warm..." I thought, before realizing that the warmth the little feathery buggers enjoy is probably not helping them be any more healthy than they would otherwise have been.
That's when I thought about Chris Farley in Tommy Boy when the guy asked him "Did you live under power lines when you were a kid?"
Now I have a reason to nod my head understandingly when the occasional bird flies beak first at top speed into my office window. I always wondered what must go through a birds head when they're so rudely interrupted.
I imagine it's this:
"Doot de doo..." SPLATTO!
He lays on the ground in a daze for a few minutes. Three people with cigarettes gather around and peer down at him, shaking their heads and muttering.
"Awwww, BOLLOCKS! Stupid GPS, how long as that been there? These people ought to be more careful, etc. etc. etc..."
If situations were reversed, and birds could install invisible barriers in places where humans were running really fast, I'll bet that Kenyans would slow right on down.
Also, trips on remote mountain biking trails through the woods could end in what can only be described as "tragically hilarious" face-smudging fiasco that even Gary Larson would be impressed by.
TSN
But enough about that. Today I saw a bird nest that was built in a bundle of cables for an omnidirectional ground to air antenna.
"I wonder if it helps keep them warm..." I thought, before realizing that the warmth the little feathery buggers enjoy is probably not helping them be any more healthy than they would otherwise have been.
That's when I thought about Chris Farley in Tommy Boy when the guy asked him "Did you live under power lines when you were a kid?"
Now I have a reason to nod my head understandingly when the occasional bird flies beak first at top speed into my office window. I always wondered what must go through a birds head when they're so rudely interrupted.
I imagine it's this:
"Doot de doo..." SPLATTO!
He lays on the ground in a daze for a few minutes. Three people with cigarettes gather around and peer down at him, shaking their heads and muttering.
"Awwww, BOLLOCKS! Stupid GPS, how long as that been there? These people ought to be more careful, etc. etc. etc..."
If situations were reversed, and birds could install invisible barriers in places where humans were running really fast, I'll bet that Kenyans would slow right on down.
Also, trips on remote mountain biking trails through the woods could end in what can only be described as "tragically hilarious" face-smudging fiasco that even Gary Larson would be impressed by.
TSN
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Bear Deterrent
I've slacked a bit on my posts here lately. I'll be back soon.
I miss it, this is a cool place for me to brain-dump any left over creativity I might have rolling around in there at the end of the day like so many loose gumballs.
Lately by the end of the day I've been pretty pooped and my brain starts talking to me like I was somebody else. It's not a very long conversation.
Brain: "Dude..."
Me: "What's up buddy?"
Brain: "This is the last you'll be hearing from me tonight."
Me: "Why's that?"
Brain: "....."
Me: "Hello?"
When that happens I can sit here as long as I want and stare at the blank white screen, but nothing will come of it, so instead I just mash a few handfuls of wasabi peas into my face, pick on my guitar for a few minutes and call it a night.
The other night I dreamt about being chased through my grandmothers house by a bear. I went out through a window and shut the window behind me... I remember wondering why I expected a window to stop a bear. It didn't.
Just as the bear was about to eat my face in my dream, I farted in real life and it woke me up. That was lucky!
TSN
I miss it, this is a cool place for me to brain-dump any left over creativity I might have rolling around in there at the end of the day like so many loose gumballs.
Lately by the end of the day I've been pretty pooped and my brain starts talking to me like I was somebody else. It's not a very long conversation.
Brain: "Dude..."
Me: "What's up buddy?"
Brain: "This is the last you'll be hearing from me tonight."
Me: "Why's that?"
Brain: "....."
Me: "Hello?"
When that happens I can sit here as long as I want and stare at the blank white screen, but nothing will come of it, so instead I just mash a few handfuls of wasabi peas into my face, pick on my guitar for a few minutes and call it a night.
The other night I dreamt about being chased through my grandmothers house by a bear. I went out through a window and shut the window behind me... I remember wondering why I expected a window to stop a bear. It didn't.
Just as the bear was about to eat my face in my dream, I farted in real life and it woke me up. That was lucky!
TSN
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Tortoise V Hare
One day, the tortoise and the hare decided to have a race.
I'm not certain whose idea it was but I know that if the hare thought it up it was a jerk thing to do and it was a terrible idea on the part of the tortoise to agree to do it.
If it was the tortoise who popped his head off his pillow that morning and said "Hey I've got a swell idea", his animal kingdom friends ought to have examined that head rather than show up to watch what would certainly be the public humiliation of a lifetime.
One would think that such non-violent creatures as tortoises and hares would have more benevolent friends. Consider these two pre-race realities:
First: Tortoises are amazingly slow runners. Amazing slowness is considered generally bad in terms of racing, and is only useful in specific non-race sort of situations such as waiting in line at the DMV.
Second: When running, hares are amazingly not slow. They are rather famous for being fast, which is normally chalked-up as a benefit during contests of speed.
The money exchanging hands on the sidelines before the starting gun was fired must have heavily favored the hare. We're talking 50 to 1 at least and that's being generous.
Starting gun!
The charge had barely finished exploding inside the bullet casing before the hare had disappeared into the distance. The audience gazed in awe at the long plume of dust that stretched to the horizon, then turned their heads back to the starting line.
The tortoise had nearly begun to take a step. His old bones creaked audibly in the still air as he laboriously placed one foot in front of the other and ever-so-slowly began shambling forward. Night fell. Dice-games began attracting attention.
The crowd began to stir, and murmured that the hare should have arrived back at the starting point, what with it being a closed loop course and all. Those who had taken the safe bet and wagered on the hare began to give the hairy-eyeball to those who had bet on the tortoise.
Another hour passed. Someone finally became worried enough about the hare to call 911, but sadly the paramedics were also tortoises.
Campfires were built, acoustic jam-sessions were had. Tensions continued to mount.
At long, long, long last, who should appear in the distance but the tortoise, plodding painfully slowly towards the finish-line! The agonizingly slow victory became more and more likely as necks were craned in hopes of seeing a last minute hare. This was particularly easy for the cranes.
The tortoise was unbelievably close to the finish when the hare burst unexpectedly onto the scene!
"Noooo!" he cried, making a mad dash for the line only to cross it the barest fraction of a gnats-ass too late! The tortoise had won, the tortoise had won! This was the biggest upset the animal kingdom had ever seen!
But the excitement wasn't a happy one. The crowd encircled the hare as the few who had bet on the tortoise disappeared hastily into the night with their giant stacks of cash.
The tortoise, who had failed to place a bet on time, was forgotten. The hare was never seen or heard from again.
The next afternoon, the paramedics arrived.
TSN
I'm not certain whose idea it was but I know that if the hare thought it up it was a jerk thing to do and it was a terrible idea on the part of the tortoise to agree to do it.
If it was the tortoise who popped his head off his pillow that morning and said "Hey I've got a swell idea", his animal kingdom friends ought to have examined that head rather than show up to watch what would certainly be the public humiliation of a lifetime.
One would think that such non-violent creatures as tortoises and hares would have more benevolent friends. Consider these two pre-race realities:
First: Tortoises are amazingly slow runners. Amazing slowness is considered generally bad in terms of racing, and is only useful in specific non-race sort of situations such as waiting in line at the DMV.
Second: When running, hares are amazingly not slow. They are rather famous for being fast, which is normally chalked-up as a benefit during contests of speed.
The money exchanging hands on the sidelines before the starting gun was fired must have heavily favored the hare. We're talking 50 to 1 at least and that's being generous.
Starting gun!
The charge had barely finished exploding inside the bullet casing before the hare had disappeared into the distance. The audience gazed in awe at the long plume of dust that stretched to the horizon, then turned their heads back to the starting line.
The tortoise had nearly begun to take a step. His old bones creaked audibly in the still air as he laboriously placed one foot in front of the other and ever-so-slowly began shambling forward. Night fell. Dice-games began attracting attention.
The crowd began to stir, and murmured that the hare should have arrived back at the starting point, what with it being a closed loop course and all. Those who had taken the safe bet and wagered on the hare began to give the hairy-eyeball to those who had bet on the tortoise.
Another hour passed. Someone finally became worried enough about the hare to call 911, but sadly the paramedics were also tortoises.
Campfires were built, acoustic jam-sessions were had. Tensions continued to mount.
At long, long, long last, who should appear in the distance but the tortoise, plodding painfully slowly towards the finish-line! The agonizingly slow victory became more and more likely as necks were craned in hopes of seeing a last minute hare. This was particularly easy for the cranes.
The tortoise was unbelievably close to the finish when the hare burst unexpectedly onto the scene!
"Noooo!" he cried, making a mad dash for the line only to cross it the barest fraction of a gnats-ass too late! The tortoise had won, the tortoise had won! This was the biggest upset the animal kingdom had ever seen!
But the excitement wasn't a happy one. The crowd encircled the hare as the few who had bet on the tortoise disappeared hastily into the night with their giant stacks of cash.
The tortoise, who had failed to place a bet on time, was forgotten. The hare was never seen or heard from again.
The next afternoon, the paramedics arrived.
TSN
Friday, November 11, 2011
Pennies For Virgins
Here's something that occurred to me the other day: If you think about it broadly enough, the concept of tossing a coin into a well and making a wish is fundamentally the same as pitching a virgin into a volcano and hoping for a bountiful harvest.
Throwing away perfectly good money is a sacrifice, right?
Luckily for all the local virgins we've come down somewhat on the severity of necessary sacrifices but the idea is pretty much the same: The thing you sacrifice has to have some value, or the thing doesn't work.
Otherwise wishing wells would be filled to the brim with used oil and magazine inserts and the like.
Whoever figured out that a coin in a well works just as well as a virgin in a volcano must have got the equivalent of a Nobel prize back in the day, I mean... that's a pretty big deal you would think.
Here's the headline:
"Local Man Appeases Gods With Coin: No More Virgin Sacrifices!"
-- There was celebration in the streets today in downtown Tenochtitlan as thousands of citizens rejoiced the new non-sacrificeable status of their families and friends. As it turns out, flicking a coin into any old deep hole filled with water is absolutely just as effective as pitching maidens headlong into bubbling mountains of molten rock.
The man behind this ground-breaking discovery is Dave... Spaulding?, of 153 West Palm Rd., who apparently stumbled across the idea while drawing water from a local well. A coin slipped from his pocket and plummeted into the depths just as he said "I wish it wasn't so hot out here". According to eyewitness reports, a cloud immediately passed in front of the ball of fire in the sky, proving irrevocably that the Gods had heard him and had granted his wish.
Dave... is being heralded as "Chap of the year" and has been awarded a bag of sacred chicken feet for his discovery.
It begs the question: Whose hair-brained idea was it to pitch maidens in there in the first place?
Why was that the first thing they thought of? If I had to guess, I'd wager that ordinary folks would tend to lean towards the virgin sacrifice as a last resort rather than a go-to plan from the onset. Maybe that's just me...
TSN
Throwing away perfectly good money is a sacrifice, right?
Luckily for all the local virgins we've come down somewhat on the severity of necessary sacrifices but the idea is pretty much the same: The thing you sacrifice has to have some value, or the thing doesn't work.
Otherwise wishing wells would be filled to the brim with used oil and magazine inserts and the like.
Whoever figured out that a coin in a well works just as well as a virgin in a volcano must have got the equivalent of a Nobel prize back in the day, I mean... that's a pretty big deal you would think.
Here's the headline:
"Local Man Appeases Gods With Coin: No More Virgin Sacrifices!"
-- There was celebration in the streets today in downtown Tenochtitlan as thousands of citizens rejoiced the new non-sacrificeable status of their families and friends. As it turns out, flicking a coin into any old deep hole filled with water is absolutely just as effective as pitching maidens headlong into bubbling mountains of molten rock.
The man behind this ground-breaking discovery is Dave... Spaulding?, of 153 West Palm Rd., who apparently stumbled across the idea while drawing water from a local well. A coin slipped from his pocket and plummeted into the depths just as he said "I wish it wasn't so hot out here". According to eyewitness reports, a cloud immediately passed in front of the ball of fire in the sky, proving irrevocably that the Gods had heard him and had granted his wish.
Dave... is being heralded as "Chap of the year" and has been awarded a bag of sacred chicken feet for his discovery.
It begs the question: Whose hair-brained idea was it to pitch maidens in there in the first place?
Why was that the first thing they thought of? If I had to guess, I'd wager that ordinary folks would tend to lean towards the virgin sacrifice as a last resort rather than a go-to plan from the onset. Maybe that's just me...
TSN
Thursday, November 10, 2011
1000
Well, I'll be damned. 1 thousand hits on the ol' blog, thanks everybody who reads this nonsense! I did the math, oh yes... two months worth of blogging, one thousand hits, forty posts (not counting this one)... that means:
That's an average of 25 hits per post, to which I have this to say: "Not bad!"
If I was shooting for 1 million views, I have a paltry 166 and 2/3 years of blogging ahead of me at this rate in order to achieve my goal. Apparently going viral isn't as easy as dramatic hamster would have me believe.
At this rate, I only need to write 40 thousands posts. Wait, no... 39960 more. I'm up to 40 already! Nearly there!
TSN
That's an average of 25 hits per post, to which I have this to say: "Not bad!"
If I was shooting for 1 million views, I have a paltry 166 and 2/3 years of blogging ahead of me at this rate in order to achieve my goal. Apparently going viral isn't as easy as dramatic hamster would have me believe.
At this rate, I only need to write 40 thousands posts. Wait, no... 39960 more. I'm up to 40 already! Nearly there!
TSN
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Perspective
There are creatures living on the bottom of the ocean that we've never seen or heard of. I think that's cool, especially since we human-folk think we're so important and whatnot.
It would be doubly cool if a gang of them surfaced one day and started poking around lower Manhattan with digital cameras. I imagine that they also speak English, and that one of them is named Ed. Why not?
Scene: Half a dozen never before seen sea creatures have emerged from the water and are be-bopping around downtown, window shopping and generally behaving as if nothing was amiss. Naturally, every authority on planet Earth has been alerted.
Media crews follow with too many cameras and microphones, trying desperately to get a headline shot and some decent audio. Helicopters circle overhead and the sound of rounds being chambered into automatic weapons creates a proper ruckus.
Suddenly, without provocation, one of the creatures begins producing bubbles of water that quickly drop to the sidewalk and make little "splish" sounds. Then it stops. The crowd freezes in fear.
The Audio:
"Aww dammit Ed, I know that was you!"
"What? What?"
"Dude, I can totally see the bubbles."
"My bad."
"Seriously dude."
One of them pauses and scans the hushed crowd. They talk amongst themselves. Nobody in the crowd can tell which one is talking since nobody can tell where their mouths are, so they just listen:
"These things are wicked ugly, what are they called?"
"I don't think we have names for them yet."
"Sweet we get to name them!"
"Yeah I guess."
"Haha! I'm totally naming them after me."
"What, Dinglenuts?"
".... actually yeah, I like that better."
"Dinglenuts it is."
Aghast at the idea that our entire species has just been labeled "Dinglenuts", the crowd gets agitated. People begin to move closer.
"Hey what are they doing?"
"I don't know but I don't like it, let's get the hell out of here!"
"They're everywhere! How are there so many of them?"
"This is freaking me out, I'm totally freaking out, I'm freaking out!"
One of them pulls a contraption out of... somewhere... and fires a single shot into the crowd which instantly vaporizes all of humanity in a split second.
Apparently we didn't have the best weapons after all.
"Dammit. Now nobody will believe us."
"Whatever. We probably did them a favor."
TSN
It would be doubly cool if a gang of them surfaced one day and started poking around lower Manhattan with digital cameras. I imagine that they also speak English, and that one of them is named Ed. Why not?
Scene: Half a dozen never before seen sea creatures have emerged from the water and are be-bopping around downtown, window shopping and generally behaving as if nothing was amiss. Naturally, every authority on planet Earth has been alerted.
Media crews follow with too many cameras and microphones, trying desperately to get a headline shot and some decent audio. Helicopters circle overhead and the sound of rounds being chambered into automatic weapons creates a proper ruckus.
Suddenly, without provocation, one of the creatures begins producing bubbles of water that quickly drop to the sidewalk and make little "splish" sounds. Then it stops. The crowd freezes in fear.
The Audio:
"Aww dammit Ed, I know that was you!"
"What? What?"
"Dude, I can totally see the bubbles."
"My bad."
"Seriously dude."
One of them pauses and scans the hushed crowd. They talk amongst themselves. Nobody in the crowd can tell which one is talking since nobody can tell where their mouths are, so they just listen:
"These things are wicked ugly, what are they called?"
"I don't think we have names for them yet."
"Sweet we get to name them!"
"Yeah I guess."
"Haha! I'm totally naming them after me."
"What, Dinglenuts?"
".... actually yeah, I like that better."
"Dinglenuts it is."
Aghast at the idea that our entire species has just been labeled "Dinglenuts", the crowd gets agitated. People begin to move closer.
"Hey what are they doing?"
"I don't know but I don't like it, let's get the hell out of here!"
"They're everywhere! How are there so many of them?"
"This is freaking me out, I'm totally freaking out, I'm freaking out!"
One of them pulls a contraption out of... somewhere... and fires a single shot into the crowd which instantly vaporizes all of humanity in a split second.
Apparently we didn't have the best weapons after all.
"Dammit. Now nobody will believe us."
"Whatever. We probably did them a favor."
TSN
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Redneck Of The Day
So I'm leaning ever so nonchalantly against my car, watching the numbers on the gas pump whizz by at rates incomprehensible to my fragile little mind and wishing that my car ran on taco farts when something interesting happened behind me: Someone honked their horn.
Not just a little honk, like "Hey Biff, I see you there on the sidewalk, how you been ol' buddy?" but a big honk, like "Hey Biff you horse-toothed jackass, you just ran over my middle toe!"
This got my attention, so I turned my head to see what was going on. Just as I did I noticed a silver car streaking through an intersection with an obviously red light overhead. Inches from turning it into a tender and juicy T-bone was a big gnarly red pickup truck, the driver of which I deduced was the honker of the horn I had heard.
"That guy must have someplace important to be" I ascertained, and without a second thought re-allocated my attention back to the numbers on the pump, since they affect my wallet directly while random horn-honkers generally do not. Then I noticed the same silver car pulling into the gas station.
"He was in an awful hurry just to get gas" I decided.
"What a putz!" I further decided.
A man in a suit got out of the silver car and commenced an ordinary, unhurried gas pumping ritual, apparently oblivious to the near-death experience in his very recent past. Less oblivious was the guy in the big red truck, who had taken the time to circle around the gas station and pull in alongside the silver car.
Suit-man stood and looked rather alarmed as a textbook redneck leaned out of his truck window, shook his fist and lit him up with as nice a stream of character damaging tirade as I've heard in a while.
Something like this:
"What the hell is the matter with you, ya sack of crap?! You saw that @#%^ light was red, you know the !^#%#&* roads are wet, you could have #$^&(!% killed somebody! DUMB ASS! Yeah you heard me, DUMB ASS!"
It went on for some time. Then he took off, still muttering and shaking his head.
The whole episode left me feeling happy, with a little of my faith in humanity restored.
Many people would have just let the horn-honk suffice to let the guy in the silver car know he was a schmuck. Not this guy. He made the extra effort. He took the extra time, and really let the fella know just how much of a schmuck he was. I salute him.
Here's to you, random redneck! The world needs more doers.
TSN
Not just a little honk, like "Hey Biff, I see you there on the sidewalk, how you been ol' buddy?" but a big honk, like "Hey Biff you horse-toothed jackass, you just ran over my middle toe!"
This got my attention, so I turned my head to see what was going on. Just as I did I noticed a silver car streaking through an intersection with an obviously red light overhead. Inches from turning it into a tender and juicy T-bone was a big gnarly red pickup truck, the driver of which I deduced was the honker of the horn I had heard.
"That guy must have someplace important to be" I ascertained, and without a second thought re-allocated my attention back to the numbers on the pump, since they affect my wallet directly while random horn-honkers generally do not. Then I noticed the same silver car pulling into the gas station.
"He was in an awful hurry just to get gas" I decided.
"What a putz!" I further decided.
A man in a suit got out of the silver car and commenced an ordinary, unhurried gas pumping ritual, apparently oblivious to the near-death experience in his very recent past. Less oblivious was the guy in the big red truck, who had taken the time to circle around the gas station and pull in alongside the silver car.
Suit-man stood and looked rather alarmed as a textbook redneck leaned out of his truck window, shook his fist and lit him up with as nice a stream of character damaging tirade as I've heard in a while.
Something like this:
"What the hell is the matter with you, ya sack of crap?! You saw that @#%^ light was red, you know the !^#%#&* roads are wet, you could have #$^&(!% killed somebody! DUMB ASS! Yeah you heard me, DUMB ASS!"
It went on for some time. Then he took off, still muttering and shaking his head.
The whole episode left me feeling happy, with a little of my faith in humanity restored.
Many people would have just let the horn-honk suffice to let the guy in the silver car know he was a schmuck. Not this guy. He made the extra effort. He took the extra time, and really let the fella know just how much of a schmuck he was. I salute him.
Here's to you, random redneck! The world needs more doers.
TSN
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Home Security
Security is a word that never gets to mean what it's supposed to mean. No matter how "secure" something is, it's never completely unbreakable. There's always a way in, it just depends on how hard someone is willing to try, and for how long.
How good you feel about it depends on the quality and quantity of break-in attempts.
For example:
If nobody ever tries to break into home-A, the people living there might feel secure even though the only deterrent is a screen door under a neon sign that reads "Gold Bullion Storage Facility". That's a false sense of security, if you ask me.
On the other hand if folks are always trying to break into home-B, it's more likely the people living there feel insecure despite the 1/2" wrought iron sliding bolt on the door, crows-nests with armed guards, razor wire, mine-fields, searchlights, kung-fu tarantulas and whatnot.
Trying to break in sucks, what with all the getting kicked in the face eight times simultaneously. Why do people keep trying?
Who do you call if you lock yourself out? What locksmith is going to negotiate that killing field?
As for me, I have a "Hide-a-Rock". You should get one.
It's a giant plastic key that you hide in the flower garden. Whenever you lock yourself out, you pick up the key and there's a secret rock under there that you throw through the window.
Works every time.
TSN
How good you feel about it depends on the quality and quantity of break-in attempts.
For example:
If nobody ever tries to break into home-A, the people living there might feel secure even though the only deterrent is a screen door under a neon sign that reads "Gold Bullion Storage Facility". That's a false sense of security, if you ask me.
On the other hand if folks are always trying to break into home-B, it's more likely the people living there feel insecure despite the 1/2" wrought iron sliding bolt on the door, crows-nests with armed guards, razor wire, mine-fields, searchlights, kung-fu tarantulas and whatnot.
Trying to break in sucks, what with all the getting kicked in the face eight times simultaneously. Why do people keep trying?
Who do you call if you lock yourself out? What locksmith is going to negotiate that killing field?
As for me, I have a "Hide-a-Rock". You should get one.
It's a giant plastic key that you hide in the flower garden. Whenever you lock yourself out, you pick up the key and there's a secret rock under there that you throw through the window.
Works every time.
TSN
Monday, October 31, 2011
Halloween
Yep it's today. Today a bunch of kids I don't know, will come to my door and beg for sugary treats, then leave without saying thank you.
I must be getting old. Of the hundreds of kids that came to the house last year I remember exactly one costume. It was awesome, this little girl had on a huge clear plastic garbage bag stuffed with small multicolored balloons, her head poked out the top and had a big tin-foil dime on top of it. Best gumball machine I've ever seen. Kudos to you, random girl with an imagination!
Other kudos have historically gone to my cousin, whose Halloween ideas hail from a lifetime of academic influence and from being generally warped.
Examples: If I dress all in camouflage, face, hands... everything, then wear a spoon on a string around my neck, what am I? A spoon. If I wear a sandwich sign with the words "End It" on one side, and "You Missed, You Bastard!" on the other, what I am I? A suicidal pedestrian. If I wear all black with a dotted yellow line going up the middle of me, what am I? A road. The list goes on and on.
In my (fairly extensive) experience, adult Halloween costumes are almost always better than kids costumes. It's a great opportunity/excuse for grown women to wear skimpy clothes and go as sexy this or naughty that, and for grown men to dress like grown women, or Vikings, or grown Viking women.
We're a strangely repressed culture, aren't we?
-TSN
I must be getting old. Of the hundreds of kids that came to the house last year I remember exactly one costume. It was awesome, this little girl had on a huge clear plastic garbage bag stuffed with small multicolored balloons, her head poked out the top and had a big tin-foil dime on top of it. Best gumball machine I've ever seen. Kudos to you, random girl with an imagination!
Other kudos have historically gone to my cousin, whose Halloween ideas hail from a lifetime of academic influence and from being generally warped.
Examples: If I dress all in camouflage, face, hands... everything, then wear a spoon on a string around my neck, what am I? A spoon. If I wear a sandwich sign with the words "End It" on one side, and "You Missed, You Bastard!" on the other, what I am I? A suicidal pedestrian. If I wear all black with a dotted yellow line going up the middle of me, what am I? A road. The list goes on and on.
In my (fairly extensive) experience, adult Halloween costumes are almost always better than kids costumes. It's a great opportunity/excuse for grown women to wear skimpy clothes and go as sexy this or naughty that, and for grown men to dress like grown women, or Vikings, or grown Viking women.
We're a strangely repressed culture, aren't we?
-TSN
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Sniper
I saw him clearly in my scope
and he saw me in his
our fingers light on triggers bare
we watched each other watching there
and neither took a breath
He looked a lot like I would look
If I were in his skin
no hair disturbed by passing breeze
we knew that just the slightest squeeze
would mean the others death
Somewhere back behind his eyes
were faces of his past
they peered at me and understood
we'd all be different if we could
but couldn't then forbid
We had that single moment
to share and understand
his face conflicted; mine was too
we each knew what we had to do
and that is what we did
-TSN
Friday, October 28, 2011
Live Nudes
Even if there were pictures in this blog entry, the title would still be a lie.
It's just that there's something wrong with a sign that says "Live Nudes". It begs the question: What else would they be? Dead Nudes? That's not cool.
And what about this: Nude isn't a noun, it's an adjective... right? That makes it hard to pluralize! We're not supposed to go 'round pluralizing adjectives and whatnot! What next, possessive future-tense proper nouns? I can't even think of an example of what that would look like.
Nude means the same as naked, so it could read "Live Nakeds" just as easily, which actually seems like it makes a little more sense for some reason... but I understand how expensive neon signs are so I get why seedy un-incorporated club owners go with the shorter version.
If people are clothed you don't call them "clotheds", or at least I don't. Are dressed people "dresseds"? Nah, that would be dumb. Garmenteds? No. Covered-ups? "Live Covered-ups"? Definitely not.
It should read "Live Nude People", or just "Nude People" with the given assumption that they are alive. If you put a comma in there it reads "Live, Nude People!" (vs "Die, Nude People!"), which is quite a bit different.
If I were to wear a sandwich-sign in downtown anywhere that read "Die, Nude People!" on it, I wouldn't make many friends.
Pertinent question: Are animals nude? If you shave a monkey is he more nude than he was before? I don't get more nude just by shaving... shaved or unshaven I'd still be equally nude, so why should it be any different for a monkey?
If I was a pet store owner, I would totally put a neon "Live Nudes" sign out front.
TSN
It's just that there's something wrong with a sign that says "Live Nudes". It begs the question: What else would they be? Dead Nudes? That's not cool.
And what about this: Nude isn't a noun, it's an adjective... right? That makes it hard to pluralize! We're not supposed to go 'round pluralizing adjectives and whatnot! What next, possessive future-tense proper nouns? I can't even think of an example of what that would look like.
Nude means the same as naked, so it could read "Live Nakeds" just as easily, which actually seems like it makes a little more sense for some reason... but I understand how expensive neon signs are so I get why seedy un-incorporated club owners go with the shorter version.
If people are clothed you don't call them "clotheds", or at least I don't. Are dressed people "dresseds"? Nah, that would be dumb. Garmenteds? No. Covered-ups? "Live Covered-ups"? Definitely not.
It should read "Live Nude People", or just "Nude People" with the given assumption that they are alive. If you put a comma in there it reads "Live, Nude People!" (vs "Die, Nude People!"), which is quite a bit different.
If I were to wear a sandwich-sign in downtown anywhere that read "Die, Nude People!" on it, I wouldn't make many friends.
Pertinent question: Are animals nude? If you shave a monkey is he more nude than he was before? I don't get more nude just by shaving... shaved or unshaven I'd still be equally nude, so why should it be any different for a monkey?
If I was a pet store owner, I would totally put a neon "Live Nudes" sign out front.
TSN
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Fun With Lots of Bent Lines
Here's an optical illusion I drew accidentally while playing around in MS Paint:
It's approaching... or it's skeeving away, I'm not sure which. Either way, I can work miracles in Paint, apparantly.
I should really learn a more versatile imaging doctoring software... actually there's an in-the-box copy of photoshop right on my desk that I never installed, I should totally install that. Then there's no end to the compromising situations I can put people in! HAAAAA!
But seriously. Ha. More to follow on that, eventually.
Did you hear about the guy from **insert town name here** who shaved off his mustache, then went home and didn't recognize his family?
TSN
I should really learn a more versatile imaging doctoring software... actually there's an in-the-box copy of photoshop right on my desk that I never installed, I should totally install that. Then there's no end to the compromising situations I can put people in! HAAAAA!
But seriously. Ha. More to follow on that, eventually.
Did you hear about the guy from **insert town name here** who shaved off his mustache, then went home and didn't recognize his family?
TSN
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Subtitles
I watched a movie on Netflix instant que (which I get my moneys worth out of, believe you me) about a fighter who aspired to be world champ. It was a boxing movie, in Korean, so I had to read the subtitles and whatnot. Pretty good movie, I can't lie.
It made me think about subtitled movies. I think there are a lot of folks who don't watch movies because they have subtitles, and I'm here to tell you there are some damn good movies out there NOT in the English language. Jet Li if you're reading this, TESTIFY brother!
Seriously though, if you haven't seen "The Bodyguard 2", and you appreciate a good ridiculous slapstick action comedy, you're missing out. If you like a good fight movie and haven't seen a Tony Jaa movie, you're missing out. If you like crazy movies in general and haven't watched a Stephen Chow movie yet, you're missing out! Check out "Shaolin Soccer".
When I watched the last Lord of the Rings movie I was in Korea. It was subtitled twice and was still awesome. I slept on a random floor that night and wasn't even upset about it...
Our culture isn't the only culture. Much less are we the only ones who enjoy the myriad of emotions that make us human, or describe stories we've encountered in our cultural history. Embrace the movies of other cultures even if they're not your own and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. I know you will.
TSN
It made me think about subtitled movies. I think there are a lot of folks who don't watch movies because they have subtitles, and I'm here to tell you there are some damn good movies out there NOT in the English language. Jet Li if you're reading this, TESTIFY brother!
Seriously though, if you haven't seen "The Bodyguard 2", and you appreciate a good ridiculous slapstick action comedy, you're missing out. If you like a good fight movie and haven't seen a Tony Jaa movie, you're missing out. If you like crazy movies in general and haven't watched a Stephen Chow movie yet, you're missing out! Check out "Shaolin Soccer".
When I watched the last Lord of the Rings movie I was in Korea. It was subtitled twice and was still awesome. I slept on a random floor that night and wasn't even upset about it...
Our culture isn't the only culture. Much less are we the only ones who enjoy the myriad of emotions that make us human, or describe stories we've encountered in our cultural history. Embrace the movies of other cultures even if they're not your own and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. I know you will.
TSN
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Problems - Part 2
If you didn't read the last one now would be a good time or this won't make any sense. It probably won't make any sense anyway. Reglardless, here is the second segment of the story, submitted by me. Reading this it occurs to me that I might be a nut-bar.
Here it is.
"I realized that as bad as I had smelled before, I hadn't even come close to smelling as bad as the people getting off the boats in Boston Harbor. It was really, really bad. The pollution wafting from those cabins was some of the most eye-wateringly pungent aroma that had ever assailed my nasal cavity, and that's saying a lot as I was watching from a distance through binoculars. As I reeled and gagged and tried not to let anyone notice my discomfort, an idea dawned on me. I decided to hit the time machine again, but this time opted not to travel via horseback, since I was limping and bowlegged enough from the beating I had undergone already. Luckily my clever uncle had included a nifty device that synced my DNA up with a biological algorithm in the inner workings of the time machine's CPU and allowed me to use it remotely. He had also added a security device to the protocols: In order to access the mainframe, the operator had to be reminiscing fondly about watching "Back to the Future" or the machine wouldn't work, it would just repeatedly print out crock-pot recipes. This prevented non-time travel lovers from mucking around in the past and ruining it for everybody.
After one or two failures which pleasantly enough resulted in my learning a nice stewed dumpling recipe, I conjured up my most powerful Michael J. Fox-in-a-life-preserver memory, accessed the machine and was whisked to Philly, circa 1888. It was here and now, I remembered from my 7th grade U.S. History class, that an unknown inventor had first offered up the idea for deodorant. Little had I known at the time of the class that I myself would later, in the past, be that unknown contributor to the invention. After looking around for some time for a place in which to plug my crock-pot and not finding one, I settled for some beef jerky and set about my task. I tell you, gas station beef jerky of 2010 is no match for real smokehouse beef jerky purchased from a vendor cart in 1888. So as not to tear the fabric of space-time I casually dropped some hints with some local scientific communities (while remaining anonymous, lest the gravitational disturbances induced by a continuum-freakout drag the entire dimension into a realm of pure psychedelic wormhole tomfoolery), and snuck ever so nonchalantly back to the time machine. Here I reflected on my contributions to olfactory desensitization and the fact that thanks to me, social acceptability and general hygiene would form a sort of chemical dependence for at least another hundred and twenty years. I didn't mind, overmuch, since my next stop was..."
I sure do enjoy a good comma splice! See how I used the time machine remotely there? I must have realized the mistake the last guy made of using it as a teleporter and tried to compensate. Worked out nicely I think.
I know, it's ridiculous... but that's how I like it.
TSN
Here it is.
"I realized that as bad as I had smelled before, I hadn't even come close to smelling as bad as the people getting off the boats in Boston Harbor. It was really, really bad. The pollution wafting from those cabins was some of the most eye-wateringly pungent aroma that had ever assailed my nasal cavity, and that's saying a lot as I was watching from a distance through binoculars. As I reeled and gagged and tried not to let anyone notice my discomfort, an idea dawned on me. I decided to hit the time machine again, but this time opted not to travel via horseback, since I was limping and bowlegged enough from the beating I had undergone already. Luckily my clever uncle had included a nifty device that synced my DNA up with a biological algorithm in the inner workings of the time machine's CPU and allowed me to use it remotely. He had also added a security device to the protocols: In order to access the mainframe, the operator had to be reminiscing fondly about watching "Back to the Future" or the machine wouldn't work, it would just repeatedly print out crock-pot recipes. This prevented non-time travel lovers from mucking around in the past and ruining it for everybody.
After one or two failures which pleasantly enough resulted in my learning a nice stewed dumpling recipe, I conjured up my most powerful Michael J. Fox-in-a-life-preserver memory, accessed the machine and was whisked to Philly, circa 1888. It was here and now, I remembered from my 7th grade U.S. History class, that an unknown inventor had first offered up the idea for deodorant. Little had I known at the time of the class that I myself would later, in the past, be that unknown contributor to the invention. After looking around for some time for a place in which to plug my crock-pot and not finding one, I settled for some beef jerky and set about my task. I tell you, gas station beef jerky of 2010 is no match for real smokehouse beef jerky purchased from a vendor cart in 1888. So as not to tear the fabric of space-time I casually dropped some hints with some local scientific communities (while remaining anonymous, lest the gravitational disturbances induced by a continuum-freakout drag the entire dimension into a realm of pure psychedelic wormhole tomfoolery), and snuck ever so nonchalantly back to the time machine. Here I reflected on my contributions to olfactory desensitization and the fact that thanks to me, social acceptability and general hygiene would form a sort of chemical dependence for at least another hundred and twenty years. I didn't mind, overmuch, since my next stop was..."
I sure do enjoy a good comma splice! See how I used the time machine remotely there? I must have realized the mistake the last guy made of using it as a teleporter and tried to compensate. Worked out nicely I think.
I know, it's ridiculous... but that's how I like it.
TSN
Friday, October 21, 2011
We Have A Serious Problem - Part 1
Last fall I took an online class in creative problem solving. My online group assignment was for one person to start a story with the line "After my uncle invented a time machine..." and write two paragraphs of a story. Then the next person would pick up the story from there and so on.
I was really bummed out by the performance of my peers, to say the least. The next paragraph was copied and pasted directly from the forum. Bear in mind that this is a college course. It begins:
"After my uncle had invented a time machine, I had decided to explore it to see where it could take me? What a chore to decide where to go and explore first. To the future or the past? Do I want to see history or be the first to see some amazing thing in the future? I decided I wanted to go back to the 1700’s and see what everyone went through when coming to America for the first time. I set the dial for my destination and off I went. “To be a pioneer and get the chance to explore uncharted territory would be amazing,” I thought to myself. When I arrived in Philadelphia it was July 2, 1776 and those involved in writing the Declaration of Independence was putting the final touches on it. That same day British troops arrived in America and it was all quite scary. However to see the Declaration of Independence read out loud for the first time on July 8, 1776 was a great thing to see."
Aside from the sentence structure, punctuation, tense, subject-verb disagreements etc. etc. etc... there are a few things things I just can't get around. First, how can go back in time and discover new territory? If you're from the future all you can do is go back and steal credit from whoever did it before. Second, it's a time machine, not a teleporter! If you weren't in Philadelphia already, you're not going to arrive there in a time machine. But I split hairs. Let's see what happens next...
"I then decided to go to Boston to see what all happens there. “ Wow off to see the ships coming to America for the first time, an unknown place for everyone who arrives,” I thought to myself as I hoped on a horse cart heading that way. Traveling by horse is not its all cracked up to be. It took days to get to Boston and boy did I smell bad! Once I was able to get all cleaned up I went to the harbor. There was many people that arrived on one boat. They lived for months on a boat with all these other people just to go to a new place for a new start. How scary yet exciting. Just then I realized something…"
I like the premise, but is this college level grammar? COME ON! Alright. Red pen - deactivate! Maybe I should join the grammar police. Tomorrow I'll post the next two paragraphs, which consequently were submitted by me. I promise not to edit them, so if I made errors I'll deserve any criticism I get!
TSN
I was really bummed out by the performance of my peers, to say the least. The next paragraph was copied and pasted directly from the forum. Bear in mind that this is a college course. It begins:
"After my uncle had invented a time machine, I had decided to explore it to see where it could take me? What a chore to decide where to go and explore first. To the future or the past? Do I want to see history or be the first to see some amazing thing in the future? I decided I wanted to go back to the 1700’s and see what everyone went through when coming to America for the first time. I set the dial for my destination and off I went. “To be a pioneer and get the chance to explore uncharted territory would be amazing,” I thought to myself. When I arrived in Philadelphia it was July 2, 1776 and those involved in writing the Declaration of Independence was putting the final touches on it. That same day British troops arrived in America and it was all quite scary. However to see the Declaration of Independence read out loud for the first time on July 8, 1776 was a great thing to see."
Aside from the sentence structure, punctuation, tense, subject-verb disagreements etc. etc. etc... there are a few things things I just can't get around. First, how can go back in time and discover new territory? If you're from the future all you can do is go back and steal credit from whoever did it before. Second, it's a time machine, not a teleporter! If you weren't in Philadelphia already, you're not going to arrive there in a time machine. But I split hairs. Let's see what happens next...
"I then decided to go to Boston to see what all happens there. “ Wow off to see the ships coming to America for the first time, an unknown place for everyone who arrives,” I thought to myself as I hoped on a horse cart heading that way. Traveling by horse is not its all cracked up to be. It took days to get to Boston and boy did I smell bad! Once I was able to get all cleaned up I went to the harbor. There was many people that arrived on one boat. They lived for months on a boat with all these other people just to go to a new place for a new start. How scary yet exciting. Just then I realized something…"
I like the premise, but is this college level grammar? COME ON! Alright. Red pen - deactivate! Maybe I should join the grammar police. Tomorrow I'll post the next two paragraphs, which consequently were submitted by me. I promise not to edit them, so if I made errors I'll deserve any criticism I get!
TSN
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Thirty-something posts and I'm still a NOOB at this
Apparently there has been some difficulty leaving comments on this blog. The interface kept looping people around endlessly through sign-in pages, so I've made some changes to the settings.
So that's that, hopefully it works now. Naturally I won't know until someone tries it. Actually, if someone tries it and it doesn't work, I still won't know. Or if someone tries it and it works and they tell me, but don't tell me if they'd tried before and had it not work, I wouldn't know then either. Damn, what a predicament!
In unrelated news, here's a thing that I thought of that I hope nobody ever does to me:
Step 1: Replace the contents of a bottle of hand-sanitizer with contents of the left half of an epoxy syringe. Step 2: Replace the contents of the bottle of soap in the bathroom with the contents of the right half.
Step 3: Wait ever so patiently.
Here's what could happen: Victim goes for hand sanitizer after sneezing, coughing, etc. Goo that comes out is weird and sticky, so he heads for the bathroom to wash his hands. He applies water, but that doesn't seem to help. He applies soap and rubs vigorously. This action completes the epoxy mixture which only gets thicker and thicker and more and more difficult to wash off.
Hahaaaa.... Take that, random person!
Here's what would actually happen: I'd get punched in the face. D'oh.
TSN
So that's that, hopefully it works now. Naturally I won't know until someone tries it. Actually, if someone tries it and it doesn't work, I still won't know. Or if someone tries it and it works and they tell me, but don't tell me if they'd tried before and had it not work, I wouldn't know then either. Damn, what a predicament!
In unrelated news, here's a thing that I thought of that I hope nobody ever does to me:
Step 1: Replace the contents of a bottle of hand-sanitizer with contents of the left half of an epoxy syringe. Step 2: Replace the contents of the bottle of soap in the bathroom with the contents of the right half.
Step 3: Wait ever so patiently.
Here's what could happen: Victim goes for hand sanitizer after sneezing, coughing, etc. Goo that comes out is weird and sticky, so he heads for the bathroom to wash his hands. He applies water, but that doesn't seem to help. He applies soap and rubs vigorously. This action completes the epoxy mixture which only gets thicker and thicker and more and more difficult to wash off.
Hahaaaa.... Take that, random person!
Here's what would actually happen: I'd get punched in the face. D'oh.
TSN
Monday, October 17, 2011
Strut Yer Butt, Grover
I saw a bird walking around the other day and I thought "What a waste." Then I concluded that birds walk funny, with their heads bobbing forward and back all the time with every step. Not all birds, probably, but this one was certainly doing it.
It was probably a Pterodactyl, or something like that... Give me a break I'm no member in high standing (or any standing) of the Autobahn Society. Although I do enjoy being passed at 114 miles per hour by little old ladies who give me the stink-eye as they blow by for being such a road-slug.
Holy McCrappenstein, I spelled Pterodactyl right on the first try, I'm giving myself a gold star for that one. I'll put it on the fridge.
Anyway that bird strut got me wondering. Every time he takes a step does the world zoom in and then zoom back out, and if so, does he hear the Grover voice in his head saying "Near.... far! Near... far!"? Because that's what I hear whenever I walk like that.
Which is often.
TSN
P.S. Spell-check has nothing whatsoever to suggest as a replacement word for "McCrappenstein". It didn't even try.
It was probably a Pterodactyl, or something like that... Give me a break I'm no member in high standing (or any standing) of the Autobahn Society. Although I do enjoy being passed at 114 miles per hour by little old ladies who give me the stink-eye as they blow by for being such a road-slug.
Holy McCrappenstein, I spelled Pterodactyl right on the first try, I'm giving myself a gold star for that one. I'll put it on the fridge.
Anyway that bird strut got me wondering. Every time he takes a step does the world zoom in and then zoom back out, and if so, does he hear the Grover voice in his head saying "Near.... far! Near... far!"? Because that's what I hear whenever I walk like that.
Which is often.
TSN
P.S. Spell-check has nothing whatsoever to suggest as a replacement word for "McCrappenstein". It didn't even try.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
A Story With No Beginning And No End
"Would you like to order desert?" asked the man in the tweed jacket. My keen awareness of my surroundings kicked in immediately: This question seemed out of place... possibly because I was half asleep on a midnight bus to Utah.
"No..." I said hesitantly, confident that my leg was being pulled harder than the groin muscle of an elderly, out-of-practice dwarven kick-boxer.
After a moment of silence, I soon realized that during my in-the-moment, lengthy comparison between my condition as a potential con-mark and the difficulties of being a small martial arts professional, I had taken so long to answer that the man in the tweed jacket had begun to suspect Forrest Gump could easily best me in a battle of wits, if not comma-spliced, run-on sentences.
It seemed like a good time to allow his train of thought to build up steam, so I disregarded the nagging feeling that modern trains no longer run on steam and commenced to grinning like I'd just watched a donkey buck a high school bully through a stained-glass portrait of our lady of blessed irony.
He looked at me.
"I'm Ed." he said.
"Neat." I said.
And that's it. Nothing else happened.
TSN
"No..." I said hesitantly, confident that my leg was being pulled harder than the groin muscle of an elderly, out-of-practice dwarven kick-boxer.
After a moment of silence, I soon realized that during my in-the-moment, lengthy comparison between my condition as a potential con-mark and the difficulties of being a small martial arts professional, I had taken so long to answer that the man in the tweed jacket had begun to suspect Forrest Gump could easily best me in a battle of wits, if not comma-spliced, run-on sentences.
It seemed like a good time to allow his train of thought to build up steam, so I disregarded the nagging feeling that modern trains no longer run on steam and commenced to grinning like I'd just watched a donkey buck a high school bully through a stained-glass portrait of our lady of blessed irony.
He looked at me.
"I'm Ed." he said.
"Neat." I said.
And that's it. Nothing else happened.
TSN
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
A Beard Does Not a Survivor Make
** The scene: A lonely desert island. It's the same sort of 10' x 10' tiny desert island with a single scraggly palm tree that you'd see in a Far Side cartoon. On it sits a single man. We know that he is single because his Facebook status lists him as such. He has long flowing hair and a huge unkempt beard.
- Discuss.
At first glance it would seem as though he'd been there a while, but his circumstances and the apparently scarce nature of his survival conditions coupled with the inkling that there's no way he'd have been able to survive on that island sustained by only that single palm tree for long enough to facilitate such a respectable amount of beard growth begs a few questions:
Was he already sporting the hipster look already when he landed?
How many coconuts are currently available on the tree?
How many were there?
If he's been surviving on coconuts alone, how did he crack them?
Does he posses superhuman strength or telekinetic abilities?
Is there edible aquatic life in the surrounding waters?
Can he communicate with said aquatic life?
Is he wearing glasses? (I ask because Gary Larson would have undoubtedly drawn him wearing glasses, so that's how I imagine him)
If so, is his prescription such that he might use the lenses to focus a beam and burn coconuts open?
Does he wish he had glasses?
Is he bummed that he chose contacts, or that he had corrective laser surgery?
How far away is he from the next nearest island/landmass?
Does Dominoes deliver to this particular island?
Are there factors unbeknownst to us that would contribute to his beard and hair growing faster than usual?
Has he shaved since he got to the island?
Did he by chance wash up with a boatload of non-perishable provisions which have just now run out?
Is there a nest in the palm tree from which he can harvest a daily egg?
Does he have an artificial limb that includes a Swiss Army Survival Kit complete with salt water purification tablets and a fishing pole?
Why doesn't said limb also contain a Coast Guard beacon system of some sort?
The existence of the previous questions leads me to believe that it is impossible to ascertain any usable information about the bearded man on the island without first being provided further information. In a nutshell: "I don't know, it depends."
TSN
- Discuss.
At first glance it would seem as though he'd been there a while, but his circumstances and the apparently scarce nature of his survival conditions coupled with the inkling that there's no way he'd have been able to survive on that island sustained by only that single palm tree for long enough to facilitate such a respectable amount of beard growth begs a few questions:
Was he already sporting the hipster look already when he landed?
How many coconuts are currently available on the tree?
How many were there?
If he's been surviving on coconuts alone, how did he crack them?
Does he posses superhuman strength or telekinetic abilities?
Is there edible aquatic life in the surrounding waters?
Can he communicate with said aquatic life?
Is he wearing glasses? (I ask because Gary Larson would have undoubtedly drawn him wearing glasses, so that's how I imagine him)
If so, is his prescription such that he might use the lenses to focus a beam and burn coconuts open?
Does he wish he had glasses?
Is he bummed that he chose contacts, or that he had corrective laser surgery?
How far away is he from the next nearest island/landmass?
Does Dominoes deliver to this particular island?
Are there factors unbeknownst to us that would contribute to his beard and hair growing faster than usual?
Has he shaved since he got to the island?
Did he by chance wash up with a boatload of non-perishable provisions which have just now run out?
Is there a nest in the palm tree from which he can harvest a daily egg?
Does he have an artificial limb that includes a Swiss Army Survival Kit complete with salt water purification tablets and a fishing pole?
Why doesn't said limb also contain a Coast Guard beacon system of some sort?
The existence of the previous questions leads me to believe that it is impossible to ascertain any usable information about the bearded man on the island without first being provided further information. In a nutshell: "I don't know, it depends."
TSN
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Technology
I could almost buy a new laptop for the amount of stupid money I just spent on parts for my old one.
Could I have found them cheaper? Yes.
Do I know where? No.
Do I want someone to tell me, now that I've already bought the parts? Definitely not.
Why not? Because cheese cubes are hard to stack on a moving armadillo, now quit asking me questions.
I'll remain blissfully ignorant if you don't mind, most of the parts already came in the mail.
Of course, the part still floating somewhere over the mid-Atlantic is the one that has to go in first. By the time it arrives, I'll have completely forgotten how to reassemble the thing, which is at this moment in a thousand pieces on the shelf next to me.
Here's a picture:
Panel "a" goes into slot "28.10 sub-component 9d-33". Skip.
Wire "842" plugs into jack "half broken and easily missed". Skip.
It may never work again, but if it does, at least there won't be as many screws holding it together.
My creed: If it ain't broke; fix it 'till it is.
TSN
Could I have found them cheaper? Yes.
Do I know where? No.
Do I want someone to tell me, now that I've already bought the parts? Definitely not.
Why not? Because cheese cubes are hard to stack on a moving armadillo, now quit asking me questions.
I'll remain blissfully ignorant if you don't mind, most of the parts already came in the mail.
Of course, the part still floating somewhere over the mid-Atlantic is the one that has to go in first. By the time it arrives, I'll have completely forgotten how to reassemble the thing, which is at this moment in a thousand pieces on the shelf next to me.
Here's a picture:
Wire "842" plugs into jack "half broken and easily missed". Skip.
It may never work again, but if it does, at least there won't be as many screws holding it together.
My creed: If it ain't broke; fix it 'till it is.
TSN
Monday, October 10, 2011
A True Story of Tragedy and Suspense
I was floating around in a pool one time, by myself. I wasn't dead or anything, just sort of floating around like the last Crunchberry in a bowl of milk, slowly getting a horrible sunburn. It was very, very quiet. I could hear the tiniest ripples striking the walls of the pool.
It was scorching hot in the sun, so I'd floated into a little shady spot where I happened to spot a fly, stuck on its back in the water and struggling to get out. I was just inches away.
Not wanting him to suffer, I gave him a bit of a nudge towards the wall. I watched him climb up, over the lip of the pool and onto the pavement.
He slowly and carefully dried his legs and wings, got them un-stuck and got his bearings. He shook his head, cleaned off his eyes, turned around... and walked straight back into the water. Bloop!
I was like... "Dammit..."
So I gave him a bit of a nudge toward the wall. He got a purchase on it, climbed out, over the lip, dried himself off... legs, wings, eyes. It all took quite a long time. Still too soggy to fly, apparently, he started walking along the pavement. I floated soundlessly in the pool next to him, mesmerized by the spectacle of it, my face still just a few inches away watching his little life unfold before me.
I saved his life twice. By that time I felt that I had a vested interest in the affairs of this particular fly. He and I had been through so much together! I wonder if he was grateful?
He never said anything. Just walked down, turned the corner and BAM! Got nailed by a spider. It scared the ever-loving crap out of me. The spider jumped him from just out of the corner of my vision, inches in front of my face; wrapped him up and hauled him off to parts unknown.
I am still emotionally scarred from that experience. That poor unlucky bastard.
TSN
It was scorching hot in the sun, so I'd floated into a little shady spot where I happened to spot a fly, stuck on its back in the water and struggling to get out. I was just inches away.
Not wanting him to suffer, I gave him a bit of a nudge towards the wall. I watched him climb up, over the lip of the pool and onto the pavement.
He slowly and carefully dried his legs and wings, got them un-stuck and got his bearings. He shook his head, cleaned off his eyes, turned around... and walked straight back into the water. Bloop!
I was like... "Dammit..."
So I gave him a bit of a nudge toward the wall. He got a purchase on it, climbed out, over the lip, dried himself off... legs, wings, eyes. It all took quite a long time. Still too soggy to fly, apparently, he started walking along the pavement. I floated soundlessly in the pool next to him, mesmerized by the spectacle of it, my face still just a few inches away watching his little life unfold before me.
I saved his life twice. By that time I felt that I had a vested interest in the affairs of this particular fly. He and I had been through so much together! I wonder if he was grateful?
He never said anything. Just walked down, turned the corner and BAM! Got nailed by a spider. It scared the ever-loving crap out of me. The spider jumped him from just out of the corner of my vision, inches in front of my face; wrapped him up and hauled him off to parts unknown.
I am still emotionally scarred from that experience. That poor unlucky bastard.
TSN
Saturday, October 8, 2011
The Economy
Can you exist without corporations and government support? I can't. I need to buy groceries from the store, which gets loans from the banks, which borrows from the federal reserve, the chair-people of which somehow find the time to go on hunting expeditions to shoot wildlife, as if they couldn't afford groceries.
I need the truckers who live on the road to bring ice cream to my local distributors. I could make my own ice cream I suppose, but where would I get my sugar? From bees? I need the fishermen who pull in the nets, and the entire infrastructure that gets those fish into my freezer.
If everyone in this town suddenly had to go out and hunt/gather their own food the wildlife around here would be gone in a month. We realize that I think, as a people.
The whole federal reserve thing, it's a system that sort of works for now... we use it, it works to keep the truckers and fishermen in beer money. If it stops working, wouldn't you think that the intelligent people who exist in the middle echelons of society, the people who actually solve the problems and do the work that keeps things happening, wouldn't they know enough to stay the course and eventually find a solution to the problem?
Or are we really that excitable and hopeless a race of people that we'll riot at the first sign of trouble and plunge the entire system into oblivion?
I want to get out from under that big thumb. I don't want to depend on the system. I want to be free!
TSN
Friday, October 7, 2011
PBJ - Part 2
Amendment to step 1 from the previous post: --Acquire (through legal means) and physically posses either a knife designed for spreading or a tea/table spoon. They are to be of standard restaurant proportions with only minor variances in size (up to +/-10% in each dimension).
Continuing: Until further notice, all instructions that follow are to be carried out by the designated sandwich maker.
4: Align the two slices of bread such that the side forming the 2 dimensional plane described in step 2 is facing opposite the center of the surface towards which gravity would pull the bread if dropped. While maintaining its gravitational alignment, place the bread upon a clean counter top or tabletop (referred to henceforth as "the work surface"). Let both slices remain within comfortable reach.
5: Manipulate the seal on the container(s) of jelly such that the contents are accessible. Repeat the previous sentence, substituting the words "peanut butter" for the word "jelly".
6: Designate one of the slices of bread as the "jelly slice", and the other as the "peanut butter slice".
7: Wield the utensil acquired in step 1 with the dominant hand. Carefully plunge the non-handle end into the jelly and retract it in such a way that the following measurement (in ounces) becomes true:
0 < Amount of jelly on the surface of the utensil < 4
8: Transfer the jelly from the utensil to the upward-most surface (as defined by the surface furthest away from the work surface upon which it rests) of the "jelly slice", and spread it amongst the confines of the outermost limits of the surface plane for a period of time no greater than 8 seconds.
9: Repeat steps 6 and 7 until the amount of jelly on the bread covers an area no less than 85% and no greater than 100% of its surface, without exceeding a depth of 1/4" at any point.
10: Perform steps 7 - 9 again, substituting the words "peanut butter" with each occurrence of the word "jelly". In the event that the chunkiness of the peanut butter is such that maintaining a uniform depth of less than 1/4" in step 9 is impossible, allow for uneven spots that may protrude above the non-chunky parts up to an additional 1/8".
11: Place the utensil on the work surface.
12: Raise the "peanut butter slice" and maneuver it into the space above the "jelly slice". Taking special care not to disturb the peanut butter (with, for example a thumb or finger), carefully invert the "peanut butter slice" so that the peanut butter on it defies gravity above the "jelly slice" by use of its adhesive properties alone.
13: Lower the "peanut butter slice" until it rests upon the "jelly slice" such that the peanut butter and the jelly that were spread on the surfaces of their respective slices make contact in as many points as possible, forming a "sandwich".
14: Without separating the slices or disturbing their alignment with reference to one another, invert the entire sandwich such that the peanut butter slice is on the bottom. This minimizes dripping.
15: Take a moment to enjoy the completed sandwich. Appreciate its beauty, its aesthetic grace and its simple elegance and deceptively intricate design. Relish the memory of its construction and prepare mentally for the glorious consumption of what must surely be the most meticulously crafted culinary delicacy you have eaten since breakfast last.
This concludes the instructional portion of this segment. All that remains is to eat the sandwich.
Bon appetite
TSN
Continuing: Until further notice, all instructions that follow are to be carried out by the designated sandwich maker.
4: Align the two slices of bread such that the side forming the 2 dimensional plane described in step 2 is facing opposite the center of the surface towards which gravity would pull the bread if dropped. While maintaining its gravitational alignment, place the bread upon a clean counter top or tabletop (referred to henceforth as "the work surface"). Let both slices remain within comfortable reach.
5: Manipulate the seal on the container(s) of jelly such that the contents are accessible. Repeat the previous sentence, substituting the words "peanut butter" for the word "jelly".
6: Designate one of the slices of bread as the "jelly slice", and the other as the "peanut butter slice".
7: Wield the utensil acquired in step 1 with the dominant hand. Carefully plunge the non-handle end into the jelly and retract it in such a way that the following measurement (in ounces) becomes true:
0 < Amount of jelly on the surface of the utensil < 4
8: Transfer the jelly from the utensil to the upward-most surface (as defined by the surface furthest away from the work surface upon which it rests) of the "jelly slice", and spread it amongst the confines of the outermost limits of the surface plane for a period of time no greater than 8 seconds.
9: Repeat steps 6 and 7 until the amount of jelly on the bread covers an area no less than 85% and no greater than 100% of its surface, without exceeding a depth of 1/4" at any point.
10: Perform steps 7 - 9 again, substituting the words "peanut butter" with each occurrence of the word "jelly". In the event that the chunkiness of the peanut butter is such that maintaining a uniform depth of less than 1/4" in step 9 is impossible, allow for uneven spots that may protrude above the non-chunky parts up to an additional 1/8".
11: Place the utensil on the work surface.
12: Raise the "peanut butter slice" and maneuver it into the space above the "jelly slice". Taking special care not to disturb the peanut butter (with, for example a thumb or finger), carefully invert the "peanut butter slice" so that the peanut butter on it defies gravity above the "jelly slice" by use of its adhesive properties alone.
13: Lower the "peanut butter slice" until it rests upon the "jelly slice" such that the peanut butter and the jelly that were spread on the surfaces of their respective slices make contact in as many points as possible, forming a "sandwich".
14: Without separating the slices or disturbing their alignment with reference to one another, invert the entire sandwich such that the peanut butter slice is on the bottom. This minimizes dripping.
15: Take a moment to enjoy the completed sandwich. Appreciate its beauty, its aesthetic grace and its simple elegance and deceptively intricate design. Relish the memory of its construction and prepare mentally for the glorious consumption of what must surely be the most meticulously crafted culinary delicacy you have eaten since breakfast last.
This concludes the instructional portion of this segment. All that remains is to eat the sandwich.
Bon appetite
TSN
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
PBJ - Part 1
My 5th grade teacher once challenged us to write out a procedure on how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and to make it as descriptive as possible. <-- key words.
The next day, she awaited us in class with a table full of the necessary ingredients. As I recall, only one of us succeeded in getting the bread out of the bag before she smeared jelly all over it. My failure on that day disappointed me so much and has eaten me up inside for so long that at long last it has come to this.
The following is an attempt at a PBJ self-redemption:
1: Legally acquire the following ingredients:
-- Bread; Let x represent the number of slices of bread where x is a positive whole integer which satisfies the equation: 1 < x < 3. Each slice should exhibit a physical property wherein all points on at least one side fall on a single 2 dimensional plane, and wherein the plane has an area y (measured in inches squared), where 9 < y < 64.
-- Peanut Butter; 1 jar containing between 10-30 oz of peanut butter. As an alternative, at least 5 level tablespoons of peanut butter, in a container which is sealed, but which is penetrable by a single human adult using only physiologically available tools. The consistency of the peanut butter should exhibit a crunchiness level to be determined by he or she who is to consume the finished sandwich.
-- Jelly; A sum total of between 1/16 and 1/4 cup of non-nasty (defined by the objectivity of the discerning tastes of the waiting hungries) jelly in a container adhering to the same criteria as that of the peanut butter and of a flavor pre-determined by the would-be consumer.
2: Designate a block of time in which to construct the sandwich.
-- Let the variable T represent a block of time not earlier than present time, wherein the following is true:
last mealtime < T < time of death due to starvation.
-- Let the end of the designated time-block occur on a timeline before the earliest expiration date printed on any of the ingredients.
3: Ensure the ingredients and the sandwich-maker are co-located conveniently in space-time such that the sandwich-maker could physically grasp the ingredients, and/or the containers housing the ingredients with his or her hands should he or she choose to do so.
---------------------------- To be continued --------------------------
The more I think about it, the more technical and in-depth it gets! It's already out of control. I've just now situated the sandwich maker and the ingredients into the same room.
More to follow, but not tonight.
TSN
The next day, she awaited us in class with a table full of the necessary ingredients. As I recall, only one of us succeeded in getting the bread out of the bag before she smeared jelly all over it. My failure on that day disappointed me so much and has eaten me up inside for so long that at long last it has come to this.
The following is an attempt at a PBJ self-redemption:
How to Make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich
By ShadowsNose
1: Legally acquire the following ingredients:
-- Bread; Let x represent the number of slices of bread where x is a positive whole integer which satisfies the equation: 1 < x < 3. Each slice should exhibit a physical property wherein all points on at least one side fall on a single 2 dimensional plane, and wherein the plane has an area y (measured in inches squared), where 9 < y < 64.
-- Peanut Butter; 1 jar containing between 10-30 oz of peanut butter. As an alternative, at least 5 level tablespoons of peanut butter, in a container which is sealed, but which is penetrable by a single human adult using only physiologically available tools. The consistency of the peanut butter should exhibit a crunchiness level to be determined by he or she who is to consume the finished sandwich.
-- Jelly; A sum total of between 1/16 and 1/4 cup of non-nasty (defined by the objectivity of the discerning tastes of the waiting hungries) jelly in a container adhering to the same criteria as that of the peanut butter and of a flavor pre-determined by the would-be consumer.
2: Designate a block of time in which to construct the sandwich.
-- Let the variable T represent a block of time not earlier than present time, wherein the following is true:
last mealtime < T < time of death due to starvation.
-- Let the end of the designated time-block occur on a timeline before the earliest expiration date printed on any of the ingredients.
3: Ensure the ingredients and the sandwich-maker are co-located conveniently in space-time such that the sandwich-maker could physically grasp the ingredients, and/or the containers housing the ingredients with his or her hands should he or she choose to do so.
---------------------------- To be continued --------------------------
The more I think about it, the more technical and in-depth it gets! It's already out of control. I've just now situated the sandwich maker and the ingredients into the same room.
More to follow, but not tonight.
TSN
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Butt Seriously...
I had a friend once who was a gnome. I met him one day during an experiment to see how much coffee I had to drink before I met a gnome. Turns out it was a lot .
He'd held a part time job standing in a little old lady's flower garden, endlessly showing people the top 1.5 inches of his butt. The pay was good, but I remember him telling me that he didn't get a lot of job satisfaction out of that. He said he had plenty more butt, but nobody wanted to see it.
I wasn't surprised, but it did get me wondering.
How elegant of a garden decoration is a gnome-butt? Is there a golden ratio of flowers to gnome-butt that denotes the perfect aesthetic home garden viewing experience? What is that ratio? Is it Phi?
That's probably it.
Imagine the guy giving the tour of the royal gardens of some extravagantly elegant and exotic zen garden somewhere... and having to include gnome-butt.
TSN
He'd held a part time job standing in a little old lady's flower garden, endlessly showing people the top 1.5 inches of his butt. The pay was good, but I remember him telling me that he didn't get a lot of job satisfaction out of that. He said he had plenty more butt, but nobody wanted to see it.
I wasn't surprised, but it did get me wondering.
How elegant of a garden decoration is a gnome-butt? Is there a golden ratio of flowers to gnome-butt that denotes the perfect aesthetic home garden viewing experience? What is that ratio? Is it Phi?
That's probably it.
Imagine the guy giving the tour of the royal gardens of some extravagantly elegant and exotic zen garden somewhere... and having to include gnome-butt.
TSN
Monday, October 3, 2011
And Cloth Napkins Too!
I spend a pretty good bit of time thinking about food. The minute I stop thinking about it, my phone rings and it's the Mrs. wondering what we're going to do for dinner. I normally come out of that one on the losing end, since it's easier for me to stop at the store on the way home than it is for her.
--Riiing! (Here I substitute the customary "ring" sound, because it's easier than typing out all the Sir Mixalot lyrics)
"Dammit."
--Riiiiing!
"Dammit."
**... and a round thing in your face...**
"Grooooan, fine, geez!"
*boop*
"Hello dear :)"
"Hey douche-bag. Whatchu wanna do for dinner?"
"What, are we out of rotisserie-style, wadded-up caribou face already?"
"No, but the baby threw a few handfuls of sand into the meat pit and now it's all gritty."
"Well shit."
"I know."
"Alright... um... how about duck lips, are we out of duck lips?"
"I think there's a can in the pantry behind the cheese-weasel."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that cheese-weasel, sweet. And we can make deep-fried, bacon-wrapped salted sticks of frosted garlic-butter for desert!"
"Yes!"
"K. Loveyoubye."
"Loveyoubye."
*boop*
Time to put on my grillin' shorts.
TSN
--Riiing! (Here I substitute the customary "ring" sound, because it's easier than typing out all the Sir Mixalot lyrics)
"Dammit."
--Riiiiing!
"Dammit."
**... and a round thing in your face...**
"Grooooan, fine, geez!"
*boop*
"Hello dear :)"
"Hey douche-bag. Whatchu wanna do for dinner?"
"What, are we out of rotisserie-style, wadded-up caribou face already?"
"No, but the baby threw a few handfuls of sand into the meat pit and now it's all gritty."
"Well shit."
"I know."
"Alright... um... how about duck lips, are we out of duck lips?"
"I think there's a can in the pantry behind the cheese-weasel."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that cheese-weasel, sweet. And we can make deep-fried, bacon-wrapped salted sticks of frosted garlic-butter for desert!"
"Yes!"
"K. Loveyoubye."
"Loveyoubye."
*boop*
Time to put on my grillin' shorts.
TSN
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Lords and Ladies
If you grew up on a dirt road in New England like I did, you know about the fifth season: Mud season. In the interest of keeping everyone on the same page, know this: Mud season is the season sort of in between winter and spring when the snow melts off and everything turns to mud.
It's not very romantic, and it involves a lot of slogging to the bus stop in boots that come up so high they obscure your vision.
So... I was thinking about something earlier; lords of yore! More specifically, Lord Winterfall. Where did I hear that? I have no idea, but get this: What if Lord Winterfall had a family and all their names followed the same theme?
**The scene: A strikingly beautiful castle on a hilltop. Trumpets sound, banners and other such festoonery are strung with gusto across courtyards, and wreathes of fresh local flora garnish the
usually intimidating battlements.**
The strong voice of a brightly-garbed herald rises above the general hubbub and the noise of the crowd shrinks to a hushed murmur.
"Ladies and gentleman may I present Lord Winterfall, and his lovely wife Countess Autumn!"
There is much craning of necks and nodding of heads as the regal couple makes their way through the lavish throne room, adorned in the finest furs and silk. Lord Winterfall inconspicuously crop-dusts a group of obnoxious merchants whom he knows are only there to score brownie points. He leans over and whispers to his wife.
"Shazzam!" She tries not to laugh and snorts a little.
The herald continues.
"May I present the Winterfall's beautiful daughter, Summer!"
Every teenage peasant boy in the place has his heart broken as the most beautiful girl they have ever seen calmly walks past without looking at any of them and takes her place at her mothers side.
"May I present Lord Winterfalls son and heir to the Winterfall throne; Mud!"
Mud always hated formal functions.
TSN
It's not very romantic, and it involves a lot of slogging to the bus stop in boots that come up so high they obscure your vision.
So... I was thinking about something earlier; lords of yore! More specifically, Lord Winterfall. Where did I hear that? I have no idea, but get this: What if Lord Winterfall had a family and all their names followed the same theme?
**The scene: A strikingly beautiful castle on a hilltop. Trumpets sound, banners and other such festoonery are strung with gusto across courtyards, and wreathes of fresh local flora garnish the
usually intimidating battlements.**
The strong voice of a brightly-garbed herald rises above the general hubbub and the noise of the crowd shrinks to a hushed murmur.
"Ladies and gentleman may I present Lord Winterfall, and his lovely wife Countess Autumn!"
There is much craning of necks and nodding of heads as the regal couple makes their way through the lavish throne room, adorned in the finest furs and silk. Lord Winterfall inconspicuously crop-dusts a group of obnoxious merchants whom he knows are only there to score brownie points. He leans over and whispers to his wife.
"Shazzam!" She tries not to laugh and snorts a little.
The herald continues.
"May I present the Winterfall's beautiful daughter, Summer!"
Every teenage peasant boy in the place has his heart broken as the most beautiful girl they have ever seen calmly walks past without looking at any of them and takes her place at her mothers side.
"May I present Lord Winterfalls son and heir to the Winterfall throne; Mud!"
Mud always hated formal functions.
TSN
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Fish
We used to wake up super early to go fishing. Other than appreciating the stillness that only the middle of a lake at 5am offers, I'm not sure why we got up that early. I never really noticed an increase in the number of fish I caught vs other times of day. It raises several questions about fish that I want answered, right now dammit!
Do fish do the three meals a day thing? Snacks? Diets?
Do they wake up hungry for breakfast?
Do they even sleep? Do they snore?
Do fish yawn and stretch?
Do they ever get colds? What does a fish-sneeze sound like?
Would a fish take NyQuil, wake up groggy and angry, stumble to the bathroom and... wait... no.
Fish have no eyelids... if a fish is hanging out in a school of other fish and he fells asleep in class... does anybody notice?
Do wiesenhiemer fish smack other fish with xylophone hammers and quip about "practicing the scales?"
If I stand on a fish will it tell me how much I weigh?
If a fish tied a grilled-cheese sandwich to a string and threw it up onto a dock, could he catch a little old man?
Would that same fish later exaggerate to his friends about how big the little old man was?
Do fish have friends? Do they keep in touch on FishBook?
Uh oh.
I gotta get out of here before somebody slaps me. With a fish.
TSN
Do fish do the three meals a day thing? Snacks? Diets?
Do they wake up hungry for breakfast?
Do they even sleep? Do they snore?
Do fish yawn and stretch?
Do they ever get colds? What does a fish-sneeze sound like?
Would a fish take NyQuil, wake up groggy and angry, stumble to the bathroom and... wait... no.
Fish have no eyelids... if a fish is hanging out in a school of other fish and he fells asleep in class... does anybody notice?
Do wiesenhiemer fish smack other fish with xylophone hammers and quip about "practicing the scales?"
If I stand on a fish will it tell me how much I weigh?
If a fish tied a grilled-cheese sandwich to a string and threw it up onto a dock, could he catch a little old man?
Would that same fish later exaggerate to his friends about how big the little old man was?
Do fish have friends? Do they keep in touch on FishBook?
Uh oh.
I gotta get out of here before somebody slaps me. With a fish.
TSN
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Naked People in Trees
I was watching the nature channel the other day and there was this thing on about how amazing people are in our ability to thrive just about anywhere. One was about a tribe somewhere in the jungle that lives in these tree houses hundreds of feet off the ground.
So if a guy wants to borrow a cup of sugar from his neighbor, he's got to climb down hundreds of feet, skip along the jungle floor for a bit and then scamper up another couple of hundred feet. Repeat on the way back, all the while holding a measuring cup. I can see it now...
"Baby can you run over to Frankie and Darlene's and see if they can't spare a cup of sugar?
*Groooooaaaan* "Dammit I just sat down!"
"C'mon I want to get this made before the typhoon knocks us out of here like so many ripe apples and we all plummet to our hungry deaths!"
"Fiiiiiine! Give me a minute."
He takes off through the trapdoor in the floor, she gets distracted and sits down to watch the game. He rolls in an hour and a half later, covered in sweat and barely breathing. She tries to pretend she wasn't napping.
"Where have you been?"
He points out the window to the neighbors house, eight feet away. Frankie sees him and waves.
If it were me, I'd get the cup of sugar all the way back to the kitchen and then spill it and be like "DAMMIT! Now we're gonna have ants!"
Ants are workers too, you'd better believe those little buggers would find that sugar on my kitchen floor and line right up to get a grain.
Sometimes I suspect they film other cultures just because they know they can get away with showing them running around naked on family TV. I recognize that as some good ol' left-over Puritan mentality there.
We all look approximately the same naked... but it's not okay to see naked people, unless you're a certain age, or if they're from a different culture, or if you pay them (directly or through a third party).
Cultural idiosyncrasies baby, oh yeah!
TSN
So if a guy wants to borrow a cup of sugar from his neighbor, he's got to climb down hundreds of feet, skip along the jungle floor for a bit and then scamper up another couple of hundred feet. Repeat on the way back, all the while holding a measuring cup. I can see it now...
"Baby can you run over to Frankie and Darlene's and see if they can't spare a cup of sugar?
*Groooooaaaan* "Dammit I just sat down!"
"C'mon I want to get this made before the typhoon knocks us out of here like so many ripe apples and we all plummet to our hungry deaths!"
"Fiiiiiine! Give me a minute."
He takes off through the trapdoor in the floor, she gets distracted and sits down to watch the game. He rolls in an hour and a half later, covered in sweat and barely breathing. She tries to pretend she wasn't napping.
"Where have you been?"
He points out the window to the neighbors house, eight feet away. Frankie sees him and waves.
If it were me, I'd get the cup of sugar all the way back to the kitchen and then spill it and be like "DAMMIT! Now we're gonna have ants!"
Ants are workers too, you'd better believe those little buggers would find that sugar on my kitchen floor and line right up to get a grain.
Sometimes I suspect they film other cultures just because they know they can get away with showing them running around naked on family TV. I recognize that as some good ol' left-over Puritan mentality there.
We all look approximately the same naked... but it's not okay to see naked people, unless you're a certain age, or if they're from a different culture, or if you pay them (directly or through a third party).
Cultural idiosyncrasies baby, oh yeah!
TSN
Monday, September 26, 2011
This Morning
Dark and silent only broken by a soft rumble
and the telltale sound of gears
expertly manipulated on quiet streets.
A rumble interrupted at stop signs
whose stern message I observe halfheartedly
in tamed and mindless obedience to the letter of the law.
Tires on gravely blacktop crunch through sleepy neighborhoods
and hot coffee gingerly sipped through a spill proof lid
washes my teeth in their morning brown.
Headlights on reflective paint and unlit rooms behind shop glass
show me only the yellow wavering eyes of my transport as I glide through,
an approaching harmless growl quickly passing.
Bundles of dwellings with windows softly lit
by the unobtrusive lamps of breakfast blur
into the fading dark in side view as my wheels roll ever slower
with unliving familiarity towards my entry point to the highway.
Here I negotiate with barely a thought through hurling distracted death
and plunge safely into the relentlessly sputtering stream of early risers.
I pilot my sanctuary into disciplined step
with the first few to whom my fate is so anonymously intertwined
as together we ride the ebb and flow of our communal vein of light to our destinations.
Largely motionless inside my bubble of metal and controlled explosions
I watch the rise and swell of the rolling hills passing beneath me,
and guide with tempered hand my weaving dance around the maypole of commuters.
White fences draw their ghostly crooked lines across my windows
as the darkness above speeds westward,
chased by long low lines of color which bubble from the vibrating horizon in my rear view.
Subtle hues of red slowly begins to saturate the world around me,
condensing in tiny pools which pry obscure shapes from the background,
forming them into farmhouses and sheds, mailboxes and off-center hand-painted signs.
More colors draw strength from reds boldness and spread
with growing confidence across the land and sky.
At last, even as I watch,
heralded by the march of a humble but persistent army of color and light
the triumphant glowing forehead of the sun breaches the earth
and drives the last bits of darkness to cower in shivering formation behind miles of fence posts.
TSN
Sunday, September 25, 2011
In Days of Old, When Knights Were Bold
Being a knight, doing the whole lancing thing, that seems like it wouldn't be much fun. So much armor you can barely move, tiny eye-slits to peek out of, and on a bad day at the office you wind up on your face in the dirt twitching around because you can't stand up on your own. Possibly with a splintered piece of wood protruding from some place on your body.
"What's that poking out of your face there Ed?"
"Ah, it's just a bit of lumber. Nothing to worry about."
Zipper technology hadn't really taken hold yet either, much less zippers robust enough to grant access through 1/8" plate armor. Much easier just to pee on yourself than to try and weasel out of all that gear. Must have smelled pretty rank. Come to speak of it, deodorant wasn't exactly topping the charts at the market either.
Imagine some smitten little maiden, all excited when her knight in shining armor comes galloping up to her window... he gathers her up, puts her on the horse behind him... she tries to put her arms around him but the joints in the armor keep pinching her every time the horse takes a step so she winds up doing a balancing act on her maidenly buttocks.
She quickly realizes that he reeks of pee, body odor and (for some reason) soggy dog. He's oblivious to it, having ridden for days to rescue her in the hot sun. He finally gets back to his pad, she's been bounced half to death on the ass end of a horse, her hair is a mess and now she's faced with the task of peeling away layers of armor, mail, leathers and whatever anti-chaff mechanisms he's got on under there.
The smell punches her directly in the face, and she swoons. He thinks she's just impressed by his ever-so-manly physique, and comes in for a smooch. Just ahead of his approaching lips is a wall of stink like dead skunk and spoiled milk soup in a Limburger cheese bowl. She does her best to cope, but at the last minute her survival instincts take over; she knees him in the crotch and takes off running down the cobblestones.
And they live happily ever after.
TSN
"What's that poking out of your face there Ed?"
"Ah, it's just a bit of lumber. Nothing to worry about."
Zipper technology hadn't really taken hold yet either, much less zippers robust enough to grant access through 1/8" plate armor. Much easier just to pee on yourself than to try and weasel out of all that gear. Must have smelled pretty rank. Come to speak of it, deodorant wasn't exactly topping the charts at the market either.
Imagine some smitten little maiden, all excited when her knight in shining armor comes galloping up to her window... he gathers her up, puts her on the horse behind him... she tries to put her arms around him but the joints in the armor keep pinching her every time the horse takes a step so she winds up doing a balancing act on her maidenly buttocks.
She quickly realizes that he reeks of pee, body odor and (for some reason) soggy dog. He's oblivious to it, having ridden for days to rescue her in the hot sun. He finally gets back to his pad, she's been bounced half to death on the ass end of a horse, her hair is a mess and now she's faced with the task of peeling away layers of armor, mail, leathers and whatever anti-chaff mechanisms he's got on under there.
The smell punches her directly in the face, and she swoons. He thinks she's just impressed by his ever-so-manly physique, and comes in for a smooch. Just ahead of his approaching lips is a wall of stink like dead skunk and spoiled milk soup in a Limburger cheese bowl. She does her best to cope, but at the last minute her survival instincts take over; she knees him in the crotch and takes off running down the cobblestones.
And they live happily ever after.
TSN
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Wrong
Someday I want to be that crazy old guy with the big shorts and the metal detector who happens across an ancient treasure of limitless value that completely disproves absolutely everything we think we know about anything.
That would be neat. Especially if it only disproved everything, without bothering to offer up any suggestions about what might actually be going on.
"Sorry folks, it looks like everything is wrong."
"What do you mean? What is it thats wrong?"
"Everything."
"That's impossible!"
"You're wrong."
Then somebody figures out that we're all just consciousness singularities with different sum-polarizations interacting clumsily with one another, like so many magnets (only with infinite polarization possibilities instead of just the two usual ones) rattling around in what can only be described as an "expanse" which occupies neither space nor time.
That would explain a lot.
But I don't even own a metal detector, so the likelihood of that happening anytime soon is pretty slim. I do have a few pairs of wicked big shorts, however.
TSN
That would be neat. Especially if it only disproved everything, without bothering to offer up any suggestions about what might actually be going on.
"Sorry folks, it looks like everything is wrong."
"What do you mean? What is it thats wrong?"
"Everything."
"That's impossible!"
"You're wrong."
Then somebody figures out that we're all just consciousness singularities with different sum-polarizations interacting clumsily with one another, like so many magnets (only with infinite polarization possibilities instead of just the two usual ones) rattling around in what can only be described as an "expanse" which occupies neither space nor time.
That would explain a lot.
But I don't even own a metal detector, so the likelihood of that happening anytime soon is pretty slim. I do have a few pairs of wicked big shorts, however.
TSN
Friday, September 23, 2011
Squirrel Drama
What must a squirrel be thinking when he gets halfway across the road and suddenly realizes that there's an enormous loud thing barreling towards him at sixty miles per hour? Maybe this:
"Doot dee doo... hey maybe I'll go over there, yeah, that's what I'll do! Doot dee doo... HOLY CRAP! How did I not notice that before? It's right there! AWW, MOTHER $@%)&!"
Wide eyed and panic-stricken, he freezes. Woooooosh! The tires crunch by just 2.5 centimeters from his nose. He feels the heat from the exhaust, and the turbulence bowls him over. In mid somersault he wonders why he'd bothered to measure the distance from his nose to the tire, and also where he had found a metric ruler of squirrel proportions.
"Duuuuuuude..."
Shaken, he bugs out. Back to his happy place halfway up a tree, where he sits panting in the crook of a limb for some time. With unsteady paws, he pours himself a scotch on the rocks and busts out his hand-held wireless device from a little known pocket that squirrels have.
*boop-beep-booo, beep-beep-boop-booo*
In the animal kingdom, local phone calls are still seven digits.
"Hello?"
"Baby?"
"Hey, you sound weird, are you okay?"
"Not really, just about got smeared."
"Oh my fuzzy God, are you alright?"
"I think so, $!*% me..."
"My parents are coming to stay with us for a couple of months."
"Hang on, I think I left something on the other side of the road."
*click, brrrrrrrrrrr...........
TSN
"Doot dee doo... hey maybe I'll go over there, yeah, that's what I'll do! Doot dee doo... HOLY CRAP! How did I not notice that before? It's right there! AWW, MOTHER $@%)&!"
Wide eyed and panic-stricken, he freezes. Woooooosh! The tires crunch by just 2.5 centimeters from his nose. He feels the heat from the exhaust, and the turbulence bowls him over. In mid somersault he wonders why he'd bothered to measure the distance from his nose to the tire, and also where he had found a metric ruler of squirrel proportions.
"Duuuuuuude..."
Shaken, he bugs out. Back to his happy place halfway up a tree, where he sits panting in the crook of a limb for some time. With unsteady paws, he pours himself a scotch on the rocks and busts out his hand-held wireless device from a little known pocket that squirrels have.
*boop-beep-booo, beep-beep-boop-booo*
In the animal kingdom, local phone calls are still seven digits.
"Hello?"
"Baby?"
"Hey, you sound weird, are you okay?"
"Not really, just about got smeared."
"Oh my fuzzy God, are you alright?"
"I think so, $!*% me..."
"My parents are coming to stay with us for a couple of months."
"Hang on, I think I left something on the other side of the road."
*click, brrrrrrrrrrr...........
TSN
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Career Choices
Every once in a while I remember that there are people out there doing things that I haven't the foggiest idea about. There are people who have dedicated their entire careers to studying things that I've never even heard of, or at least never gave a second thought to.
Here's what I imagine it would be like for me to accidentally attend a gathering of such people:
**I stroll into an auditorium full of folks, completely lost in a casino hotel, casually munching on a Philly cheese-steak sandwich. I sit down in the back row, fully expecting to be kicked out at any moment for not wearing shoes. I'm right on time. The guy behind the podium starts talking.
"Welcome to this evenings seminar on the effects of densely focused ionized particle beams on the feelings of common household furniture. I'll get started with an experiment we've all used as a warm-up in our labs, just to get things moving."
**He walks over to a gnarly old couch which takes up a good bit of the stage. He reaches into the cushions and pulls out a large cauliflower, which he places into a giant cauldron of bubbling liquid. I begin to get nervous.
"The rechthiomyms in this radish broth are now infiltrating the recently reclined vegetable, which will (as you all know) cause any loose sofius detritus to become infused with pan-substantial mucoids."
**I wake up seventeen hours later in a crappy diner with two phone numbers and a calculus equation scrawled on my face in lipstick. I order coffee and waffles.
Knowing everything would only be cool for a little while, after that it'd be pretty boring.
It's good to know that there are people out there doing things to which I will probably forever remain oblivious.
Maybe you're one of those people! That would be cool.
TSN
Here's what I imagine it would be like for me to accidentally attend a gathering of such people:
**I stroll into an auditorium full of folks, completely lost in a casino hotel, casually munching on a Philly cheese-steak sandwich. I sit down in the back row, fully expecting to be kicked out at any moment for not wearing shoes. I'm right on time. The guy behind the podium starts talking.
"Welcome to this evenings seminar on the effects of densely focused ionized particle beams on the feelings of common household furniture. I'll get started with an experiment we've all used as a warm-up in our labs, just to get things moving."
**He walks over to a gnarly old couch which takes up a good bit of the stage. He reaches into the cushions and pulls out a large cauliflower, which he places into a giant cauldron of bubbling liquid. I begin to get nervous.
"The rechthiomyms in this radish broth are now infiltrating the recently reclined vegetable, which will (as you all know) cause any loose sofius detritus to become infused with pan-substantial mucoids."
**I wake up seventeen hours later in a crappy diner with two phone numbers and a calculus equation scrawled on my face in lipstick. I order coffee and waffles.
Knowing everything would only be cool for a little while, after that it'd be pretty boring.
It's good to know that there are people out there doing things to which I will probably forever remain oblivious.
Maybe you're one of those people! That would be cool.
TSN
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
I Blame the Bees.
Today I heard someone say this: "I drove through two Indian reservations with a couple of buffalo skulls in the back of my car. It felt kinda weird..."
Oh, the inherited guilt that stems from the misdeeds of generations past! As for me, I'm of sufficiently muddled lineage that I don't feel responsible for any of the misdeeds of my ancestors.
Speaking of ancestors, haven't we got our whole image of the "family tree" all wrong? Why is the youngest generation always shown at the bottom of the tree? Wouldn't the roots of the tree be the earliest known ancestors, spreading upward to become the branches which become entangled in the branches of adjacent trees?
Here's a thought: Cross-pollination of ancient family trees was facilitated in part by bees! How, you ask? Bees make honey, which is used to make mead (which is wine, for non-Renaissance fair types), which has marked influence on inhibitions, which leads to all manner of getting sticky. Bam! Cross-pollination.
I know, it's a stretch.
We can probably credit Barry White as much as we can bees.
(super smooth voice) "Aww yeah."
That's some good facilitating.
Maybe it's all been roots, rather than branches. That would mean that I'm the bit of the plant that's enjoying its moment in the sun right now, before it gets covered over by time and becomes part of the roots.
TSN
Oh, the inherited guilt that stems from the misdeeds of generations past! As for me, I'm of sufficiently muddled lineage that I don't feel responsible for any of the misdeeds of my ancestors.
Speaking of ancestors, haven't we got our whole image of the "family tree" all wrong? Why is the youngest generation always shown at the bottom of the tree? Wouldn't the roots of the tree be the earliest known ancestors, spreading upward to become the branches which become entangled in the branches of adjacent trees?
Here's a thought: Cross-pollination of ancient family trees was facilitated in part by bees! How, you ask? Bees make honey, which is used to make mead (which is wine, for non-Renaissance fair types), which has marked influence on inhibitions, which leads to all manner of getting sticky. Bam! Cross-pollination.
I know, it's a stretch.
We can probably credit Barry White as much as we can bees.
(super smooth voice) "Aww yeah."
That's some good facilitating.
Maybe it's all been roots, rather than branches. That would mean that I'm the bit of the plant that's enjoying its moment in the sun right now, before it gets covered over by time and becomes part of the roots.
TSN
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Convenience and Clarity
There are so many lenses through which we can watch the world.
Here's a shot I took this morning while the machine behind me automatically deducted ones and zeros from a bank account for petrol that wold get me to a place where I could earn more ones and zeros... that I can use to buy petrol.
There are a lot of ways to think about this picture; here are a few.
This is a picture of a gas station at sunrise.
This is a representation of a moment in time.
This is a picture of America.
This is a picture of the past; the perspective of a single human being for a tiny instant.
Why is the sun setting so early in the morning?
Who uses a cell phone camera while pumping gas? Isn't that a huge static discharge, inconceivably
huge explosion and untimely death sort of thing to do?
This picture is worth exactly 1000 words.
Why is my normally much greater line of sight limited by this box all of a sudden?
Why do I get the feeling that the photographer wasn't wearing pants?
There is a poet inside everyone. The poet is either out, getting out, dying to get out, or just dying.
Just something to consider.
TSN
Here's a shot I took this morning while the machine behind me automatically deducted ones and zeros from a bank account for petrol that wold get me to a place where I could earn more ones and zeros... that I can use to buy petrol.
There are a lot of ways to think about this picture; here are a few.
This is a picture of a gas station at sunrise.
This is a representation of a moment in time.
This is a picture of America.
This is a picture of the past; the perspective of a single human being for a tiny instant.
Why is the sun setting so early in the morning?
Who uses a cell phone camera while pumping gas? Isn't that a huge static discharge, inconceivably
huge explosion and untimely death sort of thing to do?
This picture is worth exactly 1000 words.
Why is my normally much greater line of sight limited by this box all of a sudden?
Why do I get the feeling that the photographer wasn't wearing pants?
There is a poet inside everyone. The poet is either out, getting out, dying to get out, or just dying.
Just something to consider.
TSN
Monday, September 19, 2011
Sometimes you gotta cannonball
I need to relearn how to be impulsive. Being reserved and calculated has its advantages (and I've enjoyed them more and more as I get older), but there is something about impulsiveness that I think I'm missing out on.
One day I hope to have enough stuff in here that I can sort through it for nuggets that I especially enjoy and publish them as a collection of sorts... random things, make it down-loadable for Kindle and stuff like that... But that's an incremental way of looking at it. If I really had something to say, some great idea, some awe-inspiring piece of work that needed to be written, I'd better write it and get it done hadn't I?
Who knows if I'll keep this up. A blog a day... maybe I'll skip a day, then two days... next thing I know I have to get the password hints just to get myself logged in.
"At what school did the second-best friend of your youngest uncle play the role of fifth shish-kabob?"
"Monkey Nuts Elementary"
"Your account has been locked out. Please try again in 3-5 business days."
"Damn, maybe I abbreviated it to MNE when I set up the account..."
Then my game of increments will have petered out. I don't want that!
Sometimes the patience game is what you gotta do. I've been practicing my guitar for some 14 years now and I still love it; every time I play, I get a little better. Those were great increments! Now I can reap the rewards every time I jam out a song that nobody (including me) has ever heard before (or likely will again).
Saving money for the kids college, investing long term, learning to cook... that sort of thing: I'll take my time.
Putting things on the back burner that I'm passionate about? Maybe it's time to go all in.
Life is the great game of increments, but the things that life encompasses don't have to be.
You can't nickle and dime your dreams.
TSN
One day I hope to have enough stuff in here that I can sort through it for nuggets that I especially enjoy and publish them as a collection of sorts... random things, make it down-loadable for Kindle and stuff like that... But that's an incremental way of looking at it. If I really had something to say, some great idea, some awe-inspiring piece of work that needed to be written, I'd better write it and get it done hadn't I?
Who knows if I'll keep this up. A blog a day... maybe I'll skip a day, then two days... next thing I know I have to get the password hints just to get myself logged in.
"At what school did the second-best friend of your youngest uncle play the role of fifth shish-kabob?"
"Monkey Nuts Elementary"
"Your account has been locked out. Please try again in 3-5 business days."
"Damn, maybe I abbreviated it to MNE when I set up the account..."
Then my game of increments will have petered out. I don't want that!
Sometimes the patience game is what you gotta do. I've been practicing my guitar for some 14 years now and I still love it; every time I play, I get a little better. Those were great increments! Now I can reap the rewards every time I jam out a song that nobody (including me) has ever heard before (or likely will again).
Saving money for the kids college, investing long term, learning to cook... that sort of thing: I'll take my time.
Putting things on the back burner that I'm passionate about? Maybe it's time to go all in.
Life is the great game of increments, but the things that life encompasses don't have to be.
You can't nickle and dime your dreams.
TSN
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Food Network Presents: Military Week
C-130 Hercules... those big gunships, with the cannon poking out the side... those are cool. If you don't know what I'm talkin 'bout, it's the one from the first Transformers movie that shot up the scorpion kill-bot in the sand. Yes, that's it.
What if we were to engineer non-lethal ammunition for the C-130H that could disperse huge quantities of all-natural bacon-bits over acres at a time in a single attack? It would be glorious! The tail-gunner would be feeding one end of the bandoleer into the cannon and the other into his mouth.
Better yet, a heavy bomb payload for the B-2! Code named: "The Stealth Porker", as I believe "Ninja Swine" is already taken.
"What's that?! Up in the sky! It's the Baco-Bomb and lordy it smells delicious! Quick kids, get out there with your buckets!"
Instead of ducking for cover and dying in horrible fiery explosions anyway, pork loving people could instead quickly prepare salads and run outside to hold them towards the heavens! Yes!
Also it would make bomb disposal much easier during peacetime. The explosive ordinance disposal techs would all be chubby, with little canisters of croutons on their utility belts next to their multi-tools.
During wartime however, it would be devastating against those with aversions to pork technology. That's for a variety of reasons of course, not the least of which being the fact that the ammo would be fresh from the kitchens, so there would still be a good deal of hot grease involved.
TSN
What if we were to engineer non-lethal ammunition for the C-130H that could disperse huge quantities of all-natural bacon-bits over acres at a time in a single attack? It would be glorious! The tail-gunner would be feeding one end of the bandoleer into the cannon and the other into his mouth.
Better yet, a heavy bomb payload for the B-2! Code named: "The Stealth Porker", as I believe "Ninja Swine" is already taken.
"What's that?! Up in the sky! It's the Baco-Bomb and lordy it smells delicious! Quick kids, get out there with your buckets!"
Instead of ducking for cover and dying in horrible fiery explosions anyway, pork loving people could instead quickly prepare salads and run outside to hold them towards the heavens! Yes!
Also it would make bomb disposal much easier during peacetime. The explosive ordinance disposal techs would all be chubby, with little canisters of croutons on their utility belts next to their multi-tools.
During wartime however, it would be devastating against those with aversions to pork technology. That's for a variety of reasons of course, not the least of which being the fact that the ammo would be fresh from the kitchens, so there would still be a good deal of hot grease involved.
TSN
Saturday, September 17, 2011
This is the only place you'll see the word "beaver" in this entire post.
I read a study recently that interested me. It's about teenagers and why they do such completely illogical, poorly thought out and generally stupid stuff... long story short, a team of researchers determined that teenagers are quite capable of making logical decisions, but if they find themselves in the presence of other teenagers, they don't.
That equation looks like this: 1+1 = 0
I guess math is wrong. Who knew? I want some tests re-graded. If math is wrong, it follows that science is thusly boned as well. Might as well discount the whole curriculum as lies, all lies! Except wood shop. I think wood shop would be okay without math, we'd just have to go back to using oddball units of measurement like cubits or moose turds or something.
Speaking of everything being wrong, does anybody else get the feeling that our entire society is getting ready to plummet all helter-skelter into chaos and despair? There's probably not too much I can do about that besides stock up on Spam, hunker down and wait ever-so-patiently for the zombie-apocalypse that looms ominously on the horizon like an armada of indestructible alien warships that didn't come in peace.
I don't like it. Spam that is. I'm curiously comfortable with the zombie apocalypse.
TSN
Friday, September 16, 2011
Accidents happen.
Can I be arrested for "leaving the scene of an accident" if the accident was me crapping my pants? In leaving, as I coolly penguin walk on out of there, am I taking the accident with me or is the "scene of the accident" defined by the place I was actually standing when the accidental crapping took place?
These are deep thoughts, I know.
What if I accidentally left a 25% tip instead of 15% on the table at a diner, and then walked off like I'd done nothing wrong? If it was a miscalculation on my part and later I realize that now I'm dire financial straits, am I still a bad person?
Me: "Oh woe be to me and my unfortunate leaving of that extra-wrinkly George Washington! Now I can't pay my water bill and I've sure been doing a lot of laundry lately, what with me crapping my pants and all."
Random other guy on the bus: (bursts onto the scene with a box of powdered detergent) "Tough stains? Blast them out with new Poo-Gone Dribble Negation Powder! It's zesty!"
Me: (Looking bewildered) "But I heard it caused heart palpitations in lab rats?"
Him: "Naaaaaah."
Me: "Excellent! Poo-Gone, you're the stain blaster for me!" (Two thumbs up)
**Que 24-minute choreographed dance sequence involving all the bus passengers and one well behaved Schnauzer named Chorizo.**
TSN
TheShadowsNose
These are deep thoughts, I know.
What if I accidentally left a 25% tip instead of 15% on the table at a diner, and then walked off like I'd done nothing wrong? If it was a miscalculation on my part and later I realize that now I'm dire financial straits, am I still a bad person?
Me: "Oh woe be to me and my unfortunate leaving of that extra-wrinkly George Washington! Now I can't pay my water bill and I've sure been doing a lot of laundry lately, what with me crapping my pants and all."
Random other guy on the bus: (bursts onto the scene with a box of powdered detergent) "Tough stains? Blast them out with new Poo-Gone Dribble Negation Powder! It's zesty!"
Me: (Looking bewildered) "But I heard it caused heart palpitations in lab rats?"
Him: "Naaaaaah."
Me: "Excellent! Poo-Gone, you're the stain blaster for me!" (Two thumbs up)
**Que 24-minute choreographed dance sequence involving all the bus passengers and one well behaved Schnauzer named Chorizo.**
TSN
TheShadowsNose
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Problem Solved
I like a phone call where the person who called me tells me that a problem I never knew about has been resolved. I'm usually like "Great! That's good news!" Actually I'm not really sure what kind of news it is. I guess it depends.
It could be bad news, if the problem that I didn't know about was something that had already damaged my life in some way, or that generally makes me nervous.
"Hey they finally caught that rogue caribou that was destroying your living room."
"Great! That's good news!"
"Whelp, see you later."
"K, bye."
*click
When I get a random-problem-has-been-solved call, it's better when the news is neutral. That way I can be glad to hear it despite the fact that seconds before the phone rang I didn't know or care about it at all.
"Alright so the total cost of the new generic gorilla-tuft tiles will be $385, aaaaaand it looks like that's covered under warranty. We'll go ahead and bill the company directly. Did you have any questions?"
".... nope."
"Great, well have a nice day sir."
"You too."
"If you can spare a couple of minutes for a survey, stay on the..."
*click
Random unexpected good news is the best.
"You don't have gonorrhea!"
"Neat!"
*click
Then there's wrong number news which seems good, until you realize you don't know which team you're on.
"Well it looks like none of the liquid-plasmodium, hypergoo smart-missiles did any significant damage to the hard drive backlash interface, we just had to replace some wiring."
"Great! Wait... whose liquid-plasmodium, hypergoo smart-missiles?"
"Um... is this Charlie?"
"No, this is Dave? Spaulding..."
"Oh, sorry."
*click
TSN
TheShadowsNose
It could be bad news, if the problem that I didn't know about was something that had already damaged my life in some way, or that generally makes me nervous.
"Hey they finally caught that rogue caribou that was destroying your living room."
"Great! That's good news!"
"Whelp, see you later."
"K, bye."
*click
When I get a random-problem-has-been-solved call, it's better when the news is neutral. That way I can be glad to hear it despite the fact that seconds before the phone rang I didn't know or care about it at all.
"Alright so the total cost of the new generic gorilla-tuft tiles will be $385, aaaaaand it looks like that's covered under warranty. We'll go ahead and bill the company directly. Did you have any questions?"
".... nope."
"Great, well have a nice day sir."
"You too."
"If you can spare a couple of minutes for a survey, stay on the..."
*click
Random unexpected good news is the best.
"You don't have gonorrhea!"
"Neat!"
*click
Then there's wrong number news which seems good, until you realize you don't know which team you're on.
"Well it looks like none of the liquid-plasmodium, hypergoo smart-missiles did any significant damage to the hard drive backlash interface, we just had to replace some wiring."
"Great! Wait... whose liquid-plasmodium, hypergoo smart-missiles?"
"Um... is this Charlie?"
"No, this is Dave? Spaulding..."
"Oh, sorry."
*click
TSN
TheShadowsNose
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
"PunCtuation and... (wait for it) capiTalizatioN!"
Here's a thought: What if someone went through the legal process of having the last letter of their name be a question mark? If I were to do that, (and if my name were Dave Spaulding, for example) my name would become Dave?. Then I could have the three suspenseful dots put at the end of my last name, so people always had to pause after they said it. They'd introduce me as "Dave? Spaulding..."
This next sentence would sound crazy if you didn't know about my snazzy new name spelling:
"Has anyone seen Dave? Spaulding... this morning?"
Punctuation is a powerful thing. Without it all I hear in my minds ear when I read is that weird sci-fi robot voice. All caps and no punctuation makes it sound like the robot is yelling. Why would a robot yell? What point could it possibly be trying to make? Maybe it's an American robot and it's speaking to a robot that doesn't speak English. Then it would also yell slowly, and make incomprehensible hand gestures.
"CAN I HAVE (raises eyebrows and tilts head)... ONE ORDER OF NACHOS (draws a triangle and pretends to eat it)... AND (plus sign, as if trying to frighten off a vampire) A CHEESE DANISH (gestures towards the moon)... PLEASE?" (waves arms wildly in the air)
That is all,
TSN
-The ShadowsNose?
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