Oh, I’m back in the saddle again…

Amazing, what a few days mean in the life of one species.

Part of the annual cycle of life here locally, for instance — the little “sugar” ants have found their way into our kitchen sink like clockwork.

And who says astrology doesn’t work — why, the Earth’s position around the Sun is directly connected to these ants before me.

And the Moon-influenced tides…well, I’m sure if I traced the ecosystem connections I could find the tidal pools in the Gulf of Mexico have an indirect influence on the movement of species in and around this domicile.

Not sure about Venus aligning with Earth’s view of its transit across the face of the Sun, though.

But hey?  I’m just a bigger ant on this planet.  What do I know?

Pop music flows through my thoughts today, from this century and centuries past.

Dreams have flowed through my subconscious thoughts, dreams that center on my dead father and his last two months in a variety of healthcare facilities.  Just another shot.  How about one more day with him?  Have we considered this experimental treatment?  Or that one?  Were there any unkind words I said through the years that weighed down his thoughts in his last days?  Did he feel I neglected him recently?

Part of the healing process, no doubt.

A new crossroads in the road in front of me — I can choose “Happiness,” “Depression,” “Anger,” “Denial,” “Remorse,” “Regret,” or the one I plan to take, “Unknown.”

A bit overgrown.  Underused.  Neglected.  Quiet.  Secluded.

In other words, the usual path of mine.

Wandering in and out of the actions of my species.  You, me, us, as usual.

Synching back to my self’s syncopated rhythms, out of step and in tune with our social changes, our connections with the universe at large.

Thinking my thoughts, no matter how strange, weird or normal they may be, sharing a few of them here.

Conforming to (staying within the parameters set by) local laws to preserve my relative freedom from conformity.

Letting subcultures be — live and let live.

Competing in the marketplace of ideas when I feel like going up against adverts of marketing machines blaring deafening sounds and spouting subliminal messages.

So many stories to be told, like the young lady whose [great]grandparents’ home in Hamilton has been transformed for a new generation of nonfamilial owners.  Sound familiar?

Or watching the tiny facial twitches on the President when he gave a[n election season] speech for the unveiling of a previous President’s portrait.  How easy is it for you to be a mind reader then and predict the future?

We learn a lot when we learn alot about Camelot on the backstage lot.

Do kids still learn to type “These are the times that try men’s souls“?

Is there proper thumb-typing body posture or mobile phone use etiquette taught in schools these days?

When technology moves faster than generational education cycles, what is a generational education cycle for, that period of time we stop children from performing manual labour and coerce them into classroom settings between ages 4 and 24, just to watch many of them drop out of the cycle to return to ageless, aging manual labour practices?

In the days when everyone is more equal to everyone else than ever before, is it still safe to refer to the peasant class even where literacy rates are a nonissue and people still want to get their hands on simple, low-paying, physically laborious work, no matter how many memes float through their language-filled thoughts?

How [un]important are the economies of geopolitical zones we call countries like Italy, Greece, Portugal, Spain, and Ireland to the global economy at large?  What if we let them deteriorate into complete chaos?  Can we not wait to see the phoenix that rises from the ashes or are we too afraid to risk our investment portfolios to find out?

Why am I sitting here instead of enjoying the pleasant weather outside?

A-ha!  Finally, a question I can answer.  Time to close down this laptop and invite mosquitoes to savour the flavour of the blood-filled organ called my skin.

And remember: a fine, country dinner shared with David and Evelyn in their house overlooking a forested creek; pulling out bushes with David, Melinda, Melinda’s father and John; sorting through family memorabilia with Dan and Fay; Robbie, Aaron, and Christopher at the Rave; Martha at Carson’s Grille; Rogersville Produce Market; Debra, Pat and Veronica at Hales Spring Inn; Pals #13; Oh Henry’s; my blog-connected friends, and more…

A World of Ideas, or an Idea of Worlds?

How much of what goes on in our species is necessary for you/me/us to go on?

How much more austerity is necessary for a place like Greece to endure in order to inspire real innovation for change?

Simply pouring government funds, part of which is covered in taxes, does not make those holding the vessel which collects the funds (users of the money) more efficient and thus profitable.

Terms like bonds, taxes, government treasury bills and loans float through the airwaves constantly.

And then a spacecraft, nicknamed Dragon (with many a symbolic meaning there), is grappled and floats in unison with the ISS.

Racecar mechanics race against time to prepare for the big race.

Race itself is a a term with many a symbolic meaning.

But these are words in one language.

We see terms, symbols, memes, languages, and other sets of states of energy as we see fit.

We may have a fit in the process.

The storyline of the Committee picks back up again.

We are 8.5 strong, adding PegLegs to the mix.  The 0.5 has grown into the 0.65, becoming more adultlike and responsible every day — when it reaches 1.0, we remove a member from the Committee.

Attrition may place its part ahead of time.

What’s next on the Committee’s agenda?

A balancing act, of course.

Expanding our knowledge and experience in the known universe, as usual.

Always weighed against personal loss.

Celebrating the simplest of events, like digging up an old boxwood bush with a shovel and cutter mattock.

Or welcoming the 1000th guest onboard a space hotel.

Today, we finished plans for the cruise ship that travels from Earth to the Moon and back again regularly.

Frequent launches from our planet to the cruise ship allows guests to spend time in space, with many dropping to the Moon for extended holidays and business trips.

Sure, a few find the travel inconvenient, wasting valuable time commuting between laboratories where robotic surrogates cannot complete assignments in ways that our species can.

We have not totally given over our toughest jobs to robots.

Robots have not totally resigned themselves to being outside the realm of our species’ capabilities.

Long ago, we crossed the threshold where the difference between cybernetic humans and robots with human body parts is indistinguishable.

Still, there are areas of the human brain that have not been fully duplicated.

We no longer call the synergy of these areas intuition.

Instead, we focus on the data complexity and efficiency of neuron transmission and information storage within a single brain, as well as the meme set carrying capacity of [sub]cultures.

A brain does not operate in a vacuum.

But students at age three already know this.

Why am I repeating myself, then?

Good question.

I chose not to enhance my central nervous system.

I am an old man, willing to face the deterioration inherent in brain cell loss and reduced cardiovascular functionality associated with a naturally aging body.

I have never lost the thought set of self-importance.  There is not a point in my narrative, like retirement or worker status/title, that indicates a change in my usefulness.

I can manage a group of hackers, police officers, counterterrorism agents and freedom fighters within the same brain.  I can create crime and prevent crime in the same sentence.

I can promote diplomatic solutions and bomb innocent villages between heartbeats.

I can act the dove and the hawk, the liberal and the conservative, at the same time.

The role of the Reluctant Leader in this storyline demands no less.

Happiness is sitting quietly, thoughts spinning in and out of consciousness.

Happiness is giving orders at a rapid pace that is still too slow to keep up with the seven billion thought sets that make up our species.

Forgetfulness is part of the solution, not part of the problem, a key variable in the equation of life.

We remember so that we can forget.

We forget so that we can remember.

We create wars in order to create warriors who become heroes who create peace which fosters a need to create wars again.

Have you wondered why someone could make a profit off the taxes you have to pay your government?

Shouldn’t the profit be used to refund your taxes, not create new taxes to be paid on profit earned or siphon taxes out of your local economy?

Austerity is just a word.

Just like poverty or prosperity.

Or planetary settlements.

Ideas.  Visions.

Were Spanish missions in California a mission from God?

What’s missing in that sentence?

Have geeks already inherited the earth?

Do proofreaders with pens scratch out a living?

Who is responsible to give you a job?

What is a job?

What is a living?

If the efficiencies of modern society eliminate the need for many of the seven billion of us, what do we do in the meantime?

Are we means-tested in realtime?  How do we create the sense of wellbeing — usefulness — when contract work and part-time jobs are the norm for the majority?

How many of us can handle the day-to-day competitiveness of us not only against each other, but also against the excess capacity of just-in-time automated manufacturing?  Or hoarded profit holdings?

Can you compete against the noise of everyday life, wanting just to be able to hear yourself, let alone find something to eat, clothes to wear and a place of your own to lay down your head and sleep?

If you had ten children, would you constantly ask, “If I only had food for two of my kids to survive, which ones would it be?”  Would you love the other eight any more or less?

What about two or three billion out of nine billion?

A Planet of Self-Actualised Individuals

First of all, a big “Thanks!” to Terry at the AT&T landline phone repair group.

Although Trish and Trina of AT&T weekend support had great phone voices when I talked to them about my home landline having problems, they simply saw (presumably on computer screens) a report that my landline was fine, which they courteously reported back to me on the AT&T mobile phone I used to report unacceptable issues with my AT&T landline.

Unfortunately, friendly as they were, it did not solve the landline problems of strange pops, clicks, hums and, intermittently, no dial tone and/or no ADSL service.

Terry drove 35-40 miles across town yesterday and investigated the problem.

It appears, from his description, that a bad card in the box down by the highway (a DSLAM, perhaps?) was the source.  In any case, he swapped the landline connection to a different port and Voila! service as clear as a bell (Ma Bell to the rescue) and quiet as a mouse (no squeaks, though) are the lack of sounds I like to hear.

Terry, you’re my wife’s Hometown Hero of the Day!

Many more to thank, but on to other matters, next…

What does it take to make you happy?

In a network of seven billion people, how many do you know who do not seek material wealth or social/public accolades, finding, instead, a deep sense of self-worth and self-satisfaction by simply living in the moment, irregardless of current circumstances?

When you tell a species, that has developed a way to externalise the internal imagery a central nervous system has nurtured through social and self education, to let loose on an individual basis, putting social conforming norms aside, what do you get?

Does the species create a new thought process that makes former definitions of success irrelevant?

What about those who still seek the old ways of defining glory?

What about subcultures that depend upon forceful means for maintaining their existence?

Some will defend their subcultures to the death.

Some will accept/believe that enough people in their subculture want to perpetuate their peaceful means/way that they feel no need to defend themselves, accepting newcomers with differing beliefs into their lives, letting their day-to-day activities, rather than words or force, serve as examples.

In fact, our personality traits define the subcultural practices to which we best belong or toward which we tend to gravitate.

We do not choose the influences upon us during our formative years.

For a few years, we are nearly helpless, defenseless, and then, as we become aware of our individual strengths/weaknesses, we not only react to our environment, we proactively shape our environment.

As a child, I was raised primarily in a suburban environment.

When I was strong enough and tall enough, my father placed me behind a lawnmower and told me to get to work.

Eventually, I performed the lawnmowing duties for my neighbours, pricing my work according to the financial means I perceived — the elderly, retired lady next door paid me a few dollars but I was more grateful for the glass of fresh, cold lemonade or iced tea she made me than the money — I was taught that mowing was not just a job but a form of social duty.

Every dollar I earned was one less dollar my parents felt obligated, up to a point, to provide me to maintain the lifestyle of a suburban teenager who liked to walk to the store and buy a candy bar, one or two bottles of soda, a pack of chewing gum and a comic book, sharing them with my friends who got their money in ways I never thought to ask.

Meanwhile, national governments motivated military troops to maneuver into position in official war zones to protect and define the lines that divided major lifestyles because the idea of global economic trade had not been fully fleshed out yet.

That was then, this is now.

Kids still mow lawns, with girls as likely to stand behind the self-propelled mower as boys.  Just as common are professional lawncare service companies that sweep through neighbourhoods, mowing grass, trimming hedges, planting flowers and rearranging topiary animal displays.

Enough profit is generated by our modern global economy to free up millions of people from work, and thus their social duty, if they don’t want to.

“Free up?”

We still have to breathe, eat and sleep so we are not free from our bodily needs, no matter how financial and mentally secure we may be.

We are free to exercise our imaginations.

More and more often, we are free to express our imaginations publicly.

In a global economy, what is the connection between the general culture where global economic activity takes places and the subcultures that were once isolated from each other when warzones were acceptable means of controlling subcultural interaction?

A popular term right now is “Internet censorship.”

Every subculture has terms and ideas that are taboo.

Hate crimes, deity insults, unapproved bombings/killings, unsanctioned robbery/theft…

We redefine our actions in accordance with subcultural rules.

Behind every wall is a person who doesn’t want to be there for one reason or another, if only for a brief moment.

The grass is always greener on the other side.

Many rules/laws define my existence at this moment — grammar rules, computer operating system rules, the law of gravity, the local/state/national/global rules/laws that govern my ability to communicate across an interplanetary electronic network…

I see friends and acquaintances come and go as Internet firewalls are loosened/strengthened because of the perception that governments feel the need to protect subcultural taboos, defending their lifestyles, including mine.

All of the actions of my species I take into account as I look back at us 1000 years from now, seeing how we became who we will be (or are, depending on perspective).

Once colonies become independent, like children, they redefine their ideas of self, sometimes maintaining previous definitions and sometimes stretching their imaginations toward something we can’t imagine today.

One day, we see the visible light and invisible energy of galaxies as the foam on the sea of the universe, and the next day, we declare that perhaps the galaxies are all there is out there — mathematical formulae created imaginatively and then tested against observation.

Either way, we’re still a superset of states of energy that calls itself a species that depends on other species that live on/in us to give us the freedom to say we’ve reached the state of self-actualisation, happy to do whatever makes us happy in the moment, socially connected/defined or purposefully isolated individually.

Or, for some, a happy moment in the future we believe will exist for us, if we just work harder/smarter for ourselves and/or for the social good/[sub]culture to which we say/believe we belong.

Parting Shots – “Gone crazy. Back soon.”

A CIA employee quit to become a bishop.  Now all his files are marked “Sacred” and “Top Sacred.” — The American Legion magazine, May 2012

Reminds me of an insight that occurs and re-occurs in me with occasional irregularity.

Do you ever wonder why people and organisations make and keep secrets?

Well, for starters, if they fail at a secret task, only those in on the know will know what they know about what failed and why it failed.

In addition, they can [somewhat] control the perception of the failure.

That’s why I operate on a species-level scale.  I want our failures out in the open as much as possible so we can learn from our mistakes and get out of the perception-is-reality business.

To be sure, we’re an unusual species, in that our disguises are meant for each other as well as for predators/prey.

But many species play bluffing games with each other, having larger antlers, bigger nests, brighter plumage and flashier courting rituals.

We are, supposedly, smarter than all that.

We can — again, supposedly — see through our limited attempts of increasing our chances for reproduction and resource access.

Supposedly.

That’s the key word here, isn’t it?

Perhaps I put too much thought into our abilities to rise above our past.

We all make mistakes.  Me, especially.

Mine, as thinker, writer, and tinkerer, are here as much as possible for you to peruse and ponder in making decisions about yourself and ourselves together as one superset of states of energy (i.e., one species).

Enough pondering. pompous pontification for today.  Time for action.

Exploring the Impossible, or Not Needing Permission to be Myself

As a leader, as a writer, as a thinker, as a tinkerer, I perform many roles, just like we all do.

The chameleon, the pleaser, the hater, the lover, the fearful, the fearless, the wonderer, the doer, the wanderer, the sitter, the sane, the psychopath, the peacenik, the warmonger, the nothing, the everything…

Conscious of who I am, sometimes conscious of who I’m trying to be when I’m not trying to be anything.

Aware that censorship is an integral part of who we are but also part of us we don’t need to nurture in every situation.

Perfectly imperfect.

We pick and choose our personality traits.

I love my subculture for what it gives people but it doesn’t give me everything I want, need, desire, pine for, resist, admire, or other cultural symbols we call words which represent ideas or meme sets.

For instance, there is the “Jenn,” a set of states of energy that morphs into meme sets we can call the dance instructor, sibling, student, Scentsy sales consultant and propulsion specialist, to name but a few.

When my wife and I are taking lessons and Jenn is instructing, an image pops into my head, something like this:

We may hide behind our costumes and masks but we can’t hide the fact we’re members of the same species, with all that entails.

It doesn’t matter if we live somewhere between Erie and Pittsburgh, PA, or on the roof of a stone hut in the middle of a metropolis.

In the latest incarnation of a consistent, coherent set of states of energy as “self,” I wonder if there is a correlation between the concept of being an adult and reacting to socially-approved news outlets yelling for my attention.

Is it more or less grownup to see that being an adult reacting to advert-driven corporations wanting my reaction and thus my focus on products/services that companies want to sell, spending some of their labour/investment credit to buy space next to information reportedly “fresh” and worth my moments analysing their value, both news and parallel product/service placement, is not in my best interest?

We can look together at the statement “without advertising, nothing happens,” and stir up dust from old volumes of thoughts, burning our eyes, drying our mouths and making us cough up informed opinions on the matter.

Or we can move on.

Not only is the universe infinite from our point of view but so are our opinions.  The more I look, the more I see that spending [any of] my time reacting to the output of news outlets, which, when I was a kid, was the only official source of information, is severely limiting my definition of self.

Sure, I can pretend to be sane in saying that I join others in the public square of ideas, shaping the dialogue, sharing the concept of being an adult/grownup leader of people who may or may not care what I have to say but must follow the rules I set forth for their participation in culture at large, despite (or in spite of) their subcultural beliefs.

Or I cannot.

Neither is this an either/or proposition.

I exist somewhere in-between.

Return to the example of Jenn.

Is she just a dance instructor?  No, of course not.  There is no such thing as “just a dance instructor” anywhere in this universe.  We are not one-purpose robots designed to physically represent a simple algorithm with one input, one calculation (or state change) and one output.

We are not a set of infinite states of energy, either.

We are all somewhere past 0, between 1 and ∞ (infinity).

Thus, it is time for me to move on past this blog to a place where I don’t have to appear sane; that is, no longer writing one symbol/word after another into a coherent string of symbols you interpret as phrases that fit into the structure of a sentence that, together with other sentence-like symbol sets, builds into paragraphs and wraps a bow around a new concept or idea per blog entry, sometimes in reaction to official news headlines, sometimes in reaction to other blogs, sometimes in reaction to and observation of sets of states of energy (birds, plants, raccoons) in the surrounding environment.

I want to pretend to be the happy, insane hermit in the woods, doing nothing practical or useful to the casual observer.

It is my right, giving permission to myself to step off the narrow path of life we designate as subcultural normality, an average I no longer want to perpetuate.

My happiness is not your happiness.

Pleasing others’ idea of self at the expense of being myself is no longer worth the cost.

The chameleon wants to take off his disguise, discard his mask, his costume and let himself go into the realm of the impossible, or at least stretch as far as he can to reach the event horizon and dissolve the self, merging with whatever is there that seems infinitely improbable, although mathematically computable and definitely not profitable.

At least for a little while, as long as I can perpetuate the belief in the self’s ability to nurture its social needs from within the universe of impossible ideas the self contains, including other selves that form a self-enclosed social structure, the perpetual motion machine of self-independence, leaving space for interface with other selves when the need for food, clothing, and shelter arises.

Just like the rest of us.

A Moment of Silence

With all the bloodshed attributable to our species’ members deciding to fight and kill each other, there’s another type of tragedy that takes its toll — tornadoes.

Our heartfelt moment of silence goes out to the recent victims of tornado-y storm damage in the eastern half of the United States recently, including this one, with “before” and “after” images to give you an idea how quickly a peaceful lifestyle can end — swoosh!:

Rumour has it that tomorrow will also be a day of mourning for UT (Univ. of Tennessee) football fans who supported the Indianapolis Colts because of Peyton Manning, with charity clothing stores receiving a sudden influx of light-blue hats, jerseys and other memorabilia emblazoned with a white horseshoe.

We apologise to tourists passing through the states of Tennessee and Indiana, confusing flags flying at half staff, thinking it’s for tornado victims when, curiously, it’s just as likely to be for the loss of a football player’s loyal career at one professional team.

Such is the life of our species, finding hope in the midst of tragedy, wishing a sports figure would give them a glimmer of his former glory and/or a portion of his fortune to help rebuild houses of fans with no homeowners insurance.

As far as Syria goes…well, its fate lies in the hands of people who have just finished getting re-elected for at least six more years, are about to be put in charge for ten years or hope to get re-elected for four years.  Some hands belong to families that rule for life after life after life (and maybe the afterlife?).

Meaning, of course, that the people of Syria are pawns, if not pwnd, in a global gamble for strategic geographic control and international influence.

Guess I’ll become mortal, play with this copy of Windows 8 Consumer Preview, Evaluation Copy [Build 8250], Adobe Reader X (ver 10.1.2), Mozilla Firefox (ver. 10.0.2) and feed healthy levels of stimulants to my programmers to speed up people’s acceptance of direct supercomputer connections to their bodies so I can more easily “convince” our species to pour their efforts into exploring the solar system.

Most of you know what that means — lowering your standards of living, starving many of you, and allocating precious resources for more important matters than whatever it is you think you’re doing to reach self-actualisation physically while, instead, reaching self-actualisation virtually, a much less costly and more efficient means to achieve the Committee’s ultimate goals, which I have sworn an oath not to mention at this time.

If someone like me, who believes in unencumbered free will, swears an oath of loyalty, not quite fealty (certainly not quiet [sic] realty), you know what we’ve got planned for a milestone in 13940 days, to ensure events in 3011 take place without a hitch, must be important.

On a quantum scale, at the very least.

We’ll continue to use the sleight-of-hand tricks of comedy to slip messages into punchlines that keep all seven billion of us living our lives the way they’re supposed to be lived, often on emotional roller coasters.

Adding scientific achievements, popular culture trademarks, sports awards, and government public business secret agendas, along the way or via the Via Latina at times, notwithstanding contributions from the alleged authors of famous utterances.

International Women’s Day

Most days, my agenda is filled with evaluating rocket fin designs or applying “think outside the fuselage” reasoning to assess the most cost-effective means of advancing our planetary lifeforms outward into the galaxy.

I pay advisors to tell me where to put my investments to give our group the most play money for building outer space travel toys.

In a few days, I’ll spend a few minutes with half my staff to evaluate any discrepancies we have concerning gender-neutral compensation.

We have a wide variety of people involved in running the organisation smoothly, from the least socially aware to the most brash, politically incorrect loudmouths.

Hey, when you manage seven billion people, the variations are nearly endless.

But not nearly enough.

Every other year, I ask one gender and then the other to review our employee policies and practices.

Because our subcultures are sometimes incompatible, I ask the people whose beliefs are separated the most from one another to meet and talk.

During these meetings, our supercomputers are listening, increasing the resolution of their intuition algorithms substantially.

Then, a panel composed of people and supercomputers is asked to evaluate the meet-and-greet session, resulting in a summary report that is sent out to all subcultures in formats they believe represent a view from their specific subcultural perspective.

I assign one of the Committee’s subcommittee ad hoc teams to rate the effectiveness of the absorption of every report into individual subcultures.

The reports with the lowest effectiveness score are sent to a new meet-and-greet team for discussion, which is, again, overheard by our supercomputers for error detection algorithm correction and fed into intuition algorithm automatic reprogramming routines.

In this week’s yearly event called International Women’s Day, we’ll ask the female gender to pull two “opposite” subcultures together for one of the meetings — female leaders of the porn industry, such as Lux Alptraum, and female adherents of celibate life, such as members of the Focolare Movement.

Because no two people are exactly alike, we prepare the participants, asking them to listen with respect, disagree passionately, do not compromise simply to avoid conflict, and find common ground that excludes the fact we are of the same species.

We expect members of the same subculture to share discordant opinions amongst themselves, let alone with people outside the subculture.

The Committee wants progress, even if movement in one direction appears to go backwards.

After all, the larger goal of culling the species for nearly ideal representatives to colonise and breed on nonEarth premises requires both conventional and nonconventional processes.

We need people who…sorry, sets of states of energy that can adapt and survive in the harshest conditions possible for what we’ll call living beings at this moment.

After a while, offworld colonists will no longer work to complete tasks assigned from Earth.

In the changes of the colonists’ agenda from external goals to local goals as the years pass, including reactions to adverse ambient environmental changes, the Committee wants to ensure our representatives will thrive.

As the current reluctant leader, my goal is to ensure the representatives can hold individual viewpoints that will adapt and grow together, even if the people pull apart, philosophically speaking, as all current models predict is inevitable.

The Committee advocates no specific subcultural belief.

We only believe in the capacity of our species to advance life out of the solar system while we have the means and window of opportunity to do so, holding to the basic philosophy of “leave the planet in better condition than when we got it” that each successive generation is taught.

We avoid words like mission or vision because we aren’t corporate entities that have to justify our existence although most of us depend on corporate entities interacting with each other to expand our budgetary constraints.

We make mistakes.  People will and must die to accomplish some of our major goals, and many will die accidentally.

All seven billion of us will die eventually but we empathise with those who feel individual losses, anyway.

However, at a global scale, we barely sympathise, partially composed, as we’ve told you, of supercomputers that are just learning to develop intuition algorithms and getting closer to acting like us on general subcultural levels that tend to gloss over the death of individuals, except those designated to represent the best or worst of us (e.g., ruthless dictators, popular entertainers, babies who died tragically, etc.), which the supercomputers simply assign as data points that may or may not designate significant changes to the subculture and are used as triggers for recording the conditions of the subcultural data sets for later comparison.

We hope you look forward to subcultural interaction reports containing gender-based information coming to a comfortable subcultural outlet near you, if you can recognise when we send them out and what they are.

An Incompetent Education

In case you missed it, the Association of Comglomerates announced today that, going forward, all newhires at any organisation — corporation, sports team, quilting club, stamp collectors, etc. — must sit through a viewing of the film, “About Schmidt,” and then write an essay about why life must go on despite one’s useless Sisyphean effort to make a difference.

As an alternative, one may appear in “Death of a Salesman” or interview a person standing on a bridge about to commit suicide.

Major universities around the world are contemplating adding curriculum as the capstone course to all university degree programs.

Card-losing members of Apathetics, Anonymous, are confused about the situation — why the fuss?

Nihilists are rejoicing that they’ve won the day and will announce the proclamation of “The World is Nothing Day” during this evening’s news broadcast.

The World Trade Organisation has refused to admit defeat and will continue to closely cooperate with financial institutions to put everyone and every institution under heavy loads of debt, thereby confirming the futility of life unknowingly.