Good Idea, or Best Idea?

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Best Idea.

Am I So Vain?

Okay, so if think that the song "You're So Vain" is about the guy Carly Simon says "I bet you think this song is about you" to, does that make me vain by extension?

Also, do I have to forfeit my man tackle if the first association I have with that song is that scene near the end of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days? I think I probably do.

Shucks.

My Geosciences Notes for Today

Today I was a very responsible and diligent student, and took some serious notes that were very thorough. I can make plate tectonics fun! Here's a sample:

It is cold in here. I am cold. [Bryan: It's not cold.] You lie. You lie like and lying liar. I am also tired. There needs to be food in my belleh. I might just have to bust out my emergency rations. I could really go for a sammich right about now. A sammich with salami. Genoa salami. Mit der mustard. Yurms!

Knowledge! That was science, just then. We have learned science. We are scientists. The Earfs are moving.

i r the earth. i r serious planet.

[Something about ridges] Ruffles have ridges, too. Har har… “rigid.” Turgid.

[On the PowerPoint] A VISCOELASTIC SOLID. NOT LIQUID!! (That is vurry importint to know. Distinction!)

Just say “no” to Comic Sans. [Which a college professor has used for her notes presentation]

She says “may-zure.” Measure. May-dzure.

South America is faster than us. They’s be getting’ uppity.

My nipples are starting to become an immediate concern. Had to zip up the jacket. I could direct the PowerPoint with those bad boys.

Tonga. Tonganese. Polynesian. Islands. Eye lands. The land of tonganese eyes.

I r learning plake tectonics!

The asthenosphere is a viscoelastic solid; it is so totally not a liquid. That’s just being straight ig’nint, dog.

There are also Vikings [in Iceland]. Vikings who enjoy the rejuvenating feeling they receive from a nice soak in the natural hot springs. Geolog-tastic refreshment!

A continental rift is the solution to illegal immigration. Protect our borders!! Geology is on America’s side. It wasn’t at first, but then the Freedom Eagle™ laid a bit of the “smack” down.

I will relax in the last few minutes. It would be easier for me to relax if I could enjoy a refreshing soak with a Viking. If they could soak so nicely, why is it that they raped and pillaged so much? I bet all they would have needed was a good masseuse. Rub that stress out, you hulking lug, you. It’s also weird that people from the Scandinavian area are pretty much the nicest people you’re ever gonna meet. That’s hope for the descendants of the people who raped and pillaged America. Maybe we’ll be charming one day.
Though, I think YouTube is going to prevent that from ever happening.

Chilean. Chillin’. Chill-eh-in. You be illin’. You tell it like it is Run DMC, you tell it like it is.

RING OF FIRE!

Now you know about plate tectonics, too. I have have imparted science to you. Can you feel it? That wonderful swarmy feeling in your brainpan? That is science squirming around in there.

You are welcome.

*John Lennon Song Title*

Whilst being oh-so-very productive at work, I had an interesting line of thought:

Science is all wonderful and explanatory, and it has that pesky tendency to do away with all the mysticism that was cause for arise in god-conjuring. Having that as an advantage, what would happen if a community was constructed with absolutely no mention of any religion or religious belief?

It makes me wonder if some dreamer in the community might concoct some form of theistic philosophy. There's a possibility, but with science demystifying all the reasons for having thought up spirits and gods in the first place, I don't think it is all that likely. Even if it did happen, I couldn't imagine the idea being treated with all that much credibility. It seems so novel an idea that no one has any thoughts of any god when we live in a world where so much is informed by theistic muddle.

What would that community be like? A nice place to live, I’d think. I’d imagine there would be a much healthier attitude about sexuality. Death would no longer be a subject that’s treated as borderline taboo. Morality would be based on empathy, and policies would be made as a result of logic with the benefit of evidence. Hey, and no more gender inequality based on sacred text supported patriarchy (that's one of my favorites).

You can’t really call it an atheistic community because there would be no theistic beliefs to be without. I do understand the problem with providing a selective heritage, but in this case, I think it would be beneficial. The biggest loss would be a whole lot of really good literature.

Although, I guess you could change the context, and teach all the religions as purely fictional. That way Paradise Lost would not need to be excluded.

This is why I’d like to be some kind of dictator, so I could set up these sorts of grand societal experiments.

(All this is tangentially connected to me having read this blog post)

The Thing of My Happiness

Through clever manipulation of the waiting list, my insistent hounding of my adviser, and the inexplicableness of the English department actually adding sections instead of canceling them, I have gotten into another semester of Advanced Fiction. That means another semester of the academic system kicking my ass into actually doing some writing.

Of course, I'd feel better about it if I was actually able to attend the last meeting of my current workshop, but my sisters have seen fit to get married so friggin' close to each other. My bridesboy duties call me to Wisconsin. I'd hate to have all the manscaping I did to look good in the dress go to waste.

But overall, I'm just stoked about getting a chance to have my slacking bottom wound up into gear. I need me one o' them wind-up keys to shove into my behind every so often to get me into gear. Effective plus exciting. Everybody wins.

Alert the CDC! I am diseases!

I'm sick. Awesome. This'll make two out of the last three birthdays where I'll be infected with critters. For twenty, I had mono, what an adventure in laying in bed like a rutted fish. This year, I'll be serving up some unknown throat bid'ness. Nursemom says I ought to go to Urgent Care to get it checked out to see if I need antibiotics if it's strep. I'll do that tomorrow during the time I'd normally be at work, which I've taken off because I have a history of working myself too hard when I'm sick.

I wish I had me some Airborne. And as long as I'm wishing for stuff, I'd also like to wish for the stuff to actually do something. Don't mind me, when I get sick, I get more upset at useless supplements like Airborne and echinacea. I'm bitter like that.

On the looking up and up, I received a bit of lovlies today. I'm officially registered for another semester of Advanced Fiction. There's another semester of the academic setting forcing me to get some writing done in store for this guy. *thumbs in*

imagine this here thingum

I'd like for us to to go on a wondrous mind adventure on the magic carpet of our imaginations. Grab your fruit snacks and juice boxes, and away we go!:

Let's say that the ruling elite of this country came together to publish a book that was basically a serious of essays about how the world worked and how it ought to be run. It's a book that serves their interests, maintains the legitimacy of their position, and reinforces their methods and ideology.

Now fast forward a few thousand years and zoom halfway across the world. That book is no longer opinion but considered to be the end-all of all instruction and morality, though when it was written, it was just the opinions of those already in power. While it would likely make some very good points and may very well have been useful at the time it was written, ultimately it's a text that was written to be relevant for a civilization so far removed from the one that reveres it that using it as a road map of unquestionable truth to base every decision on would be pretty dang-ole preposterous.

You'd think, huh?

Poster for Ryan

I can only describe my feelings as "way fuggin' stoked."


It will soon grace my walls (once it makes it across the Atlantic). Damn you John Allison, I would go gay and go British for you. *whimper*

Happy Columbus Day

I swear, if I knew that exploiting an indigenous people would land me a holiday, I would have started doing so at a much younger age. Now I'm just playing catch-up.

I mean, come on, I have a reputation to live up to.

In Which I am a Slacker

I am a slacker. This fact is inescapable. I've come across few people who were genuinely motivated. Everyone else is like me to whatever degree. I imagine myself somewhere on the spectrum between ready-to-take-on-the-world and stoned-and-hungry-on-the-couch.

My noggin's been a-workin' lately about life, the universe, and everything. And any introspection on my part soon leads to thoughts of Life After College™. Until now, it's been grad school in some locale outside the southwest.

Except not.

There is no graduate school on my foreseeable horizon. Granted my horizon rarely stretches past a few weeks. That's me: few expectations and fewer worries. Does that make me Timon? If so, I need to find my Pumbaa. Jesse could be my Pumbaa. His bottomgas is most certainly foul enough, but he has direction (that sum'bitch) and is nowhere near rotund enough.

My life plan as it stands today: live, write, scratch at stuff, train attack kittens, and die by meteorite leaving my squalid legacy to my ruthlessly adorable feline companions.

Aeroplane Woes

I got to the Orlando airport around 10:20ish AM EST. That was over nine hours ago, and I'm settling in for the next 13 hours before my first real chance to get the hell out of here. That's the hazard of flying standby, I suppose. I have taken up residence in a phone cubby that no longer houses a phone. It's a defensible position for my stuff in case I fall asleep, and there are enough outlets to plug in my laptop and my phone. I am prepared for the long haul.

The trouble with not getting out until Monday (Buddha willing) is that I was planning on moving into my new house tomorrow while I'm (hopefully) 40,000 up in the air. Looks like I might have to take off work another day for the move.

But I did get to go to Florida for almost nothing, food mostly as expense plus a bitchin' Apollo mission patch from Kennedy Space Center and other miscellaneous souvenirs. Hooray for Jake and hooray for Jesse who graciously allowed me to freeload. I figure I need to start practicing since I'm destined for a life of a egregious poverty, but on the upside, Sanlyn offered to give me tips on how to live off of food stamps (including what alcomohols you can buy). Hey, the gummint pays for my school and a significant portion of my rent, so why not my food? It's always been one of my closest held dreams to be a drain on the system, and I bet you I could pull it off all sexy-like.

I only have about 100 pages left of Prisoner of Azkaban as reading material, but I suppose I could go to the gift shoppe and pick me up some porno magz. I could read those articles for hours.

This is one more reason why UA is better than ASU

There really is nothing I can say about this:

Oh gee golly.

The Fourth

It occurred to me yesterday to make an ironically gung-ho patriotic blog posting for the occasion. At some point in my writing, I would have slipped in a phrase something akin to "Suck it King George." Or something to that effect. Of course it makes me wonder what the percentage of Americans is that could name the monarch the colonists were so peeved at and for what reasons.

But that's irrelevant. When have Americans ever let facts or historical context have any bearing on them getting drunk and eating too much? Or just getting their holiday on.

I did not do anything so productive as writing a blog post. Instead I spent most of the day watching Angel. Now that's celebrating America. It's certainly a more accurate representation of what we've done with our freedom than setting off fireworks or eating hot dogs and watermelon.

Although I would not have said no to some watermelon.

Mistaken Dead Status

I'm not sure what it was, but I always thought Bob Dylan was dead. The way that people talked about him and the musicians that are supposed to be operating in his legacy always gave me the impression that the guy was all deaded.

Woops. The value of my cultural retardedness is currently set to positive.

Pretty much crap

I have to write a five page paper for my 20th century philosophy final. And I dub it a complete waste of my time. No, wait, I'm going to extend that to the entire course. Any course where you can not go to 80% of the classes and have an A is poorly structured and poorly executed. It's not worth having. The material was boring, and all she did was read from the handouts that she provided. Why even bother with an instructor? I read the handouts and got As on the quizzes.

Now I have to write five pages about Putnam's "Why there isn't a ready made world" paper. It's essentially crap (the assignment, not Putnam's paper). She gave us an outline including every single point we need to cover to get full credit. The only effort required on our part is to rewrite what she wrote in the Putnam handout. It's complete regurgitation. I can understand a teacher helping her students do well, but if she'd done anymore, we'd have form essays we could just write our names at the top of.

I can understand that it's a survey of 20th century philosophy, but there was almost no exploration of the material or the philosophical implications of each philosopher's view. "This is what this philosopher thought. Now onto the next philosopher." It's pretty much the worst way to structure a class in philosophy (or any class, really, but especially philosophy which is nothing if you don't engage the material). I did exactly zero thinking for this class. That means that the teacher has failed. She did not do her job, and this paper is still a waste of my time.

I'm just bummed that I scheduled myself to work at OSCR during the class we filled out evaluations. I would have gone to market and brought home some friggin' roast beef.

Are these emotions I'm feeling? They make me feel funny.

I'm not sure what's come over me, but I've been going all fangirl gooshie over indie pop recently. So, I will continue along the vein of my last post with another video of a song I've fallen in love with. This one makes me happy and bouncy inside.

Maia Hirasawa - "And I found this boy"



Those damn Swedes and their infectiously good music...

What the hell, let's go crazy. From the UK with another song I'm smooshing over:

Lucky Soul - "Add Your Light to Mine, Baby"

Instant Favorite

I have all manner of love for this song. Ever since I heard it a few days ago, it's been stuck with me. I adore this song, and you will too unless you are completely devoid of all passion, desire, and heart. So, I give you Hello Saferide's "My Best Friend." Please commence falling in love with this band.



The singer reminds me of someone or a combination of someones, but I can't place it.

Persona Happenings

I had a slight let-down tonight. I was not voted into the Junior Editor position that I was running for. It's a bummer, but I secured Assistant Copy Editor. I mostly just wanted to get involved in the workings of the club, so I'm pleased even if I didn't get the job I wanted. That's the peril of running against an officer veteran, I suppose. Besides getting my antisocial bumparts involved in something, I get 3 units of upper-division credit to boot. That means I can decrease my course load during one semester next year. I'll probably drop a class from the Fall semester since there's one English class I didn't want to take in the first place. Hooray for 12 units.

Even though no one else was running for Assistant Copy Editor, I think what really secured my winning it was me saying, "I'm used to being a bitch-boy. I was one at my last job" during my pseudo-speech. I am a bitch-boy. I could be your bitch-boy.

There Are No More Heroes

It is very seldom that the death of anyone, especially a public figure, moves me to any kind of emotion. When a public figure dies, it's usually expressed that the death of anyone is sad. I disagree. Death is not sad in the way that most people wish it to be sad. It's a very selfish emotion, really. It affects us to the extent that we will miss the person that is now gone. Death is not sad. Life, I think is sadder than death. Life is sad because there is so often no point when there ought to be.

My selfish emotion is in response to the death of my hero. It was one of my cherished dreams to meet him someday just so he could tell me I didn't know anything. He chain smoked for decades and died because of brain injuries from falling. It's an ironic death that I think he would have appreciated. I ought to say something personal about how I am a better person for reading his work and have a better understanding of my relation to humanity and the world, but I don't think he ever wanted people to be like him. Sometimes I feel like I think he must have that life would be better if we couldn't recognize just how wrong things are. "Life is no way to treat an animal," as it were. And because it's what he would want to be said about him:

Kurt Vonnegut is up in heaven now.

So it goes.

Re: Can't Tell the Difference

I think I give people too much credit. That sounds odd coming from me, but I really do. Today I made a stop to deposit some yellow before meeting with my Milton professor. On the wall above the, ahem, "ATMs" there were some tags, and this addition: "TAGGERS R GAY" with a darling little arrow. I thought that was pretty ironic, and I had to catch myself because I had been thinking that the person who wrote it understood the irony of his actions. I have no way of knowing one way or the other, but it seems far more likely to me that the guy scrawled it up there without appreciating the irony of his actions.

But that's what's tricky about irony. It can be hard to distinguish without context. Like does Alanis Morissette know that most of the stuff she mentions in "Ironic" are not actually ironic and is she being ironic because of it? This is the web I'm tangled in with the "My Boobs are Okay" video I posted last week. I think I might be giving her too much credit, but then I realized that the song is essentially a remaking of "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas. Observe:



So is the crazy Norwegian girl making a commentary on the glorification of that kind of behavior, or is it just in the same vein? My brain is so whacked-out on literature right now that I have no idea. It's highly probable that I'm simply looking at it too hard and seeing something that isn't there.

As bonus fun, I offer this lovely (and real) commentary on the attitude "My Humps" praises. It's amazing how all credibility in the lyrics is lost when they're slowed down and articulated. Oh those crazy feminists and their "ideas" about "equality" and "not selling your body like a socially sanctioned prostitute." They're so quaint. I mean, seriously, when was the last time one of those types got laid? I'm going to have to quote me some Chasing Amy when I say, "All every woman wants, be it mother, senator, or nun, is some serious deep dicking." Think on that for a moment as you watch this "My Humps" parody: