|log (2003/04/04 to 2003/04/10)|
Thursday, April 10, 2003
A great sense of laziness, fatigue, happiness that the Winnebago seems to be crossing the ice successfully so far (knock wood), hope that we'll stay out of Syria, Iran, North Korea.
- 4 for "helen naked pictures"
It's "Tonya", folks: "Tonya".
I am dazed by a what? A billion inches of what? Of the dining and dancing pleasure of what? Of a few chapters of what? Of adult books.
I suggest "tiny blue froggie" instead. Googleads!
I invite my readers to try to find even one more stage of the treasure hunt that that refers to. I've failed so far myself (but see note above on laziness).
War - what *is* it good for?
Self-defense. And fiction, I suppose; but I'd gladly sacrifice that subset of fiction for the sake of fewer wars.
Obsessive consumption dot com: watch as this odd person records (and often photographs) every bl--ding thing e purchases. Mostly it's coffee.
I think this is a very funny picture. The little daughter did too. M just sort of rolled her eyes at me.
Recent developments in cosmology indicate that every history having a nonzero probability is realized in infinitely many distinct regions of spacetime. Thus, it appears that the universe contains infinitely many civilizations exactly like our own, as well as infinitely many civilizations that differ from our own in any way permitted by physical laws.
I'll have to find the time and energy to actually read this. Can any of my hordes (I wrote "horsed" the first time, which wouldn't really make much sense) of readers with PhDs in Physics tell me if the physics in it (if any) is actually sensible, and if they really say anything like this?
Sleep soon. Sleep is good.
So I spent most of the discretionary time today that I would normally have spent writing log entries and stuff instead writing to a friend (who is a pretty nice person despite being infected with a couple of rather nasty meme-complexes) about why I think "anti-war" and "support our troops" aren't opposite concepts.
What a thing to have to explain.
I'd heard that the good old RIAA was suing some college students for copyright violation or something, but I hadn't noticed until today that they're suing them for tens of billions of dollars, and that the Bad Thing that the students actually did was host search engines that looked out across the campus network for files available on open shares.
The RIAA have apparently gone completely insane.
But I guess we knew that.
And to close, here's some memorable reader input:
The women of Canarsie must be friends.
A couple of links from Daze Reader: one points to "Creating Adult Content Outside of California" (why you're on safer legal ground paying people to appear in porn movies in California than you are anywhere else; I would normally point you to People v. Freeman on FindLaw, but it looks like FindLaw has gone "registration required" lately, which is sort of sad; everything that I want should always be utterly free); and the other to a memorable Jane Austen / Terminator crossover story (which despite being blogged on Daze Reader contains no sex, to make up for which I will also point you to the ancient but perhaps also memorable Darcy and Elizabeth which does, but only in a mostly respectable and Austenly way).
(I will note for the Nth time how funny expressions like "Adult Content" are, and how odd it is that if you take away both the "children's books" and the "adult books" you're still left with lots of books; who are they intended for? Teenagers, I guess.)
So it did snow some here yesterday, although the snow was probably never howling around the rooftop in the strict technical sense. Despite the dire "four to a billion inches" predictions in the media there was never more than two or three inches on the ground, and by now it's mostly all squished down and melted. Which is okay; I'm about ready for Spring.
Following up on that Black Mask link, here's Classic Reader, which also has a few zillion texts that are past their copyright, for your dining and dancing pleasure (BookFilter, MetaFilter). Apparently you can also "annotate" the texts, and print them out with your annotations; wild.
So now I'm a few chapters into "Perdido Street Station", and it's kinda fun and kinda interesting tasting, but also kinda slow in a strange way. It's not like nothing's happened, or that there aren't still new and odd things cropping up every paragraph or three, but it somehow feels thick or dense or something; perhaps it's just that its ideal reader is someone who can sit and read it for hours at a time, and I haven't been doing that much. I had a similar feeling reading Wolfe's Book of the New Sun. It's not a bad thing; maybe it's even a good thing.
In fact maybe I'll lay the computer aside (there's an expression that would have rather freaked out someone a handful of decades ago; what similar things will people be saying forty years from now?) right about now, and go read it some more. Good idea!
From Boing Boing (and elsewhere), and along the same lines as my own war parable, a pointed vision. None of the analogies are perfect, but here we all are, hoping the dice come up sevens, and the ice will hold the Winnebago.
Are American elections fixed? (Very scary stuff there.)
So everyone's in bed but me, and I'm sitting here on a crumpled comforter on the bed in the spare room, doing the Weblog thing before turning in.
I keep leaving work in the evening with all sorts of noble intentions, involving getting some inventions written up, or some code straightened out, during the quiet time at home. The main work-related thing I seem to actually be able to do in the evenings, though, is sift through email. I've nearly polished off all the backed-up email in my inbox from the year 2002; huzzah! Then I can start in on 2001.
The other day we went to the mall to get something or other, and M and I both bought three books at the book store to add to the teetering piles of unread books we already have. This was very silly. In the last week I've spent considerably less time reading books than I have reading RSS feeds, or playing Wind Waker (just tonight I placed the three pearls in the hands of the statues, and caused the Tower of the Gods to rise from the sea; very cool).
Contemplating the mismatch between intent (useful work, deep reading) and behavior (sifting email, fighting monsters in the guise of a little boy in a green hat) gives me considerable amusement. Someday I will sit in my study (the one with the big window overlooking the meadow and the hills beyond) and write a monograph on the subject.
Antimatter Potato Nibbler, and you?
Until today, the single Google hit on "antimatter potato nibbler" (without the quotes) was this very interesting page.
Would that be John Paul Sarte?
OK, I gave up and read "Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom" last night. Took it to the 2am-6am chaperone shift for the robotics team at the 24-hour cancer walk, so I *couldn't* fall asleep. It was OK.
Yeah, it was. Short, too.
A reader appears to have been reading what? Reading Caterina:
"I am leaving three egg yolks by the side of a small country road so I can what? Create a machine of unknown purpose out of what? The eyelashes of virgin triplets." Now that's funny!
One Alix writes, kindly and prophetically:
Reading: Anything by Brian Stableford // Thank you for Iris // Thank you for You // And your interesting ideas // Chatbots will escape and rule the ether //
A reader wonders:
What /is/ a jellicle ? a frozen jelly ?
Good guess! Jellicle cats (slash fiction) are, it seems, of moderate size, but not (necessarily?) frozen. Or gellid.
A reader contributes this very nice link, to a Google search that turns up all sortsa nostalgic pictures (ah, two weeks ago Wednesday: them were the days).
Lesee, what else we got tucked under the hat-brim here? A collection of pictures of cities and stuff, a collection of texts (lots, of all kinds, including some good old pulpy fiction), and Starbucks Coca Cola Gap dot com (all of these latter, I think, from ancient issues of gorjuss again).
And that seems like a logical point in the narrative to break off and go to bed. Consider yourself offered a place by the fire to spread your bedroll and sleep, while the snow howls about the rooftop.