But Even with Cruise Control You Still Have to Steer

The following is an e-mail I recently received.

subject: PERMIAS INDOMIE FUNDRAISING ON WEDNESDAY, WHAT????

INDOMIE INDOMIE INDOMIE INDOMIE INDOMIE


PERMIAS(Indonesian Student Organization) SELLING INDOMIE WITH EGGS AND MALING(Chinese Spam) AT DUDERSTADT CONNECTOR ON WEDNESDAY (Dec 7) AT 10AM TO 3PM.


WHAT? I SAID WE’RE SELLING INDOMIE.


WHAT? I SAID WE’RE DOING YOU A FAVOR.


WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? I SAID WE’RE CHAMPS!


I SAID WE’RE SELLING INDOMIE BECAUSE WE’RE CHAMPS. WE’RE CHAMPS AND WE’RE TO ALL ENGINEERING STUDENTS NEEDS, BETTER THAN EATING AT THAT CHINESE RESTAURANT OR AT SOME SANDWICH PLACE. WHAT? BECAUSE WE CAN.


WE’RE ALSO SELLING A SECRET BEVERAGE. WHAT? WHAT SECRET BEVERAGE? WHY DON’T YOU COME TO DUDERSTADT ON WEDNESDAY AND FIND OUT YOURSELF? WHAT? YOU NEED A HINT? IT’S GONNA BE RRRRRRRRRRRRIDICULOUSLY TASTY.


I MEAN IT’S SO TASTY IT’LL MAKE YOUR MOUTH WATER LIKE YOU JUST SAW ZARA GOODS ON A 60% SALE. WHAT? IT’S SO TASTY THAT IF YOU THINK IT’S NOT TASTY THEN YOU’RE CRRRRAZY. WHAT? IT’S SO TASTY THAT YOU’D RETHINK YOUR LIFE ON THURSDAY WHILE REGRETING NOT GETTING ANOTHER PORTION ON WEDNESDAY. WHAT? IT’S SO TASTY THAT YOU GO RUN AROUND YOUR CLASSES TELLING THAM THAT WE’RE CHAMPS. THE CHAMP IS BACK!


IF YOU SMELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL WHAT THE CHAMP IS COOKING


==========
Regards,
------------- (name omitted)
WHAT?


The preceding e-mail would be better suited for a social experiment on shock therapy and PTSD, but instead the sender decided to unleash it upon the hundreds, if not thousands of unwitting students. I can't fathom the irreversible amounts of damage done to the demographic.  It vaguely reminds me of a haiku I have recently read:

Car stops near bike lane

Cyclist entering raffle

Unwanted door prize

I think this is a perfect analogy for this situation. Think of the students as cyclists; and the car as an Audi A8 - the message. The Audi A8 is the nice picture of the food in the beginning; as the car is nearing the biker, he or she may think "Wow, that is a nice car. Perhaps someday when I win the lottery I will buy a car like that, or maybe invest in giraffes instead. But that is a nice car, indeed." And the car, the message, has two ways of reaching the biker:

1. The driver would stop, roll down his window, and gently introduce himself and his topic:
   "Hello, my name is (name omitted) and I would like to tell you that we are selling Indomie at the Duderstadt center this Wednesday. That's December 7th, if you've forgotten what a calendar looks like. You can come if you want, but if you don't, that's okay too. I mean, I don't really know you and I suppose it wouldn't make any difference if you hadn't come and I had told you, or if you hadn't come and I hadn't told you anyways. It's your choice in the end. Now I am going to go in this pet store and invest in giraffes."
2. INDOMIE INDOMIE INDOMIE INDOMIE INDOMIE

Either way, the student (biker) is probably skeptical about such an event. Especially when the message takes the second way. It's no fun dealing with a half-deaf e-mail. I can see the conversation already: 

"I MEAN IT’S SO TASTY IT’LL MAKE YOUR MOUTH WATER LIKE YOU JUST SAW ZARA GOODS ON A 60% SALE."

"Well, I think I...Wait, what's zara..."

"WHAT? IT’S SO TASTY THAT IF YOU THINK IT’S NOT TASTY THEN YOU’RE CRRRRAZY."

"I don't even know what Indomie..."

"WHAT? IT’S SO TASTY THAT YOU’D RETHINK YOUR LIFE ON THURSDAY WHILE REGRETING NOT GETTING ANOTHER PORTION ON WEDNESDAY."

"Actually I'm kind busy on..."

"WHAT? IT’S SO TASTY THAT YOU GO RUN AROUND YOUR CLASSES TELLING THAM THAT WE’RE CHAMPS. THE CHAMP IS BACK!"

"Well I...Wait.....tham?"

"IF YOU SMELLLLLLLLLLL"

Perhaps I'm taking this too far. But the shock value of this e-mail was too much to bear. Oh no, emoting to the nearest people around me was not enough. This was not your normal excitement. I mean....the champ is back.

Serious

... I call the arts “subjective truths” because, unlike math or chemistry, where there is only one solution, there are nearly infinite solutions to, say, a camera angle, colors to use, or an interpretation of a symphony. These solutions need not be right or wrong; they need only to be appealing. Something can be right and pleasing as much as it can also be wrong and pleasing. I immerse myself in these subjective truths.

I am an emotional person. I engross myself in what I play or what I write. I take the very extremes of emotion and empathy, and stretch them even further. My brother once said that it takes a sort of emotional genius to bridge the gap between the arts and beauty. In order to make true art, I must sacrifice part of myself to know what true beauty is. That’s how the deaf Beethoven wrote masterpieces; or, in a more modern setting, that’s how Nina Sayers from Black Swan was a showstopper. I want to think that I have not sacrificed something yet, so that when I finally do, I can finally be proud of my musical ability.

I am proud of the people who support me. It feels good to have people admiring and respecting what I do. From experience, standing alone onstage and acknowledging a thousand people—people I know, people I don’t know, people I may never know—is one of the best feelings in the world, because regardless of whether I know them or not, I will always have a lasting impression on them.

And as right as it was, or as wrong as it was, I will always be satisfied, because I know it pleased them.

Daylight Saving Time Was a Social Experiment

Daylight Saving was originally a social experiment created by professors to see if college students would be more productive if they had another hour to work.

It might be the most spectacular backfire in history; instead of seeing it as an academic advantage, students saw it as an opportunity to drink non-alcoholic beverages in excess, sleep, or watch funny cat videos on YouTube,

In the hopes that students would eventually catch on to their extra hour, they continued the experiment until an arbitrary date, in which they eventually gave up. To hide their shame, they gave Daylight Saving its name, made the arbitrary time official-sounding (2nd Sunday of March), reversed the start and end time, and then chastised students for not paying attention to trends in clock-changes.

How to never lose your cell phone again

I have always had a nasty habit of losing things. Cell phones, mp3 players, keys...If it has been in my possession for over two weeks, chances are that I have probably lost it. However, after re-watching an episode of Lost, in which <it's relevant but you wouldn't care anyways>, an idea struck me.

Most of my habitually-lost possessions are metal, correct? And metals are attracted to - besides where I am not - MAGNETS.

What if I build a giant huge kerfricking electromagnet, and any time something of mine gets lost, I'd switch it on? Okay, I'd probably have to warn the general public about this so something like this scene from Lost doesn't happen. Sure, I'd most likely have to sift through the vast amounts of scrap metal, ancient Native American treasures, and (probably) cars. But once I find it, it's mine again! Then I can switch the electromagnet off, and life would resume.

Disregard the irreversible damage that a magnet has on most electronic devices. It's not lost anymore, anyways.

oh, but it's Lost all right

Proper usage of "Myah"

The time was 3 pm.
Two figures emerged in the distance, atop a hill.
One, aloof, and the other, aloof.
College life at its finest.

Upon muttering "myah"  many times with my good friend Jessica (college life at its finest), we pondered the appropriate-ness of a audibly conspicuous "myah" syllable in public. A brainstorm ensued.

"Myah" can embody a myriad of emotions - you name the emotion, there is a fitting "myah" to accompany it. Here are some fine examples:

• Happiness
• A joyful "Myah." Instead of letting loose a high-pitched squeak in your efforts to conceal your joy, why not let it all out at once?  MYAH.
• Sadness
• "Mmm" can be a syllable of resignation, often muttered at a low pitch. Why not make it fancy and round it off with a lower-pitched "yah?"
• Anger
• Next time you've worked up a considerable temper, try venting in a stylish fashion. Flail the arms, and let out a vehement "Myah!" That'll teach them not to mess with you!
• Surprise 
• You know those times where you're so surprised you don't know what to say? Why not remember to say "myah" whenever you're surprised? Now you'll never just jump around in place awkwardly with your hands over your mouth (a common action I see in Deal or No Deal).
• Desolation
• Say, for example, you are waiting for a friend at a bus stop. What if he/she had never showed? What if he or she had stood you up and dashed your hopes of a romantic bus date, full of awkward odors and body contact and potholes? Hinging on Anger and Sadness, a paltry "Myah" will suffice, accompanied by sad body language. Keanu Reeves does it best.
• Frustation
• There are times when, no matter how hard you try, you cannot get something right. Be it a rubix cube, a lateral thinking puzzle ("shoutout to my roommate homie original gangsta phat vince thanx for da tip"), or the recollection of a J-Lo quote; sometimes it just isn't your day. Contorting your face and pounding the pavement makes you look only like a ninny. Why not show the world what self-control and discipline you have by looking stern and resolutely stating, "Myah?" This well-drawn fox (not of my creation) does it particularly well.
• Confusion
• Myah is now a question.
• Reflective
• "Myah"
• "Myah"
• Pensive



Sophisticated. Austere.

• Elation
• You won a million dollars on Deal or No Deal. Rather than being trite and jumping around in place awkwardly with your hands over your mouth, why not scream, at the top of your lungs, "Myah?" You're a millionaire now. You do what you want.

Very fine examples of proper "Myah." Very fine indeed. Now I'm going to bed, because I'm tired. Myah.

How to get pumped

Coming back from a mildly exciting football game (read: UNDERSTATEMENT), I was ready to kick a large cast iron statue down and squeeze cumquat juice in my right eye. Willingly. What galvanized my persona in such a mindset?

Getting pumped, of course.

This was not your normal pumped. When I get pumped, I normally jump around and act visibly excited. However, in this case, you could not only see my excitement, you could also smell and taste my excitement.

That's right, it was very well possible to put my excitement into your mouth and taste it.

So how does one reach such a level of pumped? It's no easy task. There are a few essential steps you must take:

• You must wear appropriate attire. If you are planning on being excited for a soccer game, it is probably best to not wear a Scottish Caber Toss shirt, regardless of your affection for said sport.
• The event for which you are excited for must be worth the excitement. Being excited for a Firebird Football game is understandable, whilst my excitement for a music camp's annual dance is not.
• Your excitement for the event must be genuine. It's the difference between:

 

~ AND BETWEEN ~

~ OR, BETTER YET... ~

• You must have an appropriate outlet to express your excitement. Stay with a group of friends, or relatives you can trust not to tell the rest of your extended family about your grandiose undulation! That way you can avoid emasculation whilst still looking like an imbecile.
• DO NOT CONTAIN IT. You will explode.
• Accessories are optional, but they can be double-edged swords. Cowbells and boomwhackers are very appropriate, but if you don't keep them under control, you may end up with a miffed crowd around you.

Six solid steps to see maximum excitement within yourself. Now go do something exciting, like listen to Dale Carnegie speak, or play hopscotch with bears, or adopt kittens.

Influence (and sh*t about which you probably don't care)

Drugs and music are related, huh?

George Harrison of The Beatles wrote the sitar-laden song Within You Without You while high. It's one of my favorite Beatles songs.

John Butler smokes pot (frequency unconfirmed on my side), but he's one of the best guitarists I've ever heard.

But they won't influence me in that way one bit. I'm clean, and I prefer it that way. Just because I listen to hippie music does not necessarily mean I will do drugs. Music influences me, but in a spiritual or emotional way more than a physical way.

Speaking loosely of influence, one of the things that greatly bothers me is the way that pop music samples or copies music. I've been a fan of Modest Mouse for around seven years now, and hearing Lupe Fiasco copy "Float On" greatly disturbed me and prompted me to punch a large birch tree down. Even more aggravating was an artist directly sampling Eurythmics' Sweet Dreams are Made of This. I heard the unforgettable synth intro and got excited for a heavy dose of Annie Lennox, then  SUDDENLY, RAP. I was disgusted and shocked into submission and spent the next two days unconscious. The doctors told me I was muttering the letter Y before I awakened. I declined psychological evaluation.

This makes me assume that the artists who directly sample other artists lack the talent to write their own music. Given, we're running out of original music that sounds good, but if Handel can write hundreds of original songs in the baroque period (roughly 17th-19th century), Aaron Copland can write original songs in the 20th century, and hundreds upon hundreds of composers between the baroque-20th century period can also be original, the 21st century is becoming trite.

[fair warning; it gets technical from here]

I say trite, because I've noticed a large shift in the pattern of pop lately. In a workplace where the radio is constantly playing popular music, I've been noticing a shift from the VI - VII - i progression (e.g. Tik Tok) to the i - III - VI pattern (e.g. Yeah 3x), focusing not on minor lifts, but mediants ( III ) and submediants ( VI ). The minor tonic ( i ) has been staying; I can only speculate that it gives the song a dark and dirty edge to it, and minor keys are suitable for dubstep breakdowns or breaks (dubstep; another rising trend I see).

Artists have also been raping syncopated rhythms. Most of the songs I hear today are prime examples; Britney's Till the World Ends, the backing of Ke$ha's We R Who We R, and Chris Brown's Yeah 3x. It's something that is easier sung, not read. I can only imagine thousands of people at a Britney sing-along receiving a songbook and seeing:

All this being said, I'm not going to listen to this stuff as a hobby. Don't get me wrong, I'm interested in pop music, but mostly for the direction. Where's it going? Only time can tell.

Or Katy Perry will tell.

[Appendix on pop music; opinion]

Smells

I hope it is completely normal that I associate certain smells with certain events of my life and video games. I don’t know the exact nature of the association, but for me, each smell is connected to some sort of illness.

For example, I associate the smell of spaghetti with Tony Hawk’s Downhill Jam. The story behind this is that I was struck with a bad case of the flu some years back. My only option (besides rain-dancing with bears [school, whatever]) was to stay at home and play video games. It just so happened that I had rented Tony Hawk’s Downhill Jam, and I proceeded to play it. For dinner that night I had spaghetti warmed up from a small container, and it was sitting right next to me as I vicariously jammed downhill. The smell must have been completely trapped in my sinuses, as the smell of spaghetti lingered for days and days before my flu subsided. From that point forward, whenever I eat spaghetti, I think of said game, and whenever I play said game, I smell spaghetti.

Another fine example is Animal Crossing with fruity cough drops. While this may be a bizarre connection, I rationalize that the things we most remember are the traumatic things that have happened to us. I mean, wouldn’t you remember if you were mauled by a bear at five years old? Either that, or you would totally repress it, but odds are you’d be scarred in some sort of way that you’d remember it. Um…..

Anyways, Animal Crossing.

In the Christmas in which I recieved Animal Crossing (2005, I do believe), I had a terrible cold. I mean terrible in something like sealing my nose shut with rubber cement, walking around with onions glued to my cheeks, and being drugged with a quarter of a dosage of anesthesia for a healthy human male. After receiving the game, I promptly stuck the disc in the Gamecube, and started incessantly playing. My mother, being the loving mother she is, recommended cough drops to me, and I, in a sinus-driven daze, took them. Again, my sinuses trapped them, endlessly assaulting my olfactory sense. Think of it as a small puppy that follows you along your merry way down the road. It’s cute and adorable for a while, but after said while, you’d start to get annoyed, and after a long while, there would be nothing you would love to do more than to drop-kick it to The Land of Oz. The same principle applies to fruity cough drops and sinuses: The fruity smell is nice and all, but after a while it’s all you smell, and you go crazy. After my cold cleared up, I now associate that game with the smell of fruity cough drops.

What makes smell connected to memories? Why is it only sicknesses? Maybe I can make my own associations. The next time I get the flu or some other sinus-clogging ailment, I’ll fill the room with Vanilla Tropic air fresheners, and play Rock Band nonstop. I’ll see if I can’t make my own.

Why I Will Never Watch Daytime Television

The first thing I heard when I walked into the room was the television. "Would you rather give up showers..........or sex?"

Turns out it was a daytime show. The View? No. The Rosie O'Donnell Show? No. As the World Turns? No. Ellen? No. Rachael Ray Show? No. All my Children? No.

Oh no, turns out it was the talk show, "The Talk."

Very original, CBS.

My brother was watching Daytime television shows when he left for a friend's house, and he ever-so-graciously left the TV on for my viewing pleasure. However, the only show I would ever watch is Lost, so when Lost ended, so did my reason to watch television. However, today I was feeling a little curious, so I ventured into the room, holding a pillow--obviously a shield against any impending stupidity that emerges from the boob tube.

The pillow and I were immediately floored by said question at the beginning. Pillow, don't worry. I understand you couldn't protect me.

Why six pseudo-famous women would want to talk about pointless and/or controversial subjects (there is often a thin line between the two) while 4.2 million viewers watch (source, Feb 11 '11) is beyond me. Oftentimes the ladies start squabbling, and what I hear thereafter very closely resembles a crowded cave of bats.

Not to mention the controversy:

holy buckets of bats

I think I will stick with The Price is Right, even if we will never ever have another Bob Barker.

You know, perhaps I should rename my blog to "The Blog," and someday it will become as popular as "The Talk." ...Of course, disregarding the demographic (middle-aged women and my brother).

Title

What should go in a title? As my close friend who may or may not be my brother deliberates on a title for his blog, I try to give him advice:

• Do not use the word "zsderw." It is off-setting and irrelevant to anything you may ever write about.
• Puns are okay. As long as the pun does not leave the reader with his forehead ingrained in the keyboard, it is fair game.
• If it is excessively long, it will be hard to remember; if it is excessively short, it will also be hard to remember. "myblogonwhichihavespentmanyworkinghoursandalsotunaiamveryfunnyhahalol.blog.com" or "qgk.blog.com" will not ring very many bells with your readers.
• You must be very careful using your name in a blog, especially if it entails a pun. "Nick Knacks" or "Nick of Time" will most likely induce rapid bowel movements, and in some rare cases, a state of catatonic shock.
• Medical emergencies aside, your name in a title will insinuate personal connections with the blog. Unless you're ready to undertake a personal connection with a server, or your blog will send a personal message to the readers, a name is no-go.
• Your blog title must be relevant to your interests. For instance, "Bears 101" should not be a blog about Nancy Pelosi.
• Internet references are okay, but for the love of god, no smileys, and no bastardized memes (e.g. lolz)
• Punctuation should be kept to a minimum, if any. Unless the phrasing requires it, commas and exclamation marks and question marks and full stops should be omitted. Please do not split hairs and ask about obscure punctuation marks, such as the Index.

As a side note, my brother is discovered to breathe louder than most dogs on Mardi Gras.

Let's Stereotype Some More: How to Look like a Bro

Whoa, you're buff. Like, really buff. We're talking abs harder than your pe...lvis.

You also have amazingly high amounts of testosterone.

You've got spiked hair.

To top it all off, you also have a girlfriend!

Four of them!

And by "girlfriend," I mean "girls you like and hang out with and enjoy their company while, unbeknownst to you, they hate you with every fiber of their being and would like nothing more than to club you with a bloodbat!"

Wow!

It sounds like you have it pretty good there. Why not showcase your personal success to the world?

LET'S DO THIS.

What you will need

• A camera (the higher the quality, the better the world can see your beautiful face)
• A medium-large sized mirror
• A slightly messy room
• Your sweet self

Looks like we're set here.

What you will need to do
If you don't do all this right, you will suffer uncanny amounts of emasculation. More than usual, anyways

1. Work out a little bit before you take the picture. Make those muscles show. Grrrrrr.
2. Apply gratuitous amounts of hair gel. If it leaks down onto your face, DO NOT wipe it off. You must say it is sweat. Manly sweat.
3. DO NOT WEAR A SHIRT. I don't care if it's as tight as Tetris, don't wear a shirt. People just love staring at your bellybutton. I suppose...an open shirt is alright, but it must be plaid.
4. Make sure the camera is in the picture. That's what the mirror is for. This means you must be holding the camera. What, you think you're gonna set it on a flat surface, set the self-timer for ten seconds, and use both your hands for a gang sign? No no no, you're way too cool for that much work. Besides, too much work will spread your manly sweat around, and you'll look like a tryhard. You don't want to look like a tryhard.
5. Your body pose should be something between a.) the ending pose of the dancers in the So You Think You Can Dance opening, and b.) Jabba the Hutt's dead body. This means you have a lot of territory you can cover. Use your imagination! That's how Shigeru Miyamoto became so popular. You can be no different!
6. What about your hand? What should it be doing? Something cool. I'll leave that up to you.
7. Sunglasses are optional, but they MUST cover over 35% of your face.
8. For the love of Cthulhu, do not smile. Cthulhu will not love you if you smile.
9. Take the picture already. Your biceps aren't getting any stronger holding that camera.

So now you're done! Post that to Twitter or Facebook or Photobucket or eHarmony, and watch as the world calls you a bro. brotastrophe

Wasn't that easy? Now you can go back to pumping iron and hanging with your girlfriends. Watch out for bats though, bro. It's a harsh world out there.

Pops(es s?)

While eating some delicious Pops cereal, I accidentally spilled one of the morsels of the cereal on the floor. I said,

"Oh, I dropped a Pop."

But that isn't right, is it? The cereal name is Pops. So if I dropped one, would I be dropping a Pop or a Pops? Say I dropped two. Would it be Pops or Popses or Popes? Maybe it would be better to say,

"I dropped a Pop. es sssssessss."

Word of the Year: How to Sound like a Prick

I lied. It's two words.

Two words I dislike: "Obviously" and "Actually." If you ever want to sound like a pretentious, sophis-to-tated upperclassman (read: asshole), these words are you best bets. However, there are a few stipulations if you want to reach "P, S U (r: A)" status:

• You must put heavy emphasis on the first syllable of the words, i.e. "Obviously" and "Actually"
• You must use the word when you are proving someone wrong. "Actually, you are wrong" is a good start, but
• you must also prove that you are also superior to the person being proved wrong. "You Obviously grip the banana in your left hand when peeling it. Trust me, I work with these things every day."
• You must, if you wish to be mocked (assuming you are not being mocked already), stumble on your words when proving yourself: "Actually, the banana goes in your right hand. Trust me, I, uh, work with these things more often than you do."
• Awkward.
• You must have an over-scholarly look on your face. As in, your head tilted upward, your chin sticking slightly out, your eyebrows arched, and your eyes a smug squint, as shown:

Note the raised chin and pretentious sneer.

• You must also make it look like you are not exactly trying to impress your peers, but actually, you are. I mean, uh, you're trying to be a prick, aren't you?
• A frock coat/smoking jacket, and a pipe is optional.

So what is exactly meant when you use the two words?

When you say "obviously," you are pointing out something that should be obvious. However, is it truly obvious when the person being corrected did not notice it? Obviously not. It's much better to simply state what's wrong, and that is that, rather than earning verbal detritus from your use of the A-word or the O-word.

Secondly, the use of "actually," in my book, implies that the ideas presented are completely fictitious.

Actually. Actual. Real.

You are proving someone wrong, and you are using the word "real" to defend your argument. OF COURSE YOUR POINT IS REAL.

Otherwise you wouldn't be arguing in the first place.

Obviously.

Heartbeat

Have you ever tried to see your heartbeat? Yes, it's possible. All you need is a tiny tiny bit of patience and a few moments in the morning.

What You Do

• Wake up in the morning.
• As soon as you wake up, don't move.
• Focus your eyes on something unimportant in the distance, like the corner of the room, but don't strain your eyes trying to move them. If you have to, shift your head a bit.
• Make sure your room is fairly lit.
• As you focus on your object (whatever it is), don't blink. That's the most important part. You can blink a few times to prepare yourself. If you have to blink while staring, do it. It's not that big of deal to start over.
• As your eyes get used to not blinking, you should slowly start to notice your pupils dilating to your heartbeat. That is, things will pulse brighter to your heartbeat. That's how you see your heartbeat.
• Keep this up for however long you like. Don't kill your eyes.

This is what I discover in the morning. I am not an eye masochist.

Oaknoll

While driving from school one day, I passed a street called "Oaknoll." Ignore the fact that in the thirteen years of passing this street, I have never noticed it before. After reading it, I re-read it again.

How would you exactly pronounce that? "Oak Knoll?" "Oh Noll?" The "kn" consonant cluster mashed together between "Oa" and "Noll" creates an ambiguous pronunciation. Maybe they should've named it "Sixth street" instead.

Warm Fuzzies (short story)

"You're an idiot."
"No, I'm not."
My brother and I were discussing my participation in No-Shave November.
"Well, you'll look like one in a month," he snapped.
"But I'm not an idiot. I can name the first seven digits of pi."
"You don't even know when the Declaration of Independence was signed."
A beat.
"That's irrelevant. My thirty-day shadow will be beautiful." I stroked my eight-hour shadow.
"Mom will never let you do this. You've got performances this month, you know."
 "I'll figure out a way. Imagine that, Asian Grizzly Adams playing violin onstage."
"Asian Grizzly Adams?"
"Grizzry Adams."
We both laughed.
A beat.
"Shave it!"
"No!"

Sliding

I wonder why people fall down on ice so much.

Then again, I wonder why I always skate it when I'm on ice. Pretend to speed skate. You know.

I connected these two the other day. People fall down on ice because they are essentially unwillingly skating without control. They can't regain their balance, and soon you see an arm fly up, a surprised whoop (most of the time), and the next thing they know they need to replace their hip. Why bother with all this emotional and financial struggle?

I say whenever you hit a patch of ice, skate it! That way, you are already sliding, but at least you are in control of your slide. A fun, controlled slide is much more appealing than a sudden, rambunctious pain not only in your butt, but also in your health insurance.

The same applies to slippery corners when driving. Instead of taking a turn and being surprised by the ditch or a stop sign, drift the corner instead. As long as you know how to regain stability when done drifting, you can be in control of your slide instead of suddenly sliding out of control.

Toilet

Do I have your attention yet?

One of the weirder things I've noticed is the water level of toilets in different households and in different countries. This might be me completely off my rocker, but I think it's interesting while visiting somebody's house, and, only when appropriate and convenient, look at the level of water in the toilet.

There may be something seriously wrong with me.

In a lot of domestic toilets (that's right--domesticated toilets), I've noticed an oval-shaped knob on a pipe leading to the toilet. Such a knob varies the level of water within the toilet--clockwise for less water, counter-clockwise for more. I thought this was interesting in comparison to France.

At the time, I thought it was just an extremely janky coincidence that all the houses I've been to in France have their toilet water level very low. I mean very low in the sense that if you were...well, let me draw it for you:

I say "Michigan" because there may or may not be toilet water level laws in states other than Michigan.

But don't you think that's interesting? The toilet water levels? Are you with me?

Chirp chirp chirp.

Rant

Today, I was nonsensically ranting about various things because it seemed appropriate at the time (alone; driving car; 12:30 am), and I suddenly came across a point-of-view loophole. I said:

"...But you can't blame him such a hell of a lot, can you?...Wait, but who is you? To whom am I taking? I'm talking to my audience. Which is I. So I being you, you am I, and when I say 'you' I am actually talking to I. 'You am crazy.' This makes sense in regard to myself, you being I. So I suppose, for example, saying 'I love you' would be narcissistic, and 'I hate you' would be a warning sign of depression/suicide. 'I killed you' would be purely sucidal. I guess the demographic means a lot to the rhetorical aspect of words. What do you think? Well, you just said what I thought. And vice versa. So there would be no further reason to discuss this with my audience."

And then I pulled into my driveway, went into my bedroom, and rolled to sleep.

Sketch

Doodling on a notebook during class while the teacher was handing back tests, I decided to test my routine-task tenacity. I proceeded to draw a swirly pattern in the same spot until I had nearly worn a hole through the paper. I observed my handiwork afterward:

 Click for full size

I had also decided to draw a proportionally incorrect Treyarch symbol in the opposite corner. For focus' sake, focus on the top-left.

Upon observing the swirly pattern, and looking past the nonchalant integration expression that looks like I had written "Slex" to the unknowing eye (most likely where my initial scribbles derive from. HA!), the figure-eight pattern I had scrawled deeply into my paper could have taken a variety of roles.

One such role is just that, an artsy "Figure-8" pattern over Slex:

The next of which could be an artistic eulogy to the complexity of infinity,

with three inverse log graph sketches in the bottom-left corner and a

sled in the top-right:

Or, it could simply be a crude interpretation of Batman.

"Holy shift, Batman, look at that asymptote on that mother function."

Rhy

Rhythm and Rhyme have the same beginnings.

Maths

Write the indefinite integral of e^x in symbolic notation, as an expression.

What does it look like?

Balm

While examining the contents of a Burt's Bees Beeswax Lip Balm container, A part of the back text caught my eye, exactly as shown:

Not Tested on Animals.

Wait, what? What animal has lips that need lip balm? Unless ducks have dry beaks, but it would be extremely impractical to apply lip balm to ducks. Perhaps cats or dogs need it? Where? What part of their bodies can be dry and crusty? Their booties? Imagine that, dry booties.

In general, what could be a practical use of Burt's Bees Beeswax Lip Balm on an animal?

Cat

If you look past their self-confident composure, cats are really very awkward.

Last year, my friend told me about a quirk one of his cats had: If you stare at the cat, he will start to meow and panic. Upon staring and laughing at his reaction (mmmmmmmmmmmmmrrowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww and a nervous stare), I dismissed this as merely a quirk of one of his cats.

Today, however, I decided to test this reaction for my cat. After catching her attention with a bird-like pose coupled with a large squawking noise, I held the position and looked deeply into her oddly-colored eyes. Sitting down, she stared for a few seconds, but then twitched her head slowly to the right and twisted her ears back, staring wide-eyed into the distance, her tail whipping back and forth. Even a serial killer could tell she was seriously distressed. I held my position.

After a few seconds more, she meowed. It wasn't a "meow" sort of meow, however. It was more of a "mmmmmmm," like an "excuse me, but what the hell are you doing?" type of meow. Eyes still wide, head still turned to the side. More seconds.

Then she popped up, walked away, and licked herself.

Caught her yawning.

Songs

Recently I heard the famous phrase coined by the French philosopher Voltaire,
"Anything too stupid to be said is to be sung."

 

This immediately reminded me of an adage I heard a few years back:
"He who sings prays twice."

Hmm.

Tongue

Put a dry pill on your tongue.

Stick your tongue out. Look into a mirror.

Here's the kicker: Try to make the pill stop moving. I bet you my bear-flavored Pringles that you can't make it stand completely still. I don't know what the deal is with your tongue. It may as well have chronic Restless Leg Syndrome.

Horrible personification and subliminal pill-popping advocating aside, I decided to test my own challenge. I grabbed a <Insert Medication Brand Plug Here> and stuck it on my tongue in the hopes of making it come to rest. After twenty minutes of teary-eyed concentration and inward criticism of my complexion and gabbled comments on my eyelash length and my newfound discovery of the porcelain cow in the open cabinet above the toilet (I'm serious), I gave up--I couldn't do it. I failed.
Why not you? Try it out, see if you can do it. I know of at least one person who can. His name is....Michael Jackson.

Breaths

If you've ever heard an overenthusiastic salesperson speak on a commercial or on the phone, the first thing you should do is acknowledge that they are talking about things you don't want to hear about. The second thing you should do is listen not to their words, but to the spaces between them. This may come from my musical background (I can vividly hear one of my teachers saying "Listen to the space between the music!!"), but when you listen to the spaces, the time it takes for them to take a breath becomes very distinct. Not only that, but you can also hear the breaths they take very well.

Listen to a speech, for example, and hear the breaths the speakers take. Soon, it'll be the only thing you can hear. And if you listen to it enough, it might start to bug you a bit...

Mirrors

While driving one day, I glanced in my rear-view mirror to watch for incoming bears (it is said that Michigan Bears run in an excess of 45 mph--nobody has ever lived to tell the tale), and realized that the road behind me looks entirely different in a rear-view mirror. Flipped, everything seems oddly different. Imagine driving down your mirrored world. I at least would be completely disoriented. Imagine seeing a sign:

Curious. How does one pots?

Not to mention your traffic laws. You would be driving as if you were in Hong Kong, or Australia, or Sri Lanka or whatever. Left turns are now right; my neighbors are now on the south side of the street.

However!I f the whole world was flipped to your mirror, it would be constantly changing.

Flipping a world to your mirror makes only west, east, and vice versa; or north, south, and vice versa. Notice the conjunction: "or." This depends on the direction your mirror is facing. Driving south, it would only make east, west. Driving east, it would flip north to south. If I were driving south, my neighbors would still be on the north side of the street. Driving west, however, they would be flipped. Imagine driving south-south-east.

I suppose it's all relative.

Card

I recently saw an advertisement for a $5000 gift card to a supermarket. $5000 on a single card? I would be suspicious if a man bought a television or something extravagantly expensive and paid with a....gift card. I think it would be incredibly awkward.

Drummer

While in Carlsbad, California during my vacation, I stopped at a local café. After perusing the menu for a short while (I settled for a medium-rare bear meat sandwich), I noticed one of the employees looked strikingly like the drummer from Local Natives, Matt Frazier. There was only one problem, though.

She was a girl.

I was pretty sure the waiter(ess) was a woman, but her face very closely resembled that of Matt's. Replace her curled hair with a medium-length sweeped cut and you'll have not only a slightly repulsive girl, but a girl that looks like Matt Frazier.

Since I didn't have a cell phone or a camera handy, I never had the chance to take a picture of her. Besides, that would also be exceedingly creepy and unethical. However, I can give you a picture of Frazier for a frame of reference:

 

I have also massively failed to mention that she has neither facial hair nor large biceps.

After debating the gender of the waitress even more, I elected that I was simply off my rocker. I devoured my delectable bear meat, spent a little time calculating the tip, and splashed around in the ocean for the remainder of the day. Life went on.

Conveyors (AKA finally, some fresh content)

Returning from my trip to California for the New Year (where I've been away for a week, explaining my hiatus), I disembarked from the plane and moseyed down to the baggage claim. Being 2 in the morning, my mind wasn't that sharp, but I did manage to make out a sign on the baggage conveyor:

DANGER

DO NOT

WALK ON CONVEYOR

WILL RESULT IN BODILY INJURY

What bothered me the most were the last few words: "WILL RESULT IN BODILY INJURY." Is this to say that walking on the conveyor guarantees an injury? After being confused about the direction modern ergonomics is going, I then remembered that it is two o'clock in the morning, and I should be tired. With this in mind, I stumbled into the car going home and slept peacefully.

Meatloaf

Two posts about food in a row is entirely coincidental.

Meatloaf would have to be my favorite food in the world (in coincidentally stark contrast to Lasagna), next to cantaloupe. The polygamous marriage of meat, bread, eggs, and onions—four of my favorite foods—pleases the mouth, the soul, and sometimes the moustache-line, if you ever get a little too hasty in your eatings…which I have on many an occasion. To indulge yourself in meatloaf is to indulge the mind. After the last few morsels have dropped into your stomach, your body and mind are at Nirvana. You are in a complacent trance, and there is nothing you can do about it.

As I write this, I am eating a very large amount of meatloaf, with a small potato on the side. The crunchiness of the onions! The smoothness of the bread infused with meat! The gratuitous amounts of ketchup splattered among the tiny meat-crevasses! The potato! How could one not be pleased with such a beautiful treat? Imagine the labor involved with making such a wondrous food item—it is paid double in the meat of your labor.

As I sing praises for meatloaf, however, many a child is resenting their parents’ efforts by refusing to eat meatloaf; opting for something else instead, such as lasagna; or (god forbid!) discretely wrapping meatloaf in a napkin and throwing it away. Their taste buds have yet to discover the true joy that is meatloaf. One day in their adolescence they will understand my plight.

Now, as my meatloaf is gone from plate to stomach, and I am gnawing away at a tepid potato, my body and mind….are in Nirvana. There is nothing that can stop me…except for a bear.

Noooooooo