Nothing Doin'

If someone asked me what was going on with me, and were in a particularly honest mood, and they were someone I trusted implicitly, I would tell them that nothing was going on. If I didn't trust them, or my mood was somewhat less truthful, I would probably invent a story about how I learned that I am a superhero, and I saved the world (and got the girl), and starred in my on blockbuster movie. Unfortunately, I'm not sure what type of mood I'm in right now, so I'm kind of at a loss for words.

Not that I expect you, my valient and intrepid readers, to simpathize with me very much on that point. You, by the very fact that you are reading this blog, have proven yourselves to be among the worlds most brilliant minds. And by no stretch of logic at all, I assert that smart people are much less likely to become depressed. I mean, look at Ernest Hemingway, or Sherlock Holmes or . . . oh.

Ok, so maybe intelligent people are somewhat prone to depression. But that doesn't prove anything, does it? I mean, I never said that I was smart (in this post, anyway), and sure, my fianceé is in Europe for the time being (five weeks!), but that doesn't have to affect my ability to function. Who's in control of my life, anyway? I don't have to let the fact that I'm not getting enough sleep and I'm working way too much get to me, and I'm not going to. I can be happy, I know I can!

I will, too, as soon as I figure out how to work the can opener.

What a Hoot!

I think owls are interesting, don't you? They have all of those feathers, they stay up all night and sleep during the day, and they spit on the ground. They have those amazing necks that allow them to twist all the way around, just like in the Exorcist. Isn't that great?

The best thing is that people say that owls are so wise and all-knowing. I don't know where that idea came from. I mean, come on! Because they have big, forward-facing eyes and they thin the rodent population a little, we call them intelligent. That doesn't make any sense. I wrote a computer program yesterday that converts mathematical formulae written as text to formatted GIFs that can be displayed on a web page. It was very difficult, and though it's still in the pre-alpha stage (development), I'm very pleased with it and how well it functions, considering the fact that I had thought such a thing to be impossible only 24 hours before.

I got called a genius by my boss (he likes to call me that for some reason), and I think that puts me way ahead of any old owl on the intelligence scale (I'd like to see an owl - or any bird, for that matter - write his own blog without some type of assistance), and yet, they're the one's with the reputation for wisdom and understanding of complex issues. I'd like to see one of them do my job!

On second thought, it'd probably regurgitate half-digested mouse on my keyboard.

Deciduous What You Want

I thought briefly today about the nature of trees. This happened while I was in the shower, which is where most of my wierd topics come from (unless I'm doing something else, in which case, I get ideas from that). Basically, I was pondering about the fundimental differences between deciduous and coniferous trees. As you no doubt know, a deciduous tree loses its leaves every fall and becomes dorment during the winter (e.g. oak, elm), while a coniferous tree is characterized by its penchant for cold climates and it's ability to keep its foliage the entire year.

A deciduous tree generally has denser wood than its coniferous counterpart, and takes longer to grow. This makes its wood more valuable, and explains why a hundred-year-old oak tree is seldom as large as a pine of the same age: people keep chopping the branches off the oak to make walking-sticks and stuff (I've done it myself, I admit).

After trying unsuccessfully to draw parallels between the differences between the two types of trees and the two genders (it was too hard for shower-time thinking), I came to the realization: Deciduous is a really wierd word. I decided to try and figure out what it meant from the sound/spelling (I didn't know exactly how to spell it, but I do now, OK?).

After a careful analysis of more than two seconds, I decided that the word deciduous is derived from the Greek words decidu, which means 'decide' or 'decision', and ous, or 'that which cannot', clearly indicating that the Greeks don't know how to spell. Of course, it also implies that deciduous trees can't make up their minds about anything, which is also indicated by the fact that when most people are wearing less (in the summer), they put on all of their clothes, and when everyone else is bundled up in thirteen layers, those fickle deciduous trees are sitting there, naked, often in deep snow.

I can't understand the type that would decide to do that.

Get a Move On!

I've decided to invent my own type of dance. It'll be a type of ballet with rap and funk mixed in to create a truly unique style. I imagine that it'll become extremely popular and that I will be rich and famous. I can picture myself making music videos and performing my new style on the stage in front of thousands of mindless, screaming fans. I believe that this is my destiny if I can only make up a dance that will sell.

Who am I kidding? I can't dance, and my abilities to make up a dance are totally untried. What right do I have to think that I can challenge and best those who have been doing it for years? Oh, yeah; I know what: I'm a lot smarter than they are*. Also, I haven't polluted myself by learning existing styles of dance, so I can be sure that whatever I come up with will be completely original.

So, to start, I need to describe what I want from my new dance. I think that I should take the smooth, graceful qualities from the ballet, and pair it up with the moves from break dancing, and I should come up with something unique and interesting. Except, wait: That sounds a lot like swing (when it's done right).

OK, starting over, I take the staccato motions from rap and funk, and join in the absolute control of ballet . . . . Yeah! That sounds like it'll work! I can imagine dancers doing my dance (even myself, maybe!) onstage, looking like . . . robots on steroids. But they'll be graceful!

Maybe I should just stick to writing (and whatever else I do for a living [wouldn't you like to know?])

*A notable exception would obviously be my fianceé, who is an excellent dancer. I wouldn't dare say that I'm smarter than she is; she'd kill me!

Making a Fashion Statement

I am not what you would call color coordinated, and I'm the antonym of a fashion saavy individual. In fact, if I had to choose between periwinkle and mauve for, say, a hat, I probably wouldn't be able to tell them apart, let alone decide which one would look better on me. But this is only a handicap from a certain perspective, one that I am lacking.

You see, I believe that clothes have a specific purpose: to keep us from being naked. If we didn't care about being naked, we wouldn't use clothes, and it's as simple as that. So, most people would agree, the function of clothes is extremely important, and I'm not the type to prefer form to function. I like clothes that are easy to put on and take off, and that cover the parts of my body that I don't want everyone to be able to see. It's that simple.

In Brazil they have a strapless type of dress that is held up by elastics. It's called, in Portuguese, Tomara Que Caia, which means literally, 'I Hope It Falls Off'. Does that sound like a piece of clothing that was designed with 'function' as first priority? No, I bet the designer thought that it would look cute (and it does), but what happens when it lives up to it's name? 'Oops' is not a strong enough word for your standard all-my-clothes-spontaniously-fell-off situation, let me tell you. And you can be sure that they do fall off, occasionally (or they wouldn't have a name like that, would they?), so can you see where this is going?

It's a sign that the end of the world is closer that most people would care to admit.

Concerning Ambiguity

I was thinking briefly about the title of my blog, and it struck me: I am either extremely stuck up, with an enormous ego, or I'm incredibly lazy, and I have no work ethic. And that doesn't take into account the possibility that I'm both stuck up and lazy, which some would consider to be the most likely of all.

But seriously, could I have picked a better title? I mean, it doesn't restrict me at all. I can talk about anything that I want, and I would be arguably within the strictures of my title. For example, a post on the war in Iraq (for or against, it doesn't matter) would be just as appropriate as one about a whale with a toothache. I could write an entry about the astrophysical characteristics of quasars, then turn around and comment on public restrooms in Weatherly, Pennsylvania, and it would fit. Isn't that great?

I think the best thing about having such a a non-informative title for my blog is that, whatever I happen to write about, it gives the impression that it wasn't very taxing on my abilities, that "there's a lot more where that came from." That's a real ego booster, let me tell you.

I feel another dose coming.

The Heat's On!

I went to the gym today. I had a lot of fun swimming and working out on the machines. maybe I had a little too much fun, because I'm really sore right now. My philosophy says that if it doesn't hurt then you aren't hurting yourself. I mean, you aren't having a good workout. So typically, I like to max out whatever muscle group that I happen to be working on. That gives me a pleasant sore feeling for the rest of the week, during which time I have a good excuse for being lazy and surly.

So I've been thinking about working out in general, and I thought that I would like it if there were workout machines that would do your workout for you, while you did more productive things, like read a book, watch TV, build a bridge, etc. See that's the biggest problem with working out: It's boring. I mean the counting and stuff are interesting for the first twenty-nine seconds, but, let's face it, I learned to count to ten when I was about three. It lost it's magic years ago.

So I was thinking of inventing a machine that numbs you from the neck down and, using electric shocks causes your muscles to work out, without you even knowing about it. And it could have a headset that you could use for watching television or surfing the web. Half an hour in that baby per day, and you could have your swimmer's body in less that three months! At least, that's what I'm counting on.

I the future, people won't have to work to look and feel good, it'll be automatic. Everyone will be in great shape, and they'll be living longer than ever. Isn't that great?

Great; Lets go do some online shopping.

Great Galumphing Giant Gains Gaudy Guard Group; Grows Greater; Good!

Aside from the clever alliteration, almost no one in the world (unless they were neurotic or on some pretty nasty drugs) would see anything at all interesting in the title of today's (second) post. Anyone looking at it would, with few exceptions, think that in the very least it makes no sense, probably would have second thoughts about whether or not he really wants to read the post associated with said title.

Congratulations, you have survived the challenge; you made it to the second paragraph. You are probably among the 99th percentile in the category of sheer persistence (or possibly hero worship). Most would have given up long before this. Of course, what you really want is to know what the title means. 'What in the world do Galumphing Giants want with Gaudy Guard Groups in the first place,' you're probably asking yourself. 'Is it alliteration for the alliteration's sake only, or does it have some higher, hidden meaning, or possibly a metaphor, ensconced in it's apparently unprepossessing innards?' In response, I pose another question (you really hate it when I do that, don't you? Well, it's called the Socratic Method, and it's very academical-esque, so just deal with it): Do titles normally have 'innards', even apparently unprepossessing ones? I just though I'd see if you knew.

All right, calm down! I was just getting to the point! The title refers in poetic terms (by which I used a great deal of poetic licence) to the fact that Google, Inc.'s (ticker symbol GOOG) stock price recently shot to record levels when they announced the purchase of an obscure security software named Postini (does that sound like a front for the Italian Mafia to you, too?). Obviously, the 'Galumphing Giant' part refers to Google, and the 'Gaudy Guard Group' is Postini. I'm a Google fan, but I couldn't think of anything better to call it.

So, big letdown, huh? You thought it would be something spectacular. You've probably gotten accustomed to the level of hype that my previous posts have generated, and you can't handle the fact that I write about semi-mundane topics sometimes, too. Am I right? Well, get over it!

Or I'll have my 'Galumphing Giant' step on you!

Link to news article

Fifth wheel, that's me!

Have you ever been in a situation where you feel like your presence was not important, and all your contributions could just as easily (or in many cases more easily) have been made by another person? Have you ever been in a group where everyone else has something interesting to say, and you, either though shyness, or a genuine lack of social grace, were forced to stand in the background, just listening? Have you ever caused one of those awkward breaks in the conversation that cause people to develop a strange and urgent need to be somewhere else, possibly with your mere arrival?

Have no fear. You are part of a group of people - the elite few - who are unable to function in normal society. So we (yes, I am one, too) form fake societies to hide out inabilities. On of the most common outlets for our frustrations are make-believes like Dungeons and Dragons, and games of that ilk. If you have it especially bad, you might happily spend all of your time without any type of human contact, and play video or computer games for hours on end. Or, you could like me, spend hours reading books by your favorite author, sometimes several times in a row (Alright, I'm a loser; so what?)

So, in order to quash the complaints of my weak consience ("You should be out there, meeting people, and having a good, sociable time. What are you getting out of that book that you can't get from a healthy dose of social interation?" or "How about a road trip with the guys? You know you want to!") I have decided to form a new club. It will be exclusively for people like you and me who are (and you can quote me on this) smart enough to not want to associate themselves with the uncouth and overly verbed masses. I call my new organization Caecus Amicabiliter Monasteriense which is, according to tranexp.com, Blind Social Monsters in Latin. Isn't that a great name?

As a member of C.A.M. (we'll call it that because none of us really knows how to pronounce the full name) you will have access to all of the benefits of being a member, whatever those may be. We'll probably spend a lot of time during our meetings practicing those awkward silences that have made us so popular in the first place. Then we could play some D&D, and go home early.

When our powers have been developed to their fullest potential, I plan to make a bid for world domination. With our abilities combined, we'll be able to stop a converstation from a mile away (it'll take a little bit of practice). Think of what would happen to the U.N. if one of those awkward silences descended during one of their meetings. I can imagine that it wouldn't be pretty.

I'll courier you a membership application.