Manly Wade Wellman is the greatest name in the history of names.
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Manly Wade Wellman is the greatest name in the history of names.
Kif from Futurama can never get enough love and I have a plushie of the little alien.
Feeling a certain way and wanting something and feeling guiltily and selfish for feeling that way.
My second son is graduating from high school today. Hard for me to believe!
Yeah, where did the childhood, go, eh?Quote:
Originally posted by Elendil's Heir
Kif is probably the most relateable character in the show.Quote:
Originally posted by Froody Blue Gem
Yeah, I definitely see a lot of myself in him with his anxiety, his shyness, and being a people pleaser. Even the little detail about him not making up his mind on what type of beverage to order or something along those lines, even if it was a silly little joke it's sadly relatable for me. I guess he began to develop more as a character in season 3 but we saw hints into his character in "Brannigan Begin Again." Definitely my favorite character on the show and one of my favorite fictional characters in general. There is Fry who is pretty relatable to many as well.Quote:
Originally posted by Rube E. TewesdayKif is probably the most relateable character in the show.Quote:
Originally posted by Froody Blue Gem
Early Tom Clancy books tend to be better than later ones, before he got famous and no one dared edit him. Ditto Stephen King.
With my full enneatype, I'm guessing I'm either a 596 or a 496. I guess 956 is an alternate one but I am very reluctant to say that is my final type even if it is fitting. I kind of feel shame with who I am and that version kind of comes from a very turbulent unhealthy place. Whatever type I am, I am not the healthy variety.
5w4, 9w1, 6w7 sp/so
4w5, 9w1, 6w7 sp/so
or 9w1, 5w4, 6w7 sp/so. I've tested as a 6, 6w5 on multiple occasions but some of the other types fit my core type much more than that and I am guessing the 5 gets integrated in the type somewhere else.
Yeah. I didn't know about this thread, but that is possible true.Quote:
Originally posted by Rube E. Tewesday
I wonder who has the balls to name his kid "Manly." Maybe it's some kind of "Boy named Sue" kind of thing.
Or maybe his mother had some blood loss from the birth.
That is awesome.
Steel Willdrink Catkill could be a good one, but AFAIK that's not a real person.
Chip "Chunk" Torso
Slab Chunkmeat
No, MST3K already exhausted the made-up names.
I like living in a world where there existed someone called "Manly Wellman."
Hell, he could do my taxes. I'd trust him.
///////////////
How's this for awful -- I think I'm just going to start deliberately socializing with more friendly woman (except this one -- I'm not sure if she's a man or a woman -- and I don't care to examine her breasts openly, and, anyway, Faye Dunaway didn't have very large breasts, and she was definitely a woman).
Yes, for the petty goal of expressing my displeasure with WareGirl's actions.
Her little half-effort of seeking me out to collaborate on a task two days ago was sweet, but, I'm sorry honey, now I'm the one who needs convincing it's worth any effort, after her display of profound lack of judgment, pandering to some random nerd "buddy" of hers.
No, I know there are some sociological explanations, I just am not having any of that.
So now I must punish her.
With mediocre-to-nil results, and with no possible gain.
For it amuses me.
"Wolf Blitzer" would be a pretty macho name, too, if you didn't know who actually has it.
Yeah, he was pretty much a SCUD dud.Quote:
Originally posted by Elendil's Heir
For another RL example, David Hackworth isn't too bad.
As a name.
ETA, although the first name has to go. Something more like "Buzz" or "Rocco."
I always like to carry a lot of stuff with me and keep a close eye on my purse. I kind of get neurotic if I go to a place and don't have stuff to work on.
Armie Hammer? That's pretty macho.Quote:
Originally posted by JizzelbinYeah, he was pretty much a SCUD dud.Quote:
Originally posted by Elendil's Heir
For another RL example, David Hackworth isn't too bad.
As a name.
ETA, although the first name has to go. Something more like "Buzz" or "Rocco."
Rock Hudson, though that is a stage name, Roy Harold Scherer, Jr.
Powers Boothe which was his birth name.
Yeah, Powers Boothe is a pretty bitching name.Quote:
Originally posted by What Exit?
Somehow I don't associate Rock Hudson with great virility, plus his name sounds like out of The Flintstones.
Schwarzenegger is a nice one, but, also "Arnold" makes me think of either (i) a pig or (ii) Arnold Stang (not a bad name, just, also, not living up to).
Of course, for awesome name+weird RL persona: Wings Hauser. The shame.
However for OK name+awesome RL: Bob Mitchum. Not everyone gets a deodorant sharing the name, much less with the awesome ad copy: "So strong you can skip a day."
Funny, I thought Rock Hudson sounded too much like a Flintstone name also. But technically his stage name precedes the Flintstones.
Rutger Hauer; that's a pretty tough sounding name too.
Rutger Hauer. So strong you can skip your life.
Goddamned it, fucking shit.
WHY have the crows come back?
I had a great flock of Steller's Jays nesting here.
That's their fucking job, to chase out the goddamned crows.
And fight the squirrels.
question: How can I reattract the Steller's Jays? There's been a healthy group nesting outside my office window for like a year.
Goddamned it, I fucking hate crows.
Loud and unrewarding.
I used to have faith in ecological niches (look it up), but now I'm not so sure.
Stone Phillips has a pretty macho name. And I knew a guy named Ron Block; ditto.
Some of the various comedic names from MST3K.Quote:
Originally posted by http://mst3k.wikia.com/wiki/The_Nine_Billion_Names_of_David_Ryder
No, that doesn't violate copyright: the names are all from various sources, and even if the intent were not humorous or satirical, the compilation of the names is something like 0.1% of the content of the episode. IIRC, 20% of the length is the rule of thumb for reproduction for limited distribution, in one context (e.g., having a chapter of a book copied and bound for students in a class).
Rod Ironmack.Quote:
Originally posted by Elendil's Heir
Ron Steel.
Hargus "Pig" Robbins (real person: famous piano player, everyone's heard him play, even if not knowing it was him).
Well, I finally broke down and used the car horn yesterday.
Some idiot was backing out of a spot at the grocery store -- tentatively, but it appeared to not see me.
No, I don't give them a friendly "toot."
I lean on the horn until they stop their idiocy, and I can verify they've stopped being a menace.
I believe that's consonant with the rules of use of a horn, and while I don't like doing it, I think it can be correct. Clearly. Since I did that thing.
That does it.
The next time I'm at some WalMart or whatever, I'm buying a LOUD air horn.
Every single time I hear this bitch screaming (she probably thinks it's singing. it is not), she'll get the horn.
Ditto for any and all dogs.
Also, I'm considering buying an extra alarm clock and wiring it to a car horn. Yes, if I was truly a stud I'd make my own clock -- I have some 7-segment LEDs and stuff, but I don't trust my ....
Actually, I should just make a little script to blast the car horn at unpredictable intervals throughout the day, powered by a computer.
Of course, I could just hit the car alarm button from my place, but then they'd know it was me who wanted them to die and suffer.
I think I deserve a round of applause for not just littering the neighboring rental place with poisoned meat.
No, an air horn will be fine.
No, officer, it's my alarm clock, someone was mistaken, probably.
Yes, I thought I heard someone screaming outside, but I didn't think much about it. Kitty Genovese and all that, you know.
Dogs? No, who doesn't like dogs! Never bothered me.
As it leaves the porch, enters its cruiser, "No go back and eat your donut, you fat fucking pig." Over the PA.
That does it.
The next time I'm at some WalMart or whatever, I'm buying a LOUD air horn.
Every single time I hear this bitch screaming (she probably thinks it's singing. it is not), she'll get the horn.
Ditto for any and all dogs.
Also, I'm considering buying an extra alarm clock and wiring it to a car horn. Yes, if I was truly a stud I'd make my own clock -- I have some 7-segment LEDs and stuff, but I don't trust my ....
Actually, I should just make a little script to blast the car horn at unpredictable intervals throughout the day, powered by a computer.
Of course, I could just hit the car alarm button from my place, but then they'd know it was me who wanted them to die and suffer.
I think I deserve a round of applause for not just littering the neighboring rental place with poisoned meat.
No, an air horn will be fine.
No, officer, it's my alarm clock, someone was mistaken, probably.
Yes, I thought I heard someone screaming outside, but I didn't think much about it. Kitty Genovese and all that, you know.
Dogs? No, who doesn't like dogs! Never bothered me.
As it leaves the porch, enters its cruiser, "No go back and eat your donut, you fat fucking pig." Over the PA.
Cops love it when you joke about donuts.
Not as much as when you remind them that their costume looks like a Village People reject gay stripper.
I'm guessing.
"So, your department is 'don't ask, don't tell,' right? I saw some costumes like that at the tranny sex shop. Looks great on you! Ever try wearing it with short-shorts? Get you more tips from the community! Pride forever, officer!"
//////////
WAIT a minute. You should answer the door to cops wearing a completely authentic-looking full-on cop uniform.
"Sir, are you a police officer?"
--"No sir"
"Are you aware impersonating a police officer is a serious crime?"
--"Yes sir, I just use it to practice my stripper pole technique using some of those people you like as an audience at home."
Excellent argument for using a chain-lock on the front door and never opening it more than the length of the chain allows.
Some more somewhat-butch session piano player names:
Spooner Oldham
...
Oh, and the session bass player:
Tommy Cogbill, is a pretty badass name.
I guess this is as good a place as any.
I decided to take some personal time off for just today.
Yeah, I'm fucking pleased as punch that my oldest nephew had a second open-brain surgery to remove a tumor, at the age of nine. I think he's on his second artificial heart valve.
Sorry to say, the kid's fucking toast.
Even if his latest MRI shows promising, they couldn't get it all, and there's no third chance at using the scalpel to excise the tumor.
Well, maybe he'll get lucky and be a fucking vegetable until he succumbs to his mostly-always-fatal congenital heart defect.
Yeah.
So, I'd rather have a live retard eldest nephew than a dead one, so suck on that, you hosers.
Wow. I don't know what to say. I feel bad for you and your family is I guess all I can do.
Oh, I appreciate that.
I wasn't really trolling for sympathy, just felt like getting it off my chest.
Yeah, it's basically fucking bad.
That and pops still recovering from a major skin graft for sepsis, while he was fluttering between life and death. Yeah, it's not a good family right now.
I better start making a better one.
Jesus.
And here's from yesterday: I woke up and just popped on Five Easy Pieces, just to kill time waiting for Drunkle to wake up.
Are you fucking kidding me?
For some reason he wanted to talk to me in his high school German.
"Jack....how do you know this?"
Yo, dumbass, every fucking educated person in the goddamned world can speak some German.
Try reading a book once in a while.
You live right across from the goddamned central library of this non-book town.
Who do you think fucking writes those books?
Everybody and his goddamned mother, that's who.
Stop pissing down my back and telling me it's raining. I fucking hate speaking German.
But who the fuck is fucking surprised that someone knows one of the major European languages?
Like, fucking literally every educated person on the goddamned planet can speak some shit German and read it.
Born in a goddamned barn.
Fucking hick.
Yeah, so I need my own family, and while I have no intention of schooling "my" children with a strap across their back, you're goddamned right they're not growing up being monolingual fucking barroom-birthed bastards.
And you are fucking goddamned right they're going to be catechized. They don't have to be confirmed, and I'm less than sanguine about US Catholic private schools (although from what I hear the girls are real goers), I don't give a shit about that.
But at least be exposed to the mainstream of Western culture. After that? I don't care. They can come live with me until they're ned to dust -- I like family, and I don't like punishing people or disciplining, so that's a small detail about which I don't care.
Just, fucking know the traditions. After that? Who cares? Not me, go their own way, I don't care.
Tuesd. Jul 3rd is the monthly "Anointing of the Sick."
I'm disgusted with my sister, my mother, and her brother for .....
AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO CARES ABOUT THE RULES!!!!!!
LEAGUE PLAY!!!
Yes, that's a joke I made. I still think it's important to know the rules or conventions before you break them — and in many cases, they should be broken. Just fucking know. Sapientes. Or whatever.
Now, I got to figure out an alternative place to bring my special lady out to breakfast.
Don't ask — no, I wasn't 86'ed from my regular spot, it's just....it's complicated.
The only other spots I can see that are open early (i.e., before 1100) are downtown, and who the fuck wants to park down in that shithole?
Well, Jake's might be worth it.
Assuming she goes for it, first words out of my mouth are "Two glasses of champagne." To the waitress, that is.
And, no, I have no idea why — it's not a beer-swilling dive bar, so got to step up. Kind of a classy-ish institution.
And then, I have no idea what else.
There is the good old Roxy, around the corner. I'm not even sure they sell beverages, but they make a mean greasy-spoon diner food.
There's always one of the hotels, like the Heathman, but if things go that direction, I don't think I have the scratch to spring for a room.
Naw. Parking downtown (i) costs (ii) is a PITA.
So, I think just nut up and try to hide my car on a side street and hit up the usual.
Not only do they know me, whoever's working tomorrow, I know for a fact they serve some mean food that is not green.
I was kind of hoping for a different venue, like Vista Spring Café (1100), Goose Hollow Inn (1100).
What could be ideal is go for a short walk, she can tell me about her birds (stop it, stop thinking about one of the "extra" scenes from Apocalypse Now Redux) and then hit Vista Spring (kind of a classy-ish joint, you guessed it, at the corner of SW Vista and Spring St., residential neighborhood, free street parking, all that).
I'm not sure what her deal is — I know all these streets like the back of my hand, having went to HS here, but I also don't want her to get lost or panicky if she's in unfamiliar terrain.
Ah. I'll figure it out when the time comes. Just no place downtown, because I can't ask her to do the whole shit parking thing, and equally important, I'd never park much less drive "downtown" if I can help it.
Yeah, I forgot, in about two or three years that little sweetheart is going to need to have his ribs broken again and a third artificial valve replaced.
Call me a savant, or a psychic, but I have a pretty good idea that my nephew is not having the best time of his life.
He fucking hates the MRI -- I think they give him alprazolam through a nasal inhaler/insufflater/whatever it's called.
He doesn't like it.
I'm pretty sure he fucking hates the ICU -- given he's spent more time in there since birth than most people spend in a lifetime, that seems reasonable.
So not only Tetralogy of Fallot with Pulmonary Artesia (many people don't live past their teenage years with that combination), he also had some sawbones cut into his skull not once but twice in a few months.
Yeah, I'm no mind reader, but I'm pretty sure he's not liking it.
But, he likes Beethoven, and he likes dinosaurs, and he loves swimming.
So, it's not all bad.
He loves his maternal grandparents (my mother and father), but they are having some problems themselves. It's not going to be good for him if his grandpa succumbs to his own extremely serious maladies, and if my mother doesn't get her anxiety and general foolishness under control, she's just as likely to stroke out or have another, probably fatal case of colitis.
And who's left? Me? I can't even tidy up my own place, and can barely drag myself into work in the morning doing unskilled manual labor.
His great-uncle, my uncle on distaff side, is basically a walking stiff who can't even remember his own name half the time.
His paternal grandparents, while having quite a bit of capital, are the most boring people I've ever met, and they live four-hundred miles away.
His father, while a certified "perfect SAT score" literal genius, is kind of ... well, he's a good father, and a competent engineer. He just has some emotional problems. His mother, my sister, is a rock, probably helped by her profession as a psychologist and licensed therapist.
No.
I'm the man of this family, even though I don't have the means or the maturity.
There's no-one else.
I'm completely powerless to intercede -- it's not my place, and also while the nephews adore me, especially the eldest, there's nothing I can do that isn't already taken care of. Best health care, specialists from Mayo Clinic, best of care in my region, close monitoring of levels of care by all who are concerned.
Yeah, I have that affliction as well.Quote:
Originally posted by Froody Blue Gem
At work, where everything I wear gets soaked in sweat, I still fold up a few pages of music, or possibly a small book, and shove it into from right front jeans pocket. They get trashed, as in soaking wet, and I've never really had to break out the "supplemental" material, but still, what if I did require?
I've gotten better at trimming down my shoulder bag to a bare minimum of one or two books + notebook computer + a manilla folder with some music scores. And other stuff -- extra matches, toothpicks, extra writing implements.
But yeah, when I was doing heavy duty scholarly tasks, I'd have like twenty or thirty pounds of books and other paper materials in a bag with me.
Apparently that was considered odd, but screw them.
Have been feeling lonely and insignificant as of recently. I hope this phase will be over soon. if it is a phase.
Sugar, I'm glad to see you here again.
I think you got a classic case of the blues.
No cure: you're terminal, honey!
Don't know what to say but you're in the right spot — no bad vibes here, just good feelings.
Here's completely random: I do think that certain moods have a corresponding sound to real-life sounds.
Yeah, it sounds insane, and it probably is, and I'm not going as far as Scriabin.
I do think that one of the appealing aspects of, particularly, the Hammond organ, is — actually, any organ, really — the ability to shape the final sound by modifying the harmonics.
All right. So, like a "lonely" sound to me on the organ is pull the sub-fundamental stop all the way out, add to taste the octave/fundamental, and leave everything else off except some of the higher harmonics.
No percussion, and primarily use the Leslie speaker as the main dynamic (i.e., go from tremolo [fast] to braked or chorale [slow] speed).
Don't even need to use the "expression pedal" so much.
So the dynamics are from using some of the upper drawbars, to taste, and constantly riding the speed of the speaker.
It is a peculiar sound, but I think it should convince anyone that mental states have some physical correlates.
I think I'm starting to like this woman of, probably Korean, more probably mixed Vietnamese and Korean, descent at work. (Don't ask how I think I know, I just think I'm kind of a savant about this kind of thing — probably wrong, but I'm usually right).
THAT is definitely "against type" for me — not sure why, it's not been any deliberate choice on my part to avoid the company of women of SE Asian descent, as sexual partners. Let's just say I was busy with other "occupations," and it didn't happen.
This young woman seems to have a deliberate, matter-of-fact attitude, and yet she is extremely feminine in a way I could only describe in a long essay which I'm not interested in writing.
She's also what I would call extremely attractive, but in a way that doesn't draw attention to the fact.
And she is endearingly not shy about asking me for help — her English is in fact not very good, but she knows my name and we have a system worked out where if she has to lift something way too heavy, and I'm nearby, which usually ends by trading a short joke about how heavy that was.
I still like my little WareGirl, but she's complicated and I think she and I are either, on the one hand, happy getting to know each other slowly, or on the other hand, I might well miss my chance or have already. Just call me Johnny No-Nuts on that one, but that's the way it is for now and that's fine with me.
The two women do have similar characteristics, in this odd combination of a compact, self-sufficient introversion and a somewhat direct manner of speaking or jesting.
I suppose I can look back through Musil's Three Women this weekend and see if I can copy some ideas for a short fiction. Meh, my only copy's in German, well, that could be OK, but I don't really want to have to use a dictionary so much (it's a pretty long-ish text, and Musil's Austrian German can be at once straightforward and ornate, very mannered and literary).
ETA The problem I've had in the past with Asian women (I'm including all of Asia) is that the familial influences tend to be very strong, so an Auslander is maybe OK for a short little fling, but not being of the tribe doesn't really work for a serious thing.
EETA Oh, and pretty often during break, she and I both park out front, instead of the wasteland of the much larger rear parking lot. We never talk then, we just each go to our cars. I think she usually eats something, and I just stick my foot out of the window and smoke, comb my hair, and decompress.
I'm unsure if she disapproves of the Japanese make of my car, but perhaps that signals to her that I'm not unfriendly to the yellow peril, even though I'm somewhat sure that, if she has any political leanings, she would not approve of some kind of pan-East-Asian collective, were such a ridiculous idea conceivable. Perhaps she may be in the process of acculturating herself to the US idea, subconsciously, where maybe instead of a Hyundai, the Toyota has an edge, and slowly absorbing the idea that I'm still OK despite my car.
There will be no inviting her for a tour of the local Japanese Gardens.
In fact, I don't think there will be anything, but I still am pleased to discover an attractive (to me) woman who seems to not hate me.
That's good for now.
I also think I should buy a tuning fork (A=440Hz kind).
Not sure why.
It would amuse me.
Actually, I have a small mechanical metronome that would (barely) fit into a pants pocket. I can't find where I put it last, but a little German or Austrian device, where you wind up a set of gears like a watch, and the little swinging "arm" creates a kind of "tick tock" sound, which is actually pretty loud. I guess by electrical induction, is how it's amplified. Good question, but I don't feel like destroying the unit in order to find out.
It might be of use during relatively solitary moments of low-impact work to experiment with using it as a kind of "personal audio device," or a kind of a boombox, really.
I don't know, set it at 80 beats per minute, and just supply the variations myself within my head.
I do that anyway, by mentally supplying a "beat," but some external stimulus could be amusing.
That may be on the wrong side of the "eccentricity" edge, but fuck 'em.
Oh, about this new girl (the old NewGirl actually is a contractor for one of the delivery companies, so I'm not sure what she was doing working one of the aisles picking freight, and I hardly see her around).
Oh yeah, so like I noticed yesterday I think she was bothered enough by the periodic screeching sirens to alert workers to incoming traffic to make a big show of plugging her ears with her fingers.
I could have offered her a couple of earplugs from my pocket, but I doubt she'd have been receptive to fingering herself with some strange man's used (though clean!) prophylactics.
HOWEVER, I shall make a point of keeping an extra pair of earplugs in the factory-sealed little plastic bag and offering to her if she has another problem. Hell, for all I know she was just on the rag and a little sensitive, but, still, she may not know where they keep the earplugs (near one of the "first aid" stations), so at least that could be a good help.
I'm nothing if not sympathetic to those who are perturbed by noises.
Krekor Ohanian
AKA
Touch Connors
playing
Joe Mannix
as
Mike Connors
who used to be
Touch Connors.
Drops mic.
Butterflies are just flowers that fly.
You are correct, sir. I don't have a link, but there's a great live performance by Herbie during his Headhunters phase, where he gives a little introduction to his tune "Butterfly," in very smoove ode to the ladies. Sorry, llllllladies.Quote:
Originally posted by What Exit?
ETA Here's the link to the Herbie performance. Very smoove.
Here's a neat wiki about the Hammond. And the stops on the organ and all that. I think I made a mistake and apparently the fundamental is called the "unison" stop, where the octave is actually, ahem, an octave higher. I was right about everything else, of course, but just in case anyone's curious or is listening to Billy Preston (ahem, thee Vee-Jay gospel record, or anything else) or Rick Wright and wonders what they're doing with/to that instrument.
I only got one:
Legs Lowbelly
No, that is not a real person. But she could be!
This guy at work: "Do you think is still the X staging area?"
Me: "Well, the drivers are Rhodes Scholars, they'll find it."
This guy after a few seconds: "Did you just think that up, or was that just unintentional?"
He thought that was the greatest pun ever made, such that he repeated it to at least one other person, with full attribution.
And, FTR, no, that was mostly accidental. I'm not that clever on purpose, but I like to enunciate a mediocre pun as soon as it hits.
But still, I thought that was a pretty good accident.
I wish the day had more hours so I could get more done.
I wish I was working again so I could get less done.
I wish the days were longer so I could sleep more and get more done.
Wait a second...you out of work? Wanna talk about it?...Quote:
Originally posted by What Exit?
I don't want to be perceived as bland or ingenue but I think some people get that impression of me.
I wonder what it is about some people that just makes them come off as "bland."
It's like one of those things where you know it if you see it, but it's hard to define.
For some reason, I just can't connect with people who have the personality of a dirty dishrag, or who are overly goody-goody.
Oh, FBG, I think if some people think that way about you, they're just wrong. Maybe you're a little reserved or cautious, but that's not what I think of about bland people.
I should have stressed more in the above that FBG != "bland." The opposite, really.
What I wanted to "random think" about was that there's a kind of art to being "bland/boring/serious/reserved" on the outside.
Like the Flaubert, in one of his letters, something like "I live on the outside like a bourgeois, so that I can be violent and revolutionary in my art." That's not the real quote, but he wrote a lot of letters and, true to the French slackness about such things, even the "selections" book I have, doesn't really have an index or anything, so I'm not going to bother grabbing the book off the shelf.
I think it's just a matter of personal style: like David Lynch somewhere about his wanting a lot of routine in his life so his mind is able to work on other things.
I'm happy just wearing basically the same sort of thing every day, getting the same kind of haircut, eating the same foods. To me those are all decisions that I don't care about, and are distracting to me.
Goddammit.
WHY???!!!! do jackass people insist on using the loudest possible electric/gasoline equipment for trivial shit?
I mean for fucking chrissakes, there are fucking mufflers on goddamned cars.
That is fucking ridiculous.
I think I'm going to become a saboteur or eco-terrorist in a dream tonight.
I can't promise a wet one, but it's a juicy thought.
No. There is no fucking reason for stupid-ass weak-dumb-shit gardening tools to be that loud.
Or just use a fucking broom, you lazy fucking hippie-looking sons of bitches.
Or, hell,
never mind.
Random? Check.
Thoughts? Not so much.
Now I want to screw this bartender, whatever, just a nice lady.
And also this other "girl" at work.
Gawd. I think I've become a sex maniac.
I don't want any relationship with either — I don't know where they've been, or where they're going.
Heh.
Well, I was already younger once, and it's fun. But I just want more!
Here's a random thought:
it's not that ridiculous to use a wristwatch, because in combination with a map+compass, it just might save your life!
Yeah, think about that, computer people!
Because, you know, "dead reckoning" (navigational technique) and all that. Very handy. Also, you know, that old trick about finding north from the time.
In case the compass fails?
Well, the dead reckoning is still good.
I am tired of smelling weed burning everytime I turn around.
It's not an unpleasant odor, and usually it smells like good product.
However, I find it a nuisance.
It's like finding a teenager's sock crusted with jack-off, except up your nose.
At least tobacco is something adults use.
I was reading a thread on some other forum about how children (and perhaps adults), at least in the US, seem to have problems telling time with the traditional "clock face."
You know, with the big hand and the little hand and stuff.
It never occurred to me that my two older nephews might not have been savvy when on a car trip I invited them to use the stopwatch on my analog wristwatch.
Apparently they had no problems.
So, I'm very happy about that.
The circular slide rule on the bezel was a bit .... not that interesting to them, but I don't think that's so unusual. I do blame their genius-level engineer father, though, for not teaching them the curious properties of logarithms.
But, that's just what I would have done.
I'd guess basically zero people know how to use a slide rule, even just for multiplication and division, anymore, except super nerds, but I still think it's neat.
But, I'm still happy to report that the nephews seemed to figure out how to read the little tiny subdials for the stopwatch. I don't believe they were ever taught that, but they seemed to figure it out.
I was reading a thread on some other forum about how children (and perhaps adults), at least in the US, seem to have problems telling time with the traditional "clock face."
You know, with the big hand and the little hand and stuff.
It never occurred to me that my two older nephews might not have been savvy when on a car trip I invited them to use the stopwatch on my analog wristwatch.
Apparently they had no problems.
So, I'm very happy about that.
The circular slide rule on the bezel was a bit .... not that interesting to them, but I don't think that's so unusual. I do blame their genius-level engineer father, though, for not teaching them the curious properties of logarithms.
But, that's just what I would have done.
I'd guess basically zero people know how to use a slide rule, even just for multiplication and division, anymore, except super nerds, but I still think it's neat.
But, I'm still happy to report that the nephews seemed to figure out how to read the little tiny subdials for the stopwatch. I don't believe they were ever taught that, but they seemed to figure it out.
I don't think I've ever "spoken" as much Spanish as in the past few weeks.
No, I never studied it or even read in the language, but it's odd how many people I don't know at work come up and start speaking it.
Obviously, I know the basic conjugations and some words, and I know some pretty crude insults, just from observation. BUT, it seems that some broken Span-Italo-francese-Inglès seems to do the trick.
I want to say "Don't talk to me in Spanish, this is the French country of Canada before the English robbed it!"
However, I've been surprised on all encounters that it is the possible to have communicate in someway.
///////////
Ergh. I fucking am very pleased with myself at enlisting some aid in pushing a big-ass Chevy some-kind of SUV about 300m, then, after finding my battery-powered charger didn't work, finding some sucker with some cables to let me borrow.
NO, it was not my car that needed starting, it was some dumbass Amazon driver who let her battery run down.
And, yes, I'm pissed at myself that I didn't have cables in my trunk.
But, I was glad to have the lady's truck or whatever start off my battery.
What a ditz. I had to tell her how to put the truck/whatever into neutral so me and a few guys I grabbed could push the damned thing. And....never mind....use the steering wheel, lady, please, when appropriate.
I was even more glad that I had a new-ish battery in my car so I could restart several times.
Still, there is something nice about getting grease on the hands.
Still, I fucking hate driving. Cars? They're fine.
I just don't consider scraping my knuckles and finding contacts and worse something I like to do for fun. In this case, I was paid anyway, so, it doesn't matter.
And, no, I don't know why random people start speaking Spanish to me.
I'm not that short, nor that swarthy.
I don't know.
That's probably a "Questions you need answers to" question.
IF I had to guess, it's that the shape of my facial musculature suggests being used to speaking in languages which use tense vowels.
But I think it's probably just I try not to behave like a redneck, but also not like some fancy yankee northerner.
If you didn't know, the US state of Oregon has a long history of being a holding ground for deplorables of all kinds.
Oh, I think I figured it out — my self-contained charger was moderately-OK, but I made a mistake in instructing the lady in the car to turn on the ignition right away.
So, I should have let a small charge work off my charger, and waited a minute or so for her to turn it over. "It" being the combination of her alternator.
I also should have told her to turn off her A/C or whatever the hell else she had running at the time.
Fucking bitch probably took a bunch of cycles off my car battery.
Also, don't drive unless you have roadside company like AAA — it costs like basically nothing per year, and yet...
BUT, I'm still happy to learn more Spanish by ear. I'm still not sure why random people talk to me in Spanish, but I like it.
One of these days I'm going to read even the boring parts of Don Quixote.
I've known this for a while (as in, decades), but I never recognized my stupidity until just playing in my head the part of the last "bagatelle" of Beethoven's Op. 126 which involves the sixteenth-note triplets in the LH and one of the later themes in the RH.
Yeah.
So, it should be played as notated. (the thirds in the RH in duple against the quasi-tremolo in triple in the LH).
HOWEVER it really should be played as notated. So. Alfred Brendel wasn't just being a pedantic dick on record (and in the Wiener Urtext).
HOWEVER I still think the way I "cheated" at age twelve or so is not unreasonable, and that Brendel's pedanticism is probably contrary to the effect achievable by the fortepiano expected by Beethoven.
IOW, more important is a measured tremolo in LH and an even, legato series of scalar passages in thirds in the RH.
I CONCLUDE .... I can't think up a nice Latin phrase .... do it so it sounds good.
But, N.B., I'd hate to conduct this piece.
Also, I don't know why I was thinking of this piece — there's some good graduate student theses and dissertations on this remarkable set, but I still can't remember the whole series without the music (which, incidentally [that's a joke], can fit on two pages of paper so as to fit in a shirt-pocket).
EEETA
I changed my mind. Stop being such a lazy git and just play it as notated.
So, I was a bastard for not doing it the way my teacher insisted. I did the rest of it good, though. What do you want, a medal?
It's not fucking computer science.
Well, here's pretty random.
I've really just lost patience with people whose eyes are bigger than their heads.
And vice versa.
I'm talking about philosophy -- as I know it, and as every serious non-techno-fetishist nerd knows it, this is the field where we work on logic, proof theory, forming descriptive, firm, relationships between concepts and objects.
And, yes, there's stuff about ethics.
And, epistemology, well, yes, we need that in order to have certain ideas confirmed ... well ... no, not really. Direct realism...never mind.
So, we don't care about all that, but we're glad to have all that.
I am mightily troubled by the mere appearance of interdisciplinary strife among cognitive scientists (very broad term, but it will do) and engineers.
There is, one has probably noticed, this thing called mass medium, and probably a few of them.
Meh. It will not do to have internal strife among hard-nosed realists among mathematicians, linguists, logicians, economists (i.e., the "liberal arts" people) and the engineers or other technicians.
Tut. Tut.
It will not do.
Oh yeah, and I was mildly perturbed to read in the past week some opinions about David Lynch's corpus.
There's no fucking plot.
Get over it.
Yeah, so Mulholland Dr is a real place. The movie is not.
Either you can see late Monet's water lilies or you don't. The lady is sawed in two by the magician. It just doesn't matter. Whatisface Tesla was a crank or a visionary.
Lady or the tiger.
It just is something to observe.
Ozymandias.
Gawd, people depress me.
No, it's not people who depress me.
It's rather that the divide between technicians and logicians has become too great.
I don't expect that thought to be understood, but if it helps to put it into a much larger scale, we have...
Oh, fuck it. A bigger boat. No, we're not smashing the radio and we're not bullying Dick Dreyfus.
My heart sinks a little bit to type this, but I agree with the notion that there are better ways to draw disciplinary lines in academe.
After all, from what I see, and what I've seen, interdisciplinary research is the only possible future and is the already-past of research in manifold areas of research. For example, probably some of you have read all of Steven Pinker's books.
Right?
He's, of course, wrong about his theory of mind (he holds an information-processing theory which is inadequate, although it is coherent and has some explanatory power).
How do I know it's wrong?
Well, to put a long story short, we're in the realm of theory now, and experiments are either impossible or unethical. So, we use deductive tools from formalized ontology. You just have to trust me — well, don't take my word for it. That's what the state-of-the-art in biomedical ontology and other subdomains of formal ontology suggests.
So, what we have here is, failure to communicate.
All of the tools, in nuce, are there and exposed to falsifiable claims, but we have significant problems in (i) cultural discrimination among disciplines in anthro-oriented social sciences (ii) lack of training in formal tools among ....
Oh, hell.
It's just a goddamned mess.
But the research is good.
Unfortunately it involves drawing some hard lines in the sand.
No, I'm not talking about gender theory or revisionist colonialist theory, but lines in methodology.
And, there's no problem with that, except that, as Amin Maalouf in his very concise book, people have some history of somehow not getting along.
Not all the time, anyway. There's a little Deadpool. A black sea.
Hmmm...I use prescription pseudoephedrine, or what used to be sold as the brand name "Sudafed" in the U.S. Multiple times daily: it's the only thing I've found that keeps my nasal passages clear, and it appears to be a safe medication, without rebound effects on discontinuation or the like. It's now pretty restricted in many if not most US states, because of its use as a precursor to building meth. Not for me, though: I have a good doctor, and a good pharmacy and I don't apparently seem like a tweaker.
Hmmm...I have no interest in meth, nor the people who use it. Cocaine? Sure, but that's, like marijuana, not something I'd just sit around by myself and do "for kicks."
I bet you I could make a pretty decent batch of meth, though: I was pretty good in college chemistry, and I'm a good cook, and tolerable winemaker (in theory)...maybe I should just do a batch for fun.
OTOH, what the hell would I do with it? I wouldn't be using it myself, unless I devised or copied a method for determining the success of the product.
No, that's not something I'll be doing, but it still seems somewhat like an amusing little hobby.
Actually, I might have, albeit a more difficult synthesis, if I understand correctly, an OK chance of making some LSD at home.
Nah. Sounds like a lot of work.
Well, it turns out those are two of the stupidest ideas I've ever come up with.
Manufacturing methamphetamine on a frolic of one's own is, AFAICT, ridiculously dangerous. Even if one takes a modicum of precautions, the chemical reactions are inherently explosive and require extraordinary care, safety measures, and some relatively sophisticated equipment to reduce risk of producing an oxygen-rich environment and thereby exacerbating the reactions.
Also, the chemicals used sound like nothing you'd want to be near, let alone ingest. Except for pseudoephedrine, which is a very good decongestant indeed.
Synthesizing LSD, it appears, is rather complicated indeed, and, while only a few exotic supplies are needed, it seems to be prohibitively difficult, especially when analyzing the resultant compound.
All right, so yesterday, no shit.
I heard the tune "Sussudio: or however it's called. I figured, whatever, some asshole played it on the box as a joke.
About three tunes later I realized it was on a Phil Collins hit parade.
I look to me left. Yeah, he's a heavy Dr. Lonnie fan, not him. Look to my right. Nah, They're just a bunch of Z-gen eating lunch.
Turn to the barkeep when she passes by and say, "what is this, the Phil Collins station?" She knows I don't care, but apparently that's just her phone's "playlist."
su-su-sudio! you are always on my mind!
Oh shit.
What's worse than one Collins tune? Fucking a million. That's what.
At least her playlist had some tunes with live drums with just regular fucking compression on it.
Oh shit.
I reallly shouldn't have burned my bridges about a year ago with yoga/fitness/dancer lady.
Shit.
That was really fucking dumb of me. Just now was massaging my left foot and was thinking, "Gee, this is kind of tiresome, a woman could do this!"
Fuck.
I'm officially an idiot.,
Shit.
Dammit.
And no, jackass, it's not like that. I'd lick the box. I'd do the feet. It's not like that. It's not as though I repel women: in fact, I do OK. Just, you know, the whole domestic thing didn't catch on.
But now I think it's great. I'll deal with her gross cottage-cheese thighs and still...well...I'll still go there.
I don't think I was wrong in the past, but well, it didn't occur to me to think of relationships as an oeconomic exchange.
Dammit. I was stupid about Na___ie, but whatever. Wouldn't have been good anyway: short-term only, pretty much,
Well, here's kind of funny. The erstwhile parochial vicar at the main cathedral in town, turns out is now the administrator at St. Pat's, which I just recently started going to, as just a convenient place to fall by. It's about a mile apart, a few blocks, you know, but more on the way to work and such.
I did not know that.
Fr. Tim actually we had some long discussions about how I can be a parishioner while not believing word one of it. And he had a few good homilies from when he was at St. Mary's. Nice guy.
I did not know he was at St. Pat's, although I think I recognized him at Ash Wednesday, my first time going to St. Patrick's. He had a funny thing after mass, "I'll be available for confession afterwards. I'll take off my vestments!" Eh, it was kind of funny, because mass and all the formal robes and shit.
And, no, mofo, that isn't some stupid joke about European Xianity: that's true, and it was funny, and a good light-hearted way to conclude Ash Wednesday's service.
I almost think I have to apologize for practicizing Catholicism in the Roman rite sometimes. No, there's no need for that. It's a small town and that's just how it is.
I did have a pretty good moment yesterday. As is my wont, I was just practicing a bit of pool. You know how I do: rack fourteen and let the head ball fly somewhere and try to pick out where I can get the most points. Straight pool, you know. Just keep on dissecting the table.
To an ordinary observer, I believe it must seem ridiculous: "Why does this man keep missing all those shots?"
No, motherfucker, I'm not trying to make just one shot and hit the little ball in the pocket.
Oh yeah, so some joker put on the Michael Jackson tune "Beat It!" on the box.
For some reason that really put a little spell on me, and, yeah, fucking A, just clear the table like a boss.
No. That's not why I practice the game, but it was good to remember to my own self that I can still pocket the balls when I want to.
I still dislike playing just eight ball, but sometimes it's good to just let it go and do all that stupid "short bank, four ball in the corner," and keep going on.
A rare moment of insight: I should probably never again make up words like "practicizing."
I guess, yeah it's true, I'm not so good with the spelling these days.
I mean, I try and such, but don't always do it right.
I will say I took the day off work and just now, speaking of getting back to basics, Aretha inspired me a bit vicariously to just fool around in the key of C. Dr. Feelgood, right? I don't usually play in that key, except when doing a tune most people do in it, but that was kind of a good thing.
You know, speaking of emotional maturity and such.
She's not really so much doing it for me....you know, she has a kid and all that....and physically, we're not maybe a good thing together, you know.
OTOH, who the hell else puts up with all of my bullshit.
And, I hope this doesn't intrude on any privacy, but I don't think so.
See, what I'm talking about is her just putting up with all my shit.
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M: I really screwed up my chances of happiness by tossing Natalie aside.
Yeah, we could have had a short time thing, a little bit, but other day I just realized I should have been a bit more forward thinking.
Who's going to massage my feet-dogs? And don't think I don't return the favors!
Yeah, just like "fuck!" getting old as a mofo woman.
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R: Lol, it's never to late!!!! Reach out to her!!!!! <grin> <grin> <grin> <grin> @ feet-dogs
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M: No, no. That bridge got burned.
Believe it or not, but if a woman says 'Nope!' that's it for me.
I mean, sure, a little friendly tussle, getting to know each other, but that's it after that.
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R: Oh, ok, I didn't know!!!! Well maybe she's in a different space no
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M: Oh. I see how that might sound. No. There was no having my way with her and nothing, just she's got her own thing doing and I'm not going to be part of it.
If you excuse my language a tiny bit, but she could have been a pretty good piece of ass!
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R: <grin> <grin> <grin> <grin> John, you're freaking hilarious
Yeah, I might be missing out on a good woman, let's me talk that way and suffers my nonsense like that.
ETA that's a pretty rare woman who suffers some wanna-be player talking about other woman and such, especially when we're all involved and know each other IRL. She knows damn well who I'm talking about, because she was right there with me.
Yeah.
I wouldn't much like it if some friend woman of mine started talking about dicks and getting fucked or whatever, but yet this girl puts up with all my noise. Incredible.
Yeah, I think she might be a good one. We're the same age, and, well, not much else.
But you can see why I like her a bit: who else is going to put up with my ridiculous bullshit?
Here's random thought.
Yeah, I spent about ten minutes just now thinking, yeah, how it'd go me and this girl.
Nah.
I mean, obviously, we see each other quite a lot and there's not much out of bounds.
Tomorrow, she wouldn't be so corny as to say, "How you doing, fella!" But, you know. "What's doing, sugar." "Not much." "You keeping on?" "Yeah, John, what you getting all country on me?" "Not much. Something's going on now."
And then, you know we just talk like regular, "What happened to whatsisface?" And, "Fuck, that about put the ruin on me yesterday, brutal."
And whatever. Just saying howdy and all that.
Shit.
I bet I can just get a little bit close and be almost like, "Hey, you and me. Feel like getting together a little bit tonight? A little bit. Drop on by, you got my number."
Yep.
I wouldn't say that where others could hear that, but, yes, that's pretty much my only rap, just mellow and nothing problems. And no kissing and shit, strictly professional. "Hey sugar, so, we're going to do something, right? Give me ten minutes get out to the car and we'll figure something out, but for tonight."
After that, then we get to doing a little business.
Before then, strictly professional.
I mean, no outright getting too close physically on the job. That's how I mean with "no kissing," just not that at work.
Yeah, we're kind of a close-knit team altogether, but that's just how my crew runs. A little fist bump, a little sometimes arm around each other, just friendly, all that.
But, yeah, I could make that happen. After hours you know.
I haven't seen Kayla in a dog's age, but she and me have a little bit vibe going on. But she's not part of my crew, so it would have to be a little more regular. Blonde hair, her, and she's a solid woman who knows how to do the job, and she digs me, at least on a personal, friendly level.
Mary, on the other hand, I think she was not too impressed with me on Sunday. I don't think she liked I had to ask her what her name was again, and she got a little sarcastic, "So, you're supposed to be the number one guy for staging, right?" Wasn't my best day, what with me limping around on my gimp leg, made a few mistakes. I mean, I fixed it, and all the other errors other people made, well ahead of schedule, in addition to setting some flex drivers right and getting them out the door.
Angie's being real friendly to me lately, trying to get me to come on do some extra time her shift, but we've always been friendly, and I know she's married (I don't think that happily, but I don't want to get involved in that). Just friends, I would say.
A different Mary, OTOH, she's like a "job coach," I think is the term, for a fellow with some intellectual disabilities, and I think she digs the way I try to look after this fellow a bit, and make sure to always answer any questions in a friendly way, without talking down at all. I don't see her that often, but she's been around more these days and always has a friendly greeting for me. Maybe not conventionally a knockout, physically, but I can deal with that. Personality counts for a lot, you know.
But, still, she's not really part of our crew at all, so, I can't really see a way to go from zero to hero with her immediately. I can chat her up a bit more, though, see what she's all about.
And deaf girl, she's still here. We have chances to communicate, although not in words, just eye contact and gestures. I know she's checking me out a bit, and I'm pretty sure she likes how I do.
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Well, I'm not ashamed just now asking out Rat____a via text.
I gave her a bit of an "out" sayin we should do a group hang after work.
But there was no doubt I wanted to, above all, be with her.
I know because i said so, and she's not stupid or autistic.
Meh, we'll see tomorrow at work.
There's a very good possibility she's not into me, which is fine with me. We'll still be friends at work, so, it's no big deal.
Holy cripes, I think I just made a bit of time with one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.
Yeah, I mean, not hot and heavy, anything, but definitely a lot of good touching.
Unfortunately, I think she was a gangsters' moll for a couple of Russian or Checnyan dudes. Meh, they didn't scare me, and they didn't seem to care which way the gall drifted.
I'd just as soon not get involved.
But she was, I promise you, one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen, let alone had my hands on her and vice versa. All very innocent, you know. "Oh, John, you're such a nice man"
I don't have to go on, I think you get the picture. And, no, she didn't pick my pockets: first motherfucking I check before hanging out with B-girls.
Also, I think I might be completely obsessed with women.
I don't mean pathological or fixated on one woman.
Just....I really can't live without them and I can overlook a whole ton of flaws. No mistake, all women have some flaws: they are people, after all.
That mob girl really put the hook in me, though.
Just one minute chilling out, shooting some four-handed pool among some new acquaintances, next thing, sitting in a booth at a bar and she's just cuddling up to me like I'm her best boy toy.
I do think it was a former Soviet thing, and I'd only do it again if I saw her again, which isn't likely.
But, man, she was a VERY pretty young woman, and she knew how to put it to me.
Honestly? I'm not sure I'd fuck her bareback, just because of her handlers.
But I tell you, she was a very pretty young woman, and it makes me wonder if she was there entirely of her own will.
Here's random.
I just learned today that Chuck Yeager's famous wife, "Glamorous Glennis"...her maiden name? Dickhouse. Glennis Dickhouse.
I don't about you all, and I like to think I'm above calling people out for things they can't control, but that's a really unfortunate name.
For a man or a woman. It's equal opportunity.
You know, Elmo as once "DOGE" toady....why hasn't he posted on X that "Hey, fuck that waste of money bullshit! I could buy that chickenshit criminal with change I found under my couch cushions and sell him to slavers in Arabia tomorrow, and I'll think about it."
Elmo doesn't get shit out his estranged "relationship" with that dude, so where's his outrage?
I suspect Elmo might be a pussy.
Hmmm....I wonder how long the list of influential writers of prose fiction is whose first/native language was not English.
Kerouac and Joseph Conrad are easy examples. Nabokov too.
Either I'm not thinking hard enough or I just cannot remember too many other names. Undoubtedly others from Canada, although unlike in the case of Kerouac, I'd think that the state mandates some kind of instruction in English from an early age. The Indian subcontinent, certainly. Uncountable authors aboriginal to various tribes far and wide, almost certainly (although perhaps the long-standing tradition of the extirpation of many native languages by authorities or by the exigencies of assimilation, this may not be as many as one would suppose).
Aside from Kerouac, I can't imagine any French author willingly writing in anything but French, except under duress....or in the case of certain former colonies, a preference for languages closer to the native tongue(s).
Not including writers who translate their own works....that's not uncommon, even or especially in diverse forms of writing.