guitar hero II.

My siblings (and their spouses) and I spent at least half of Christmas eve and Christmas day playing Guitar Hero 2 on playstation, which one sib had given to another sib for a Christmas present. It became apparent the longer we played, that, though the spouses gave a valiant effort, the blood relatives were the true heros. Why? Because we all grew up playing string instruments, and thus were naturally brilliant guitar heros. My mother kept saying, "I knew that many years and thousands of dollars in music lessons were not for nothing." So true. In the end, one sister (the other aunt) and I played "Hangar 18" by Megadeth (on the "Hard" setting!) at least 10 times taking turns to see who could make it the farthest before we were booed off the stage...and I must admit I lost. She made it to 72 %, I only made it to 65 %. While other families sung christmas carols and played in the snow, my family played rock music video games. My family is totally awesome.

orchestral torture mechanisms

For many years (11, to be precise) I have harbored a hatred of the song, Canon in D (major), by Pachelbel. I suspect every cellist hates this song. For, every cellist knows that it is the most dismal cello part ever written, comprised of only 8 quarter notes repeated over and over. However, like most things in my life, I forgot about it...until the aforementioned blackbird (who knows me better than I do, AND has a better memory of my life) brought this to my attention: Pachelbel Rant. I should point out that I, too, counted the number of times you repeat the 8 notes, and I think it was around 34 (as opposed to 54 as "Rob" claims). "Rob" also claims that Pachelbel follows you throughout every musical genre, and he is absolutely right. The world is too blind to realize they are actually hearing the same song over and over again. It has even replaced the wedding march to some degree. Grr. Die, Pachelbel, Die. It's unfortunate his death in 1706 had no effect on the worldwide torture of cellists. Oh, and merely for clarification purposes, the song wouldn't be featured in Vh1's best of the 1790's as "Rob" claims because it was written in 1680.

the roundabout of obscurity

Once upon a time there was a roundabout. In fact, there were many. These roundabouts reside in England. I saw them from my seat on a bus...

Once upon the same time there was another roundabout. Only one roundabout. It was new. New enough that it was never mentioned in drivers ed. As a result, there were some who never quite figured out how to go through the roundabout. Subsequently, many were annoyed. Including myself. Schemes were undertaken to instruct those who knew not the secrets of the roundabout--e.g., instructions posted within various buildings through out university of utah campus (to which the roundabout was adjacent).

Once upon a time 3 years later there was another roundabout. This roundabout resides within Stanford campus. It is painted on a sidewalk--at the "Intersection of Death" famous for it's bike accidents (excluding mine). It even has an inner and outer lane. Pity no one uses it.

O Holy Night of pain.

This is the most painful version of O Holy Night I have ever heard. I am pretty sure it's a joke...

download here

Listen to the whole song. Your life will never be the same.

lint, a silent killer.

Purse lint: an evil thing. You reach into a purse, searching for something, and at the bottom your fingernails catch one of the most disturbing substances: purse lint. Cloth bits, crumbs, hair, bits of everything...now residing beneath your nails as you fumble and fail to clean it all out.

Ew.

I can type nothing more vehemently than this statement. Ew. I have encountered said substance earlier this evening, and have not yet fully recovered (obviously). Yet, there is a parameter that when included in the purse description, intensifies the ew-ness. The parameter is this: when the purse does not belong to you.

Let me repeat. Ew.

However, there may be useful reasons to carry purse lint around with you.
1) may be used in lieu of mace
2) may act as kindling for a fire
3) may discourage theft of purse contents.
But beware. Use with caution.

(This post was written as requested by my paternal relation, upon my hand discovering purse lint within the purse of my maternal relation.)

the unthinkable

Yes. The unthinkable. I did not think it possible, but my cell phone has a pre-programmed spelling error. I have the option to "foward" my text messages. How...nice.

sim planet

Why is the Universe Fine-Tuned?

First, there’s a very, VERY weird thing about the place we live in – something so weird and profound it sends shivers down your spine. For in fact, the Universe seems to be ‘fine-tuned’ to make life possible!

It has to do with the stuff most people find boring in school: the laws of physics. Ultimately, all of these laws are founded upon the ‘physical constants’. Such as the force of gravity, the ‘strong force’ that glues atomic nuclei together and the electromagnetic force, the driving hand behind stuff like lightning and computers. But why do these fundamental ‘presets’ have the values they have? Why aren’t they a little bigger, or smaller?

The British cosmologist Fred Hoyle was the first to realise this is no coincidence. A very peculiar thing about the fundamental constants is that they appear to have exactly the right values. If they were slightly smaller or bigger, atoms, stars, planets and people simply wouldn’t exist!

Take the strong force inside atomic nuclei. If the force were just slightly stronger, it would boost up the burning of stars so much, that they would explode only seconds after they were formed. We wouldn’t have a sun – or even a planet. If on the other hand the force were a tad weaker, it would be too weak to hold together elements like the heavy hydrogen isotope deuterium. Stars wouldn’t light up. And we wouldn’t be here either.

Astonishingly, the same goes for all other constants. As the famous British astronomer Martin Rees put it: “Wherever we look, we see examples of fine-tuning. Most of the physical constants and the initial conditions of the Universe examined so far appear to be fine-tuned to some extent.”

That leaves us with a gnawing, unsettling question: Why? Why are all physical contants exactly the way they are? Every cosmologist agrees that this can hardly be a coincidence. So what, or who, set the rules?

Er..Duh. This blurb is from Exit Mundi (see link in sidebar, or above title). I am amazed at the extreme explanations people will come up with to avoid saying God exists. Oh why didn't I think of this before, I'm a Sim in a game tweaked by aliens.

the long dark confusing and pointless battle of cheesecake

I have been debating for years whether I should like cheesecake or not. I didn't like cheesecake for many many moons. I had some at my senior prom but it made me sick. But, in truth, whether or not I would have felt sick at that exact moment with or without cheesecake is uncertain. I suppose I'll never know. I would relive the day, but that would be semi-miserable since my corsage was cutting off my circulation all night. Then I had cheesecake when I was in New York on choir tour. I thought..why not have "new york cheesecake?" Indeed, why not. So I did. More than once. The thing is, cheesecake doesn't make me want to dance and sing. I would be ok if I never had cheesecake again for the rest of my life. I would not be ok if I never had rice pudding again, however.

I have been pressured by my peers to take up cheesecake. They whisper, "you know you like it." These whisperings do not win me over. However, upon visiting Stanford campus last year, my lovely hosts took me to the Cheesecake Factory. I had never been. We ate cheesecake, naturally. I could hardly say no. I think I liked it. Then I felt sick-ish. Then I decided not to like it again. A year later, I go off sugar with a friend. She kept saying after our no-sugar month is up, "we have to go get cheesecake!" Ok, fine. So the month ended, and we went to get cheesecake. I chose something that turned out to be completely dismal. I am uncertain if every choice would have turned out to be dismal. I have no way of knowing. Therefore, I suppose I shall never know. So then I decided not to like cheesecake again. But then I had it again months later after I had forgotten I didn't like it. I just can't get away. But I have now decided not to like it once more. I will not be swayed. I will not eat cheesecake at your wedding, at my wedding, at my children's wedding, or at my funeral. Or at anyone's funeral. I'd rather have jello and potatoes.

If anyone succeeds in convincing me to like cheesecake, I will write them a brilliant and witty poem as a reward. But do so at your own peril, because I don't like cheesecake.

Hidden Grinch Day

I have a thing to say and it is this: I am a grinch. In my heart, I will always be thus. But to the world, I am a grinch only before December 10. On December 10 I feel that I no longer have sufficient excuse to complain about the 24th version of silent night that's just come on the radio sung by the latest American Idol reject. On December 10 I no longer cringe openly at the decorations that hang so low I have to walk around them. On December 10 I no longer go to great lengths to avoid wearing a red shirt on the days I wear my green jacket. On December 10 I resign myself to 15 days of misery, where I invariably listen to loud rock and roll stations that never play anything remotely christmasy.

Why December 10? Because it comes between December 9 and 11, obviously. What other day would I choose? I thought briefly about December 15, but decided against it for two reasons:
1) 10 days just doesn't seem long enough to develop a secret grinch mystique.
2) It's my parents' anniversary and I just don't feel right making it Hidden Grinch Day.

So, Happy Hidden Grinch Day. I am now officially grinch-incognito.

no. 5

I had a job interview today. The receptionist asked about my "accent." That makes five people.

Act 2

Setting: Ward linger longer. I had made banana bread, and brought it to share during the meal.

Jenna: How does the squash bisque taste, Libby?
Libby: I'll let you know how it is.
Libby:(to me) And I'll let you know how your bread is.
Me: You don't need to let me know how my bread is, I already know how it tastes. It always tastes the same.
[Meanwhile Libby tries the bread.]
Me: Does it taste ok?
Libby: You just told me you already know how it tastes.
Me: Well, it turns out different every time. Is it ok?
Libby: You just barely said that it's the same every time.

[I am a raving lunatic.]

remedy

I read a book. It was a stupid book, but a book just the same. Phew.

the small things

I got another fake credit card in the mail today. Mwahahaha. (See this post.)

serious disease

Something is dreadfully wrong. I don't know what is causing it, but it is very serious. The possible implications of this disease may be extreme. I can't go to a doctor. I am at a loss...

I have not finished a book since September 13. According to my 150 books/year record for 26 Aug 05 to 26 Aug 06, I should have read at least 15 books since then. I just don't get it...theoretically I should have more time since my classes are easier and I'm slacking on regular running...I even grocery shop less. I have been carrying around the same book in my bag for all this time..and I'm only halfway done.

What is this disease? I fear that it's called a "social life." Somebody save me from my fate. I can't have a life. It would ruin my carefully laid plans to be a semi-loser and die alone. I want to read..but don't. I need therapy.

a brit am i

Now there are four people who have commented on my "accent."

Person 1--Male. Tall. Odd.
David: Did you get your accent from your mom?
Me: What accent?
David: Your british accent. It comes and goes.
Me: I don't have a british accent. And what would my mom have to do with it?
David: Yes you do. And your mom is british.
Me: No she isn't.

Person 2--Female. Not odd at all.
Me: David thinks I have a british accent. That is so funny.
Sam: You do. It comes and goes.

Person 3--Male. Sat down next to him at a wedding, and this conversation took place within 30 seconds.
Forgothisname: What's your accent?
Me: I don't have an accent. I'm not from anywhere that has an accent.
Forgothisname: Yes you do. It sounds british.
Me: People keep telling me I have an accent. I don't have an accent.
Forgothisname: Maybe it's more of a poetical enunciation.

Person 4--Female. Russian. It took place last Sunday within 30 seconds of meeting her.
Olga: Are you english?
Me: No, why?
Olga: Sounds like you have an accent.
Me: Funny, you're not the first person to say that.
Olga: Are you trying to have an accent?
Me: Er..no... [did she really just ask me that?]

------

And so. I repeat, I don't have an accent. So what if I read too much and never say "my bad." I am not related to anyone with a british accent.

Latest blunder: I substitute tutored a 3rd grader tonight. She finished her homework and so we started to play SORRY. I was winning, and when our time was up she got up and glared at me. I said, it was nice to meet you. She said, it wasn't nice to meet you, and ran out. Nice.
Note to self: let third graders win board games in future.

Act 1: Scenes 1 - 3

And so. I decided a few months ago that I should carry a voice recorder around with me (figuratively) and record my conversations. Then I'd put them in a book and sell it and be rich, because of course, my conversations with people are...odd. (I am not really going to make a book, sorry to dash your hopes.)

And so, here begins my first three scenes of seemingly unconnected events (which, in fact, are unconnected, if you suspected otherwise).

---Scene 1---10/17/06, 8:30 pm.

Setting: Me, standing 10 feet from a pillar, talking to the aforementioned Libby, who suddenly answers the phone.

Adam: mumble mumble [This person was not in the setting because he came out of nowhere.]
Me: what?
Adam: Good job singing.
Me: Oh. Thanks. [I may or may not have sung that night...in a choir.]
Adam: mumble mumble
Me: huh?
Adam: I'm going to go to the bathroom now.
Me: Ok, you have a good time.

[Why does this person tell me he is going to the bathroom? I barely know him. Lucky me.]

---end of scene 1---

---Scene 2---10/17/06, 8:54 pm.

Setting: Me, leaning against a pillar talking to a boy in a suit in MemChu (aka, stanford memorial church). (Ok, ok, it's the same pillar as in scene 1. But the events are still unconnected.)

Nathan: You look melancholy.
Me: No, this is me, being meditative. Do you meditate on one of those round black cushion things?
Nathan: Did you just ask me if I have a round black pillow that I sit on to meditate?
Me: No. It was a fake question.

[And I wasn't even being sarcastic on the last line. Why do I say such stupid things? Needless to say, the scene ended soon after.]

---end of scene 2---

---Scene 3---10/18/06, 11:15 am.

Setting: Me, standing outside Blume Center, in the sun, staring at the ground.

[Shadow approaches, and stops.
I look up at the shadow. Behold, a person. A person I know.]

Me: Hi.
Josh: Are you waiting for someone?
Me: no..
Josh: So, you just thought you'd stop because you'd come to the stop sign?
[I look upward. The pole next to me does indeed have a stop sign attached. It is a funny thing.]
Me: no. I came to be warm. [Because I was cold..obviously.]
Josh: Oh.
Me: Happy Birthday two days ago.
Josh: Thanks. Oh yeah, it's birthday donut day. I'm going to go get one.
Me: Bye. Have fun eating donut.

[I continue to stare at the pavement..standing at the corner, adjacent to two crosswalks, at the stop sign.]

---end of scene 3---

don't read this entry

I am alive. I am busy. I am delinquent in my blogging, but have not had any proper inspiration of witticisms to publish. And so you are stuck with this, which began innocently enough as my gchat status line in the middle of the night when I was in a silly mood.

1:36 am: a police car just passed. I hallucinated that the siren was a guy outside whistling "If I only had a brain." It took me far too long to realize my error--it totally sounded like the song. Amazing. (except, when I wrote it late last night on my gchat status, I misspelled "hallucenated")
2:10 am: finished up an entire TP roll from blowing nose all day.
2:45 am: outdoor stroll to the printer cluster.
3:30 am: sleep.
7:26 am: alarm.
8:04 am: late for class. Again.
9:14 am: arrive at Vaden health center for an appointment.
9:45 am: emerged from health center, with nothing more than a "run of the mill cold" and a giant band aid over a liquid nitrogen attack zone on my leg.
10:45 am: finally found two papers on levee piping in Stanford library online that eluded me for a whole hour .
11:45 am: gave up pretending to remember structural analysis for dynamics homework, and went home to eat and get the book.
12:45 pm: stared at homework, back at school.
2:30 pm: decided sleeping at desk is less helpful, and went home to sleep in bed.
6:20 pm: fire alarm goes off in apartment building, waking me up. I go to the wrong check point outside of the building, since they never count heads anyway. I got a free gift of two hot pads with big warnings on them to turn off stove/oven when done cooking. Yippee.
6:45 pm: Libby feeds me. How nice.
7:25 pm: head out to county library.
8:15 pm: tear myself away from county library having checked out 5 more books.
8:48 pm: writing a lame blog entry.

And so. Obviously my life is action-packed, and everyone wants to be me. I did not remember to get my mail, not that there would be any.

I am participating in a haiku competition.

I think I am the last person to download iTunes. I have finally done it. I set my music so that it would be shared, too, but forgot to change the default name from "Laura's Music" to something else. Two hours later someone came by my room claiming to know I was home because "your music was online." Luckily, said person was non-scary, but I changed my music share title to something else in case there is ever a semi-scary stalker person.

Latest blunder: someone remarked to me that she had witnessed "post office trauma," and I actually thought she meant after hours arguing at her new job. Brilliant, Laura, brilliant.

I have nothing further to say.

it was the sun

Albert Camus's The Stranger has this quotation, which I remember from high school when I read it:

...it was because of the sun.

And there you have it. This is why Meursault killed the Arab. I think of this whenever I hear the song "Here Comes the Sun," which I hate. However, today I did not hear that song. I thought of the quote when I saw this image:



which is a fearsome thing to behold. That's all.

P.S. The bag is gone.

the stanford smugglers

And so. I began running again today, after several weeks hiatus. I came back to my apartment, and witnessed a brown bag drop off. Apparently, sweaty joggers stretching are invisible. Van drives up. Short guy with backward cap and low-rider jeans runs up to a bench, and puts down a bag. Then he runs back to the van and it seems to drive away, but I wasn't sure. I couldn't see. I then realize I have seen a brown bag sitting on that bench several times. I just thought it was the same bag. I thought somebody left their moldy, disgusting, decaying lunch in a sack on a bench. But no. The bag changes. I thought about waiting around to see who picked it up, or sneaking over to look in the bag, but decided not to play detective. The van man may have been lurking...

I wonder if the bag will be there tomorrow. Ooooo.

the maxims of stupidity

To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost.
~ Gustave Flaubert

To succeed in the world it is not enough to be stupid, you must also be well-mannered.
~ Voltaire

It is dangerous to be sincere unless you are also stupid.
~ George Bernard Shaw, Maxims for Revolutionists

Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.
~ Unknown, Hanlon's Razor

Hmm. Yes, hmm. Let us think on this. How stupid are we? One cannot deny that there are many people that seem stupid. In fact, every person will at one time or another do a stupid thing. But one cannot say whether said person will realize what they have done is stupid. Smart people do stupid things. I regularly do and say stupid things. I could quote many people I know who have said stupid things to me in particular. Let me quote myself from a conversation two days ago, "Oh yeah, Lindsay bought a house. She has carpet in her basement. (silence) Now, I know that sounds like a stupid thing to say," etc. At this point the other party (who was male) bursts out laughing. It seemed stupid anyway, which was enough to make it stupid, whether there was a point to stating the obvious or not. Oscar Wilde believes stupidity is a sin.

There is no sin except stupidity. ~ Oscar Wilde, The Critic As Artist, Pt. II

But I think there are worse things than being stupid.

There are entire books about stupidity:

Amazon.com says this: "Matthijs van Boxsel believes that no one is intelligent enough to understand their own stupidity. In The Encyclopedia of Stupidity he shows how stupidity manifests itself in all areas, in everyone, at all times, proposing that stupidity is the foundation of our civilization."

If no one is intelligent enough to understand their own stupidity, then the aforementioned Libby and I must be semi-intelligent to have concluded weeks ago: The answer to every question is, "Yes, I am stupid."

What else can I say? I can spend my whole life trying to be non-stupid and most people wouldn't notice. We are all condemned as such, one in the same, by many a stupider person.

the haunted bathroom: part III

This is hopefully the conclusion to the ghost saga. The wooden scrubbie was not broken by the ghost. It was...gravity! I looked more closely at it, and noticed the scrubbie has a slightly wedged slot that the handle slides into. When hanging upside down, the wedging doesn't support the scrubbie part...and so it fell! To think all this time I was agonizing over which glue to use. So I just shoved it back in. The foil is complete. I shall dance the dance of triumph.

P.S. Feedblitz is stupid. I'm pretty sure the notification for part 2 was never sent. I am switching to feedburner for emails, so don't be surprised when you start getting notifications from them instead.

the haunted bathroom: part II

I bought new shampoo today. I thought it best to try a different kind. However, just as I began to feel I had triumphed over said ghost, I noticed that my wooden back scrubbie was broken. The same back scrubbie I bought last friday. The one that I only used this morning and which was totally non-broken. Come to think of it..this is the second wooden back scrubbie that has broken. The first one was purchased at target and I blamed the breakage on the cheapiness of my selection. But the latest one was purchased at an actual bath shop (semi non-cheapy)..and I tested several of them before selecting the one which I thought had the scrubbie most sturdily attached to the handle. Sigh. I can only attribute this stroke of bad luck to the ghost. And to have it occur the day after my eerie shampoo disappearing act, I can only suspect that it is a mean ghost, that is not lacking in acumen.

However, I have a plan and it is this: glue the scrubbie back onto the handle. A stroke of pure genius, surely. Then the ghost will be foiled! But now I have to agonize over whether super-glue is good enough or whether I need to buy wood glue. If I have to buy wood glue then I'll be sentenced to wander around target for 3 hours looking for it, since nobody that works there can ever answer my questions properly. (Even after many attempts, I only ever receive one of three responses: (1) "It's somewhere down that way." (2) "We don't carry that" (when they really do carry it, and I find it on my own 30 minutes later), and (3) "We don't carry that" (when it's true and I waste 30 minutes looking for it). I suppose I could go to home depot..but that is so far away, and I'd hate for the ghost to think I went to any trouble. Or I could just order it online, which is definitely the easiest solution, but then I'd have to pay for shipping and I hate that. Sigh.

The lawn

Is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return

Gently at twilight, gently go at dawn,

The sad intangible who grieve and yearn....

~T.S. Eliot, To Walter de la Mare

the haunted bathroom

So...I woke up this morning like it was any other day. I didn't want to get up. This was most likely due to the fact I was up late finishing book # 151 as promised (see last post). I decide whether to eat cereal first, or take a shower first. I decide to eat cereal. Afterward, I step in the shower and there is this goopey substance near the drain. I try not to think about it..as the water is already on and I don't care enough. But then, when I reach for my shampoo bottle, I discover it is completely empty. Upon closer examination of said bottle, there is a tiny hole in the base. The plastic seam had spontaneously split apart in a small hole (poking out, not in, which means it wasn't a man-made prank). How can this be? It was fine yesterday. I've never had a bottle of anything leak spontaneously from a mysterious hole. I haven't even dropped it recently.

There have been other strange things occur as well. First, there was the bobby pin that I "misplaced." I have no recollection of this. I put it down, and then it wasn't there anymore. I liked that pin. I keep finding these tiny screws laying around too. There isn't any rational explanation for that one...not like the time I was driving my car and something hard fell onto my leg and onto the floor. I had suspected the person next to me in the car had thrown something at me and pretended not to. But then I noticed a couple weeks later there was a screw missing in the overhead visor thing. Mystery solved. I put the screw back.

And so, I must conclude, my bathroom is haunted. The ghost thinks I don't clean enough. But I totally cleaned it two weeks ago (after being inspired by sister, AKA mother of baby--actually, I started to clean it the moment I got home from visiting baby)...I even washed the curtain. The ghost tried to scare me away by causing my shampoo to leak. But, if I were a ghost, I'd do a much better job. I think that I'd first cause the shampoo to leak, just as a primer, and then go on to bigger and better things. Hopefully my ghost is a dumb ghost that lacks proper haunting skills. I guess I'll find out.

P.S. This is a completely lame post (I know, this is a big assumption because I'm implying that some of my posts aren't lame) and it's mostly just an excuse to see if stupid feedblitz is working again.

P.P.S. It just occurred to me that the missing bobby pin might have been the first step in the ghost's nefarious plan. Maybe my ghost is only semi-barely dumb. Strange things are afoot.

P.P.P.S. As a final note, it has just occurred to me that on my birthday last week I forgot to make a wish when I blew out my candle. Admittedly, the candle was in a scoop of ice cream and not in a cake, and I didn't have anybody yelling, "make a wish," as a reminder..but still. I feel as if I've lost something. However, I have become a prime number, and so that sort of makes up for it. Being a prime number will surely instill special powers that shall aid me in my quests.

how many?

So, I'm going to take advantage of my bloggerness and promote a website. Sort of. Well, maybe allude to it anyway. I have a habit of writing down all the books I read, and have done this for several years. I didn't have any master list, only book entries scattered throughout handwritten journal entries as well as typed ones. And so, I've been going through them and entering them into librarything (the allusion). I am in love with this site. You can add in comments on each book, reviews, ratings, tags (like: have read, own, want, fantasy, sci-fi, etc) and link to other people's lists and reviews as well. And I have been shocked--to epic proportions. If I add up everything I've read this year back to August 26 of 2005, I have read exactly 150 books. Tomorrow it will be 151. 150 books in one year! That's like...2.9 books per week. I had already suspected I was a semi-loser nerd and had no life, but now I have evidence. I just wanted to establish that fact.

Now excuse me while I get back to my book.

things worth knowing

1. The Museum of Bad Art. Someone is keeping track of all the bad art. I think this is very important. I enjoy bad art as least as well as good art, possibly more.

2. Web Pages that Suck. Someone else is keeping track of all the worst web pages out there. Unfortunately, said person notifies web-site owners when they win the "Worst Web Page in the World" award...and as a result many of them have been improved. But a few have not been improved..and these are my favorites:

This page has a brilliantly tiled background. I've never laughed so hard by myself at the computer, ever. (I do not mean to imply that I have laughed as hard with another person at the computer, nor do I imply that I have laughed as hard by myself away from the computer. Although, these two cases may very well have occurred. Furthermore, it is likely that I have laughed as hard with another person (or more) away from the computer.)

This one is..well..what it is.

This one is a game...can you move the cursor across the screen without activating a pop-up box? Apparently not. Tricksy.

3. The Bad Cookie. The bad fortune cookie, to be precise.

I shall sleep better tonight knowing such websites exist.

they exist.

Yesterday, my lunch cost $2.45. Today, the same lunch cost $3.00. I didn't have that much money. The man behind me offered to pay the difference. I just wanted to point out that notwithstanding all the people who lie, cheat, swindle, etc., there are still very kind people out there who will pay for your lunch and smile at you at the same time. So thanks, whoever you are. I am less of a cynic today than I was yesterday.

there are no words...

Watch this.

This post was brought to you by Libby.

stupid earthquake

So, I studied earthquakes during my undergrad. I move to california. I put in my time. And then when the earthquake finally happens (evening of August 2--epicenter in the east bay), I'm on an airplane in the middle of nevada, 1 hour away from landing. And it was 4.4 magnitude...there's no way I wouldn't have felt that one. I'll just have to go on living I suppose...

n is for nerd

I can't help that I'm a nerd at heart. And as such, I have found the source of much future glee. Here. (Thanks to Brad..but I don't think he knows that I know.) The manic mode is the best. And, being the nerd that I am, I counted the number of different bubble imprint patterns...there are four. (Am I wrong?)

I have recently begun to read a book..a lipogrammatic book, once written in french by a Georges Perec, and translated into English by Gilbert Adair. At any rate, its called A Void, and it doesn't have the letter "e" in it. But the best part of the whole book is the picture of Perec on the back cover...which looks somewhat like this but with a more conflicted facial expression.

I may or may not think of anything further to say.

I thought of something else. Push it for a few seconds just to get the stats. People actually hold the stupid thing for days on end. People are dumb. (This is where my father says, and I quote:

"If I say that I agree then because people are dumb I must be wrong because since people are dumb there is a significant chance that people are smart and we only think that they are dumb because we are not smart but if we are not smart then the original proposition is probably true and people are really dumb."

Sorry Dad. That was just too great not to repeat.)

But then, maybe we are the stupid ones, because really all they do is get a single button mac mouse and put a book on it. But then..that would mean their computer was out of commission during that time. Or maybe they went on vacation. Maybe I should devote my life to finding things other than online buttons and bubble wrap.

Worst Weatherman in History

Some kids putting on a news program, with the most awkward weatherman ever. Don't miss this report.

white men can't jump

Jump time, 4:39:13 am pacific time, thursday. Creative? Yes. Effective? No. Confused? Look here and here.

Maybe next week, everyone on the planet can hold their breath at the same time. That way, we can preserve oxygen and slow the buildup of carbon dioxide, a greenhouse gas. In fact, this method may prove so effective, it will become a daily regimen. I'm brilliant.

On a less sarcastic note...
the end.

The stereotype I will become.

I am an aunt. This is a marvelous thing. I have never before been an aunt. I have decided to become "the cool aunt." I feel as though I am exceptionally qualified for this position.
My qualifications:
1. I am single. Thus there is no one to distract me from baby.
2. I live near San Francisco, the city where cool stuff is.
3. I go to Stanford. That, in itself, is "cool."
4. I will purchase pointless gifts for baby.
5. I live far away from baby, thus baby will look forward to seeing me. Baby will also never have time to discover any reasons why I should not be "the cool aunt."
6. I fly on planes a lot.
7. Baby will think I'm cool because I work in a building with a wind tunnel where they fly miniature planes.
8. My hair is very very short. Thus I am hip. (However, the other aunt has very short hair too. Thus we shall both be hip.)
9. I read a lot of books. Therefore I am brilliant. Thus, I am cool.
10. Because I live far away, baby could come and visit. Visiting far off places is cool, especially when you know someone there.

There is the list. If I think of anything else I'll update it.

a sock?

A sock. With expression. Hmm.

a sarcastic comment on spelling.

Too many people don't know how to spell the word: separate. I see it as "seperate" everywhere. (Most recently, in a comment on a blog I read two seconds ago.) I had a professor (well, not really...he was a grad student I think) who taught partial differential equations when I was in undergrad. He was always solving said PDEs on the board in front of the class, and he always put the heading "seperation of variables" on the board at least once a week, all semester, which eventually became very irritating. Nearly everyone in the class noticed eventually, and each time it happened, we would all look around the room at one another as if to say, "he still hasn't figured it out." Nobody ever said anything...I really wanted to write him a note on my final, but decided against it for fear of negative effect. Maybe he still spells it the same way.

On another note, I keep seeing spelling typos in books...really obvious ones with three "e"s in a row or letters swapped..I can't see why some authors don't use spell check. It would be so easy.

to err on a bike

I am officially a Stanford student now, the initiation has begun. I've gotten into the obligatory bike accident--right in front of a large tour group too. Stanford at it's finest, the highlight of their tour, I'm sure. They tried not to laugh. The tour guide even kept a straight face long enough for him to ask if I was alright (to which I replied that I was fine--a blatant lie, of course). But in their defense, it was sort of funny, and I might have even been slightly amused if I hadn't been so damaged. I had cut through a construction zone (lovely dirt and rocks everywhere), made a sharp turn to avoid a tractor 20 feet away, and slid gracefully into the ground. I didn't even collide with any other bicyclists. No, I managed to get in an accident all by myself. Brilliant. Once I got back to my apartment I realized I didn't have any disinfectant around, so I used vodka. Another brilliant move on my part.

I think step two in the initiation process is getting your bike stolen, but I think I'll skip that and go fountain hopping...

You thought I was going to say something witty, didn't you.

Sorry to let you down. I can't be witty all the time. Sometimes I may go an entire day without saying something witty. I was witty today, but I might not be witty tomorrow. Actually, there is a fair chance I might not be witty tomorrow. I could try not to be witty.

Something very amusing: Somehow, even though I have lived at Stanford for 9 months, I've never had to lead music in Relief Society. Nobody ever asked me. Well, today they did. Unfortunately, my 15 minutes of fame ended abruptly as I closed the hymn book after the second verse. The pianist looked at me (after stopping accompanying mid-measure), and said, "are we done?" And then I realized I had done something I do all the time..I get confused when singing hymns because you never turn the page. You have to re-read the same page over and over again depending on the number of verses. I have to consciously remind myself of this. I often close the book before the final verse (or in this case, the final two verses), only to slyly open it again and hope not too many people noticed. Today there was no hiding my error. I suppose after the second verse today, I forgot what I'm always reminding myself, and thought the song was over. I said.."erm...we could keep going. sorry." Then we all laughed (and didn't continue). And that was that. Luckily, it was at the end of the block, so we all got out on time.

The day of towels

I think it very important to observe that today is towel day. Yes, towel day. A day to celebrate the existence of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy plus two (although, personally, I didn't particularly like book 5), as well as to celebrate Douglas Adams (who died on may 11, 2001). Lets celebrate (his life). Douglas Adams also wrote a lesser known pair of books, which are by no means less worthy. The second of these is entitled, "The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul," featuring a man named Dirk Gently. As you might have guessed...he was in the first book too. I would like to point out that my neighbor's name is Dirk. I would also like to point out (which I am certain most will miss) is that the footnote on this page (So long, and thanks for all the fish) is the title of the third installment in the Hitchhiker trilogy. This is, in fact, a farewell from the dolphins (who eat fish). Intrigued? I thought so. Yay for towels. On another note, I would like to say the world has not ended.

Ode to the Matt

the matt...is a matty man.
He married the mariaquita.
She and he are lovely
he is a leaf at heart
flying
soaring
twirling turbulently...
He knows he twirls, and just doesn’t tell anybody.
I won’t either.

To Matt. As requested. Any other requests?

Exit Mundi.

So..long ago, I discovered a lovely site..called Exit Mundi. Perhaps not so oddly enough, even though I generally loathe and avoid the inaccurate and overdramatized end-of-the-world movies, I like this website that lists even more far-fetched end world scenarios. But the main point of this paragraph, is an introduction to this cartoon, which I think is especially marvelous.

more on funny things

Some things are semi-funny. Fewer things are very funny. Many things are barely funny. Everything isn't funny. Funny things are always funny. Funny things aren't everything. Many things aren't semi-funny...semi-funny things aren't semi-funny all the time. Barely funny things might not be funny more than once a week. Or less. The end.

some things are funny.

A two-story outhouse...funny.











Whoops.

















Danger!






















Really.

Something worthy of note.

Today is a day set apart from other days. Today I received my very first fake credit card magnet, which is, of course, too weak to hold anything up except itself, being useless in the extreme. I have, for a couple of years now, collected fake credit cards. I would actually waste time by noticing that 10 of my cards are identical, except the 1-800 number changed. Why would a company change their 1-800 number so frequently? It's competely ridiculous..not only that it occurs, but that I have wasted time thinking about it. But now my truly sick hobby can develop in a new direction. I can collect fake credit card magnets. I'm open to handouts.

The time came. And went.

So, there are many things I grew up believing. I was sure that my dad was the tallest guy in the world. (No way.) I thought that moving was the worst thing ever, what with all the difficulty in physically picking up a house and transporting it. I thought that being fired was cruel and unnecessary, and who would ever burn their employee? I thought that islands were floating piles of dirt. I thought that if I ate a watermelon seed a watermelon tree would grow in my stomach. (This is aside from the fact that watermelon grows on bushes, and that having a single watermelon growing in my stomach would be bad enough--no, it had to be a tree.)

I forgot how to spell my own last name once. But nobody believed me. The only time I ever cheated..was in kindergarten. It was a spelling test. The word.."of." Amazingly enough, I thought it was spelled "ov."

But the really irritating thing is that I'll never know what my sisters were always whispering about when they felt the proper reply to my questioning was: "We'll tell you when you're older." Yeah, right.

another ode.

Ode to Reija (a poem of two)

...a light shone brightly in the dusk
from whence it came none knew
except for me and you.

Mwa ha ha! We laughed, reprehensibly,
we saw it too, but none would flee
except for you and me.

The mischievous gleam was from your eye
it sought, it grew
but that was you

and what was I?
Behold, my eyes are wicked too.

--written for a beloved friend.

Latest Attempt

So, in a moment of great abstraction, I wrote the following poem, dedicated to a good friend of mine. Not that he embodies the poem.

Ode to Shwam.

The Shwam comes up the road
and grins unabashed
the rain gets him wet
and the grin slides to smirk
since he is wearing a slicker
and he dumps it on a passerby.

The end.

Happiness

Hmm..today is lovely. I want to dance. I want to sing, and jump up and down and clap. (This is not to infer I clap at my singing..) Why do I want to celebrate? Because I am silly, and feel renewed, even though its late and I've got school tomorrow. I am turning into one of those people with post-it notes all over. (Previous statement is not necessarily related to any other statement.)

Hope for a lost mind.

First of all, I'd like to say something about the "Magic Bullet Blender" that is supposedly miraculous and gets aired on TV all the time. My roommate has one, and I must point out that it is a completely miserable appliance.

I have discovered a new facet of my book obsession. I find myself wasting time looking for books on Amazon. I look up a book, follow a link to another booklist, look at books on that list, follow subsequent links, and before you know it I've been online an hour. I get lost in listmania. However, there are worse things.

I remain stoic in my wanderings, laughing infrequently at premeditated jokes..some people are just not funny.

Insight into my soul: I've had my current copy of the BOM for...at least 8 years now. It is one of those smallish versions, a quad with a snap. Well, it comes with two ribbons in the spine to be used as bookmarks. And this is the really ridiculous part: I didn't want to use them. I kept picturing them wrinkled and frayed so I left them folded up in the pages--in their original position. They've been getting an 8-year old crease. Meanwhile, I've been using this "1983" book mark that has random facts from that year. But the main reason I used it is because its got green lettering. So it matches my scripture color. Also kept inside them is a green felt-tip pen that is impossible to write with (the ink is practically gone and you have to write with the pen positioned perpendicular to the page). It came from addressing my brother's wedding invitations many years ago. If it weren't green, I would have thrown it out long ago. Finally I realized last night, that it is much more convenient to just use one of the ribbons to keep my place. And so I put the 1983 bookmark away. Is that not ridiculous? I know. Completely silly. Maybe someday I'll throw away the pen.

The Spew Forth Nasty Author test.

I have developed a new test. I call it the "Spew Forth Nasty Author" test. As was to be expected, I spent my entire Christmas break reading. 25 books, to be precise. Embarrassing? Yes. I tend to rush into a book with break-neck speed, finding myself in a puddle of drivel after about 3 hours, yet I am too stubborn to not finish the book. And so I finish it. Then I decide if I like the book. If I think the book is crap, then I never read that author again. If it is ok, or if I really like it, I leave it on my list of "Somewhat Tolerable Books to Read in a Long Evening." There are those however that leave deep impressions, whether it is praise or hatred, but are few. Anyway. Back to the spew test. Well, I have come to the conclusion that the majority of all contemporary fiction can be described in the following way: If you've read one, you've read them all (on a per author basis). And it is so pathetic. After reading 2 books by an author I have a suspicion that they are in the "spew forth" category. So I read a third book. And it is the exact same. If I think about it long enough, I am impressed at how an author can re-write the same story over and over and yet remain on the best-seller list, where the characters are no more unique than they are unpredictable. The only talent I can attribute to authors such as these is the ability to skew circumstances so as to give the impression that the new story really is new. The characters are really the same, from book to book. And so, as per habit, in reading an obscene amount of fiction, I somewhat unconsciously practice the "Spew Forth Nasty Author" test. In that nasty authors spew forth generic crap in excessive amounts, and I recognize them for what they are, and demote them. I must figure out how to get paid for reading too much.