- German newspaper report.
- China - it's not easy being green.
- Okay, bartender, just one more: floods of historic proportional measurements.
Never too late to put a cheeky tongue into action!
Friday, January 14, 2011
One More For The Road
Can you find connections in these two news stories?:
Never too late to put a cheeky tongue into action!
Never too late to put a cheeky tongue into action!
What is a destiny and am I running away from it?
Tucked away behind a stack of unopened boxes of interlocking wood flooring pieces is a set of shelves covered with dozens of VCR tapes.
"Tell me more, tell me more! Did he put up a fight?!"
The tapes, most of them prerecorded, cover topics ranging from the heyday of 1990s Univ. of TN football to the Avengers TV series to pop films.
None of them discuss the measurement of the billiard ball interaction of states of energy (at least, not in that terminology - of course, they discuss it in all its abstract redefinitions).
The blank VCR tapes we bought are mostly remagnitised with NASCAR races, football games and films/shows recorded off the tellie.
Not having kids, we don't have a collection of what we thought at the time were cute actions by our children long since grown up.
Together, the VCR tapes and shelves exert a downward force on the floor which exerts a downward force on the joists which exert a downward force on the foundation blocks, etc.
There is, also, the centripetal/centrifugal* force of Earth's spin associated with the Moon, the planets and last but not least, our local star.
(*will I ever keep the two words distinctly defined in my head?)
What is my physical attraction to the shelves? Literally.
I can't get to the tapes easily but I can reach some of them and almost all of the DVD discs stacked nearby.
Those magnetised bits of material and stamped discs have helped rearrange my nervous system circuitry.
Here I sit listening to the Music Choice(R) "Classical Masterpieces" channel and contemplating the universe as exemplified by the stacks of material around me.
A thought process tens of thousands of years in the making (hundreds of millions, to some degree, but only sort of billions of years in the making).
Somebody told me there's a big brouhaha being raised about the phrase, "brood library." I'm not sure if it's a controversy taking place on the campus of an agricultural college or a chicken farm but I'm sure it's exciting to those who know the details of the event.
In any case, as much as holding the universe (by extension) in my hand (virtually through the thought process) is interesting, I pause to note the state of ice sublimation and snow melting around the house and ask what does the heating of the Earth's surface and atmosphere have to do with the flow of liquid and gases we call weather.
Science is a word that represents much but science is not the answer to every question, not abstractly.
Neither will I prove the theory of Higgs boson by thinking here abstractly for a million years. Speaking of which:
Should I think colloquially, using contractions and droppin' my g, or is the only, best, way to think by using the most proper form of the language/subculture common to most of my central nervous circuitry?
Life moves on. I have no need of taking advantage of others' less-motivated lifestyles to motivate myself to build an empire, big or small, because of my beliefs. I have no children. I have, at most, my wife and perhaps my parents to support - compared to the changing costs of living in our local economies, our combined incomes and investment holdings should suffice to keep all of us alive as long as we need/want.
At the same time, I desire to deal with the envy and jealousy - states of energy assigned to the realm of emotions - that arise when I see others doing what I believe I am also capable of but for whatever reason have chosen not to compete.
If my destiny is to report to the Committee of 7.5 ideas and potential events that benefit me in no way but makes the other committee members wealthier, then what kind of destiny is that?
If I don't have a dog in the fight, there's no reason to put myself in a position to make a sheriff's reelection prospects more appealing.
I know who I am. The question remains, where do I want to be myself that causes the fewest unintended consequences?
My life journey is both my own and that of the people with whom I communicate most often (family and close friends) and infrequently (the rest of the population (as well as the rest of the universe)).
Some tell stories with books and some tell stories with computer programs. I have done both and of either one of those, I'm done.
Time to move on.
Time to talk to myself somewhere else.
Where, I don't know. I am tired of the days of being boxed up in the cattle yards and chicken coops of office buildings, laboratories, classrooms and factories, where and when I used to be most comfortable.
It's easy to prognosticate and see a certain view of life from behind a keyboard and in front of a computer display.
Time to get away from the electromechanical virtual world, which is but one of many subsets of the worlds within the universe as we see it.
"Tell me more, tell me more! Did he put up a fight?!"
The tapes, most of them prerecorded, cover topics ranging from the heyday of 1990s Univ. of TN football to the Avengers TV series to pop films.
None of them discuss the measurement of the billiard ball interaction of states of energy (at least, not in that terminology - of course, they discuss it in all its abstract redefinitions).
The blank VCR tapes we bought are mostly remagnitised with NASCAR races, football games and films/shows recorded off the tellie.
Not having kids, we don't have a collection of what we thought at the time were cute actions by our children long since grown up.
Together, the VCR tapes and shelves exert a downward force on the floor which exerts a downward force on the joists which exert a downward force on the foundation blocks, etc.
There is, also, the centripetal/centrifugal* force of Earth's spin associated with the Moon, the planets and last but not least, our local star.
(*will I ever keep the two words distinctly defined in my head?)
What is my physical attraction to the shelves? Literally.
I can't get to the tapes easily but I can reach some of them and almost all of the DVD discs stacked nearby.
Those magnetised bits of material and stamped discs have helped rearrange my nervous system circuitry.
Here I sit listening to the Music Choice(R) "Classical Masterpieces" channel and contemplating the universe as exemplified by the stacks of material around me.
A thought process tens of thousands of years in the making (hundreds of millions, to some degree, but only sort of billions of years in the making).
Somebody told me there's a big brouhaha being raised about the phrase, "brood library." I'm not sure if it's a controversy taking place on the campus of an agricultural college or a chicken farm but I'm sure it's exciting to those who know the details of the event.
In any case, as much as holding the universe (by extension) in my hand (virtually through the thought process) is interesting, I pause to note the state of ice sublimation and snow melting around the house and ask what does the heating of the Earth's surface and atmosphere have to do with the flow of liquid and gases we call weather.
Science is a word that represents much but science is not the answer to every question, not abstractly.
Neither will I prove the theory of Higgs boson by thinking here abstractly for a million years. Speaking of which:
Higgs Boson enters a church. The priest says 'get out!' and the Higgs Boson says: 'but without me, how can you have mass?'I chew off the dead portion of my fingernails because there's a puzzle that's puzzling me.
Should I think colloquially, using contractions and droppin' my g, or is the only, best, way to think by using the most proper form of the language/subculture common to most of my central nervous circuitry?
Life moves on. I have no need of taking advantage of others' less-motivated lifestyles to motivate myself to build an empire, big or small, because of my beliefs. I have no children. I have, at most, my wife and perhaps my parents to support - compared to the changing costs of living in our local economies, our combined incomes and investment holdings should suffice to keep all of us alive as long as we need/want.
At the same time, I desire to deal with the envy and jealousy - states of energy assigned to the realm of emotions - that arise when I see others doing what I believe I am also capable of but for whatever reason have chosen not to compete.
If my destiny is to report to the Committee of 7.5 ideas and potential events that benefit me in no way but makes the other committee members wealthier, then what kind of destiny is that?
If I don't have a dog in the fight, there's no reason to put myself in a position to make a sheriff's reelection prospects more appealing.
I know who I am. The question remains, where do I want to be myself that causes the fewest unintended consequences?
My life journey is both my own and that of the people with whom I communicate most often (family and close friends) and infrequently (the rest of the population (as well as the rest of the universe)).
Some tell stories with books and some tell stories with computer programs. I have done both and of either one of those, I'm done.
Time to move on.
Time to talk to myself somewhere else.
Where, I don't know. I am tired of the days of being boxed up in the cattle yards and chicken coops of office buildings, laboratories, classrooms and factories, where and when I used to be most comfortable.
It's easy to prognosticate and see a certain view of life from behind a keyboard and in front of a computer display.
Time to get away from the electromechanical virtual world, which is but one of many subsets of the worlds within the universe as we see it.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The World Is Coming To An End, Part 17
Did the Mayans take this under consideration? Is this really going to be the year of the Rabbit on 3rd Feb 2011?
Perhaps your horoscope is horribly out of scope:
Perhaps your horoscope is horribly out of scope:
Moon is a drag on Earth's zodiac
Wren Nesting In Ponytail Palm
When your government and your economy are addicts and can't seem to stop their habits, borrowing against limited collateral, where do you send them for professional help?
Ask an expert about the symptoms, first:
Where do we get a second opinion?
Should we keep drawing from the well just because it hasn't run dry?
I'm not worried about the rhetoric inciting divisive opinions. I'm concerned about finding at least one courageous group of people willing to say, "Stop the Insanity!"
Or should I not worry and, like Tajikistan, just cede some of my sovereignty without blinking an eye?
We're a global village and all that now, right?
You know what? I'm not going to think any more about the government that makes the laws under which I try to be a good citizen. If the majority of people don't care if their cash cow is getting close to cashing out, then I won't, either.
I have to keep my eyes on the big prize - getting our species living permanently, securely, happily in more than one solar system - and on the little prize, opening the eyes of those wanting to be enlightened about the concept of reality.
The rest is just a poor filter level setting letting the random bleetings of the noise floor get through.
Ask an expert about the symptoms, first:
Stockman [former Reagan administration budget director] explained that before 1980, it took about $1.50 of new borrowing -- public or private -- to generate $1 of GDP growth. By the mid-1990s, it was $2.50 or $3 of borrowing for a $1 of GDP growth. By 2007, before the big collapse and meltdown finally came, $7 of public and private debt was added to the national balance sheet in order to get $1 of GDP growth.
"When you get to the point of $7 of borrowing to get $1 of income, you're obviously on an unsustainable path and pretty close to hitting the wall, which more or less we have," he said.
"So the addicts in Washington are now unfortunately terrified to stop all this borrowing whether it's for guns or butter for fear of the economy will collapse.... That's why we're just at the beginning of solving this massive financial collapse we had in 2008 and not in the process of healthy recovery as some of the pals in the White House or on Capitol Hill or on Wall Street would have you believe."
Where do we get a second opinion?
Should we keep drawing from the well just because it hasn't run dry?
I'm not worried about the rhetoric inciting divisive opinions. I'm concerned about finding at least one courageous group of people willing to say, "Stop the Insanity!"
Or should I not worry and, like Tajikistan, just cede some of my sovereignty without blinking an eye?
We're a global village and all that now, right?
You know what? I'm not going to think any more about the government that makes the laws under which I try to be a good citizen. If the majority of people don't care if their cash cow is getting close to cashing out, then I won't, either.
I have to keep my eyes on the big prize - getting our species living permanently, securely, happily in more than one solar system - and on the little prize, opening the eyes of those wanting to be enlightened about the concept of reality.
The rest is just a poor filter level setting letting the random bleetings of the noise floor get through.
Enameled Statue
Flocks of birds make fleeting shadows on the snow-covered ground, tree trunks and rooftops.
Icicles make aeronautical rhythms of drips and cracks.
A driver tells the story of her father's farm management, when he planted pines where streets sprouted and pecan trees where people shop for home improvement merchandise.
Their modest farmhouse removed for a carpark.
He still keeps a few head of cattle because he can't get farming out of daily routines.
This is the story of people insinuating themselves into the lifestories of others.
Who took over the mortgage you were marginally qualified to add to your debt load?
Are you a debt collector who hedges bets on real estate appraisals?
A spindly privet shakes off the coating of snow like a dog shedding water.
Ice bends a gutter toward the ground.
A shaft of metal has no idea it's a fingernail file.
A factory closing down doesn't tell its customers that it can no longer buy raw material on credit.
Tavern On The Green is a memorable dream.
Government leaders/workers/lenders agree who takes the next turn being the world's military police force.
Pax Romana versus 200 years of Japanese peace is balanced against lucrative defense spending.
Can a global population eliminate pockets of either/or thinking?
Will tests ever prove or disprove education and training overcome evolutionary cultural/genetic theoretical differences?
Does profit-taking have to benefit the longterm well-being of the global ecosystem? Would we eliminate cultures that don't take this into consideration from history?
Will ships and over-the-road container transport vehicles have to meet stringent environmental pollution restrictions or be recycled?
Are light and noise pollution?
How much does the presence of police/military create a class of lawbreaking criminals/resisters? [I assume it doesn't create resistors and capacitors.]
Is pain or the absence of pain your pillow of comfort?
Does it matter if one's observations/writings are pertinent to the moment in which they're created?
These are the rows plowed and planted with ideas. Let's watch them grow into solutions for yesterday, today and tomorrow.
When you see the cycles that repeat themselves, you'll see the truth without the need of mass hypnosis/persuasion/agreement.
Art does not exist. Life imitates its self-reflective illusion.
If you can't take the subtle heat of satire, get out of the kitchen where they're cooking up a hot batch of humour that will sneak up on you and set your tongue afire.
And grown-ups, don't let immature kids play with matchmaking - they don't know the difference between joking around and bullying - somebody or something will burn.
Icicles make aeronautical rhythms of drips and cracks.
A driver tells the story of her father's farm management, when he planted pines where streets sprouted and pecan trees where people shop for home improvement merchandise.
Their modest farmhouse removed for a carpark.
He still keeps a few head of cattle because he can't get farming out of daily routines.
This is the story of people insinuating themselves into the lifestories of others.
Who took over the mortgage you were marginally qualified to add to your debt load?
Are you a debt collector who hedges bets on real estate appraisals?
A spindly privet shakes off the coating of snow like a dog shedding water.
Ice bends a gutter toward the ground.
A shaft of metal has no idea it's a fingernail file.
A factory closing down doesn't tell its customers that it can no longer buy raw material on credit.
Tavern On The Green is a memorable dream.
Government leaders/workers/lenders agree who takes the next turn being the world's military police force.
Pax Romana versus 200 years of Japanese peace is balanced against lucrative defense spending.
Can a global population eliminate pockets of either/or thinking?
Will tests ever prove or disprove education and training overcome evolutionary cultural/genetic theoretical differences?
Does profit-taking have to benefit the longterm well-being of the global ecosystem? Would we eliminate cultures that don't take this into consideration from history?
Will ships and over-the-road container transport vehicles have to meet stringent environmental pollution restrictions or be recycled?
Are light and noise pollution?
How much does the presence of police/military create a class of lawbreaking criminals/resisters? [I assume it doesn't create resistors and capacitors.]
Is pain or the absence of pain your pillow of comfort?
Does it matter if one's observations/writings are pertinent to the moment in which they're created?
These are the rows plowed and planted with ideas. Let's watch them grow into solutions for yesterday, today and tomorrow.
When you see the cycles that repeat themselves, you'll see the truth without the need of mass hypnosis/persuasion/agreement.
Art does not exist. Life imitates its self-reflective illusion.
If you can't take the subtle heat of satire, get out of the kitchen where they're cooking up a hot batch of humour that will sneak up on you and set your tongue afire.
And grown-ups, don't let immature kids play with matchmaking - they don't know the difference between joking around and bullying - somebody or something will burn.
Can you remember what happened today, 1000 years ago?
Ten steps/centuries forward and backward.
Using the moving boxcar average picked up along the way while analysing the flow of sewage through open channel pipe, one's perspective grows exponentially.
But first, one must decide what one uses as a mirror, for a comparison, to view a type of reverse image that resembles the us-.vs.-them attitude of many cliques/clubs/religions.
Rich vs. poor.
Civilised vs. barbarian.
Educated vs. ignorant.
Heaven vs. hell.
Is this type of comparison model valid?
These days, a good writer must be a scientist, philosopher, politician, sports enthusiast, oracle, pacifist, warmonger and everything in-between, all while writing at the speed of...
Well, that's the issue this blog entry questions: timeliness of information processing.
What if a writer wrote about 100 or 1000 years from now by writing about 1000 years ago?
Could you tell a difference?
What if you figured out there is no difference and never really has been?
Would you see that the figures you call omnipotent/omnipresent (you know, those images that represent that which cannot be truly named) have a sense of humour?
A system of beliefs for states of energy - what will be the underlying theme for the next serialised Internetically blogged novel/book/story journalised here?
Readers want to know.
People want to see themselves in this story that parallels the real world.
Give the people what they want.
All is all.
Cue the theme song...
Roll the opening credits...
Stock the store shelves with product tie-ins...
Convince game show writers to slip in subliminal messages...
Get the laugh track ready...
Using the moving boxcar average picked up along the way while analysing the flow of sewage through open channel pipe, one's perspective grows exponentially.
But first, one must decide what one uses as a mirror, for a comparison, to view a type of reverse image that resembles the us-.vs.-them attitude of many cliques/clubs/religions.
Rich vs. poor.
Civilised vs. barbarian.
Educated vs. ignorant.
Heaven vs. hell.
Is this type of comparison model valid?
These days, a good writer must be a scientist, philosopher, politician, sports enthusiast, oracle, pacifist, warmonger and everything in-between, all while writing at the speed of...
Well, that's the issue this blog entry questions: timeliness of information processing.
What if a writer wrote about 100 or 1000 years from now by writing about 1000 years ago?
Could you tell a difference?
What if you figured out there is no difference and never really has been?
Would you see that the figures you call omnipotent/omnipresent (you know, those images that represent that which cannot be truly named) have a sense of humour?
A system of beliefs for states of energy - what will be the underlying theme for the next serialised Internetically blogged novel/book/story journalised here?
Readers want to know.
People want to see themselves in this story that parallels the real world.
Give the people what they want.
All is all.
Cue the theme song...
Roll the opening credits...
Stock the store shelves with product tie-ins...
Convince game show writers to slip in subliminal messages...
Get the laugh track ready...
Two years later ==>
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch of Philosophical Theories...
If a theory fell a forest to make a bunch of books and nobody heard it hit the remainder table, did it make a sound?:
Apparently so:
If a theory fell a forest to make a bunch of books and nobody heard it hit the remainder table, did it make a sound?:
Biocentrism, or the "Me" generation tries to assert itself one more time
Apparently so:
http://twitter.com/BIOCENTRISM
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Those were the days, my friend...
...I hope they never end:
Engineers having fun the old-fashioned way
Reduce Your Diet, Save The Planet?
Are a few fewer ounces of meat on the table worth a better future for your kids?
What does the world have to say?
Clutter -Trashy or Treasurable?
She walked into her daughter's bedroom.
The life history of a child stared back at her as if it had a life of its own.
Had much changed in three thousand years?
When were parents first required to keep their children at home until age 100? Her grandmother was a grandmother by that age. By accident, of course, but that can still happen.
Now that perpetual living is affordable for most average citizens, some experts predict that a typical childhood may last a few hundred years.
For the wealthy who've supported perpetual living methodology refinement for a couple of thousand years, reproduction is put off until adults have experienced their fourth or fifth childhood.
After reaching 100, her daughter insisted on stopping birthday parties in her honour. Instead, she held memorial services for ancestors who didn't have access to natural life-extending health benefits.
Today might be the day to push her daughter into a housing unit of her own.
But what would she do with the room?
How do you preserve childhood memories that are represented by inanimate objects?
The animated ones had already left to create memories for themselves, some living in species-neutral dormitory housing to learn alongside college students not privileged to give "birth" to new lifeforms in their childhood, like her daughter had, to get over the mothering instinct that crops up even in today's enlightened society.
Her daughter would have to adjust to a life without having a mother to run the household. At 500, it's time to find a companion with whom you'll select the genetic material to carry on your combined best learning/socialising methods.
Somewhere back on Earth her great-great-great-great-great grandfather was still alive and running a business empire he'd inherited a thousand years ago. Would he take in her daughter and teach her how to adjust to a life of her own?
The life history of a child stared back at her as if it had a life of its own.
Had much changed in three thousand years?
When were parents first required to keep their children at home until age 100? Her grandmother was a grandmother by that age. By accident, of course, but that can still happen.
Now that perpetual living is affordable for most average citizens, some experts predict that a typical childhood may last a few hundred years.
For the wealthy who've supported perpetual living methodology refinement for a couple of thousand years, reproduction is put off until adults have experienced their fourth or fifth childhood.
After reaching 100, her daughter insisted on stopping birthday parties in her honour. Instead, she held memorial services for ancestors who didn't have access to natural life-extending health benefits.
Today might be the day to push her daughter into a housing unit of her own.
But what would she do with the room?
How do you preserve childhood memories that are represented by inanimate objects?
The animated ones had already left to create memories for themselves, some living in species-neutral dormitory housing to learn alongside college students not privileged to give "birth" to new lifeforms in their childhood, like her daughter had, to get over the mothering instinct that crops up even in today's enlightened society.
Her daughter would have to adjust to a life without having a mother to run the household. At 500, it's time to find a companion with whom you'll select the genetic material to carry on your combined best learning/socialising methods.
Somewhere back on Earth her great-great-great-great-great grandfather was still alive and running a business empire he'd inherited a thousand years ago. Would he take in her daughter and teach her how to adjust to a life of her own?
The Arms To Bear Right
When a wave of conservative values sweeps through the global population, or while it does, the side lobes make for interesting storytelling.
You begin to ask if the producers of trashy television shows raise their children to watch the types of shows their parents get rich off of.
And the Redneck Mafia, all seven billion members sworn to act on the godfather's bidding, makes its presence known.
I, on the other hand, watch snowflakes in the wind-vs.-gravity dance.
Do you ever think of followers as plagiarisers of their leaders' vision/messages?
There are times when I remember my unique relationship with Monica, who introduced me to the recorded thoughts/utterances of Black Elk.
She and I haven't spoken to one another in years.
From her and my former brother in-law, Kevin, I learned it was all right to recognise one's ability to read the thought sets of others by observing their attempts to hide their intentions through their unusual [outside their normal range of] behaviours in the moment.
A Pakistani assassination leads to an American one which reflects the murderous behaviours in their neighbours south of the border.
Plagiarising copycats.
Little did I know my childhood romp through the organisation called Indian Guides would lead me here. Neither did my parents, as loving and patient as they are and I continue to thank them for being.
Analysing 200 years of books, magazines and newspapers reflects not the culture of the time but the invisible guiding hands of the owners/publishers, editors, proofreaders and writers who intended to and got published. An interesting image but a skewed one.
History says almost nothing about the silent majority who have no interest in being heard beyond their roles as members of their local extended family and friend network.
Even though/if they copy the behaviours of leaders whose intentions they can or cannot read but which we have a better idea about.
Does a popular/successful leader/author reflect more than charisma/zeitgeist?
Good question, worth pursuing.
Time to get back to looking at our world from the perspective of 1000 years from now. There's space to be explored!
Time for the space shuttle people to finish the last few launches. By now, it should be obvious who's worth keeping for developing whatever's next. The rest will have to take their last engineering/support welfare checks and move on to something else (I hear they're hiring in Asia if you don't want to be a burger flipper or store stocker/greeter here).
Reality is not judgmental but it can seem harsh at times. The creation and redistribution of global wealth is amoral even if you're not.
You begin to ask if the producers of trashy television shows raise their children to watch the types of shows their parents get rich off of.
And the Redneck Mafia, all seven billion members sworn to act on the godfather's bidding, makes its presence known.
I, on the other hand, watch snowflakes in the wind-vs.-gravity dance.
Do you ever think of followers as plagiarisers of their leaders' vision/messages?
There are times when I remember my unique relationship with Monica, who introduced me to the recorded thoughts/utterances of Black Elk.
She and I haven't spoken to one another in years.
From her and my former brother in-law, Kevin, I learned it was all right to recognise one's ability to read the thought sets of others by observing their attempts to hide their intentions through their unusual [outside their normal range of] behaviours in the moment.
A Pakistani assassination leads to an American one which reflects the murderous behaviours in their neighbours south of the border.
Plagiarising copycats.
Little did I know my childhood romp through the organisation called Indian Guides would lead me here. Neither did my parents, as loving and patient as they are and I continue to thank them for being.
Analysing 200 years of books, magazines and newspapers reflects not the culture of the time but the invisible guiding hands of the owners/publishers, editors, proofreaders and writers who intended to and got published. An interesting image but a skewed one.
History says almost nothing about the silent majority who have no interest in being heard beyond their roles as members of their local extended family and friend network.
Even though/if they copy the behaviours of leaders whose intentions they can or cannot read but which we have a better idea about.
Does a popular/successful leader/author reflect more than charisma/zeitgeist?
Good question, worth pursuing.
Time to get back to looking at our world from the perspective of 1000 years from now. There's space to be explored!
Time for the space shuttle people to finish the last few launches. By now, it should be obvious who's worth keeping for developing whatever's next. The rest will have to take their last engineering/support welfare checks and move on to something else (I hear they're hiring in Asia if you don't want to be a burger flipper or store stocker/greeter here).
Reality is not judgmental but it can seem harsh at times. The creation and redistribution of global wealth is amoral even if you're not.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Theory Testing
And so the last blog entry may verify the following:
Predisposition for Religion Can Spread Quickly
Churchgoers Live Longer
Snowmelt
"Why," you ask, "do you not discuss the Australian floods or the news about Chinese stealth fighters?"
Have I not been talking about them in the abstract?
States of energy are fully connected.
Sheng Keng Yun's "The Longevity Book" is connected to Spalding Gray's "Impossible Vacation" is connected to A. V. Gronicka's "Essentials of Russian" is connected to Bob Mullan's "Mad to be normal: conversations with R.D. Laing" is connected to Saban's timbre in national television talk that reveals nervousness about possible alleged recruiting violations.
Some have begun celebrating the 150th year after the start of the American Civil War (a/k/a The War Between The States; a/k/a The War of Northern Aggression).
Meanwhile, Sudan looks to break in two.
Flux.
Solder.
Glue stick.
Thread.
Business cards.
Chatterboxes all over the virtual...strike out the last phrase.
Our species will do what our species does, communicate via all means possible.
If my DeathClock is still tracking my average end of life, I have 14766 days to catch up on my sleep.
While I read over the extensive set of results that my computer programmers gave to help me sleep, I have to ask myself if I need to read the results anymore.
Should I follow the example of financial experts and punch my analyses back into the computer network as a feedback system that generates parameters for the next set of simulations?
Would that be the best way to get myself off the Committee of 7.5?
We already simulate just about everyone with any direct or remote connection to modern society.
We already actively tweak simulations of you on the fly, getting closer and closer to anticipating your occasional random acts of kindness/violence (as I have shown you here every once in a while).
I have no secrets worth keeping from others because I know that hidden information constricts/restricts the optimisation of the system of states of energy we call our species' interaction with the global ecosystem.
I know, also, that we can't put the average four-year old in the cockpit of a modern jet fighter and expect a perfect carrier landing.
There's a difference between systematically suppressing information from most people and providing information to a person as that person's readiness to understand increases.
Civilisation is a fiction we agree to perpetuate together on an individual basis.
The hours, minutes and seconds of a day do not exist, from which we could infer that a day does not exist, but circadian rhythms do so what do we say then?
Do-be do-be do, of course!
I have practiced this style of spiraling circular writing for almost 40 years now. It is my form of self-deprecating, society-referential humour to keep me from laughing in the face of people trying to convince me how seriously right/correct they are (including myself, of course).
When death no longer matters because self no longer exists, well...life is just a matter of the interplay of states of energy - politicians are the same as Persian rugs and squeezing more productivity/profits out of employees is the same as picking the right book for bathroom reading.
Often, the narrative of our social connections reads like a poorply-written play [sic]. This blog attempts to rewrite the script, removing time as a key element.
Every moment teaches us a lesson when we're paying attention.
What can you see outside the recurring themes of your comfortable life? Most of us don't even if we can and that's okay. We're born that way.
Enough from this chatterbox today - time for lunch!
Have I not been talking about them in the abstract?
States of energy are fully connected.
Sheng Keng Yun's "The Longevity Book" is connected to Spalding Gray's "Impossible Vacation" is connected to A. V. Gronicka's "Essentials of Russian" is connected to Bob Mullan's "Mad to be normal: conversations with R.D. Laing" is connected to Saban's timbre in national television talk that reveals nervousness about possible alleged recruiting violations.
Some have begun celebrating the 150th year after the start of the American Civil War (a/k/a The War Between The States; a/k/a The War of Northern Aggression).
Meanwhile, Sudan looks to break in two.
Flux.
Solder.
Glue stick.
Thread.
Business cards.
Chatterboxes all over the virtual...strike out the last phrase.
Our species will do what our species does, communicate via all means possible.
If my DeathClock is still tracking my average end of life, I have 14766 days to catch up on my sleep.
While I read over the extensive set of results that my computer programmers gave to help me sleep, I have to ask myself if I need to read the results anymore.
Should I follow the example of financial experts and punch my analyses back into the computer network as a feedback system that generates parameters for the next set of simulations?
Would that be the best way to get myself off the Committee of 7.5?
We already simulate just about everyone with any direct or remote connection to modern society.
We already actively tweak simulations of you on the fly, getting closer and closer to anticipating your occasional random acts of kindness/violence (as I have shown you here every once in a while).
I have no secrets worth keeping from others because I know that hidden information constricts/restricts the optimisation of the system of states of energy we call our species' interaction with the global ecosystem.
I know, also, that we can't put the average four-year old in the cockpit of a modern jet fighter and expect a perfect carrier landing.
There's a difference between systematically suppressing information from most people and providing information to a person as that person's readiness to understand increases.
Civilisation is a fiction we agree to perpetuate together on an individual basis.
The hours, minutes and seconds of a day do not exist, from which we could infer that a day does not exist, but circadian rhythms do so what do we say then?
Do-be do-be do, of course!
I have practiced this style of spiraling circular writing for almost 40 years now. It is my form of self-deprecating, society-referential humour to keep me from laughing in the face of people trying to convince me how seriously right/correct they are (including myself, of course).
When death no longer matters because self no longer exists, well...life is just a matter of the interplay of states of energy - politicians are the same as Persian rugs and squeezing more productivity/profits out of employees is the same as picking the right book for bathroom reading.
Often, the narrative of our social connections reads like a poorply-written play [sic]. This blog attempts to rewrite the script, removing time as a key element.
Every moment teaches us a lesson when we're paying attention.
What can you see outside the recurring themes of your comfortable life? Most of us don't even if we can and that's okay. We're born that way.
Enough from this chatterbox today - time for lunch!
Monday, January 10, 2011
The Biggest Loser
Whoever made the decision to put the turf down the way it is at the BCS championship game needs some professional landscaping help. It's slicker than ice in an Alabama winter storm. Or slicker than somethin'...
Skylight Covered With Snow
Heat rises? No, hot air exchanges places with colder, denser, heavier (more gravity-prone) air.
In this case, an electric radiator heats the space around it, resulting in a rippling effect distorting my view of the 5-7 inches of snow on the back deck between me and the airspace over the radiator.
A redheaded woodpecker works on freeing up peanut butter spread onto and soaked into bread stuffed into a suet feeder.
I wear a knit cap advertising the Munster rugby team.
Icicles form along the edge of house gutters.
Tonight, the penned ultimate annual showdown of officially anointed collegiate football teams that meet in the desert to demonstrate how young men can be convinced to display warrior traits in simulated battle situations.
Can we remember being 18 to 22 years old and representing?
There will comparisons between men on that field of play to a man in Tucson and men in real battle situations elsewhere.
Maturity and concentration play key roles today.
And I have to consider the weight of these words.
I assume no one reads them because they are the random mumblings of an old man rambling through memories, observations of current events and intentionally obscure nonsense to show that in total this is a set of satirical humour to offset so much seriousness in our lives.
States of energy can be simulated in their actions by algorithms only when we remove our anthropocentric anthropomorphic tendencies.
Life is life, being neither exclusively scientific nor inclusively religious.
I am a tired old man today but I am happy.
Tired of the obstinate conflicts but happy that we often find ways to resolve them.
The only way I know how, through keeping tabs on our tendencies, tweaking and adjusting the simulations of ourselves as much as the changing limited parameters representing your free will will let me.
I'm me, a body decaying like the sounds of a rung bell.
These are chapters in a story that goes on and on like a writer with ADD who can't stay on subject for very long.
I see the outline that determines the general flow of the railroad cars of short stories and poems connected in a network of narratives that every writer works with to entertain readers, paying or mooching.
Imagery.
Take this for anything more than that and you've entered the twilight zone of your own thought set, not mine.
The best stories use your thoughts as props.
That's why religious books like the Bible, the Quran and the Bhagavad Gita are so convincing.
Give form to unformulated thoughts.
The thermometer tells me the air should smell like it's 54 deg F.
Observe and report.
No witchcraft involved.
Although it can feel like magic sometimes.
Pray/meditate and accept that whatever happens is supposed to happen because it did.
I don't control anything in this world. The accepted concept of "I," that seems to come so easy to a thoughtful conclusion without much consideration in the moment, is the result of years of exposure to testable theories.
I am alive as a system of systems because the systems have no autonomy. They cooperate (or co-operate, if you will accept a hyphenated unhyphenated word as an obvious reference).
Plagiarism is not flattering and it tends to flatten the fullness of the original.
Time to read a report and look for places to drop pebbles in the pond where we bond together.
Is humour a sense like smelling or a type of observation as in a sense of humour?
In this case, an electric radiator heats the space around it, resulting in a rippling effect distorting my view of the 5-7 inches of snow on the back deck between me and the airspace over the radiator.
A redheaded woodpecker works on freeing up peanut butter spread onto and soaked into bread stuffed into a suet feeder.
I wear a knit cap advertising the Munster rugby team.
Icicles form along the edge of house gutters.
Tonight, the penned ultimate annual showdown of officially anointed collegiate football teams that meet in the desert to demonstrate how young men can be convinced to display warrior traits in simulated battle situations.
Can we remember being 18 to 22 years old and representing?
There will comparisons between men on that field of play to a man in Tucson and men in real battle situations elsewhere.
Maturity and concentration play key roles today.
And I have to consider the weight of these words.
I assume no one reads them because they are the random mumblings of an old man rambling through memories, observations of current events and intentionally obscure nonsense to show that in total this is a set of satirical humour to offset so much seriousness in our lives.
States of energy can be simulated in their actions by algorithms only when we remove our anthropocentric anthropomorphic tendencies.
Life is life, being neither exclusively scientific nor inclusively religious.
I am a tired old man today but I am happy.
Tired of the obstinate conflicts but happy that we often find ways to resolve them.
The only way I know how, through keeping tabs on our tendencies, tweaking and adjusting the simulations of ourselves as much as the changing limited parameters representing your free will will let me.
I'm me, a body decaying like the sounds of a rung bell.
These are chapters in a story that goes on and on like a writer with ADD who can't stay on subject for very long.
I see the outline that determines the general flow of the railroad cars of short stories and poems connected in a network of narratives that every writer works with to entertain readers, paying or mooching.
Imagery.
Take this for anything more than that and you've entered the twilight zone of your own thought set, not mine.
The best stories use your thoughts as props.
That's why religious books like the Bible, the Quran and the Bhagavad Gita are so convincing.
Give form to unformulated thoughts.
The thermometer tells me the air should smell like it's 54 deg F.
Observe and report.
No witchcraft involved.
Although it can feel like magic sometimes.
Pray/meditate and accept that whatever happens is supposed to happen because it did.
I don't control anything in this world. The accepted concept of "I," that seems to come so easy to a thoughtful conclusion without much consideration in the moment, is the result of years of exposure to testable theories.
I am alive as a system of systems because the systems have no autonomy. They cooperate (or co-operate, if you will accept a hyphenated unhyphenated word as an obvious reference).
Plagiarism is not flattering and it tends to flatten the fullness of the original.
Time to read a report and look for places to drop pebbles in the pond where we bond together.
Is humour a sense like smelling or a type of observation as in a sense of humour?
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Pre-antecedental Period
Because time is meaningless the words will not end on a single point of fact that we really have no perception outside point of birth to now of self of subculture of civilisation of planetary phases of solar disc formation or galactic notational timekeeping track of what we will never see in the lifespan of our species inward turn of cannibalistic thought consumption eating away at the foundation of each succeeding subcultural generation of nonsense to the next spiraling down and down and down up the circular escalator reading of symbols out of context out of time immemorial forgottenly stamped in permanent me-mory getting it right only because the moment is always right for the moment does not exist except by comparison to everything that does not exist in the period that wills not itself into existence because meaning is timeless period
Border Collie Collar Boarder
She stood in the grocery supermarket aisle talking with a neighbour.
She stood on the front porch of the family farmhouse.
She stood for something.
She lived in a cycle of intersecting tricycles, quadriceps and quintuplets.
She tried to recall the definition of pronouns.
She counted the count.
What she stood for, that something, had changed.
A member of the Chinese Triad made peace with a member of a Japanese keiretsu.
She did not know this fact.
Yet she did.
No, not "woman's intuition."
Something older, predating gender differences.
Drapes in the wind of the heat pump's output.
Sensing change.
Call it science and sterilise it, like grocery market plastic packaging removing all the smells of fresh produce so that one has to read labels to guess what one has the choice of buying for nourishment.
Call it the call of the wild.
Untamed and undomesticated but not uncouth.
The method doesn't change but the messages do.
The courage to call it the way she sees it to someone for whom the something matters.
Knowing that hypnosis works only after someone has been told that hypnosis exists.
Otherwise it's just called living.
Sensitive to vibrations in the air.
She doesn't "have to" believe.
She is.
She is no longer she.
She stands outside the place and time of species-specific roles.
Where does she stand?
Don't you know?
You're her.
She stood on the front porch of the family farmhouse.
She stood for something.
She lived in a cycle of intersecting tricycles, quadriceps and quintuplets.
She tried to recall the definition of pronouns.
She counted the count.
What she stood for, that something, had changed.
A member of the Chinese Triad made peace with a member of a Japanese keiretsu.
She did not know this fact.
Yet she did.
No, not "woman's intuition."
Something older, predating gender differences.
Drapes in the wind of the heat pump's output.
Sensing change.
Call it science and sterilise it, like grocery market plastic packaging removing all the smells of fresh produce so that one has to read labels to guess what one has the choice of buying for nourishment.
Call it the call of the wild.
Untamed and undomesticated but not uncouth.
The method doesn't change but the messages do.
The courage to call it the way she sees it to someone for whom the something matters.
Knowing that hypnosis works only after someone has been told that hypnosis exists.
Otherwise it's just called living.
Sensitive to vibrations in the air.
She doesn't "have to" believe.
She is.
She is no longer she.
She stands outside the place and time of species-specific roles.
Where does she stand?
Don't you know?
You're her.
Deflates for easy storage
In a few minutes, frozen precipitation will fall onto the ground around me.
Soon, my wife and I will eat homemade potato soup. For dessert, I will munch on some See's Candies Toffee-ettes (r).
I thank Stephen King for mentioning Microwave Dave and the Nukes.
I thank Moe's BBQ for last night's dinner and Beverly at the Broken Egg for great service at lunch today. Walmart and Publix provided emergency supplies for the next few days of cabin fever (a good kind of fever as in "Fever in the morning, fever all through the night," etc.; not the cabin fever of "The Shining"). Mike's Merchandise provided some fun stuff to play with at home, including coffee cups to use for hot cocoa and an inflatable back rest to keep my back from popping out when I lay flat on the bed.
Thanks to the young woman at Merriam-Webster for the video on the word "gridiron."
Thanks to Tony Jones for stepping up and leading the young men at the University of Tennessee in their performances on the basketball court for an octet of games.
Thanks to the Muslims acting as human shields during Coptic Christmas.
Thanks to the 10-year old Canadian who discovered a new feature of our view of the universe around us.
Always thanking people for their past actions, have you noticed?
Instead, I'll thank the police officers living on my street for their future good deeds.
I thank the parents who will give their children positive encouragement to lead others into the fantastic future ahead of them (Rainbow, that includes you).
I will be lost in thought for the next few days so if I don't thank you for your actions around me in the moment, know that I appreciate what you're doing even if I don't mention it here.
The Committee reminds me there's a world to run in this solar system and I won't always have time to see and remember the people, places and things within my normal stimuli range.
What a shame, isn't it?
If I can't be the person I was born, how can I be the person I am meant to be?
That's enough of the words on a page. Time to get lost.
Get lost, Rick! Haha.
Soon, my wife and I will eat homemade potato soup. For dessert, I will munch on some See's Candies Toffee-ettes (r).
I thank Stephen King for mentioning Microwave Dave and the Nukes.
I thank Moe's BBQ for last night's dinner and Beverly at the Broken Egg for great service at lunch today. Walmart and Publix provided emergency supplies for the next few days of cabin fever (a good kind of fever as in "Fever in the morning, fever all through the night," etc.; not the cabin fever of "The Shining"). Mike's Merchandise provided some fun stuff to play with at home, including coffee cups to use for hot cocoa and an inflatable back rest to keep my back from popping out when I lay flat on the bed.
Thanks to the young woman at Merriam-Webster for the video on the word "gridiron."
Thanks to Tony Jones for stepping up and leading the young men at the University of Tennessee in their performances on the basketball court for an octet of games.
Thanks to the Muslims acting as human shields during Coptic Christmas.
Thanks to the 10-year old Canadian who discovered a new feature of our view of the universe around us.
Always thanking people for their past actions, have you noticed?
Instead, I'll thank the police officers living on my street for their future good deeds.
I thank the parents who will give their children positive encouragement to lead others into the fantastic future ahead of them (Rainbow, that includes you).
I will be lost in thought for the next few days so if I don't thank you for your actions around me in the moment, know that I appreciate what you're doing even if I don't mention it here.
The Committee reminds me there's a world to run in this solar system and I won't always have time to see and remember the people, places and things within my normal stimuli range.
What a shame, isn't it?
If I can't be the person I was born, how can I be the person I am meant to be?
That's enough of the words on a page. Time to get lost.
Get lost, Rick! Haha.
Ask yourself...
...are your children abusing teeth whitening products?
Sometimes "the government" is not to blame for your problems.
Sometimes, the use of parentheses indicates one should shift one's perspective on the use of labels.
Seven billion strong.
That's all I ask of our species.
It really is as simple as all that.
Anyone who tells you otherwise has a personal agenda at which you should look more closely and ask if you want to perpetuate someone else's (accidental or intentional) divisive actions.
Sometimes "the government" is not to blame for your problems.
Sometimes, the use of parentheses indicates one should shift one's perspective on the use of labels.
Seven billion strong.
That's all I ask of our species.
It really is as simple as all that.
Anyone who tells you otherwise has a personal agenda at which you should look more closely and ask if you want to perpetuate someone else's (accidental or intentional) divisive actions.
Frees Sticky Mechanisms
Knowledge in the hands of the uninformed is the phrase on the table in front of the Committee this morning.
I want to disagree with the general consensus in the room that centers around levels of training.
I have the report from my programmers to present.
I also have a deadline to meet.
I have a chapter to finish writing that's supposed to be fully researched and linked to the chapters I've already submitted.
How do I connect Chabrier's España to Aure Atika and WD40 without sounding quirky?
How do I maintain the narrative that seven billion can understand while disconnecting myself from the narrative's influence on the surroundings through which I choose to take the path toward/from natural end of life?
After all, that which cannot be named cannot be named.
Maybe the truth is the same way.
Maybe I'm still carrying the tiny portion of the message that can only be understood 10,000 years from now, no matter how much I want to be the final messenger (the last part an indication of my burden of narcissism, hypnotised by my own wonderful/marvelous/handsome reflection of the message that is not mine?).
I want to stop seeing life from ten steps forward and ten steps back, not be able to project 1000 years into the future, throw away all my electronic gizmos, drop my network of associates and say I have no clue what's going to happen next.
And remind myself that this is a blogged storyline about a parallel universe that appears to line up with the real world.
But at the same time remember that this blog and these words are part of the real world they try to repudiate or separate themselves from.
The continuous, humourous hall of mirrors showing us the distortions that hopefully make us laugh at ourselves, macabre or normal as we can appear to each other at times.
If not, then there's no reason to be here.
I don't always get what I want and usually I'm cool with that. When I'm not, I'm not, no reason to do more about worldly wants and desires.
The Committee Chair has called us back to order.
Talk to you later.
I want to disagree with the general consensus in the room that centers around levels of training.
I have the report from my programmers to present.
I also have a deadline to meet.
I have a chapter to finish writing that's supposed to be fully researched and linked to the chapters I've already submitted.
How do I connect Chabrier's España to Aure Atika and WD40 without sounding quirky?
How do I maintain the narrative that seven billion can understand while disconnecting myself from the narrative's influence on the surroundings through which I choose to take the path toward/from natural end of life?
After all, that which cannot be named cannot be named.
Maybe the truth is the same way.
Maybe I'm still carrying the tiny portion of the message that can only be understood 10,000 years from now, no matter how much I want to be the final messenger (the last part an indication of my burden of narcissism, hypnotised by my own wonderful/marvelous/handsome reflection of the message that is not mine?).
I want to stop seeing life from ten steps forward and ten steps back, not be able to project 1000 years into the future, throw away all my electronic gizmos, drop my network of associates and say I have no clue what's going to happen next.
And remind myself that this is a blogged storyline about a parallel universe that appears to line up with the real world.
But at the same time remember that this blog and these words are part of the real world they try to repudiate or separate themselves from.
The continuous, humourous hall of mirrors showing us the distortions that hopefully make us laugh at ourselves, macabre or normal as we can appear to each other at times.
If not, then there's no reason to be here.
I don't always get what I want and usually I'm cool with that. When I'm not, I'm not, no reason to do more about worldly wants and desires.
The Committee Chair has called us back to order.
Talk to you later.
Character Assassination
In a world of words and images in which craziness is a type of norm, people ask if we should Stop The Madness.
All I can do is tell my thought set to find symbols with which I can comfort myself, such as Urmi's place.
And ask if there's a comedian in a Venezuelan night club who's getting a laugh without resorting to hateful stereotypes.
Other than that, enjoy the silence, contemplation, meditation and general happiness.
All I can do is tell my thought set to find symbols with which I can comfort myself, such as Urmi's place.
And ask if there's a comedian in a Venezuelan night club who's getting a laugh without resorting to hateful stereotypes.
Other than that, enjoy the silence, contemplation, meditation and general happiness.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Lloyd would be proud
How many remakes and sequels can one actor put on his CV?
To compare the original to the remake, watch the new "True Grit" at the theatre this afternoon and catch the original on AMC at 8 p.m. Eastern / 7 p.m. Central tonight.
Maybe I oughta find my autographed copy of "The Dog of the South" and read Portis' self-styled humour again.
Gotta drag my feet through Mary Roach's space book first... still can't decide if I like her writing or Marion's better (or Marion Barry, to use Mary's FHMS-style of tangential humour).
To compare the original to the remake, watch the new "True Grit" at the theatre this afternoon and catch the original on AMC at 8 p.m. Eastern / 7 p.m. Central tonight.
Maybe I oughta find my autographed copy of "The Dog of the South" and read Portis' self-styled humour again.
Gotta drag my feet through Mary Roach's space book first... still can't decide if I like her writing or Marion's better (or Marion Barry, to use Mary's FHMS-style of tangential humour).
Infinite Curiosity
A piece of the puzzle? You decide. Old but interesting news:
One more from the CDC:
Temporary Shortages of Fluoride Additives
Fluoridation Chemical Shortages and Rising Costs
One more from the CDC:
Temporary Shortages of Fluoride Additives
Philosopher's Stony Forecast
Someone please ask Socrates, Portugal's Prime Minister, if hemlock is a viable choice for politicians/bankers/investors who contributed to their country's decline.
Now that's a game show many average citizens would sit and talk about for hours!
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to another exciting weekly installment of "Who Takes The Rap?"!
As you remember, in last week's episode, through archival film footage and hidden cameras, we watched unscrupulous leaders trade the livelihoods of their citizens and customers like pawns on a chess board make of Swiss cheese.
Tonight, your vote determines which dastardly villain takes Socrates Secret Potion and is eliminated from the show.
Don't forget, in the final episode, the winner will be revealed by our pollster-obsessed producers and sent on a one-way trip to Mars!
Now that's a game show many average citizens would sit and talk about for hours!
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to another exciting weekly installment of "Who Takes The Rap?"!
As you remember, in last week's episode, through archival film footage and hidden cameras, we watched unscrupulous leaders trade the livelihoods of their citizens and customers like pawns on a chess board make of Swiss cheese.
Tonight, your vote determines which dastardly villain takes Socrates Secret Potion and is eliminated from the show.
Don't forget, in the final episode, the winner will be revealed by our pollster-obsessed producers and sent on a one-way trip to Mars!
Can you outrun your own body?
I haven't tried to bend a spoon with my mind but I have seen a spoon's shadow bent around the curve of the inside of a paper bowl.
This morning, I arrived at a familiar crossroads - do I create my own light or follow the light of others?
Growing up in the shadow of a chemical plant, many of my friends and their parents discussed chemical compound possibilities in everyday conversation.
JETS may still be around. I don't know.
So I guess that's why my philosophy (again, a word I use loosely) is centered on the simple phrase, "states of energy."
And why I don't trust a theory if the squirrels in the yard don't see its poignancy.
A clever brain is not the universe, only part of it.
If the truth has no impact on the states of energy that I see and call living things and their tendency toward narcissistic self-replication, then why reveal it?
If the truth has as much meaning to my species as the formula for plastic in a three-litre bottle does to the spider in the foyer, why attempt to translate it?
"Truth." Another combination of loosely held-together characters characterising characterisations like strings of a marionette holding up a puppet's body joints that we interpret as representations of people, animals and other everyday objects.
Members of the Committee of 7.5 want me on their team because they assume it means they'll have exclusive access to the truth.
But the truth doesn't work that way, does it?
That's why I'm a member of another group that collects secrets from all groups/societies/clubs and openly shares them with whomever. The more secrets you assemble and connect, the clearer the jigsaw puzzle of our species' habits materialises.
Who knows what tomorrow may bring? Lots of snow and slippery weather, the forecasters sing!
Never believe what you read, including these words. We're fooling ourselves in one giant agreed-upon, closed-off fantasy.
As you know, humour is the key to unlock the door to get out.
When one bad apple spoils a whole bunch of sideline reporters, do you toss out the whole barrel or reassign the lot to cover news stories that'll go into the morgue and start all over?
Which is more important: your bottom line or your people?
After we've trained the whole species to divert their food/shelter seeking habits toward participation in the world of commercialisation, how do we, from a global standpoint, manage the resources so that unique products can "naturally" rise and fall in popularity (via adverts, word-of-mouth, etc.) without depleting resources available for the next round of unique must-have goodies?
Tariffs and bans are one form of centralised planning used by decentralised capitalist societies, not to mention communist ones, to control the processing and flow of raw resources.
My programmers ran a scenario for me last night where China's increased control of exotic materials was met by a ban of and/or tariff on the import of products made with Chinese-based exotic materials.
One result was the forced consumption of domestic production in China.
Another result was the increase in innovation in the rest of the world in creating useful products that advanced society without the need for exotic materials.
A result I hesitate to report was a degradation into famine and food wars due to increased currency exchange problems and high-sea battles/raids.
I've asked my programmers to change the parameters and run a full-length 1000-year projection for analysis over the weekend.
This morning, I arrived at a familiar crossroads - do I create my own light or follow the light of others?
Growing up in the shadow of a chemical plant, many of my friends and their parents discussed chemical compound possibilities in everyday conversation.
JETS may still be around. I don't know.
So I guess that's why my philosophy (again, a word I use loosely) is centered on the simple phrase, "states of energy."
And why I don't trust a theory if the squirrels in the yard don't see its poignancy.
A clever brain is not the universe, only part of it.
If the truth has no impact on the states of energy that I see and call living things and their tendency toward narcissistic self-replication, then why reveal it?
If the truth has as much meaning to my species as the formula for plastic in a three-litre bottle does to the spider in the foyer, why attempt to translate it?
"Truth." Another combination of loosely held-together characters characterising characterisations like strings of a marionette holding up a puppet's body joints that we interpret as representations of people, animals and other everyday objects.
Members of the Committee of 7.5 want me on their team because they assume it means they'll have exclusive access to the truth.
But the truth doesn't work that way, does it?
That's why I'm a member of another group that collects secrets from all groups/societies/clubs and openly shares them with whomever. The more secrets you assemble and connect, the clearer the jigsaw puzzle of our species' habits materialises.
Who knows what tomorrow may bring? Lots of snow and slippery weather, the forecasters sing!
Never believe what you read, including these words. We're fooling ourselves in one giant agreed-upon, closed-off fantasy.
As you know, humour is the key to unlock the door to get out.
When one bad apple spoils a whole bunch of sideline reporters, do you toss out the whole barrel or reassign the lot to cover news stories that'll go into the morgue and start all over?
Which is more important: your bottom line or your people?
After we've trained the whole species to divert their food/shelter seeking habits toward participation in the world of commercialisation, how do we, from a global standpoint, manage the resources so that unique products can "naturally" rise and fall in popularity (via adverts, word-of-mouth, etc.) without depleting resources available for the next round of unique must-have goodies?
Tariffs and bans are one form of centralised planning used by decentralised capitalist societies, not to mention communist ones, to control the processing and flow of raw resources.
My programmers ran a scenario for me last night where China's increased control of exotic materials was met by a ban of and/or tariff on the import of products made with Chinese-based exotic materials.
One result was the forced consumption of domestic production in China.
Another result was the increase in innovation in the rest of the world in creating useful products that advanced society without the need for exotic materials.
A result I hesitate to report was a degradation into famine and food wars due to increased currency exchange problems and high-sea battles/raids.
I've asked my programmers to change the parameters and run a full-length 1000-year projection for analysis over the weekend.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Cas Walker, I tip my hat to you
Somebody is smiling in his grave:
And by the way, what's with the actress who says "Buy a Camry" at the end of that Ford ad with the Dirty Jobs guy? Makes my wife want to get a new Toyota even though we don't need one.
Did Marv Albert teach his son any PR lessons? An announcer's voice is a good asset but there's all that extra time away from the microphone to fill. Hope Marv's son is focused on community service and other worthy causes off the air.
Fluoride does a body no good?
And by the way, what's with the actress who says "Buy a Camry" at the end of that Ford ad with the Dirty Jobs guy? Makes my wife want to get a new Toyota even though we don't need one.
Did Marv Albert teach his son any PR lessons? An announcer's voice is a good asset but there's all that extra time away from the microphone to fill. Hope Marv's son is focused on community service and other worthy causes off the air.
More Postcards From the 20th Century
Just when you thought it was safe never to look back:
The 20th Century Nostalgia Express hits you like a 'fraid train
If not flying is okay with John Madden, it's okay with me
Who said, "You know your situation in life when burglars break into your house, can't find anything worth stealing, and leave stuff for you"?
But isn't that the story of Santa Claus?
Ho, ho ho.
Just like Halloween is the story about teaching kids to go door-to-door and beg for food?
One last "gift" from the night my car was stuck in wet leaves - poison ivy from an old pair of gloves I wore.
Just when I thought I'd put the Committee of 7.5 behind me, they tell me there's a vacancy they just can't fill with anyone else but me.
First order of business:
Second order of business:
Of course, I know the Committee is attempting to divert me from other pressing business but that's okay. Time is on my side.
After all, the Committee clearly stated that wanting me on their team because of my lack of concern for daily/weekly/monthly/quarterly/yearly profits was their only reason.
Or so they keep on insisting.
Reveals that they won't tell me the real reason.
A nod out to a former primary schoolmate, Greg Sims. I'm glad I knew you years ago and I'm still amazed at your talent for composing film scores (in fact, I'm envious). It is folks like you and Borodin, a professor of chemistry in his day, who inspire me to continue writing in public view.
Thanks to Kimberly at Beauregard's.
But isn't that the story of Santa Claus?
Ho, ho ho.
Just like Halloween is the story about teaching kids to go door-to-door and beg for food?
One last "gift" from the night my car was stuck in wet leaves - poison ivy from an old pair of gloves I wore.
Just when I thought I'd put the Committee of 7.5 behind me, they tell me there's a vacancy they just can't fill with anyone else but me.
First order of business:
- Analyse the contents of dead birds' stomachs and lungs to determine their nesting place of origin and their seasonal (if not exact) time of death. Keep samples of their blood for more detailed scientific analysis in the future.
- Same for fish.
Second order of business:
- Read over the Committee's historic diversionary tactics / viral advert campaigns to see if there's anything new and fun to keep the general populace happily swimming in their roped-off lanes.
Of course, I know the Committee is attempting to divert me from other pressing business but that's okay. Time is on my side.
After all, the Committee clearly stated that wanting me on their team because of my lack of concern for daily/weekly/monthly/quarterly/yearly profits was their only reason.
Or so they keep on insisting.
Reveals that they won't tell me the real reason.
A nod out to a former primary schoolmate, Greg Sims. I'm glad I knew you years ago and I'm still amazed at your talent for composing film scores (in fact, I'm envious). It is folks like you and Borodin, a professor of chemistry in his day, who inspire me to continue writing in public view.
Thanks to Kimberly at Beauregard's.
20th Century Postcards - Part 1
Here's half of a collection of postcards from my wife's mother's side of the family:
More as the scanner turns...
Early 20th Century Postcards
More as the scanner turns...
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Need Your Help On This One
The first racially integrated school in Alabama was in Huntsville (torn down for a medical center a few years ago).
But all is not what it seems, even in this day and age of public/private rockets and consolidated military commands.
If you're interested, parts of town and parts of school student populations could use assistance.
Achievement is a universal capability when one is encouraged to see beyond one's personal clouded view full of perceived problems and unsolvable issues.
Just ask the O herself, eh?
But all is not what it seems, even in this day and age of public/private rockets and consolidated military commands.
If you're interested, parts of town and parts of school student populations could use assistance.
Achievement is a universal capability when one is encouraged to see beyond one's personal clouded view full of perceived problems and unsolvable issues.
Just ask the O herself, eh?
Narrative Interruptus Ruptured
Do I recall the first time I was able to fully apply the lessons that the combined guru/minister/jester had taught me over the span of many, many years?
It was a revelation.
Sure, that word is overused but it applies generously to the affected areas.
In the modern era, one does not read a book or novel the old-fashioned way, from first page to last page in sequence.
Instead, one gets a copy of the author's original electronic document and reads the change log from back to front.
Much more insightful reading of the story, watching it unfold from one editing session to another in reverse time.
Chapters disappearing and appearing.
Verb tense loosening and tensing.
Characters firming up and changing character.
My GMJ has taught me that the working memory of others is more important than the narratives they attempt to act out and show to others.
Very few of us live only in the moment.
Most of us carry the past with us that acts like a virtual stern authoritative figure telling us what to do all the time.
If I am to celebrate true freedom, to see life unencumbered, then I am to forget the past's influence on the present and act anyway I please.
That's why I choose not to lead, only to observe and report.
I am similar to but not the same as the person you saw a moment ago.
I am simply the states of energy in and around me, unattached to offspring.
Your labels are your own to apply to your ancestors and descendants.
Who am I?
I am not.
That's the secret to letting go.
Simple as that.
Then there were two.
[One more to go and then the truth is revealed. Can you handle the truth? Or, more importantly, will you see the truth through the filter of your experiences?]
It was a revelation.
Sure, that word is overused but it applies generously to the affected areas.
In the modern era, one does not read a book or novel the old-fashioned way, from first page to last page in sequence.
Instead, one gets a copy of the author's original electronic document and reads the change log from back to front.
Much more insightful reading of the story, watching it unfold from one editing session to another in reverse time.
Chapters disappearing and appearing.
Verb tense loosening and tensing.
Characters firming up and changing character.
My GMJ has taught me that the working memory of others is more important than the narratives they attempt to act out and show to others.
Very few of us live only in the moment.
Most of us carry the past with us that acts like a virtual stern authoritative figure telling us what to do all the time.
If I am to celebrate true freedom, to see life unencumbered, then I am to forget the past's influence on the present and act anyway I please.
That's why I choose not to lead, only to observe and report.
I am similar to but not the same as the person you saw a moment ago.
I am simply the states of energy in and around me, unattached to offspring.
Your labels are your own to apply to your ancestors and descendants.
Who am I?
I am not.
That's the secret to letting go.
Simple as that.
Then there were two.
[One more to go and then the truth is revealed. Can you handle the truth? Or, more importantly, will you see the truth through the filter of your experiences?]
Classic humour for the hard of hearing - hope you can read it!
Reporter interviewing a 104-year-old woman:
'And what do you think is the best thing about being 104?' the reporter asked.
'And what do you think is the best thing about being 104?' the reporter asked.
She simply replied, 'No peer pressure.'
The nice thing about being senile is you can hide your own Easter eggs.
I've sure gotten old! I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes.
I'm half blind, can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine,
take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts.
Have bouts with dementia...
Have poor circulation;
Hardly feel my hands and feet anymore.
Can't remember if I'm 89 or 98.
Have lost all my friends.
The nice thing about being senile is you can hide your own Easter eggs.
I've sure gotten old! I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes.
I'm half blind, can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine,
take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts.
Have bouts with dementia...
Have poor circulation;
Hardly feel my hands and feet anymore.
Can't remember if I'm 89 or 98.
Have lost all my friends.
But, thank God,
I still have my driver's license.
I feel like my body has gotten totally out of shape, so I got my doctor's permission to join a fitness club and start exercising.
I decided to take an aerobics class for seniors.
I bent, twisted, gyrated, jumped up and down, and perspired for an hour...
But, by the time I got my leotards on, the class was over.
My memory's not as sharp as it used to be.
Also, my memory's not as sharp as it used to be.
Know how to prevent sagging?
I still have my driver's license.
I feel like my body has gotten totally out of shape, so I got my doctor's permission to join a fitness club and start exercising.
I decided to take an aerobics class for seniors.
I bent, twisted, gyrated, jumped up and down, and perspired for an hour...
But, by the time I got my leotards on, the class was over.
My memory's not as sharp as it used to be.
Also, my memory's not as sharp as it used to be.
Know how to prevent sagging?
Just eat till the wrinkles fill out.
It's scary when you start making the same noises as your coffee maker.
It's scary when you start making the same noises as your coffee maker.
These days about half the stuff in my shopping cart says,
"For fast relief"
THE SENILITY PRAYER:
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway,
The good fortune to run into the ones I do,
and the eyesight to tell the difference...
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway,
The good fortune to run into the ones I do,
and the eyesight to tell the difference...
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Philharmonia in C Minor
'Tis a guessing game we keep playing, is it not?
You want to play but I grow tired of the rulelessness but not the unruliness or rudeness.
You outlive me by factors I see but do not comprehend.
Entities without form.
Not formal, either.
Neither.
It's just too easy to sell out, to forget the unconditioning, to give in to ennui and the mild euphoric hypnosis.
These words and sentence structures are part of the cardboard shadow box imagery.
I do not want to gain and therefore I get what I do not want.
Back to the false comfort of logic.
Recycling old storylines.
Breathing the same air, the same recirculated states of energy.
It always comes back to the issue of reproduction.
The rest is fodder for the udder and father.
This is going to be a tough year for me...again.
Best that I stay off this blog and muse elsewhere, away from interested eyes that can't distinguish artful scribbling from reality.
When characters are faceless/nameless, their voices blend into one emotional chord.
Here.
Near.
Can you hear 4400.00001 Hz and tell me you hear 4400.000011 Hz at the same time?
Seven billion people making noise - how subtle is the difference from one to another?
My fathering instinct morphs into random patternmatching tricks.
Not being a biological father, is connecting dots with imaginary lines all I have left to enjoy the remaining days of my life?
God help those whose lives I nose into to smell out unhealthy habits and potential trends.
I've degraded into a busybody.
Happiness, where is your short-term memory erasing tendencies?
I want to forget for a while but with sleeping my only natural escape I'm trapped into entering the world of random brain firings/repair known as dreams.
Can I forget my dreams before I wake up?
Can I forget my waking state before I dream?
What was life like before tinnitus and migraines?
Too, too, too many questions posed rhetorically for this melancholic character.
You want to play but I grow tired of the rulelessness but not the unruliness or rudeness.
You outlive me by factors I see but do not comprehend.
Entities without form.
Not formal, either.
Neither.
It's just too easy to sell out, to forget the unconditioning, to give in to ennui and the mild euphoric hypnosis.
These words and sentence structures are part of the cardboard shadow box imagery.
I do not want to gain and therefore I get what I do not want.
Back to the false comfort of logic.
Recycling old storylines.
Breathing the same air, the same recirculated states of energy.
It always comes back to the issue of reproduction.
The rest is fodder for the udder and father.
This is going to be a tough year for me...again.
Best that I stay off this blog and muse elsewhere, away from interested eyes that can't distinguish artful scribbling from reality.
When characters are faceless/nameless, their voices blend into one emotional chord.
Here.
Near.
Can you hear 4400.00001 Hz and tell me you hear 4400.000011 Hz at the same time?
Seven billion people making noise - how subtle is the difference from one to another?
My fathering instinct morphs into random patternmatching tricks.
Not being a biological father, is connecting dots with imaginary lines all I have left to enjoy the remaining days of my life?
God help those whose lives I nose into to smell out unhealthy habits and potential trends.
I've degraded into a busybody.
Happiness, where is your short-term memory erasing tendencies?
I want to forget for a while but with sleeping my only natural escape I'm trapped into entering the world of random brain firings/repair known as dreams.
Can I forget my dreams before I wake up?
Can I forget my waking state before I dream?
What was life like before tinnitus and migraines?
Too, too, too many questions posed rhetorically for this melancholic character.
L'interrupteur lumineux
C'est l'année de bonheur.
It is also the year that started with car trouble.
Ma voiture, elle est un sucré bébé.
There is, under the car hood, hidden in a mass of hoses, wires, metal contraptions and illegible labels, a device called the starter.
Sans le starter, la voiture ne démarre pas.
So, on a groggy New Year's Day afternoon, my wife and I had our little sweetcakes towed from the Holiday Inn carpark to the local Toyota dealership whereupon, on Monday, we were informed the Camry's starter had stopped starting the stopped car.
"Fix it!" we exclaimed, satisfied that the repair cost of $470 was trifling compared to having no personal transportation (i.e., one with an automatic transmission).
Ne pas rouler pneus de votre voiture dans un fossé humide et boueux.
But wait, that's not all!
We normally park our Camry inside the garage. To get the Camry from the garage to the street, the driver must put the transmission gears in reverse, back up the car until the rear tires just go off the edge of the driveway, put the car in drive, turn the steering wheel sharply, slowly roll the rear tires back up on the driveway (because the Camry has front-wheel drive) and then accelerate down the driveway to the street.
Let's say, for instance, that the Camry sits in the dealership's smash repair and body shop (no, not that kind of body shop).
Hey, honey, look! The garage is empty so I'll park our BMW in there, instead.
And, although the BMW has rear-wheel drive, I'll follow the same procedure for backing the car out of the garage as the Camry.
Oops!
Rear wheels don't get good traction in piles of wet leaves raked off the side of the driveway to cover a muddy ditch.
Mon petit bouledogue, la 325i, elle laisse tomber son arrière-end dans la boue.
After propping sticks of woods, small boulders, cat litter and carpet under the tires for traction, doing no good, - in fact, burying the tires deeper in mud - we gave in to the gods of ditched vehicles and called our roadside emergency service rep, Hannah at AAA, who connected us with Travis the towtruck guy, who, well...
You guys and gals out there who consider yourselves offroad experts. How do you get your 4x2 out of a ditch IF you don't have a winch on the front?
Well, Travis thought the same thing I did. Rev the car back and forth and it'll spin out of the wet leaves and mud.
Wrong!
So Travis hooked the towtruck's winch to the back of the Bimmer and pulled her out unceremoniously but unscratched.
Mon bébé, elle n'est pas gênée, elle est humiliée.
I tell you this straightforward tale as a cautionary one - do not practice the same techniques with a rear-wheel drive car as with a front-wheel drive one.
My sweet little BMW, mud in the wheelwells, sits at the top of the driveway guarding the house as she always has, like a bulldog crouched to attack without warning, forever wary of wet leaves and mud making contact with her rear treads.
Morale de le conte: Il est préférable qu'une personne conduit une voiture dans un fossé, que d'avoir un bouledogue qui ne sera pas mouillé les pieds.
It is also the year that started with car trouble.
Ma voiture, elle est un sucré bébé.
There is, under the car hood, hidden in a mass of hoses, wires, metal contraptions and illegible labels, a device called the starter.
Sans le starter, la voiture ne démarre pas.
So, on a groggy New Year's Day afternoon, my wife and I had our little sweetcakes towed from the Holiday Inn carpark to the local Toyota dealership whereupon, on Monday, we were informed the Camry's starter had stopped starting the stopped car.
"Fix it!" we exclaimed, satisfied that the repair cost of $470 was trifling compared to having no personal transportation (i.e., one with an automatic transmission).
Ne pas rouler pneus de votre voiture dans un fossé humide et boueux.
But wait, that's not all!
We normally park our Camry inside the garage. To get the Camry from the garage to the street, the driver must put the transmission gears in reverse, back up the car until the rear tires just go off the edge of the driveway, put the car in drive, turn the steering wheel sharply, slowly roll the rear tires back up on the driveway (because the Camry has front-wheel drive) and then accelerate down the driveway to the street.
Let's say, for instance, that the Camry sits in the dealership's smash repair and body shop (no, not that kind of body shop).
Hey, honey, look! The garage is empty so I'll park our BMW in there, instead.
And, although the BMW has rear-wheel drive, I'll follow the same procedure for backing the car out of the garage as the Camry.
Oops!
Rear wheels don't get good traction in piles of wet leaves raked off the side of the driveway to cover a muddy ditch.
Mon petit bouledogue, la 325i, elle laisse tomber son arrière-end dans la boue.
After propping sticks of woods, small boulders, cat litter and carpet under the tires for traction, doing no good, - in fact, burying the tires deeper in mud - we gave in to the gods of ditched vehicles and called our roadside emergency service rep, Hannah at AAA, who connected us with Travis the towtruck guy, who, well...
You guys and gals out there who consider yourselves offroad experts. How do you get your 4x2 out of a ditch IF you don't have a winch on the front?
Well, Travis thought the same thing I did. Rev the car back and forth and it'll spin out of the wet leaves and mud.
Wrong!
So Travis hooked the towtruck's winch to the back of the Bimmer and pulled her out unceremoniously but unscratched.
Mon bébé, elle n'est pas gênée, elle est humiliée.
I tell you this straightforward tale as a cautionary one - do not practice the same techniques with a rear-wheel drive car as with a front-wheel drive one.
My sweet little BMW, mud in the wheelwells, sits at the top of the driveway guarding the house as she always has, like a bulldog crouched to attack without warning, forever wary of wet leaves and mud making contact with her rear treads.
Morale de le conte: Il est préférable qu'une personne conduit une voiture dans un fossé, que d'avoir un bouledogue qui ne sera pas mouillé les pieds.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
You are aware we are one species, all jobs equally important, aren't you?
As a former Navy ROTC midshipman, I second this opinion:
Reserve Office Training Corps (ROTC) [in college]
Monday, January 3, 2011
A Challenge Worth Fighting and Dying For
Your mission, if you choose to accept it:
Your answer?
What if proper food shopping habits were part of the TV-watching crowd's expected behaviour?
"Sorry, viewers, your time is up. You can't watch sports or favourite show on the tellie until you've finished your home health work."
No more alcoholic rice water or HFCS (a/k/a corn sugar)-soaked, salt-encrusted crumbly stuff, either.
What if the advert people convinced the fast/snack food people to play along with this idea?
Could you convince the billionaire shareholders and board-of-directors members that a healthier populace is a bigger short/long term future and more profitable venture for investors?
Would your country finally award you the Medal of Honour for saving your country from malaise/entitlement?
Convince the powers that be that the real national crisis is not some occasional random act of violence perpetrated by overseas splinter cells but the declining health of the citizenry back home. Then, once convinced, the powers look to you for a solution.
Your answer?
Make healthier lifestyles more convenient and appealing for citizens than unhealthy ones.Imagine video games or computer/phone/TV apps that required you to exercise and eat right before you get rewarded with more airtime/gamelives.
What if proper food shopping habits were part of the TV-watching crowd's expected behaviour?
"Sorry, viewers, your time is up. You can't watch sports or favourite show on the tellie until you've finished your home health work."
No more alcoholic rice water or HFCS (a/k/a corn sugar)-soaked, salt-encrusted crumbly stuff, either.
What if the advert people convinced the fast/snack food people to play along with this idea?
Could you convince the billionaire shareholders and board-of-directors members that a healthier populace is a bigger short/long term future and more profitable venture for investors?
Would your country finally award you the Medal of Honour for saving your country from malaise/entitlement?
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Two Problems Looking For A Solution Or The Other Way Around?
Take underutilised workers and find a viable way to use their brains for science.
Thanks to "No Highway in the Sky" for the inspiration.
Thanks to Pizza Hut and the driver who went back to purchase a bottle of Mountain Dew for the energy to contemplate the idea.
Thanks to "No Highway in the Sky" for the inspiration.
Thanks to Pizza Hut and the driver who went back to purchase a bottle of Mountain Dew for the energy to contemplate the idea.
Thanks To Some Of The Greatest Generation
| For a history of the ship on which sailors like my grandfather served 1949-1953, read: |
Flo and Mayhem Call It Quits!
According to a secret source in the entertainment news business, Flo and Mayhem have filed for divorce after both were found consorting with the Allstate and State Farm reps. Details of whose auto coverage was put at risk are still sketchy at this time.
Despite general knowledge that the Geico gecko is a close friend of them all and probably the only one with intimate information about what has or has not occurred, a spokesanimal for the lizard refused to clarify the situation at this time.
More exciting info as it develops...
Despite general knowledge that the Geico gecko is a close friend of them all and probably the only one with intimate information about what has or has not occurred, a spokesanimal for the lizard refused to clarify the situation at this time.
More exciting info as it develops...
Saddled With A Debt For Debited Data Credited With Miracles
Despite the migraine (which is a word I use loosely to describe a kind of mental block without accompanying pain and thus not employing the full phrase "migraine headache"), my thought patterns wander on to the subject at hand:
Three data points:
One: Odd experimental results that can't be explained by normalisation;
Two: More research skewed by journalistic enthusiasm;
Three: Proof that 'one, two, trend' makes news reading an exercise in illusionary magicmaking conjurasational irreality.
Brainwashing is another term I use loosely.
How to deprogram seven billion without them aware of what's going on? Hmm...
How to remove myself from the picture or at the very least remain anonymously irrelevant?
2011 is a work in transition for me personally - makes trendsetting/reading most difficult.
C'est la vie.
Thanks to Courtney at Carson's, Julie and Kelvin at Holiday Inn, Peggy Long at Bill Penney Toyota, AAA and United Towing&Recovery.
Three data points:
One: Odd experimental results that can't be explained by normalisation;
Two: More research skewed by journalistic enthusiasm;
Three: Proof that 'one, two, trend' makes news reading an exercise in illusionary magicmaking conjurasational irreality.
Brainwashing is another term I use loosely.
How to deprogram seven billion without them aware of what's going on? Hmm...
How to remove myself from the picture or at the very least remain anonymously irrelevant?
2011 is a work in transition for me personally - makes trendsetting/reading most difficult.
C'est la vie.
Thanks to Courtney at Carson's, Julie and Kelvin at Holiday Inn, Peggy Long at Bill Penney Toyota, AAA and United Towing&Recovery.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
What's up with that?
Fast food leads to faster path to death? Better life death through chemistry!
Not like any of these studies are going to change people's food buying habits - inexpensive and convenient methods are hard to overcome.
But there's something else to consider...
A migraine prevents its discussion here today.
Oh well.
Happy New Year to those who use a calendrical system which makes today the first day of the 365.25-day year!
And for the record: the Battle of the Sexes is a board game, not a comment about marital problems. Marriage is an agreement between the sexes, not a war.
Personal note: one resolution for me this year - to walk more frequently, if not every day.
Not like any of these studies are going to change people's food buying habits - inexpensive and convenient methods are hard to overcome.
But there's something else to consider...
A migraine prevents its discussion here today.
Oh well.
Happy New Year to those who use a calendrical system which makes today the first day of the 365.25-day year!
And for the record: the Battle of the Sexes is a board game, not a comment about marital problems. Marriage is an agreement between the sexes, not a war.
Personal note: one resolution for me this year - to walk more frequently, if not every day.
For a holiday out...
...it's Holiday Inn.
In a carpark island, a sycamore grows stuntily bonsai-style, its roots uplifted and twisted twixt concrete curbs.
Revelers stir.
Three rooms, one party.
But THE party was happening with the Flashbacks, once a showcase for singers like Carlos Hall, replaced with young "kids" rocking a New Year's Eve stage while...
...while Abdel, Larry, Terry and other hotel staff kept the party's overall structure intact and moving smoothly.
Meanwhile, on the dance floor, bodies bounced in a perennial Battle of the Sexes (or was that the game played in hotel rooms later on?).
Fun like there's only today/night.
A few drinks loosen daily inhibited behaviour.
Outside, valley thunder and lightning.
Inside, mountain dew and white lightning.
After dancing the night away, these old bones and joints will be creaking and popping for days to come.
Thanks to Katrina, Avanna, Terry and the rest of the smiling faces at breakfast this morning.
Time to pack up, check out and move on. Life in 2011 is calling!
If the Korean people can find peaceful solutions, is the prospect for peaceful coexistence of Israel and Palestine far behind?
After all, we're seven billion members of the same species.
In a carpark island, a sycamore grows stuntily bonsai-style, its roots uplifted and twisted twixt concrete curbs.
Revelers stir.
Three rooms, one party.
But THE party was happening with the Flashbacks, once a showcase for singers like Carlos Hall, replaced with young "kids" rocking a New Year's Eve stage while...
...while Abdel, Larry, Terry and other hotel staff kept the party's overall structure intact and moving smoothly.
Meanwhile, on the dance floor, bodies bounced in a perennial Battle of the Sexes (or was that the game played in hotel rooms later on?).
Fun like there's only today/night.
A few drinks loosen daily inhibited behaviour.
Outside, valley thunder and lightning.
Inside, mountain dew and white lightning.
After dancing the night away, these old bones and joints will be creaking and popping for days to come.
Thanks to Katrina, Avanna, Terry and the rest of the smiling faces at breakfast this morning.
Time to pack up, check out and move on. Life in 2011 is calling!
If the Korean people can find peaceful solutions, is the prospect for peaceful coexistence of Israel and Palestine far behind?
After all, we're seven billion members of the same species.
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