Now I’m afraid of what Facebook might think. I’m self-censoring again, and I’ve started to drink. Or at least tend bar, I might as well, if I’m stuck here in the clink. I’ve got advice for every alcoholic, for the shiftless syphilitics, I’ve got the right diet for chubzos and the proper punctuation for the it's-greek-to-me acidics.
And yes - today I confessed, and that’s my confession, nothing left for this blog, I’ve lost touch with discretion.
I have so many projects on the go, if I stopped and focused then I’d have to go slow. And Mr. Peculiar is a no show? Oh no. Ergo, speed it up, pretend like you’re loco.
I miss everybody. Yeah though I see em each day. But we were special once and hard to pin down and I was lucky when you asked what am I doing on Friday. Now nothing’s a surprise, when I watch your every move, I’ve lost my drive to comprehend, analyze, pore through. Soon we’ll both die and the program will end, and you’ll finally feel loss electricity can’t mend. But suddenly suddenly that’s how fast it will end. Abruptness is the only crime, we adapt to Vesuvius if you give us enough time (and a decent pair of shoes).
Blues pour down, it always comes to this, Mystery mystery that’s what we’ll miss. The Borg is invasive and crisp and well-meaning me I’m spree-spending and hiding out by the cliffs. There’s a happy mob gathering blunt clubs, I’ve danced in disco clubs forty nights and worn down to the nubs. We all see now that we breathe the same air, misery loves company yes, but familiarity breeds contempt, and we’re simultaneously turbocharged and spent, equally miserable and ecstatic and so I'm borrowed for Lent.
I’m a man of few words, really I am, and this is the truth, in what I don’t say, so what kind of writer am I anyway.
Everyone has that nagging suspicion: Am I a hack? It’s an act of contrition. There is no easy out, no eraser of doubt and I’ve embraced this fact and that’s precisely what keeps bringing me back.
3/25/2007
3/24/2007
Flocculation! aka So this is what it's like to run a water filtration plant...
First ever FIAC 'guest cupcake', written by Charlotte L (thanks Charlotte!), in response to my March 15 post:
Jeremy woke with a start to the truck-backing-up sound of his alarm, jumping across the room to press snooze and then dragging his feet back across the floor and flopping back into bed. Twenty minutes later he was standing in his boxers and housecoat at the kitchen counter pouring boiling water over instant coffee in a salt-and-pepper mug with a chip across from the handle. He stood there with his eyes closed, still half asleep, holding the mug up to his chest, enjoying the warmth of the steam rising to his nostrils and the rich smell of the dark roast. He put down the mug and let himself fall into a chair at the small kitchen table. Slowly waking up, sipping on his coffee every couple of minutes, he thought about the day ahead of him:
How when he finished his coffee he would rush about his apartment trying to find the right shirt for his meeting, realising it was in the laundry and have to pick the next best one, ultimately feeling less confident not only because he wasn’t looking put together, but because the search caused him to be late even though he had given himself an extra fifteen minutes.
How when he finally grabbed his car keys from the bowl on the table in the hallway he would race downstairs, feeling that dreadful feeling of “I-know-I-forgot-something-but-what-IS-it?” but already being late not being able to do the slightest thing about it. Slowly freaking out in his head at how slow the traffic is, it must be slower than usual today, what is there an accident or something, it would be today, maybe it’s on the radio, god I hate talk radio, yes! Boston! Nothing gives you more confidence than grooving to Boston as you pull into the parking garage.
How he would walk into the plant, walk past Lyndsay’s office (“Hey Jer! Nice suit!”) and run a little to get to the other end of the building to meet with Mr. Peterson. Of course Mr. Peterson is always running late so even being 7 minutes late, Jeremy will still be 8 minutes early and have to sit in the reception area outside his office, with Gertrude humming nothing in particular while she files whatever files she files.
How he would sit and fumble through the monthly status report for Mr. Peterson and how Mr. Peterson would likely look about as half awake as Jer looks before his coffee and Jer making the mental note to bring coffee to the next meeting and Mr. Peterson clearly not caring at all about coagulation and flocculation and pH levels and how much lime was used this month as long as the job is getting done, Thank you Mr. Powell, I’ll see you next month, and how Jer cursed himself for being nervous every time he had to do this, like his job was a stake, like he hadn’t done this for the past year and 7 months.
How he would make his way back down the hall and stop for a cup of coffee in the break room and talk to Lyndsay about last night’s hockey game which she would know more about than he would but these conversations made him feel a bit more of a man and Lyndsay was a nice enough girl, but really could have been doing something more with her time than general reception for the plant.
How he would take off his jacket and hang it in his locker, replacing it with his yellowing lab coat and unhook his clipboard from its place up on the wall beside the door to the plant proper. How he would walk through the deafening plant, with its steam and its ducts and valves and how it was all so big that it would make him feel small and it was all so loud that it seemed like complete silence and how it was all very Zen. This was what he liked about his job: the solitude, the recording of data, the graphing of various chemicals and products and temperatures like some mad scientist plotting to destroy the world or, when he was in a better mood, a brilliant chemist saving the world. And sometimes he honestly believed it.
How he would get home and pry off his shoes and toss his jacket and tie over the chair in the hall. Twist the cap off a bottle of beer, with the satisfying hiss and the cool drink that made him feel more and less cool at the same time. He would turn on the TV and watch the news and decide whether to make dinner or order in Chinese. How he would pick up the phone and dial a number from the black book full of post-its and scrap pieces of paper and business cards and wait for someone to pick up. “Lyndsay?” he would ask. “Hold on just a minute.” a nasal voice replies. Silence. “Hello?” “Hey, you want to meet at the Brunny for a drink and a bite to eat? I thought we could watch the Leafs game.” Silence again. Some rustling, conferring with the roommate, then: “Meet you there in 45 minutes.”
Taking a last sip of coffee, realising his mug is empty, Jeremy is finally awake and has to get ready for work.
Jeremy woke with a start to the truck-backing-up sound of his alarm, jumping across the room to press snooze and then dragging his feet back across the floor and flopping back into bed. Twenty minutes later he was standing in his boxers and housecoat at the kitchen counter pouring boiling water over instant coffee in a salt-and-pepper mug with a chip across from the handle. He stood there with his eyes closed, still half asleep, holding the mug up to his chest, enjoying the warmth of the steam rising to his nostrils and the rich smell of the dark roast. He put down the mug and let himself fall into a chair at the small kitchen table. Slowly waking up, sipping on his coffee every couple of minutes, he thought about the day ahead of him:
How when he finished his coffee he would rush about his apartment trying to find the right shirt for his meeting, realising it was in the laundry and have to pick the next best one, ultimately feeling less confident not only because he wasn’t looking put together, but because the search caused him to be late even though he had given himself an extra fifteen minutes.
How when he finally grabbed his car keys from the bowl on the table in the hallway he would race downstairs, feeling that dreadful feeling of “I-know-I-forgot-something-but-what-IS-it?” but already being late not being able to do the slightest thing about it. Slowly freaking out in his head at how slow the traffic is, it must be slower than usual today, what is there an accident or something, it would be today, maybe it’s on the radio, god I hate talk radio, yes! Boston! Nothing gives you more confidence than grooving to Boston as you pull into the parking garage.
How he would walk into the plant, walk past Lyndsay’s office (“Hey Jer! Nice suit!”) and run a little to get to the other end of the building to meet with Mr. Peterson. Of course Mr. Peterson is always running late so even being 7 minutes late, Jeremy will still be 8 minutes early and have to sit in the reception area outside his office, with Gertrude humming nothing in particular while she files whatever files she files.
How he would sit and fumble through the monthly status report for Mr. Peterson and how Mr. Peterson would likely look about as half awake as Jer looks before his coffee and Jer making the mental note to bring coffee to the next meeting and Mr. Peterson clearly not caring at all about coagulation and flocculation and pH levels and how much lime was used this month as long as the job is getting done, Thank you Mr. Powell, I’ll see you next month, and how Jer cursed himself for being nervous every time he had to do this, like his job was a stake, like he hadn’t done this for the past year and 7 months.
How he would make his way back down the hall and stop for a cup of coffee in the break room and talk to Lyndsay about last night’s hockey game which she would know more about than he would but these conversations made him feel a bit more of a man and Lyndsay was a nice enough girl, but really could have been doing something more with her time than general reception for the plant.
How he would take off his jacket and hang it in his locker, replacing it with his yellowing lab coat and unhook his clipboard from its place up on the wall beside the door to the plant proper. How he would walk through the deafening plant, with its steam and its ducts and valves and how it was all so big that it would make him feel small and it was all so loud that it seemed like complete silence and how it was all very Zen. This was what he liked about his job: the solitude, the recording of data, the graphing of various chemicals and products and temperatures like some mad scientist plotting to destroy the world or, when he was in a better mood, a brilliant chemist saving the world. And sometimes he honestly believed it.
How he would get home and pry off his shoes and toss his jacket and tie over the chair in the hall. Twist the cap off a bottle of beer, with the satisfying hiss and the cool drink that made him feel more and less cool at the same time. He would turn on the TV and watch the news and decide whether to make dinner or order in Chinese. How he would pick up the phone and dial a number from the black book full of post-its and scrap pieces of paper and business cards and wait for someone to pick up. “Lyndsay?” he would ask. “Hold on just a minute.” a nasal voice replies. Silence. “Hello?” “Hey, you want to meet at the Brunny for a drink and a bite to eat? I thought we could watch the Leafs game.” Silence again. Some rustling, conferring with the roommate, then: “Meet you there in 45 minutes.”
Taking a last sip of coffee, realising his mug is empty, Jeremy is finally awake and has to get ready for work.
3/21/2007
Nonsense Sermonizing
(I gotta do more of this!)
Omigod Sconfitter wallooned four pudgemuffins into a grangish grey Flexpool. It was Augustus 32, Year of the Yade. Deltavoid V Waxcollar was droopydrunk and brimstoned. He dangled a fist and bellowed, disneyfied his sermonizing, occlusions included, bombastardizations aplenty and befouled his flock with tactic unfit for happy dwarves and slabbed out the aforementioned undulating dreck.
By then Microeconecronomics had filtered to the tittletelligentsia, half-knackered with doom nuggets and drunk on pigeon-livered, duck-gizzarded bronchial eructations and horseradish greyneck.
Reverend Waxcollar exhaled insults instantaneously: “You scud! Pale movenpickles! Enemies of omnipleasance! Chad-dimpled democratizers, hiding half-chosen presidents and worse!”
Waxcollar heaved his totem and bangled the podium. The congregionals cooed twittery chattervanilla. “Far flung goulash,” he continued, “– what you will get. So it is, dreampuffs, kaleido-decadecisionery, all fake figments of the opiated opinionator. Clicked to the dicks and scrolled to the bowels – shut your macbooks and breathe afield freshivity.”
The crowd crowed; Waxcollar was looped to the gills, depillocked but unbowed. (Though if any were harrumphing it’d’ve been big loud beat-threats conking confidence hastifying rapid retreat.)
“Often ghosts mist up the mirrors,” continued the Sweaty Shamu. “Shamble away before whispering woe. I have eleventeen twenty-four packs of alcoholic advices – left to your devices your sinnicysm suffices.Will I tolerate this state of the inebriate? No, not unless the hour is too late. There it is. Checkmate!”
[to be continued, oh yes...]
Omigod Sconfitter wallooned four pudgemuffins into a grangish grey Flexpool. It was Augustus 32, Year of the Yade. Deltavoid V Waxcollar was droopydrunk and brimstoned. He dangled a fist and bellowed, disneyfied his sermonizing, occlusions included, bombastardizations aplenty and befouled his flock with tactic unfit for happy dwarves and slabbed out the aforementioned undulating dreck.
By then Microeconecronomics had filtered to the tittletelligentsia, half-knackered with doom nuggets and drunk on pigeon-livered, duck-gizzarded bronchial eructations and horseradish greyneck.
Reverend Waxcollar exhaled insults instantaneously: “You scud! Pale movenpickles! Enemies of omnipleasance! Chad-dimpled democratizers, hiding half-chosen presidents and worse!”
Waxcollar heaved his totem and bangled the podium. The congregionals cooed twittery chattervanilla. “Far flung goulash,” he continued, “– what you will get. So it is, dreampuffs, kaleido-decadecisionery, all fake figments of the opiated opinionator. Clicked to the dicks and scrolled to the bowels – shut your macbooks and breathe afield freshivity.”
The crowd crowed; Waxcollar was looped to the gills, depillocked but unbowed. (Though if any were harrumphing it’d’ve been big loud beat-threats conking confidence hastifying rapid retreat.)
“Often ghosts mist up the mirrors,” continued the Sweaty Shamu. “Shamble away before whispering woe. I have eleventeen twenty-four packs of alcoholic advices – left to your devices your sinnicysm suffices.Will I tolerate this state of the inebriate? No, not unless the hour is too late. There it is. Checkmate!”
[to be continued, oh yes...]
3/20/2007
sundry pelican notes
(polish squishy bits into shiny pebbles)
...You said "I am a gift to humanity and afraid for myself for that fact." Humanity doesn't treat its blessings kindly.
Give until you break. Why? There is nothing for you here. You don't need anything.
You use the same language I do, for thoughts that are too big. So we have these talks where you're the only one speaking, and I'm jotting it all down like a conversation with an overly interesting invisible man.
We were put here to do good, but I get stuck. I keep forgetting how to walk. Please help me. I am independent and proud and young, but be ready one day to answer my call for help.
It is easier to be sincere at the end of the day. Though, not enough has been done. But I'm tired of it anyway.
I don't know if a love explained is a secret ruined, or if a love explained is love that is permanent.
I am seeing a part of you that always existed come alive the first time. Nothing you do surprises me, because I've loved parts of you that you don't know yet exist.
Maybe it’s the music that funnels it out of me. I can’t call it ecstasy, I’m thinking too clearly, and I can’t call it peace, when I’m so desperately seeking something I can say brand new each time. I’m sorry for being quiet so long. If you only knew how tiring it is to try to contain all this.
A glow, I guess, a glow, not from alcohol, but maybe it’s the release. Collapsing on the ground afterglow. I am certain suffering has much to do with it. And being beat up so often, until you realize humility is strength.
There is release knowing you are completely lost. Being lost you are free. I am finding this out.
...You said "I am a gift to humanity and afraid for myself for that fact." Humanity doesn't treat its blessings kindly.
Give until you break. Why? There is nothing for you here. You don't need anything.
You use the same language I do, for thoughts that are too big. So we have these talks where you're the only one speaking, and I'm jotting it all down like a conversation with an overly interesting invisible man.
We were put here to do good, but I get stuck. I keep forgetting how to walk. Please help me. I am independent and proud and young, but be ready one day to answer my call for help.
It is easier to be sincere at the end of the day. Though, not enough has been done. But I'm tired of it anyway.
I don't know if a love explained is a secret ruined, or if a love explained is love that is permanent.
I am seeing a part of you that always existed come alive the first time. Nothing you do surprises me, because I've loved parts of you that you don't know yet exist.
Maybe it’s the music that funnels it out of me. I can’t call it ecstasy, I’m thinking too clearly, and I can’t call it peace, when I’m so desperately seeking something I can say brand new each time. I’m sorry for being quiet so long. If you only knew how tiring it is to try to contain all this.
A glow, I guess, a glow, not from alcohol, but maybe it’s the release. Collapsing on the ground afterglow. I am certain suffering has much to do with it. And being beat up so often, until you realize humility is strength.
There is release knowing you are completely lost. Being lost you are free. I am finding this out.
3/15/2007
Thought of the day
The written word isn't being devalued. It's being revalued. It's changed from being like a diamond (in the Age of Gutenburg), to being like water. Incredibly high total utility, incredibly tiny marginal utility. Being a writer or editor will soon be like running a freshwater filtration plant - not glamourous at all but incredibly necessary. When pipes are everywhere, how interesting can running water be? And literature is like bottled water: refreshing for its utter luxury.
Everyone that is written (online) has universal currency, but no permanence. Stickiness is highly sought after. The scramble for fresh metaphors is more intense than ever. The alphabet is the most pervasive set of metaphors we have, but they are exhausted, mostly taken for granted.
...I have no idea what running a water filtration plant is like. Can someone write me a description? :-)
Everyone that is written (online) has universal currency, but no permanence. Stickiness is highly sought after. The scramble for fresh metaphors is more intense than ever. The alphabet is the most pervasive set of metaphors we have, but they are exhausted, mostly taken for granted.
...I have no idea what running a water filtration plant is like. Can someone write me a description? :-)
3/14/2007
Age-based voting!
(either nonsense, or da bom)
I've figured out how to make young people vote:
Change the voting system from geographically determined ridings to demographically determined ridings,
We live in communities of our age-peers, do we not?
Take me for example. I'm 28. I am Cupcake Man, Arts and Science '01, Class of '97 etc etc. These are the groups that set the context of my development and adolescent reference points the Snorks and Transformers etc. Unfortunately my age group (people under 40) doesn't vote much. So our political views aren't represented, politicians ignore us, and we become even more disillusioned with the vote.
Me, I vote, I do, but the electable pool of political talent (stress on 'electable' b/c I'm cynical) I vote for often has little in common with me, b/c they are pandering across all age groups in my geographically-determined riding, usually pandering to older votes who often have nothing better to do with their afternoons than go out and vote (Good for those old people - voting is fun!).
I argue that with the internet, political views are becoming more age-based than community-based. Look at marketing surveys - do advertisers care what 'people in Toronto' watch on television, or do they care what males aged 25-29 watch? It's more the latter. And see how efficient marketers are at meeting the needs of these 'consumer voters'. Politics could be just as efficient. Under the age-based voting scheme, People aged 25-29 would have a certain number of representatives, based on total population.
Let's take Canada (ok I admit, Canada is a country, a geographical entity, so I'm compromising but we have to start somewhere and Canada is enlightened enough to listen), which has 32 million people. Let's divide that into 1000 seats, or 32,000 per riding.
If ages 25-29 make up 5 per cent of the population, then people in my demographic - ie those aged 25-29 get 50 seats, guaranteed. The only people who can elect those 50 seats will be people in my age group. Same goes for any other age group (maybe do it in increments of 5 starting at age 15). Our voices will be heard. You could then split it into male and female votes too ie 25 of the seats are determined by women voters, 25 by men. Now, you could still have political parties, and any politician could still run for any seat. 60 year old pasty white lawyers could run to represent '25-29' voters, if they wanted, but they'd probably lose to people who are more in tune with what 25-29 years olds want. All issues would be redefined based on age. People would think more about the future b/c the youngest demographic would be the most cherished AND have the most future votes. Woodstock all over again. Global warming solved just like that. It would get results, I promise you. Baby boomers might still throw their (more precisely allocated) weight around, but this more democratic citizenry would be politically engaged, ie would give a shit and be happier. Accidents of geography will be overcome by the internet. Once we achieve the blah-blah-blah global village (perhaps a long way off) and everyone has an wifi signal planted in their cranium, all national geographic boundaries will finally melt away and that's when I'm running for the age-based Web 2.0 Omniparliament!
Contrast with another idea - cumulative voting. Votes that pile up over a lifetime, like money! And then when you die they finally count. You live your entire life just to finally have your say...murder will be a thing of the past as it increases electoral unpredictability (erp, this is the exact opposite of age-based voting, but would prob be a lot cheaper to administer). Ok I'm gonna stop now.
I've figured out how to make young people vote:
Change the voting system from geographically determined ridings to demographically determined ridings,
We live in communities of our age-peers, do we not?
Take me for example. I'm 28. I am Cupcake Man, Arts and Science '01, Class of '97 etc etc. These are the groups that set the context of my development and adolescent reference points the Snorks and Transformers etc. Unfortunately my age group (people under 40) doesn't vote much. So our political views aren't represented, politicians ignore us, and we become even more disillusioned with the vote.
Me, I vote, I do, but the electable pool of political talent (stress on 'electable' b/c I'm cynical) I vote for often has little in common with me, b/c they are pandering across all age groups in my geographically-determined riding, usually pandering to older votes who often have nothing better to do with their afternoons than go out and vote (Good for those old people - voting is fun!).
I argue that with the internet, political views are becoming more age-based than community-based. Look at marketing surveys - do advertisers care what 'people in Toronto' watch on television, or do they care what males aged 25-29 watch? It's more the latter. And see how efficient marketers are at meeting the needs of these 'consumer voters'. Politics could be just as efficient. Under the age-based voting scheme, People aged 25-29 would have a certain number of representatives, based on total population.
Let's take Canada (ok I admit, Canada is a country, a geographical entity, so I'm compromising but we have to start somewhere and Canada is enlightened enough to listen), which has 32 million people. Let's divide that into 1000 seats, or 32,000 per riding.
If ages 25-29 make up 5 per cent of the population, then people in my demographic - ie those aged 25-29 get 50 seats, guaranteed. The only people who can elect those 50 seats will be people in my age group. Same goes for any other age group (maybe do it in increments of 5 starting at age 15). Our voices will be heard. You could then split it into male and female votes too ie 25 of the seats are determined by women voters, 25 by men. Now, you could still have political parties, and any politician could still run for any seat. 60 year old pasty white lawyers could run to represent '25-29' voters, if they wanted, but they'd probably lose to people who are more in tune with what 25-29 years olds want. All issues would be redefined based on age. People would think more about the future b/c the youngest demographic would be the most cherished AND have the most future votes. Woodstock all over again. Global warming solved just like that. It would get results, I promise you. Baby boomers might still throw their (more precisely allocated) weight around, but this more democratic citizenry would be politically engaged, ie would give a shit and be happier. Accidents of geography will be overcome by the internet. Once we achieve the blah-blah-blah global village (perhaps a long way off) and everyone has an wifi signal planted in their cranium, all national geographic boundaries will finally melt away and that's when I'm running for the age-based Web 2.0 Omniparliament!
Contrast with another idea - cumulative voting. Votes that pile up over a lifetime, like money! And then when you die they finally count. You live your entire life just to finally have your say...murder will be a thing of the past as it increases electoral unpredictability (erp, this is the exact opposite of age-based voting, but would prob be a lot cheaper to administer). Ok I'm gonna stop now.
3/12/2007
More story bits...
A quail staggered to the counter and asked for a pitcher of prune juice. “This is how I stay in business on the telephone lines... You think I can just ‘blam blam’ like it’s target practise all day? But it ain’t that easy." The quail, named Dawson, was an avian prick with constipation problems...
[Then, a novella about telescopes!]
Vernon's Telescopic Pathos
A constellationist named Vernon opened his telescope-cleaning kit only to find the lens oil had been pilfered. "This can only be the work of Nancy the Clod," he thought to himself, and straightaway rang the polymer factory he had on speed dial.
“Jesse,” he said to the voice on the phone, “I need more Bimutex Silver Sheen. Like, this afternoon!’”
There was a spitting noise. "You gotta be kidding me Vern, the boss is gonna notice the missing cylinders."
“I know Jess. But Nancy took my scope oil, and I got XSZK1-Omega on the sked tonight."
"So what," said Jesse.
“So--I can’t afford another night like Foggy Tuesday. I’ll lose 10 more students. Remember what happened?"
A pause. "Ok, no Foggy Tuesday.... shit."
"Hit me, J. You know I'll be your bitch."
"Bitch-Who's who here? Come by the back and I’ll fix you with 750mL."
"Alright! Sunday night, Big Bop--cracker-shakes on me." And Jesse sighed and hung up.
Vernon’s partner, Gonga Gringo, a Papua New Guinean tracker who moonlighted in telescope viewing atop Mount Panorama phoned just then. “Hey, Vern can you go by the polymer place – Jesse’s got--"
“What you’re borrowing more polymer – what happened to the crate of ethylurethene Auntie Galicia got us for the solstice?"
"Borrowed by Ned Philadelphia to clean his GPS sextant."
"That wacko. You're both wacko. Christ, well Nancy snatched my Bitumex sheen again."
"Nancy. That hobag!" Gonga almost had to laugh. "I’m massively asswenched by these freaks stealing our 'scope oil Vern – it was never like this in the forest."
"Yeah, Gongs. But don't call her a ho-bag."
"Fine. Nancy no-brain.'
"Yeah, well I guess it takes a Foggy Tuesday to smarten us up bout how evil this stargazing can get."
Foggy Tuesday ruined Vernon’s outdoor seminar business for almost a month. It was the year of the Solar Flare, the night comet Flugelheim was streaking directly into Oberon, causing destruction that to astronomers was ballet. But no scope oil and a western fog- after a Monday of prismatic midnight skies-- scuppered Vernon's lenses and the astral dance went unobserved the next night. The veteran constellationists on the Tuesday watch filed a Motion to Impugn and Vern was nearly forced to sell his 900mm Magnum Andromeda in the ensuing scandal . He signed up at the community college to teach Historical Cosmology and for three weeks laid low. Thank god for Jesse and his polymers.
Nancy the Clod was really named Nancy Posie. She loved telescope oil, but didn’t own a telescope. She needed the oil to grease her bike cables. Regular lube didn’t work. she said. Nancy the Clod didn’t follow other people’s conventions. Just like her brother Deacon Noah. Deacon Noah had a python in his robe. No, not a molestation python. An actual snake.
Anyway Nancy the Clod was in attendance at the viewing of XSZK1-Omega. "Hi Vern." She was riding her bike.
"Hi Nancy," he said, but he was thinking you thieving slut.
Nancy and Vernon had had a 9-day relationship a couple years before. It was the year of the Solar Flare...
[unfinished of course... all astronomy-related terms are complete BS]
[Then, a novella about telescopes!]
Vernon's Telescopic Pathos
A constellationist named Vernon opened his telescope-cleaning kit only to find the lens oil had been pilfered. "This can only be the work of Nancy the Clod," he thought to himself, and straightaway rang the polymer factory he had on speed dial.
“Jesse,” he said to the voice on the phone, “I need more Bimutex Silver Sheen. Like, this afternoon!’”
There was a spitting noise. "You gotta be kidding me Vern, the boss is gonna notice the missing cylinders."
“I know Jess. But Nancy took my scope oil, and I got XSZK1-Omega on the sked tonight."
"So what," said Jesse.
“So--I can’t afford another night like Foggy Tuesday. I’ll lose 10 more students. Remember what happened?"
A pause. "Ok, no Foggy Tuesday.... shit."
"Hit me, J. You know I'll be your bitch."
"Bitch-Who's who here? Come by the back and I’ll fix you with 750mL."
"Alright! Sunday night, Big Bop--cracker-shakes on me." And Jesse sighed and hung up.
Vernon’s partner, Gonga Gringo, a Papua New Guinean tracker who moonlighted in telescope viewing atop Mount Panorama phoned just then. “Hey, Vern can you go by the polymer place – Jesse’s got--"
“What you’re borrowing more polymer – what happened to the crate of ethylurethene Auntie Galicia got us for the solstice?"
"Borrowed by Ned Philadelphia to clean his GPS sextant."
"That wacko. You're both wacko. Christ, well Nancy snatched my Bitumex sheen again."
"Nancy. That hobag!" Gonga almost had to laugh. "I’m massively asswenched by these freaks stealing our 'scope oil Vern – it was never like this in the forest."
"Yeah, Gongs. But don't call her a ho-bag."
"Fine. Nancy no-brain.'
"Yeah, well I guess it takes a Foggy Tuesday to smarten us up bout how evil this stargazing can get."
Foggy Tuesday ruined Vernon’s outdoor seminar business for almost a month. It was the year of the Solar Flare, the night comet Flugelheim was streaking directly into Oberon, causing destruction that to astronomers was ballet. But no scope oil and a western fog- after a Monday of prismatic midnight skies-- scuppered Vernon's lenses and the astral dance went unobserved the next night. The veteran constellationists on the Tuesday watch filed a Motion to Impugn and Vern was nearly forced to sell his 900mm Magnum Andromeda in the ensuing scandal . He signed up at the community college to teach Historical Cosmology and for three weeks laid low. Thank god for Jesse and his polymers.
Nancy the Clod was really named Nancy Posie. She loved telescope oil, but didn’t own a telescope. She needed the oil to grease her bike cables. Regular lube didn’t work. she said. Nancy the Clod didn’t follow other people’s conventions. Just like her brother Deacon Noah. Deacon Noah had a python in his robe. No, not a molestation python. An actual snake.
Anyway Nancy the Clod was in attendance at the viewing of XSZK1-Omega. "Hi Vern." She was riding her bike.
"Hi Nancy," he said, but he was thinking you thieving slut.
Nancy and Vernon had had a 9-day relationship a couple years before. It was the year of the Solar Flare...
[unfinished of course... all astronomy-related terms are complete BS]
3/11/2007
Common Law Rhetoric
There's a tired old rhetorical question used to explain why people should 'live together first':
ie Would you buy a car without test driving it?
A: No, that would be silly.
But the question above is wrong. The more analogous question is:
Would you drive around in a car for two or three years, for free, telling everyone you're thinking of buying that car, before possibly buying it?
A: No, that would be silly, and weird.
Just something that struck me while driving.
(And if it's a Mercedes Benz I'm choosing, I probably wouldn't worry too much about the test drive.)
ie Would you buy a car without test driving it?
A: No, that would be silly.
But the question above is wrong. The more analogous question is:
Would you drive around in a car for two or three years, for free, telling everyone you're thinking of buying that car, before possibly buying it?
A: No, that would be silly, and weird.
Just something that struck me while driving.
(And if it's a Mercedes Benz I'm choosing, I probably wouldn't worry too much about the test drive.)
3/07/2007
Everybody just say 'ah!'
(lyrical runoff from a glacial gargantumumble)
Oh great Gonga, fresh from travails in southeast Tonga, long on anecdote and rhyming postcard poetry in pastels, delivering that 'oh it's gorgeous' transatlantic rote:
Mood music too singular to digest, too tight and interwoven to appreciate or undress, something so important riven to my chest. And she laboured lonely, but inquisited brief. Too bad her toned tetrahedral sketches can't be curled into a Christmas wreath.
Surrealism insustenant, frustrated by our ancestral covenant, Genesis chapter 1 asks too much, obedience demanded beyond the grave is unfair, rewrite the contract every six months, cuz I won't let a pile of bones make me their slave.
Cro-magnon Mensa, Dinosaur da Vinci, Coretta Scott meets Daniela Carinci. Smug syllables, pillows of thought indivisible, irreducible, repudiate the deuce, twisting the middle abdominal, until spell check and reality check ask me for a truce.
Half-pints for the children, pitchers for the men, peppermint spritzers for your spinster auntie who's about to toss her standards, sick of asking 'when oh when - my kindred soul, my best friend?'. Will everyone settle for less than glass slippers at midnight? (She goes home with the coachman at quarter past ten.)
Jittery teens scream their souls into text, fake friends frenzy feeds dyslexia, and what next: YouTube deliquents torch computer screens, not realizing why they seethe, until they can't find any more mystery in sex.
Bogged in bloggerrhea, Holograph hoaxes, too many performers disperse the audience, diaspora, poor us, so much to say and who will listen? Perhaps I'll build a time machine to impress the 18th century, that enlightened age, me scruffy and stuffy and puffed at my podium. Justly desserted, completely deserted, applauded by my best friend the monkey but oh yeah I'm certainly sage.
Oh great Gonga, fresh from travails in southeast Tonga, long on anecdote and rhyming postcard poetry in pastels, delivering that 'oh it's gorgeous' transatlantic rote:
Mood music too singular to digest, too tight and interwoven to appreciate or undress, something so important riven to my chest. And she laboured lonely, but inquisited brief. Too bad her toned tetrahedral sketches can't be curled into a Christmas wreath.
Surrealism insustenant, frustrated by our ancestral covenant, Genesis chapter 1 asks too much, obedience demanded beyond the grave is unfair, rewrite the contract every six months, cuz I won't let a pile of bones make me their slave.
Cro-magnon Mensa, Dinosaur da Vinci, Coretta Scott meets Daniela Carinci. Smug syllables, pillows of thought indivisible, irreducible, repudiate the deuce, twisting the middle abdominal, until spell check and reality check ask me for a truce.
Half-pints for the children, pitchers for the men, peppermint spritzers for your spinster auntie who's about to toss her standards, sick of asking 'when oh when - my kindred soul, my best friend?'. Will everyone settle for less than glass slippers at midnight? (She goes home with the coachman at quarter past ten.)
Jittery teens scream their souls into text, fake friends frenzy feeds dyslexia, and what next: YouTube deliquents torch computer screens, not realizing why they seethe, until they can't find any more mystery in sex.
Bogged in bloggerrhea, Holograph hoaxes, too many performers disperse the audience, diaspora, poor us, so much to say and who will listen? Perhaps I'll build a time machine to impress the 18th century, that enlightened age, me scruffy and stuffy and puffed at my podium. Justly desserted, completely deserted, applauded by my best friend the monkey but oh yeah I'm certainly sage.
3/02/2007
Old friend, new blogfriend
Congrats to my darling dearest Vanessa F for paddling off with her very own blogondola: Green as a Thistle. I'm so proud. Finally, she is saving the lions, instead of slaughtering them!
3/01/2007
Hey guess what—
I almost forgot: today this blog is 3 years old! First ever post was here.
Aside from accidentally retiring on my 27th birthday, I have tried to remain true to my inauspicious yet completely self-important beginning.
After 3 years and 688 posts, I still get a kick out of hitting the 'publish' button. I still think it's hilarious that I get to publish whatever the frig I want. Sometimes I look through the FIAC archives and I am shocked, bewildered, heartened and besorrowed at the dragon-fire.
Whoever writes these cupcake things can't be mentally sound, can he?
I'm still dying to find out :-).
How will it end?
I have no idea!
Why do you do it?
That's easy - for the pelican man.
Who is the pelican man?
C'mon. You already know.
Um, ok... What's with the recent penchant for lists?
Hmm, I dunno. I came back from a Cayman Islands vacation in an extraordinarily refreshened state. I hope it's not just a Feb 2007 thing.
I think March 2007 will be just as fun. My goal is, as always: self-sustaining laughter following self-deprecating tears, tossing my party through the air on the wings of a pelican...
Aside from accidentally retiring on my 27th birthday, I have tried to remain true to my inauspicious yet completely self-important beginning.
After 3 years and 688 posts, I still get a kick out of hitting the 'publish' button. I still think it's hilarious that I get to publish whatever the frig I want. Sometimes I look through the FIAC archives and I am shocked, bewildered, heartened and besorrowed at the dragon-fire.
Whoever writes these cupcake things can't be mentally sound, can he?
I'm still dying to find out :-).
How will it end?
I have no idea!
Why do you do it?
That's easy - for the pelican man.
Who is the pelican man?
C'mon. You already know.
Um, ok... What's with the recent penchant for lists?
Hmm, I dunno. I came back from a Cayman Islands vacation in an extraordinarily refreshened state. I hope it's not just a Feb 2007 thing.
I think March 2007 will be just as fun. My goal is, as always: self-sustaining laughter following self-deprecating tears, tossing my party through the air on the wings of a pelican...
2/28/2007
10 silly noun phrases
(the delight!)
Are you ready for incredible things, big long lists and a pig in a swing?
(ALOUD)
1) Great greenish-grey petticoats, stuffed in storage bins in the metal belly of a tugboat.
2) Longlegged Lolitas licking plasticine fajitas, moody, milking mojitos on a Monday, nursing the same sugared drink till midnight on a Sunday.
3) Happy pink flamingos, pontificating about mangos, feathers plucked by a whiskeysoaked gigolo for a tickle-and-sing six-string meringue banjo.
4) Ornery toads with complaints by the truckload, hopped up against heros and cowboy zeros, running the poor unlucky Mayor, Harry McBroken-Hose, out on rails to Pocahontas House.
5) Outer-space ambassadors obsessed with flux capacitors, spew invectives and bombast, fie-fieing aghast, spelunking every last intergalactic stalactite, either over-verbose or borderline comatose from cheap cereal-box cracktose!
6) Goonish gorillas sculpting 'I love yous' into pillars in Ancient Greece, disguising with chimp-love their secret affairs with Attican geese!
7) Lee Harvey Wallbanger, an assassin for a doppelganger. languid and dyspeptic, scrubbing his chest every five minutes for lack of antiseptic.
8) 'Oh-my-God' Mollies with polka-dot brollies, chitter-chatter and titter, each with a teetoring Tom Collins in the indentation of their hats, bought for nickels in Kensington (and lined with lavender-scented burlap).
9) Gregory Peck's pants, shredded, torn and scuppered askance, restitched with concern by a flurrying hill of hardworking ants, loaned with an honest man's bedpan to an mild-mannered monk—to wear under his cassock during Gregorian chants.
10) An ad hoc eagle, lawyerly and regal, befriended by a world-famous beagle.
(Oh Snoopy, does that smile droop? But you have no claim to frown when I'm stuffing you with goop.)
Are you ready for incredible things, big long lists and a pig in a swing?
(ALOUD)
1) Great greenish-grey petticoats, stuffed in storage bins in the metal belly of a tugboat.
2) Longlegged Lolitas licking plasticine fajitas, moody, milking mojitos on a Monday, nursing the same sugared drink till midnight on a Sunday.
3) Happy pink flamingos, pontificating about mangos, feathers plucked by a whiskeysoaked gigolo for a tickle-and-sing six-string meringue banjo.
4) Ornery toads with complaints by the truckload, hopped up against heros and cowboy zeros, running the poor unlucky Mayor, Harry McBroken-Hose, out on rails to Pocahontas House.
5) Outer-space ambassadors obsessed with flux capacitors, spew invectives and bombast, fie-fieing aghast, spelunking every last intergalactic stalactite, either over-verbose or borderline comatose from cheap cereal-box cracktose!
6) Goonish gorillas sculpting 'I love yous' into pillars in Ancient Greece, disguising with chimp-love their secret affairs with Attican geese!
7) Lee Harvey Wallbanger, an assassin for a doppelganger. languid and dyspeptic, scrubbing his chest every five minutes for lack of antiseptic.
8) 'Oh-my-God' Mollies with polka-dot brollies, chitter-chatter and titter, each with a teetoring Tom Collins in the indentation of their hats, bought for nickels in Kensington (and lined with lavender-scented burlap).
9) Gregory Peck's pants, shredded, torn and scuppered askance, restitched with concern by a flurrying hill of hardworking ants, loaned with an honest man's bedpan to an mild-mannered monk—to wear under his cassock during Gregorian chants.
10) An ad hoc eagle, lawyerly and regal, befriended by a world-famous beagle.
(Oh Snoopy, does that smile droop? But you have no claim to frown when I'm stuffing you with goop.)
2/25/2007
20 astounding predictions
1) 'Coffee is bad for your teeth': This wisdom will be turned on its head, after a boy named Jack exchanges his mother's cow for a handful of Columbian coffee beans that sprout overnight into a towering dentist who doles out gold fillings.
2) A revolutionary 'kidney sponge' is invented that, with a simple wipe across a plate, processes food and drink into human waste before you eat it. Restrooms will be a thing of the past, and kidney donors will be completely unnecessary.
3) Tubas will be made obsolete, after Barry White learns to play the trumpet.
4) Steel-toe boots at construction sites will be scrapped, finally, in favour of steel toes.
5) 'Embedded reporters' will greatly enhance media coverage of the Being Eaten By A Snake World Championships.
6) Sectarian jihad will spread to the Amazon jungle, where, in deadly suicide attacks, rabid Shiite pelicans take flight and launch themselves at high speeds into trees filled with infidel Sunni baboons.
7) The preserved corpse of Lenin will have a reoccurring dream that he has risen from the dead shaved his mustache. In each dream he hides his identity, and works in St. Petersburg as a stockbroker. One day in a pharmacy he encounters the resurrected corpse of Stalin, and both men pretend not to notice. Alarmed, Lenin hastens to the grave of Trotsky and digs up his corpse, to make sure Trotsky is still dead, and when he fails to see the body Lenin wakes up screaming. Tourists in Moscow will begin to notice this and complain.
8) Pizzas and humans will achieve a glorious 1-to-1 ratio.
9) Oklahoma, Arkansas, and New Mexico will be amalgamated into 'New Arkansoma' in a bid to reduce the number of U.S. states that are too hard to remember.
10) The helmet industry will suffer a setback, after it is discovered that, when being shot from a cannon, wearing a helmet is completely useless.
11) Reality TV will once again go too far, with the airing of Survivor: Charles Manson.
12) High heels will become redundant, as the surface of the Earth becomes so hot that all women must walk on tip toes - to the delight of men everywhere.
13) Hundreds of toads will blacken the sky over Canada, causing great anxiety among Canadians. Anxiety will lessen when it is discovered the creatures are not an act of God, but were intentionally airdropped by the U.S. Marines. Anxiety will shoot up again when Canadians realize they are being invaded - and are hopelessly outgunned.
14) India will protest the use of 'laying down a brownie' as a euphemism for defecation.
15) Prostitutes will gain widespread respect, after the Pope's latest encyclical urging Catholics to 'Holy it up' over Lent contains a hilarious spelling mistake.
16) Amid a critical housing shortage, crocodiles will populate our city sewers, raising the question - do crocodiles know something we don't?
17) The West's 'aspirin embargo' against North Korea indirectly sentences millions to death, when, slamming down the phone following a lengthy argument and, frustrated by his throbbing headache, Kim Jong Il launches a nuclear strike on his mother-in-law.
18) Saddam's decaying corpse will begin to emit deadly chemical gases throughout the cemetery, polluting the other coffins. In response an outraged Iraqi Tribunal will dig up his body, try, convict and execute Saddam again.
19) Due to global warming, Kevin Costner's Waterworld will become a nightmarish reality. In this water-soaked age, demoralized umbrella manufacturers will go out of business, but ironically make a comeback selling spring-loaded lily pads.
20) Eating bacon is found to cure cataracts. The phrase 'like a blind man slaughtering a pig' will suddenly become a byword for sensible behaviour.
2) A revolutionary 'kidney sponge' is invented that, with a simple wipe across a plate, processes food and drink into human waste before you eat it. Restrooms will be a thing of the past, and kidney donors will be completely unnecessary.
3) Tubas will be made obsolete, after Barry White learns to play the trumpet.
4) Steel-toe boots at construction sites will be scrapped, finally, in favour of steel toes.
5) 'Embedded reporters' will greatly enhance media coverage of the Being Eaten By A Snake World Championships.
6) Sectarian jihad will spread to the Amazon jungle, where, in deadly suicide attacks, rabid Shiite pelicans take flight and launch themselves at high speeds into trees filled with infidel Sunni baboons.
7) The preserved corpse of Lenin will have a reoccurring dream that he has risen from the dead shaved his mustache. In each dream he hides his identity, and works in St. Petersburg as a stockbroker. One day in a pharmacy he encounters the resurrected corpse of Stalin, and both men pretend not to notice. Alarmed, Lenin hastens to the grave of Trotsky and digs up his corpse, to make sure Trotsky is still dead, and when he fails to see the body Lenin wakes up screaming. Tourists in Moscow will begin to notice this and complain.
8) Pizzas and humans will achieve a glorious 1-to-1 ratio.
9) Oklahoma, Arkansas, and New Mexico will be amalgamated into 'New Arkansoma' in a bid to reduce the number of U.S. states that are too hard to remember.
10) The helmet industry will suffer a setback, after it is discovered that, when being shot from a cannon, wearing a helmet is completely useless.
11) Reality TV will once again go too far, with the airing of Survivor: Charles Manson.
12) High heels will become redundant, as the surface of the Earth becomes so hot that all women must walk on tip toes - to the delight of men everywhere.
13) Hundreds of toads will blacken the sky over Canada, causing great anxiety among Canadians. Anxiety will lessen when it is discovered the creatures are not an act of God, but were intentionally airdropped by the U.S. Marines. Anxiety will shoot up again when Canadians realize they are being invaded - and are hopelessly outgunned.
14) India will protest the use of 'laying down a brownie' as a euphemism for defecation.
15) Prostitutes will gain widespread respect, after the Pope's latest encyclical urging Catholics to 'Holy it up' over Lent contains a hilarious spelling mistake.
16) Amid a critical housing shortage, crocodiles will populate our city sewers, raising the question - do crocodiles know something we don't?
17) The West's 'aspirin embargo' against North Korea indirectly sentences millions to death, when, slamming down the phone following a lengthy argument and, frustrated by his throbbing headache, Kim Jong Il launches a nuclear strike on his mother-in-law.
18) Saddam's decaying corpse will begin to emit deadly chemical gases throughout the cemetery, polluting the other coffins. In response an outraged Iraqi Tribunal will dig up his body, try, convict and execute Saddam again.
19) Due to global warming, Kevin Costner's Waterworld will become a nightmarish reality. In this water-soaked age, demoralized umbrella manufacturers will go out of business, but ironically make a comeback selling spring-loaded lily pads.
20) Eating bacon is found to cure cataracts. The phrase 'like a blind man slaughtering a pig' will suddenly become a byword for sensible behaviour.
2/23/2007
A hollow stump...
A hollowed out stump may or may not be filled with peanut butter. The likelihood of this depends on the promixity of the stump to peanuts, the cleanliness of the stump, the availability of a spreading instrument, the effectiveness of such a tactic at hiding peanut butter in the mind of the peanut-butter owner, the existence of peanuts, the availability of a tree of sufficient girth, the continuance of nuclear reactions inside the centre of the sun, a refutation of Hume's unproveability of causation (see Kant), a chemical composition for peanuts that permits butterification, the actualization of abstract concepts such as 'hollowness', the absence of any wolf or wolf-like creature that will devour the peanut butter no matter how well you hide it (cf. third point on dependency), the continued east-west rotation of the Earth, the neutralization of any threat of Ice Age, El Nino effect or rampant Fire Ant plague...
A mini-list:
1) Anyone who has an 'electric smile' should be careful around bathtubs.
2) If Venice is indeed sinking, then I will buy up Prague, gut the streets, fill them with water, and give the big middle finger to global warming. If any Czech complains, I will silence him with sugared pastries.
3) A man with too much time on his hands will never be able to bench-press a grandfather clock.
4) Phone me, email me, or send me a letter if you like. I cannot reply as long as I am locked in this damn mystery, wrapped in a riddle!
A mini-list:
1) Anyone who has an 'electric smile' should be careful around bathtubs.
2) If Venice is indeed sinking, then I will buy up Prague, gut the streets, fill them with water, and give the big middle finger to global warming. If any Czech complains, I will silence him with sugared pastries.
3) A man with too much time on his hands will never be able to bench-press a grandfather clock.
4) Phone me, email me, or send me a letter if you like. I cannot reply as long as I am locked in this damn mystery, wrapped in a riddle!
2/18/2007
24 profound revelations
(may require a complete re-thinking of your existence)
1) Why were there four Gospels written, instead of just one? Did the four evangelists not trust each other to get it right? Or they each wanted to take the credit for themselves. Seems that way. Hanging on the J-man's coattails - so typical.
2) Eleven people stomping on your throat hurts just as much as five people stomping on your throat.
3) Just because you compost, and don't contaminate the groundwater by throwing dead batteries in the trash doesn't mean you aren't an asshole.
4) You don't own the moon and neither do I. Who owns the moon? Why, that's P.J. PennyPincher, an evil billionaire. Remember whenever you look at the moon, that P.J. PennyPincher is up there - oppressing an innocent civilization of docile moon men.
5) It's weird how my auntie used to say, "Don't call me late for dinner, or I will feed you a poison breakfast!" But she never did.
6) A 'pack rat' with kleptomania would be relatively easy to catch.
7) Everyone would be 'on time' and no one would 'give foot rubs' if 'meetings' meant 'foot rubs' and 'foot rubs' meant 'meetings'. [?]
8) The great mass of humanity will never know the joys of individualism.
9) It's always 'hypotenuse this' and 'hypotenuse that'. The other two sides of a triangle must get jealous. But then again, it's a triangle.
10) I admit that a song titled 'Hotel Californium' might be interesting, but it caters to a very select audience of chemistry nerds.
11) People who are cute and who smile a lot often get held back from promotion. In Australia alone, komodo dragons fill the executive ranks while millions of cuddly koala bears are doomed to toil in the service industry.
12) It must be hard staying motivated if you're a potter, knowing that human beings perfected the water jar thousands of years ago.
13) Concealed weapons are so unsportsmanlike. If you have a concealed knife, I'd rather you said "Don't trust me, I'm carrying a knife!' instead of biding your time and then stabbing me.
14) Women pirates love arguing with their husbands. For them it's always about argh! you men! tation.
15) Camera-phones are a much better idea than what I once invented: the toaster-fax. A machine that catches fire any time you send a fax is pret-ty worthless.
16) A pocket full of posies? Forget that. I'd rather take a pocket full of quarters - or a pocket full of gold - any day. Or a giant robot that speaks 15 languages and serves you limonata whenever you want.
17) I could move to Egypt and build the world's largest outdoor triangular prism - if only I had a million Hebrew slaves.
18) Don't knock it: radioactive waste has made me a lot smarter. People always say "You've got a good head protruding from underneath your shoulder!"
19) People who don't write in complete sentences
20) Improving the smells on this planet requires a complete re-imagining of what it means to fart.
21) If I were a space traveler, I wouldn't put up with all this fuss from milk drinkers. 'Intergalactose' will be universally tolerated!
22) If my name were Colleen I would hate owning a phone. 'Oh, someone's calling, Colleen! Or 'It's Colleen calling! Or - if I was from India and my name was Obanji Pinthador, and whenever someone knocked on the door my wife screeched 'Open the door, O. Pinthador!' that would be tres annoying.
23) I absolutely hate it when this one friend of mine vomits, curses and then rolls over me, just because he's a wheelchair-bound alcoholic with Tourette's syndrome.
24) Don't trust me - I'm carrying a knife!
1) Why were there four Gospels written, instead of just one? Did the four evangelists not trust each other to get it right? Or they each wanted to take the credit for themselves. Seems that way. Hanging on the J-man's coattails - so typical.
2) Eleven people stomping on your throat hurts just as much as five people stomping on your throat.
3) Just because you compost, and don't contaminate the groundwater by throwing dead batteries in the trash doesn't mean you aren't an asshole.
4) You don't own the moon and neither do I. Who owns the moon? Why, that's P.J. PennyPincher, an evil billionaire. Remember whenever you look at the moon, that P.J. PennyPincher is up there - oppressing an innocent civilization of docile moon men.
5) It's weird how my auntie used to say, "Don't call me late for dinner, or I will feed you a poison breakfast!" But she never did.
6) A 'pack rat' with kleptomania would be relatively easy to catch.
7) Everyone would be 'on time' and no one would 'give foot rubs' if 'meetings' meant 'foot rubs' and 'foot rubs' meant 'meetings'. [?]
8) The great mass of humanity will never know the joys of individualism.
9) It's always 'hypotenuse this' and 'hypotenuse that'. The other two sides of a triangle must get jealous. But then again, it's a triangle.
10) I admit that a song titled 'Hotel Californium' might be interesting, but it caters to a very select audience of chemistry nerds.
11) People who are cute and who smile a lot often get held back from promotion. In Australia alone, komodo dragons fill the executive ranks while millions of cuddly koala bears are doomed to toil in the service industry.
12) It must be hard staying motivated if you're a potter, knowing that human beings perfected the water jar thousands of years ago.
13) Concealed weapons are so unsportsmanlike. If you have a concealed knife, I'd rather you said "Don't trust me, I'm carrying a knife!' instead of biding your time and then stabbing me.
14) Women pirates love arguing with their husbands. For them it's always about argh! you men! tation.
15) Camera-phones are a much better idea than what I once invented: the toaster-fax. A machine that catches fire any time you send a fax is pret-ty worthless.
16) A pocket full of posies? Forget that. I'd rather take a pocket full of quarters - or a pocket full of gold - any day. Or a giant robot that speaks 15 languages and serves you limonata whenever you want.
17) I could move to Egypt and build the world's largest outdoor triangular prism - if only I had a million Hebrew slaves.
18) Don't knock it: radioactive waste has made me a lot smarter. People always say "You've got a good head protruding from underneath your shoulder!"
19) People who don't write in complete sentences
20) Improving the smells on this planet requires a complete re-imagining of what it means to fart.
21) If I were a space traveler, I wouldn't put up with all this fuss from milk drinkers. 'Intergalactose' will be universally tolerated!
22) If my name were Colleen I would hate owning a phone. 'Oh, someone's calling, Colleen! Or 'It's Colleen calling! Or - if I was from India and my name was Obanji Pinthador, and whenever someone knocked on the door my wife screeched 'Open the door, O. Pinthador!' that would be tres annoying.
23) I absolutely hate it when this one friend of mine vomits, curses and then rolls over me, just because he's a wheelchair-bound alcoholic with Tourette's syndrome.
24) Don't trust me - I'm carrying a knife!
2/17/2007
20 astonishing facts of history
(google em yourself)
1) The Italian monument was a filthy mess, until Michelangelo's wife crafted the famed Cleaning Towel of Pisa.
2) Superstition prompted Genghis Khan to undergo dangerous organ transplants after each battle. He misheard advice from a witch doctor, who he thought said 'The Great Khan will be immortal, and outliver his enemies."
3) George Bush knows he can't subdue Iraq militarily so has asked Congress to send 92,000 rowdy American tourists to overwhelm the Middle East during Spring break.
4) Darwin's personal motive behind the Theory of Evolution was to legitimize his torrid passion with Kongo, the great ape of the London Zoo, as a relationship between equals and not a monkey-man perversion. Also in his retirement years he was an staunch activist for Sasquatch rights.
5) The guillotine was invented as a more humane way of slicing cheese.
6) Helen of Troy was known as the Anna Nicole Smith of Antiquity.
7) Horace commanded an exorbitant salary as the Poet Laureate of Rome. There was also his controversial demand of a car per diem.
8) As a five-year-old Isaac Newton drew an apple on his forehead, proving his controversial Theory of Graffiti.
9) Dusk curfews for children were instituted so that adults could stay up late and watch 'constellation porn'.
10) Einstein's kids were all incredible athletes - sprinters in fact. They never excelled at intellectual pursuits - because, in accordance with dad's discoveries, the faster they moved, the denser they became.
11) Napoleon had a 'little man' complex, and marched all across Europe just to find a pair of men's jeans that would fit his scrawny butt.
12) It has come to light that the Great Crash of '29 happened when all stockbrokers began using PCs.
13) As a young punk Martin Luther rebuked the Catholic church as a dull, constipated body. As a symbolic taunt he nailed his 95 feces to a church door.
14) Shakespeare wrote 'Hamlet' with the uncredited help of Woody Allen.
15) Otto von Bismarck said that unifying the German and Prussian states was still easier than tying a half-hitch sheep-shank.
16) Garibaldi marched through southern Italy, not liberating but 'liberalizing' towns along the way. It was a year long parade, full of pride, and he wore a flamboyant red t-shirt.
17) Marco Polo returned from travel and wrote three travel guides: 'Lonely Planet: The Orient', 'Conquer the East in just 300 Ships '; ' Chinese food for Italians - steal these recipes!'
18) Magellan sailed around the world and when he got back his housemates still hadn't done the dishes!
19) When nobody was looking William Tell fired an arrow directly through his son's face.
20) Stalin demolished Gandhi in an arm-wrestling match. Years later India got revenge by flooding the Earth with software engineers.
1) The Italian monument was a filthy mess, until Michelangelo's wife crafted the famed Cleaning Towel of Pisa.
2) Superstition prompted Genghis Khan to undergo dangerous organ transplants after each battle. He misheard advice from a witch doctor, who he thought said 'The Great Khan will be immortal, and outliver his enemies."
3) George Bush knows he can't subdue Iraq militarily so has asked Congress to send 92,000 rowdy American tourists to overwhelm the Middle East during Spring break.
4) Darwin's personal motive behind the Theory of Evolution was to legitimize his torrid passion with Kongo, the great ape of the London Zoo, as a relationship between equals and not a monkey-man perversion. Also in his retirement years he was an staunch activist for Sasquatch rights.
5) The guillotine was invented as a more humane way of slicing cheese.
6) Helen of Troy was known as the Anna Nicole Smith of Antiquity.
7) Horace commanded an exorbitant salary as the Poet Laureate of Rome. There was also his controversial demand of a car per diem.
8) As a five-year-old Isaac Newton drew an apple on his forehead, proving his controversial Theory of Graffiti.
9) Dusk curfews for children were instituted so that adults could stay up late and watch 'constellation porn'.
10) Einstein's kids were all incredible athletes - sprinters in fact. They never excelled at intellectual pursuits - because, in accordance with dad's discoveries, the faster they moved, the denser they became.
11) Napoleon had a 'little man' complex, and marched all across Europe just to find a pair of men's jeans that would fit his scrawny butt.
12) It has come to light that the Great Crash of '29 happened when all stockbrokers began using PCs.
13) As a young punk Martin Luther rebuked the Catholic church as a dull, constipated body. As a symbolic taunt he nailed his 95 feces to a church door.
14) Shakespeare wrote 'Hamlet' with the uncredited help of Woody Allen.
15) Otto von Bismarck said that unifying the German and Prussian states was still easier than tying a half-hitch sheep-shank.
16) Garibaldi marched through southern Italy, not liberating but 'liberalizing' towns along the way. It was a year long parade, full of pride, and he wore a flamboyant red t-shirt.
17) Marco Polo returned from travel and wrote three travel guides: 'Lonely Planet: The Orient', 'Conquer the East in just 300 Ships '; ' Chinese food for Italians - steal these recipes!'
18) Magellan sailed around the world and when he got back his housemates still hadn't done the dishes!
19) When nobody was looking William Tell fired an arrow directly through his son's face.
20) Stalin demolished Gandhi in an arm-wrestling match. Years later India got revenge by flooding the Earth with software engineers.
2/15/2007
10 incredible pronouncements
(more believable than you think)
1) Space aliens will one day come to Earth, read our resumes, and marvel at our productivity.
2) To 'slip on a banana peel' will no longer be considered funny, after archaeologists reveal that this was how ancient clowns ended unwanted pregnancies.
3) Weather systems, like human beings, are never fully satisfied. People will eventually become annoyed that, whenever the sun shines, the sky is 'blue'.
4) 'Think before you drink' is considered good advice. Within centuries however it will be made obsolete, by the more authoritative 'Thonk before you dronk' .
5) The confirmed existence of God will follow immediately upon the confirmed existence of a pizza crust so thin that the Pope describes it as 'miraculously thin'.
6) With the explosion of communication technology, verbal self-awareness will one day reach a fever pitch, such that anyone who says the oxymoronic phrase 'I have certain doubts' will be flabberghasted.
7) An ingenious cure for lethal peanut allergies will be discovered: the EpiPeanut.
8) Desperate YouTube users will pad their 'view stats' by bribing teenage robots.
9) A ban on sleepwalking will have limited effect on cutting carbon emissions. A further ban on sleepdriving however, will work wonders.
10) Vegetarianism among cannibals will gain legitimacy - with the invention of a delicious soy mannequin.
1) Space aliens will one day come to Earth, read our resumes, and marvel at our productivity.
2) To 'slip on a banana peel' will no longer be considered funny, after archaeologists reveal that this was how ancient clowns ended unwanted pregnancies.
3) Weather systems, like human beings, are never fully satisfied. People will eventually become annoyed that, whenever the sun shines, the sky is 'blue'.
4) 'Think before you drink' is considered good advice. Within centuries however it will be made obsolete, by the more authoritative 'Thonk before you dronk' .
5) The confirmed existence of God will follow immediately upon the confirmed existence of a pizza crust so thin that the Pope describes it as 'miraculously thin'.
6) With the explosion of communication technology, verbal self-awareness will one day reach a fever pitch, such that anyone who says the oxymoronic phrase 'I have certain doubts' will be flabberghasted.
7) An ingenious cure for lethal peanut allergies will be discovered: the EpiPeanut.
8) Desperate YouTube users will pad their 'view stats' by bribing teenage robots.
9) A ban on sleepwalking will have limited effect on cutting carbon emissions. A further ban on sleepdriving however, will work wonders.
10) Vegetarianism among cannibals will gain legitimacy - with the invention of a delicious soy mannequin.
2/12/2007
25 friggin brilliant ideas
(no need for an introduction)
1) Upside down snorkeling - with your face up out of the water, staring at the sky, you take a snorkel and blow into the water, creating an oceanic bubble bath (farting just doesn't compare) and sigh. Call it blorkeling: blow + snorkeling. Whether the sonic bubbles could attract whales remains to be seen, but think of the tourism if it did!
2) A club/singles org. for really really desirable people. Call it Social Mensa. The more exclusive the better. You need at least 10 references.
3) Why don't people sing on escalators? There should be a contest for writing the best song that can be performed for the exact duration of an escalator ride. This kind of thing could take off in Finland, a notoriously weird country (and home to the World Air Guitar Championships).
4) Banks that don't send you 500 pieces of mail every month.
5) Forget Wednesday - I want Winesday! (even better than Wacky Wednesdays)
6) An environmentally friendly, ethanol-powered search engine.
7) Self-milking livestock. Also, self-hypnotizing chickens! Snap your fingers and they line up in a row like super-nazi chickens. No longer will they wander the yard causing a fuss. Snap fingers twice and they keel over - dead.
8) A zeppelin on every rooftop. Blimp traffic is notoriously light.
9) There's spell check, and there's grammar check - now MS Word needs reality check to tell me exactly how stupid my writing really is.
10) Behavioural incentive: compliment your mother-in-law, get a coupon for a free pina colada.
11) Schoolteachers who give each other 'the strap'.
12) Survivor: Urban Poverty version.
13) A designated 'makeout car' on the subway. Or even better, a designated 'makeup car' on the subway where beauticians give grooming advice.
14) Communism might have a better reputation if it changed names to Legislated Sharing.
15) Oohgle - search engine for awesomeness.
16) If you hear someone say 'Aboriginals are just sore losers' you can take away his land.
17) If a tree falls in a forest and you don't hear it, don't worry. Greenpeace will notify you.
18) Foldable houses. Also called tents.
19) An emoticon for handshakes.
20) Why don't lingerie stores sell helmets? For the action-packed lover.
21) Game show called 'What's My Name?' where the entire half hour is spent trying to guess the contestant's first and last name. Hundreds of thousands in weekly prize dollars.
22) Game show - 'Fat Oprah/Skinny Oprah'. Not sure what the rules would be.
23) Use aerodynamic 'wind-tunnel' testing to build the perfect hair.
24) If Satan lives among us - someone should offer him a lollipop. Doesn't hurt to get on his good side.
25) Random lists every week!
1) Upside down snorkeling - with your face up out of the water, staring at the sky, you take a snorkel and blow into the water, creating an oceanic bubble bath (farting just doesn't compare) and sigh. Call it blorkeling: blow + snorkeling. Whether the sonic bubbles could attract whales remains to be seen, but think of the tourism if it did!
2) A club/singles org. for really really desirable people. Call it Social Mensa. The more exclusive the better. You need at least 10 references.
3) Why don't people sing on escalators? There should be a contest for writing the best song that can be performed for the exact duration of an escalator ride. This kind of thing could take off in Finland, a notoriously weird country (and home to the World Air Guitar Championships).
4) Banks that don't send you 500 pieces of mail every month.
5) Forget Wednesday - I want Winesday! (even better than Wacky Wednesdays)
6) An environmentally friendly, ethanol-powered search engine.
7) Self-milking livestock. Also, self-hypnotizing chickens! Snap your fingers and they line up in a row like super-nazi chickens. No longer will they wander the yard causing a fuss. Snap fingers twice and they keel over - dead.
8) A zeppelin on every rooftop. Blimp traffic is notoriously light.
9) There's spell check, and there's grammar check - now MS Word needs reality check to tell me exactly how stupid my writing really is.
10) Behavioural incentive: compliment your mother-in-law, get a coupon for a free pina colada.
11) Schoolteachers who give each other 'the strap'.
12) Survivor: Urban Poverty version.
13) A designated 'makeout car' on the subway. Or even better, a designated 'makeup car' on the subway where beauticians give grooming advice.
14) Communism might have a better reputation if it changed names to Legislated Sharing.
15) Oohgle - search engine for awesomeness.
16) If you hear someone say 'Aboriginals are just sore losers' you can take away his land.
17) If a tree falls in a forest and you don't hear it, don't worry. Greenpeace will notify you.
18) Foldable houses. Also called tents.
19) An emoticon for handshakes.
20) Why don't lingerie stores sell helmets? For the action-packed lover.
21) Game show called 'What's My Name?' where the entire half hour is spent trying to guess the contestant's first and last name. Hundreds of thousands in weekly prize dollars.
22) Game show - 'Fat Oprah/Skinny Oprah'. Not sure what the rules would be.
23) Use aerodynamic 'wind-tunnel' testing to build the perfect hair.
24) If Satan lives among us - someone should offer him a lollipop. Doesn't hurt to get on his good side.
25) Random lists every week!
2/10/2007
don't drink and drive!
(bizarre song written in 6 minutes)
tip toe bobby got a sock in his shoe
totaled his car and killed a kangaroo
lowdown sally stuck her thumb in the air
cried 'dumbo take me home' to the elephant at the fair.
little benny snook was drinking by the pump
turned the key on his mustang and floored the metal pedal
along came sally atop her big grey friend and
benny ran em down and the ivory ran red
officer fitzgordon was snacking at the Tim's
in a 25-year-old cruiser decked with spoilers and fins
the radio was beeping and the dispatcher was freaky
benny killed sally - manslaughter for the geeky
the courthouse was packed and the babies were wailin
judge tough as nails and the papers called for jailin
benny in shackles as fitzgordon led him in
the thumping of his heart echoed the courtroom din
benny buckled, finally; cried and begged for mercy
but the law did not let up, he would do the herky-jerky
no one cared where he schooled or that he got his urban planning masters
the judge stood up and shrieked, 'electrocution for the bastard!'
so that's what you get if you drink and drive
creaming sally and her elephant (200 clicks on highway five)
benny racing home to family, live his life
now he's fried, his name is mud, and he widowed his handsome wife.
tip toe bobby got a sock in his shoe
totaled his car and killed a kangaroo
lowdown sally stuck her thumb in the air
cried 'dumbo take me home' to the elephant at the fair.
little benny snook was drinking by the pump
turned the key on his mustang and floored the metal pedal
along came sally atop her big grey friend and
benny ran em down and the ivory ran red
officer fitzgordon was snacking at the Tim's
in a 25-year-old cruiser decked with spoilers and fins
the radio was beeping and the dispatcher was freaky
benny killed sally - manslaughter for the geeky
the courthouse was packed and the babies were wailin
judge tough as nails and the papers called for jailin
benny in shackles as fitzgordon led him in
the thumping of his heart echoed the courtroom din
benny buckled, finally; cried and begged for mercy
but the law did not let up, he would do the herky-jerky
no one cared where he schooled or that he got his urban planning masters
the judge stood up and shrieked, 'electrocution for the bastard!'
so that's what you get if you drink and drive
creaming sally and her elephant (200 clicks on highway five)
benny racing home to family, live his life
now he's fried, his name is mud, and he widowed his handsome wife.
2/02/2007
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