If Kirstie Alley is fat, then George Lopez and Sarah Jessica Parker are sisters?
I like curves.
How many shots of Jack have you credited to Sajak lately?
You won’t find me getting in trouble for beating my girlfriend/wife and still get by selling pop music.
Smarter than a fifth grader? Not me.
Let me count the ways. I guess it’s in my imagination?
To one reader, I can find no information to confirm or deny your rumour that Lorne Michaels and Seth Meyers are lovers, which would, to you, explain why Seth was kept so long as an SNL regular and unable to find longterm comedy work with any other outlet.
To the reader who sent me a diagram of “city maps ” of the world’s soap operas, which show a secret passageway that links them all together and thus proves that aliens are soap opera stars, let me get back to you at a later date. My sides are hurting from laughing at a joke you probably wouldn’t get.
Trees and other chlorophyll-processing beings are picketing the lab where stem cell research has resulted in an artificial leaf. They have hired a legal team to pursue declaring this new device an affront to natural life and thus offensive. In other words, they cleared a place in a forest, cutting themselves down into a formation that reads, “THIS IDEA STINKS!”
Crop circle theorists released a statement saying aliens are behind the latest protests by trees.
Why can’t we all just get along?
Reality keeps getting in the way!
Watching others find ways to live, and watching myself reach out to the world through the cold, unloving connections of bits and bytes, I wonder…
While keeping the research of the particles of life moving forward, just so we can reach a milestone 14,284 days from now…
I wonder.
The old ways are still valid comparison points, I tell myself.
Political boundaries were meaningful at some point in time.
Every supercivilisation concedes old economies of scale to the previous generation.
I wonder why parents force so many structured activities on their children when children will become better adults if given time to explore subjects their parents don’t care to know about or simply don’t know exist.
How much of a general education is good for one person?
In sixth grade, I’ve said here at least once, I learned about the Soviet Union making students choose the direction their education would take at around age 10 or 11 (my same age at the time), and about Germany giving students the Gymnasium route, if they chose, after their primary school years were completed.
In secondary school, I could choose a vocational/technical program, a college preparatory program or a general education program for my high school diploma.
Specialisation divided me from my primary school classmates at age 15.
My observations about life in general began to take a new direction at that age, despite my desire to learn about all ways of life.
I lost track of the thought patterns of students outside the college preparatory track.
Yet, I still kept trying to apply my theories about general personality types to a smaller population.
Thus, at university, my theories were destroyed.
Was it inevitable? For me, obviously, yes.
Snobbishness did not equate to applied intelligence as it had amongst my friends in secondary school.
People with a so-called redneck personality were just as likely to pursue a career in engineering or science as a person who had never seen a can of PBR beer.
And in the streets of downtown Atlanta, those who never completed a formal education were just as likely to drink high-shelf liquor and drive expensive cars as those who had PhDs and invented the Next Big Thing.
The Internet, a general means of access to self-education, did not exist in my youth. Television, films, books, magazines, newspapers and contact with other people were the limited means to teach oneself.
I couldn’t instantly tweet with a person on the other side of the globe but I could exchange letters with an international penpal.
Ham radio gave some semblance of tweeting/texting. Both provide no clear understanding of body language (but voice-based ham radio communication did provide intonation (Morse code was the tweeting/texting of its day, of course)).
But one body is still one body, subject to circadian, natural wake/sleep cycles. Despite external devices and integrated prosthetic body part advancement, we chiefly depend on the speed of our central nervous system to process stimuli.
We may have speeded up the ability to herd our species but we are still flesh-and-blood states of energy.
Enlightened youth want more and they want it now, while older people want to keep their well-established lifestyles.
In general.
I enjoy watching the misdisuninformation cycles that those with something to sell/tell start by dropping a pebble, the concentric circles distorting and being distorted by all the competing messages vying to become stimuli to individuals and groups.
I have nothing to sell or tell.
I want to live a life that is amenable, even if “amenable” is a word I have to look up its meaning to determine if I’ve used its definition in the right context here.
So far, I’ve enjoyed the luxury of sharing my observations freely, keeping myself from succumbing to the temptation of luxury.
As we become more fully aware that consciousness is a deception that can fool us into a self-destructive supercivilisation, we will give more and more thought to the fact our bodies are made of competing subsystems working for the greater good of the body.
Nurture creative criticism in our children so they will understand friendly competition is the route to a world of competing subcultures working for the greater good of the body.
Cutting off negative pathways is painful but so is removing a gangrenous body part for the sake of the body.
There is no ultimate solution. Life goes on.
We adjust to the changing times or we don’t – either response is acceptable.
Give room for the voices to be heard – the best solution in the moment often comes from a place we won’t know existed because a parent gave a child time for self-education outside the prescripted norm.
The size of the pathway or nervous system pipeline is key to understanding how to read the health of a subculture. Overcrowd the pathway or overclock the pipeline speed and you create side effects that quickly turn into pathological terminators.
Are any of these theories universally valid or have I created a thought set that applies to a limited population?
At least these times are entertaining, if nothing else.
Adding up the statistics of all the websites and blogs my team has hidden across the globe, we reached a daily average of 65,000 views today!
Of course, that’s nothing compared to major news sites, celebrity videos, facebook updates or twitter feeds, but we are happy with our low-key approach to viral influence.
Our whole point of existence is not to make people aware we exist.
Makes us wonder if we should start taking ourselves seriously.
Why start now, right?
One of our Czech programmers created a comedy sensor that detects when our funny bones have lost their sense of humour.
Our overcrowded hallway of unemployed superheroes was buzzing with excitement but that’ll happen when the Green Banker’s Lamp is upset that he’s not getting the attention he used to garner before the global economy relapse of 2008.
Of course, he challenged the Green Hornet and the Green Lantern to a three-way duel.
We’ll report the results of their old-fashioned showdown as soon as they reach an agreement about how to get the Funny Bone Dullness Sensor to react to bored superheroes fighting over the right to be famous for being famous for making a moose say vamos.
Census data revealed that 1 out of 6 Americans are American, which, coincidentally, lines up with previous census data that revealed 5 out of 6 Americans are also American.
We can’t wait to see the final report that reveals 100% of Americans are 100% American.
Star light, star bright, is that the last we’ll see and hear of Stardust (the satellite, not David Bowie or Katie Perry channelling the memory of Ziggy Stardust)? If you go coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, will you go gaga for Lada Gaga going country? Somebody, gag me, please, before I violate the STUPID Act again!
= = = = =
And last, but always least, I realised tonight, after nearly 25 years of marriage, my wife has never (well, rarely) seen the aspect of my personality that comes out when she’s not around, that is kept at bay because I agreed to hide my wild, quasi-dark side away from her relatively normal, socially-even personality. Years of practicing suppression for her sake have been years of practicing suppression for her sake.
More on that last paragraph at a later time. My days of multiple dance partners will have to wait until another out-of-town business trip. I left my wild side in Ireland, didn’t I? In other words, the personality-at-home maintains itself for now. Is that the definition of love?
I want to live but I don’t yet know how, I tell myself. [If I can’t lie to myself, who can I lie to?]
Reminder: April 1st is National Male Pattern Baldness Awareness Day, which kicks off the 3-day telethon to raise money to continue spreading the awareness in hopes that a cure will not be necessary once Female Pattern Baldness Awareness Day is universally accepted.
Politicians fulfilled their promise and posted legislation five minutes before they voted and approved new rules that classify investigative journalism, or any activity that resembles such, as a federal crime under the Stalking, Terrorism, Usury, Peering, Investigation and Dependency, or STUPID Act.
Paparazzi were rounded up by the thousands and crammed together in tiny Gitmo Bay cells. Celebrities cheered, not realising how much free advertising they just gave up in exchange for privacy.
TMZ cried foul. The whole staff was arrested on grounds that protesting the potential of getting arrested is suspicion of violating the STUPID Act.
Grocery store magazine shelves were declared illegal and destroyed.
Students with webcams and mobile phones, with or without builtin camera, were placed under house arrest for violating both the stalking and dependency clauses of the STUPID Act.
Crowds gathered outside jails to celebrate the arrest and immediate conviction of bankers under the usury clause of the STUPID Act.
Lobbyists, PAC owners and payday loaners have retained all available lawyers not busy representing parents, children, mobile phone carriers, bullies, astronomers, PIs, police detectives, CSI employees, television executives, PC software company employees, scientists and quality control inspectors.
Meanwhile, Qaddafi has put the belongings of the Lockerbie Bomber for sale on the Terrorism Hero auction site to raise money to protect his shrinking empire.
Amenandjihad kept silent one more day, waiting for his spy network to identify future denizens to serve as important peons supporting the new United States of Arabia that will incorporate itself as the latest embodiment of the Ottoman Empire, hoping to rival the EU and the USA for a domestic market that serves the networked BRIC empire.
Political pundits are taking bets that after a female takes office in 2012 whether the former ruler will offer to serve as prime minister of the new USA.
The Committee set up a 3D chess set to commemorate the anniversary of the creation of the character of Spock on Star Trek.
DNA scientists were able to prove the genetic relationship between Michael Schumacher and the Busch brothers.
Steve Martin and Joan Rivers announced they secretly married at the funeral for Elizabeth Taylor, setting a new standard in Hollywood entertainment. We’d post exclusive video of the wedding but officially say we know nothing about its existence due to our patriotism and dedication to obeying the STUPID Act.
While walking to the end of a street to understand why two houses are built on the property at 514 Mohawk Road, trying to determine the covenant/neighbourhood agreement concerning construction projects, it occurred.
It?
Yes, it is what it is.
The awful, dreaded word that hangs in the back of the throat of any [North American] English teacher trying to convince students to think and write more creatively, succinctly and specifically.
Then the band nerd walked into the picture.
What is it about that image?
Thing?
No.
That?
No.
It?
Yes.
Semi-professional game show contestants.
It is a subclass all its own.
You don’t need a degree in geotechnical terminology.
The school of hard knocks or Imagineering will do.
I ought to know. My cousins, aunt and uncle starred on “The Family Feud” many moons ago.
Once you’re part of the system, you’re it.
The next big thing.
“IT” in bright lights at the top of the cinema marquee.
More important than a marquis.
Marked for life.
In front of the camera rather than the staff of anonymous faces behind it.
A mover and a shaker.
A veritable moviemaker.
From then on, you’re the big cheese, the rumble in the concrete jungle, the jingle singer, the single jangle, the bauble, the bangle and the face that inspires the candlestick lighter.
You ask Franklin Graham to produce the names of people he says are controlling your government’s leaders.
You ask, “Is this it?”
It is.
Must be, ’cause Putin’s in Serbia and W’s making the speaker circuit pay dividends.
It.
I. T.
Information technology?
Could be.
What’s next?
Bangladesh.
Bang the desk!
Have we diverted you long enough to complete a task under your nose so we can let you get back to the last news item that seemed so important at the time?
Yes, we have.
There’s always something else that’s it.
Of course, that’s it!
You didn’t think that iron ore mine would last forever, did you, Fe Maiden?
Every Lord of the Flies concedes defeat at the feet of the next ruthless leader.
We cheer for the power of the people but’s it’s the law of the jungle that rules us all.
Will your government ever balance the books or keep cooking them on a backburner?
Guess what – tag, you’re it!
In a recent test, my programmers created an American English speaking character on a Chinese social media site. The character commented on world news and talked about a personal life gleaned from averaging profiles of Chinese social media participants, in order to attract a certain following and sway opinions in favour of a future business deal that didn’t really exist, to see if the Chinese “friends” would suggest the business deal on their own and/or invest in the companies (the real ones) or increase searches for the companies (including fake ones mentioned by the NAmE character).
In the world of unexpected consequences, the real companies’ stock values increased significantly enough to create some relatively wealthy people in other parts of the world, thus reinforcing the valued opinions of the fake NAmE character who, in turn, said the business deal that the Chinese “friends” eventually suggested had been discovered to be a rumour the NAmE character forwarded on purpose.
The Chinese “friends” were at first offended.
However, several of them decided to play the game themselves, enlisting the fake NAmE character to create more innuendos that induce stock-price building rumours.
The groupthink intelligence spread into other social networks, so that a bunch of social friends got rich by feeding rumours for stocks that had little or no value but increased enough for the investors to use exponential investment schemes to get rich slowly enough across several stock exchanges to not attract attention.
A social science professor figured out what my programmers had done and created a superset modeling program that spread multiple versions of our fake NAmE character into social networks around the world.
Now, I’m getting rich and building an offshore bank account the old-fashioned way.
I no longer have to worry that my retirement plan will reveal the underground/illegal market slush funds I created to eventually live the life I wanted as a financially-independent, aesthetically ascetic guru.
Time to break free?
We’ll see.
We threw out the baby. Can we keep the bath water?
Today, many people on this planet celebrate St. Patrick’s Day which, oddly enough, is day when drunk revellers imbibe in the name of a Catholic saint.
Are you willing to share your traditions with others who’ll shape the traditions to their whims, desires and traditions?
Hard to believe only 14,295 days are left and I want to spend this day in a cloud of oblivion, not eating, drinking or consuming more than moist air for my lungs.
Smelling the wind. Feeling vibrations in my feet.
Looking at sweetgum tree buds.
Thinking about no time in particular.
Almost not caring about the arrangements of these words sdfps8′ 3ehp4nh’N#g;p3.
What do you do with yourself in a closed-loop system?
There is a stinkbug caught between the window screen and the window, finding a crack somewhere to get in but unable to find its way back out.
There are an unnumbered number of dead insects at the bottom of the window.
Some days I feel like the stinkbug, unaware that my time spent crawling on the screen, my antennae fully aware of familiar smells/vibrations but unable to get to them, is time spent not knowing I’m not going to get out alive. Perhaps a spider hidden in a corner will find me and make use of me.
Otherwise…
Perfectly, happily, soberly aware I really know nothing.
My brain an Intel Celeron M running Microsoft Windows Vista Basic on a Compaq Presario C501NR Notebook PC, generations and magnitudes less complicated than the world’s fastest human-made supercomputer.
More than sitting on a horse and buggy counting on my fingers, in comparison, but comparison to what?
Who am I to deny any one of the seven billion of us the right to procreate?
Who am I to say billions of us will die for my benefit?
I’m not presumptuous. I’m not the wealthiest or the poorest.
A racetrack or sports arena is more familiar to me as a place of worship than a place of worship.
If more people in the U.S. watch films and shows on the tellie than go to sporting events or participate in formal religious service, what does that say about what we call religion? That is, how are we defining our definitions of morals and ethics for normal social interaction?
How does a child know the difference between fantasy and reality?
When did we start believing food comes in brightly-coloured bags and boxes, not out of farms and ranches?
When did we convince ourselves it’s all right to turn homes into chemical experiments on humans, plants, animals, insects and other living things?
What does it profit me to profit if I’m going to contract cancer from unintentional concoctions?
I’m going to die anyway, right?
Who or what entity is going to test whether the aerosols of chemical lawn fertilisers will mix with aerosols of underarm deodourant, hairspray, furniture deodouriser, kitchen surface disinfectant and cologne/perfume to create a force more invisibly deadly than anything dreamed up by military chemical warfare departments, because no one took into account the change to the microorganisms inhabiting our bodies and the poisons they’ve been, through no fault of any one person or entity, chemically genetically-modified to cover us and fill our pores with?
The Law of Unintended Consequences.
I didn’t get drunk today but, because I mentioned the phrase “St. Patrick’s Day,” someone reads these words and decides it’s okay to have one or two extra litres of beer to show he’s more manly than anyone in the room, stumbles out of the pub, trips on the curb and bangs his head, ending up in a hospital emergency room where he meets a nice nurse he decides to introduce to his forlorn son, their love convincing the father to give up drinking heavily because he can finally forgive himself for not taking good care of his wife while she was dying of cancer she got while visiting her sister’s family near a chemical waste dump they didn’t know existed behind their house that was built in the shape of a stinkbug on an idea an architect got from reading random blog entries one day.
We are an ignorant species so let’s keep looking for ways to increase our wisdom and not just our collections of esoteric information that we cleverly yell out while watching television trivia game shows.
If you knew exactly where a large chunk of galactic material was going to hit Earth’s atmosphere thousands or millions of years from now, would you figure out how to change Earth’s rotation ever so slightly to keep the resulting sonic boom and burning debris from hitting major centres of your species’ population, knowing the destruction of trillions of other microorganisms would have a small but not detrimental effect on your species thousands of years later?
How big a picture can you work with without resorting to using literary devices like magic, superpowers or time travel?
When the timescales of your species have little effect on galactic timescales at which you operate, what does one life matter?
Finding the humour in that scenario is the challenge of my lifetime.
14,295 days, as we call them, to get it right.
treetrunkdings 