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ToSaS: TheTheoryOfSpeedAndSafety

Link of the day...
See Ya On Route 66

As I expected, it has finally happened. The SoFlo police state minions have taken notice of me and my Mini. ( How many times will I have to attend Stand-up Comedy Driving School during my short but eventful life? ) What I did not expect, however, was the embarrassing way in which it happened. I was doing my routine Plantation-to-Fort-Loud run, headed for Two Street Garage, and I innocently cruised past a certain place, when a police cruiser came after me. I’ve done this run a hundred times. I like its straight-but-littered-with-obstacles ( cars ) quality. But will you believe me I never noticed that, right before Avenue of the Arts, where I start getting ready for that final right-hand turn right before the railroad tracks, is the fucking Fort Lauderdale Police Headquarters? Well it is. As Officer Diaz generously pointed out for me the other day.

Officer Diaz: “Where are you going, sir?”
Héctor: “To the Two Street Garage on Moffat Avenue.”
Officer Diaz: “Are you in a hurry?”
Héctor: “Oh no, no...”
Officer Diaz: “These Minis are nice cars, ah?”
Héctor: “Oh yes, they’re great, but this is not an S, it’s just the plain vanilla Mini.” ( That was my pathetic attempt at inspiring pity. But no. Apparently, doing a mere 53mph over the 40mph speed limit in front of police headquarters, for some mysterious reason kept secret from us mere civilian citizens, disqualifies you from getting any pity points. It’s so unfair! )
Officer Diaz: “They go pretty fast, these Minis.”
Héctor: “Well...” ( How the fuck was I supposed to answer that? )
Officer Diaz: “I’ve never issued a citation in front of headquarters. You know you just passed police headquarters, huh?”
Héctor: “Yeah, I bet you haven’t...” ( Am I crazy, I should not have said that! ) “...no, I didn’t know officer...”
Officer Diaz: “You must have been going what, 80...?”
Héctor: “I’m not sure...” ( It was 93mph, actually. But, I swear, the road was wide open in front of me for a good 2 or 3 miles. )
Officer Diaz: “May-I-see-your-driver’s-license-and-car-registration-please?”

I am very lucky, really I am, because Officer Diaz had a sense of humor and was actually enjoying the comedic irony of the situation. He was smart enough to know nobody would be stupid enough to knowingly do such a thing. So I was not hauled to the slammer for sheer audacity. But humor and all, I now have my first SoFlo speeding ticket. And I am, once more, headed for Stand-up Comedy Driving School. This happened a couple of days ago. Coming back home that afternoon, I made a scientific experiment. I drove from Fort Loud to my place in Plantation at the speed limit: 45mph. And you know what? Not only was it a dark, mind-boggling and terrifying experience ( it felt like neither I nor anybody else were moving at all, as if we were all in permanent pavement limbo ) but I also nearly got involved in two ( yes, that’s right, 2 ) traffic accidents! Neither of which would have been my fault. So I am thus compelled to expound my Theory of Speed and Safety ( ToSaS ) for your edification and the benefit of mankind. I have revealed this theory to some of you before, but only informally, while chatting about this and that. This is the first time I put it down in writing. So bear with me and my so-so writing skills.

Three Myths About Speed and Safety
1. IT IS PEOPLE DRIVING TOO FAST WHO CAUSE ACCIDENTS. Not true. That is only a simplistic assessment of circumstances. Actually, it is people in a hurry or distracted who cause most accidents, especially the spectacular ones. Speed only increases the amount of energy the car in question possesses when it impacts something else, not the likelihood of impact. The confusion arises because people in a hurry or distracted are naturally prone to drive faster than is lawful, and are also prone to get involved in or cause accidents; observers identify speed as the cause of calamity only because speed is easier to spot than carelessness. There is no doubt about the fact that the person was going fast, but can one prove he or she were being careless, much less in a hurry? Not easily. So speed takes the blame.

2. SPEED KILLS. Not true. That is mere demagogy and rank sentimentalist propaganda. It’s a very good and effective slogan, but if we are going to be strict and scientific at all, it is actually metal, glass, plastic, trees and pavement that kill. ( Occasionally, human flesh other than yours may also kill you, especially bones. )

3. SPORTS CARS ARE DANGEROUS. Not true. ( Sort of. ) Again, this is a matter of superficially perceived circumstances and taxonomical recklessness. The bad reputation of performance cars comes from the fact that, like guns, sports cars are available to any moron who can pay the purchase price. The same driver’s license that empowers you to chug along in your Saturn absurdly also allows you to drive a 12-cylinder, 571 horsepower Lamborghini Murcielago capable of 205.1mph. Still: even after adjusting for vastly different numbers and the fragility of these cars, many more people die in or are killed by Honda Civics than by Ferraris et al. Do your own un-scientific poll: How many times during a normal driving day do you scream “Asshole!” at someone driving a sports car versus someone driving a minivan, SUV, econobox or jalopy? Be honest. Rarely. A sports car is no signifier of high speed or low intelligence. In fact, it is a common occurrence here in SoFlo to be trapped behind some imbecile creating a hazardous public nuisance by driving a brand-new Porsche Carrera at 25mph in a 45mph zone. And I am not talking about elderly drivers.

The Sociological Truth
I am not in a hurry. I do not care to get there, where-ever there is, any sooner. I do not race. I do not care if someone goes faster or gets ahead of me. If I pass an exit it is not irksome to continue and turn back at the next exit. I drive fast, when possible, because I enjoy: A. Driving, and, B. Driving at high speed.

However and unfortunately, most people who drive fast, drive too fast because: A. They are in a hurry for some reason, good or bad. B. They are impatient for no reason at all other than a clinically small attention-span and low self-esteem. C. They correlate speed with the size of their penis or the sensitivity of their clitoris, and cannot help but to announce it to the world with the sound of their engines and the screech of their tires. D. They wrongly believe themselves to be automobile enthusiasts* and, in addition to all the absurd additions they put on their often absurdly inadequate cars, they think it is sporting to go fast. ( Many, many, oh so many NASCAR fans are in this category, often in all four. ) I will henceforth refer to all these drivers as Dangerous Hot-Wheels Speeders ( DHWS ) or DHWSers.

( *True automobile enthusiasts would NEVER... [A] Stick supposedly “performance-enhancing” crap onto their cars, and especially so if they are ( may God help them find a better job soon ) driving Escorts, Civics, Hyundais and the like. ( It is like a skinny-scrawny guy wearing dude-leather. Hellooo-oo? It only underlines the econoboxiness of your car and your sub-normal intelligence. It is a neon sign that says: “Look everybody, looksee, I’m driving a piece-of-shit car but just spent two grand adding a completely non-functional, possibly detrimental-to-performance and certainly fuck-ugly wing onto its fuck-ugly trunk.” ) [B] Equate their speed with their sexual wherewithal ( which if you think about it, makes no sense at all! ) [C] Drive fast when they should not. [D] Let their emotions rule their driving. [E] Drink and drive. [F] Tailgate. [G] Fuck around with radios, CDs, cellphones, cameras, giant slushies, Big Macs, maps, directions, lipstick, girlfriends, blondes, girls, coffee mugs, cigarettes or anything else while driving fast. [H] Think about things other than the road, the car, the other cars, the area, the pedestrians and the unexpected while driving fast. [I] Trust other drivers to ever behave in a sane, logical, gentlemanly or predictable manner. [J] Drive fast in an unknown or unfamiliar area, unless it’s the middle of the open Wyoming prairie, and even then, with their hearts in their hand. [K] Blindly trust their knowledge of a particular area. [L] Go anywhere near the cruise control. [M] Ignore school zones or construction areas. [N] Get cocky about their own skills. [O] Get cocky about their car’s capabilities. [P] Play music louder or as loud as the road noise while driving fast. ( Better to play no music at all. ) [Q.] Wear headphones, especially noise-canceling headphones. [R] Play loose with the laws of physics. [S] Rely blindly on their knowledge of the laws of physics. [T] Depend on their car’s avowed weight-to-power ratio. [U] Yell, cut off or otherwise lose their patience with other drivers. [V] Test “to the edge” their car’s limitations unless in a closed circuit. [W] Treat rural areas as “duty-free zones.” [X] Ignore weather conditions. [Y] Behave unkindly to drivers, motorcyclists, animals, greenery or pedestrians. [Z] Fuck around with trucks and truckers. )

The disgusting practice of tailgating illustrates quite well of how little real consequence speed is to DHWSers. As any self-respecting lover of driving knows, being 6 inches away from the car in front of you does NOT increase your speed by a single mile-per-hour or decrease your time-of-arrival by a second. Still, you see DHWSers do this all the time. They not only believe they are going faster by tailgating but also that they are getting there sooner because they are a few car-lengths farther down the road. Obviously, these poor misguided people have had no contact with Einstein’s theories of relativity, or even simple Euclidean geometry. Tailgating is quite simply rude, unsportsmanlike, unelegant, reckless and immoral. You can only tailgate when you are driving in a racing circuit and even there quite strict written and unwritten rules of etiquette apply. Those who do otherwise are just saying to the world, and sadly, quite correctly: “I’m a bloody fucking dumbass.”

As for being distracted, again, this is a misinterpretation of the facts. Speed does not cause distraction. Quite the opposite. While it is true that the faster you go the less reaction time you have, those driving fast for the love of the art are rarely distracted, as we are kept very busy driving our car and driving for everyone else around us. To begin with, as everybody knows, to drive fast you need a car with a manual transmission. ( Otherwise you’ll feel like you are riding a dairy cow against Seabiscuit in the Preakness. ) Only a manual transmission allows you to increase and decrease your speed with the maximum of control ( and enjoyment ) possible. What I mean to say is that a manual transmission does not allow you to zone out. You simply can’t forget to shift gears. The car constantly reminds you. And speed injects wake-up adrenalin into your bloodstream, pushing you to whatever point of peak performance you possess. ( Of course, I am assuming —and hoping— that that point is adequate to the speed, car and place at, in which and where you are Going Very Fast. )

At this point you may be wondering why then was I so distracted those prior 99 times when I passed in front of Fort Lauderdale’s Police Headquarters that I failed to notice its being there. ( It is quite a large building and rather brightly colored, it’s parking lot dotted with, what else, police cruisers, though they do not really operate from there, as Officer Diaz explained. ) Well, all I can say is that I live here in stifling hot, humid, sprawly, dollar-store god-forsaken SoFlo, a mere 23 miles from the western vertex of the Bermuda Triangle at Odd Coconut Point in Miami Beach ( the other two being in Bermuda and San Juan, Puerto Rico ) and very strange things start happening to your brain if you stay here longer than 48 hours. I can assure you, though, that automotive speed played no part in that little drama of ignorance.

So, to put down my point, high speed is not the cause of DHWSers’ dangerousness. High speed is only a characteristic of their unsafe driving though, of course, an unwelcome and exacerbating one. If DHWSers drove slower, they would still cause or be involved in the same number of accidents, ( or more, as you will see later, ) only these would be less severe. And that, I can’t deny, would be better for everybody.

The Ontological Truth
Now lets turn to the philosophical nitty-gritty: to the somewhat hard to grasp but nevertheless true fact that driving fast is SAFER than not. Please answer these simple questions truthfully: A. “Where do ALL accidents in which you may be involved happen, without exception?” B. “If you are involved in an accident, who are you going to be involved in that accident with?” C. “What can you do about the previous two facts?” D. “How can you do that and still use an automobile for transportation?”

The simple answers are that...

A: All accidents in which you may be involved happen, without the least exception, where-you-are-now.

B: You will be involved in an accident ONLY with those occupying a space-time slot near you, i.e., where-you-are-now.

C: The only thing you can do about the previous two facts is to get out of where-you-are-now as soon as possible.

D: And your only recourse to do so is to step on the gas pedal and increase your speed.

You may ask the question: “But would one not also get sooner to where-one-will-be-then by getting faster out of where-one-is-now? And have an accident there and then instead?” A valid question, indeed. Unfortunately, there is NOTHING, absolutely, you can do about getting to where you are going to be then. Nothing. Slow or fast, or not moving at all, you’ll get there when you do; never before, never after, never not. The fact is that you cannot not get there. So this question is philosophically interesting but irrelevant to the issue of safety. The only thing that is in your power to decide ( depending on road conditions, the-other-cars-circumstances and your own car’s weight-to-power ratio ) is how long are you going to dilly-dally where-you-are-now. You may choose to cruise about... or you may decide to get the fuck out of there! And fast! Pronto Tonto!

Consider these facts...

A. The longer you are on the road, the higher are your chances of being in a traffic accident of some kind. When I did my experimental speed-limit-run from Fort Loud to Plantation, it took me more than twice as long to get from the one to the other. It is no surprise then that I was almost involved in a couple of accidents. All other things being equal, there are less chances of collision during a 15-minute span of time than there are during a 45-minute drive. This is simple and unassailable logic.

B. Notice that when you are driving at or around the speed limit, you are constantly surrounded by other cars. It is quite like birds migrating, flying in formation. Obviously, the higher the density of cars where-you-are-now is, the higher the chance to be involved in an accident with one of those cars becomes. More simple and unassailable logic.

C. Notice then that when you are driving fast, you move from one area of high car density to an empty stretch of road and into another high density area and then to another solitary stretch of road, and so on. Driving fast means that you may spend 50% of your time or more ( depending on traffic conditions ) driving by yourself. And while you inhabit these stretches of solitude, there are ( “Bingo!” ) no other cars to have an accident with. ( Here I must state that in the interest of clarity and simplicity, I am putting aside possible collisions with inanimate and unguided objects such as trees, buildings, bridges, bus shelters, mail boxes, vending machines, parked cars, etcetera. ) These areas of lowest-car-density are only created-by and available-when your speed is considerably higher than that of other drivers in your vicinity. One last morsel of simple and unassailable logic. ( Study the sesame-street-simple diagram below. )

So there it is in its intellectual splendor: ToSaS in all its simplicity and power of conviction. But I have one final caveat to give. ToSaS is an undisputable explanation of reality, but it is also true that not every person is meant to, can, should, or would enjoy driving fast. Often the car you drive itself prevents you from doing so. Remember also that most cars can go faster than they should. That is, their engines can push the car to speeds at which the rest of the car becomes rather less-than-fully-functional. Incredible as it may sound, just because your speedometer says “120” does not mean your tires, for example, can operate safely at that speed. In fact, it is rarely the case that any part of your car is designed to operate at the speed your car’s engine is capable of inducing. This is merely yet another absurdity concocted by the twisted minds of our corporate friends at GM, Ford, Capitol Hill, etcetera. Another reality to bear in mind is that, paradoxically, while greater speed makes you safer in relation to other cars and drivers, at the same time it increases the danger emanating from your car and yourself. I am talking about loss of control due to mechanical, mental or environmental failures. It won’t be so bad if your brakes fail at 35mph in a straightway but would be very bad indeed if they do so while you take a turn at 80mph. So, be safer at your own risk, I am telling you.

A friend and fellow seeker of Truth once commented: “But do you realize, Oh Wise Beyond Your Wits Master Héctor, that if everyone lived by ToSaS, then ToSaS would not work and would not be true anymore?” Yes, that is quite true. However, it is statistically unlikely if not outright impossible but certainly improbable that even a minuscule percentage of drivers will ever know, understand or apply the precepts of ToSaS. Or do so correctly. So it remains, as always, to the few enlightened ones to say “Ooommmhhh” as we firmly grip the steering wheel, lightly hold the stick shift knob, boldly step on the gas pedal... and get the fuck out of where-we-are-now!

A quote...
<< And in the lowest depth,
>> A lower depth. >>
>> John Milton
>> Paradise Lost, 1667

StrangeNewsOfTheZoologicalKind

Link of the day...
TheTwoStreetCoffeeGarageNearLasOlasRiverfront

Rare Species Spotted in Fort Lauderdale
by Sonny Ancher for The Miami HeHeHerald

August 10, 2004. Fort Lauderdale, SoFlo— A Latte was spotted in Ft. Lauderdale yesterday and Florida Animal Control officials were called in. “I first thought it was a hoax,” said expert Roberta Howe from the US Fish & Wildlife Service, who was also called to the scene. “SoFlo is not the habitat for this species and has never been. This is the first-ever recorded sighting of one of these around here. I simply cannot explain it.” The Latte is a species of Coffea Arabica introduced to the US in the early 1900s, possibly via maritime trade with European countries like Northern Italy. Its range is in higher latitudes and the West Coast, from Santa Barbara in California to Seattle, Washington. They have also been spotted in Colorado, Chicago, New York, Boston and Philadelphia. The greatest concentration is found around San Francisco, especially in the North Beach district. “The folks in San Francisco are familiar and used to them, and so the two species co-exist peacefully. In a place like SoFlo, it could create a panic,” added Ms. Howe.

The Latte was found resting quietly inside a local business —the Two Street Coffee Garage. Four other Lattes were also there. But customers were not alarmed. The owner readily confessed to being responsible. “I release over a hundred of them every day and so far nobody has complained. They are happy to see them, in fact.” No Florida law bans the possession, selling or even breeding of Lattes, so no action was taken. However, FAC director Mike Combs said they were “looking into the legality of it and whether a public hazard is being created. It’s not over yet.” Other businesses have complained. A spokesperson for the Broward County Chamber of Commerce said the issue was under review. SoFlo businesses that sell “Lattes” ( especially the Starbucks chain ) are worried about the appearance of a genuine Latte in their territory. “The Lattes sold around here are actually not Lattes. They don’t look, smell or behave like real Lattes at all,” said Ms. Howe. “Once you’ve seen the real animal, the so-called Lattes sold here look ridiculous and fake, which they are.”

“Lattes are not dangerous to people,” commented Steve Levinson, president of the Miami chapter of PeTA ( People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. ) “Lattes actually form a symbiotic relationship with humans and are very beneficial.” He also mentioned studies in which patients suffering from depression and anxiety have benefited from the mere presence of Lattes. If you want to see the Lattes for yourself just visit the Two Street Coffee Garage. And bring your family along.

copyright © 2004 The Miami HeHeHerald. All rights preserved.

A quote...
<< Nobody can add to the absurdity of this book,
>> nobody can imitate it successfully,
>> nobody can hope to produce its fellow;
>> it is perfect. >>
>> Mark Twain, circa 1922

StateOfGrace

Link of the day...
leTrèsMignonLanderLunaire ( When you get there click on the French flag, in the next screen click on "le jeu de la fusé," in the next screen click on the JOUER button, in the next screen click on the JOUER button again, then use the down arrow to throttle the engine and left / right to direct it. Amuse-toi! )

<< Well, that's a bloodyfucking'oodjob you've done, Johnny! >> Congratulations. It is a commonplace that working hard for something is part of the reward. We experience intense pleasure after a great effort succeeds and sets the limits of what we can do a step farther. But I propose that that is nothing compared to the joy of getting something for free. Put aside your puritan up-bringing for a moment and consider. Working hard, proving oneself to oneself and others is simply about survival, mere survival, as good as that is. Perhaps it takes us a small distance beyond our animality. ( And why is that supposed to be a good thing? ) One could posit that zebras do not believe themselves capable of inventing firearms and using them to exterminate their lions, cheetahs and other nightmares, ( after which, of course, they would turn the weapons on themselves. ) Their lack of belief in the "zebra-impossible" results in their still being part of a balanced diet for the big cats. ( Opposable thumbs would also help. ) After countless millennia of dogged struggle, we have "progressed" beyond that ( and, golly, look at the results! ) But can one possibly doubt that incredible good luck has played a vital role in our history...? One can't. The only trouble with luck as a survival strategy is that it is not repeatable. ( There is a lovely scene in Tom Stoppard's << Rosencrantz & Guilderstern Are Dead >> about this unfortunate ( ha ) fact. ) BUT WE DON'T REALLY BELIEVE THAT. If we did, gambling would not be a growth industry and Hollywood would be a ghost town. You'd never catch glimpse of an überdork in a meaty bar. There would be mass suicides, everything would come to an inglorious end. Not only do we believe luck is repeatable, we also believe it is imminent, even after years of evidence to the contrary. Without this moron-instinct of ours our overgrown brains would have killed us long ago. We'd be too intelligent to live. Misplaced trust is as much a part of our adaptive skills as is suspicion. While the meal-ticket is an obvious ecological arrangement, the legendary free-lunch is proof positive of the existence of our moron-instinct. But lets elevate our conversation and consider why free is better than deserved. It is quite simple. Deserved is a product of our own hands and therefore inextricably bound to the earth we came from and will return to. No matter what we achieve. On the other hand, free is a freak of nature, a violation of the rules, a momentary lapse of circumstantial cruelty, a virgin birth, a statistical reality that is utterly fantastic, a blip, a bloop, a bonus, a complete but effortless triumph, against impossible odds, against the entire universe. Good fortune is a revolt against fate that for once works out to our benefit. The feeling of skepticism is overwhelmed by boundless gratitude. ( The question is... to whom? ) That is why obtaining something material ( or immaterial ) completely free produces such incomparable pleasure. You "just cannot believe" what you are forced to believe by the unlikely circumstances. The pleasure is as strong as our pain ( and disbelief ) when confronting bad luck. Inseparable from the moron-instinct, however, is our yeah-right-instinct. These are the incredibly versatile pair of evolutionary quirks that motors our will. While my moron-instinct keeps me from ever completely giving up the hope for impossible things such as Uma Thurman, Marisa Tomei and Lauren Bacall knocking down my door one night as the trinity of lust and sneaking into my bed, my yeah-right-instinct keeps me from seriously loosing sleep expecting Uma Thurman, Marisa Tomei and Lauren Bacall to come knocking at my door one night as the trinity of lust. This opposition produces the "cor inquietum" Saint Augustine wrote about, the unbalanced heart that is always in motion, tending to something better than what is. It manufactures both fools and geniuses. When in balance, we are content-but-in-motion. When not, we are miserable or disastrously reckless. We exhibit the extremes of the two. I have never played the Lottery because I am absolutely certain that I will not win, which destroys the fun, yet keep up with all the latest information about Lamborghini as if I expected to buy one next month. And I know that la mystérieuse will walk through the door one day and look at me with love in her eyes. Finally lets get a bit profane with the propane: is the moron-instinct the origin of religion? Is faith nothing more than our moron-instinct gone awry? Are depression and despair the result of the yeah-right-instinct gone berserk? Honestly, I do not have the slightest notion of an answer but —though an absolute materialist— every so often find myself in a luscious state of grace.

A quote...
<< On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold,
>> And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,
>> Risking enchantment. Do not let me hear
>> Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly,
>> Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession,
>> Of belonging to another, or to others, or to God.
>> The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
>> Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

>> The houses are all gone under the sea.

>> The dancers are all gone under the hill. >>
>> T.S. Eliot
>> Four Quartets, East Coker, II 57

TheDayTheyDingedMyMini

Link of the day...
thelastsamuraisings

Youth is like a brand new car. Soon enough you walk back to it to discover that some innocent idiot has dinged it or some culpable asshole has keyed it. The nicer your youth / car is the more attractive a target for fate or evil it is. To re-use a conveniently over-used cliché: the first ding is the deepest. And perhaps the only important one. As your collection grows in number ( as it irremediably shall ) each new insult is less and less audible, mercifully less memorable. ( Allow me to digress and explain that totaling your car is not dinging

it. Dings are like the Chinese water torture. ) According to the OED a ding was originally, back circa 1825, "...the act of dinging ... a knock, a smart slap ... particularly with the back of the hand..." and later resurfaced as a surfing term in 1962 when T. Masters wrote in Surfing Made Easy about "...dings, dents or holes in [ the ] surfboard." It does not explain how the term was transported to automobiles. Some people relax a few days after it happens for the first time. It's done and the fear and expectation are over. Others cannot cope. If I were as rich as I deserve it would be a matter of getting another car of the same kind, as if picking another tissue off the kleenex™ box. But for us the financially handicapped there is no such remedy. ( We don't even get special parking spots. Why? ) Is this what happens when my slim-petite wife unexpectedly blows up around our fifteenth anniversary? What happens to her when my out-of-a-hat beer belly suddenly prevents full body contact one night of otherwise wild passion...? It is amazing what humans will learn to do without. Arms, legs, eyes, ears, noses, hands, fingers, portions of the brain, ice cream, sex, mommy, daddy, cigarettes, alcohol, god, stars, trees, TV shows, common sense, curiosity, courage, real fur, real food, real wine, DSL, freedom, hair, teeth, smiles, new Peanuts™ comic strips, etcetera. We all need, however, some region of purity that can somehow be kept inviolate. Some choose a god or gods, some find a hero and hang their need for flawless perfection from it, others have a spotless, dingless automobile, house, anger, office, fear, lust, computer desktop, website, jealousy, closet, ideology, girlfriend or whatever else can be dinged ( just not yet. ) Some can squint their eyes and see a pristine surface whenever and wherever needed. ( Is that a good skill? ) Still others do give up and slide off the face of the Earth to inhabit the worst neighborhoods of Scheißenstadt, poorest city of Schlockovia. And who can we blame? Time, God, communists, ethnicos, ETs, our parents, siblings, lack of the same, gym teachers, the cosmetic-counter help...? They ( it is always "They" because ultimate evil is always the work of Them, the other tribes, who are Not Like Us ) dinged my Mini on the passenger side, somehow behind the door, so I do not have to confront the horror too often. I simply don't open the door for ladies anymore. ( Just kidding, my mother would kill me. ) I think it does not bother me but have mysteriously started parking the Mini always in a spot where the driver's side ( still untouched ) is next to the curb, not to another car, no matter how far I have to walk from and to my car. The reason I get by is because I still have something in its primordial state, un-fallen from grace, un-godded, un-snaked, un-appleled, so shiny and new. I just cannot, will not tell you what it is. Go get your own.

A quote...
<< Lucifer anda por los carreres de El Call,
>> diciendo mentiras ciertas y verdades falsas. >>
>> Blas Pascal
>> amb Girona, Catalunya, 1703

TheJackelopeSequel

Link of the day...
justbecauseitishtmldoesnotmeanitistrue

My friends Jenny and April were in South Dakota, riding around the vast emptiness with the cops, sitting in the cage, sounding the siren, taking notes, anthropologizing, observing and humming with the revelations that only come to researchers in the field. They brought back many strange stories ( ...and photographic proof of all, as much as that phrase has any meaning anymore... ) of the rituals and customs of that far away country. They also captured and brought back ( for me, the darlings, ) a very fine specimen of an actual Jackelope. I was, of course, fully cognizant of the existence of the Baselopes of Bloom County, Indiana, ( though only one individual has been documented ) but had never heard of Jackelopes before. They are basically the same monstrosity but inflicted by nature upon jack-rabbits in this case. After carefully dissecting and describing the gorgeous specimen, my assistants proceeded to do their usual fine job of taxidermy, and now it sat on my desk, upon a miniature plinth, looking over my shoulder in case someone tries to sneak behind me and stab me with a knife, garrotte me or inflict upon my person some other fiendish act of violence.

All that was a couple of weeks ago. When I came to work this morning a horrible scene awaited me. The walls, floor, bookcases, chairs, aparatus scientificus and everything else in my office was bespattered with thick, glossy, hemoglobined blood! A pool of the frightening liquid had found the lowest points in the parquet floor and glistened under the fluorescent lights. And the Jackelope was gone! Oh, the horror and foreboding that filled my heart and chilled my bones when I realized it, it cannot be reproduced or described with mere words. I take great pride in my scientifical skepticism and rationality, but I had been hearing the Jackelope stories my friends collected in the Plains and shared with us day after day and... must admit... my heart leapt ahead of my brain... into the realm of unspeakable terror. But now I must take the trash out.

A quote...
<< Maximum est elephas proximumque
>> humanis sensibus. >>
>> Liber VIII
>> Historia Naturalis
>> Gaius Plinius Secundus

EncryptoniteKilledSuperman

Link of the day...
theladyonthetelephonesawthedonkeyintheboat

xnhty mxjyuqpfsiw nhxlk xmx yqnxoen xtrx alvexk xwbyqx apehrxe xmx xyfqx xuix esmzix xmx icgtwlxqr. xnhlk xmx nxhty eclxwby xmx aurzxq xnx xtzpx qldsoxow.

A quote...
<< Freedom's just another word for something
>> left to learn: it is the way we refer to the ever-diminishing
>> set of phenomena for which science has yet to specify
>> the causes. >>
>> B.F. Skinner*
*sort-of...

TheJennyLevinShow

Link of the day...
freakylivingrocknstone

Today I choose to describe my friend Jenny Marie Levin. We met in San Francisco a long time ago. She is a graphic slash interaction designer. She listens to heavy metal "music." She was raised in Madison, WI but you would not think so if you met her. ( Not that there is anything wrong with Madison or WI, but still. ) She is also exiled here in SoFlo. In fact, it is Her Fault that I find myself here as well. I am actually grateful, though, since this captivity was the right thing at the right time even if not in the right place. You can visit her website by clicking on her name in the "Meet" section ( no double-entendre intended ) to the right and way down the scrollbar. She refuses to believe that she looks like Kate Winslet. In fact, in << Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, >> Kate Winslet is practically doing an impression of Jenny. It was uncanny to watch. Many people wonder why she tossed my cellphone into the Middle River, just-almost-where-it-hits-the-sea in Ft. Lauderdale. Here is what happened, without embellishments, as I've explained to quite a few concerned friends...

<< Yes, it was Jenny who did the tossing
and she really enjoyed it. As it was only
a very crappy Ne**** piece-of-shit Mo******
issued to all its employees, I really did not mind.
Now I will be motivated to get a good phone
with decent service. We were walking from
a Mexican restaurant we like to the cinemas
to see << Mean Girls >> and we had to cross
the Middle River. She was meanwhile changing
the name of my contacts ( all seven of them )
to something funny when she stopped and said:
<< I really want to toss your cellphone into the river. >>
I responded with: << If it makes you happy I would
be delighted if you do. >> And without a moment
of hesitation she did. Her face was radiant
with happiness. Then I wished I had had my video
camera because it would have been quite good
to document the toss. And that was it. >>

...so the way I see it now, it was an act of mercy and a statement of disgust against incredibly ugly industrial design, poor engineering, appalling user interface and laughable service. I am now free to pursue the cellphone of my dreams, which I am sure cannot be had for any price anywhere in the USofA. ( Why do we get the dorkiest cellphones here in The Superpower while Asians and Europeans wallow in good-looking high-tech every three months or so...? It is a mystery and, yes, I am afraid and sorry to tell you, probably yet another "vast right-wing conspiracy." ****. ) Among our many totally unrealistic but funny and exciting get-rich-quick schemes is producing a prime-time talk show, ( it would be the first one, I believe, ) called << The Jenny Levin Show. >> We would sell it to Fox, of course, for a bucket of gold and "total creative control." I would be the invisible producer and she would be the celebrity-du-jour. I cannot tell you more about our amazingly original and never-before-attempted format for the show because, yes, it is a secret. However, do watch the airwaves, and scan the channel seas, to tune to the tube, because TJLS is coming soon to a fully-digital, web-enabled, idiotising-device near you.

A request...
I hate typos. I really do. The fear of them impedes me from a normal flow of texting on iChat. A hindrance. A quirk. An eccentricity. If you see typos in these posts, do feel free to email me and set me right.

And also...
Jenny is looking for a man who... 1. Has confidence. 2. Has something he really cares about ( other than collecting dolls. ) 3. Has a good voice, ( this point cannot be stressed enough. ) 4. Has stature, 5' 10" being too short. ( Courageous candid-dates may apply for weeding out, in confidence, via email to dale.cooper@fbi.gov, with recent un-photoshoped photograph, 300-word essay, certificate of good health, current bank statement, tax returns for the past three years, color photo of you in your car and five ( 5 ) crisp $20 bills for shipping & handling. )

A quote...
<< The only method is to be very intelligent. >>
>> T.S. Eliot

ImaginaryFriendships

Link of the day...
thescientificsupercakeandmore

That is Juanito Perez, sitting on the floral sofa in the living room of my small Ft. Lauderdale apartment. In the candid photo shown here he turned around just in time for me to snap the boyish face. We were inseparable friends during our very early childhood but eventually drifted apart and lost track of each other. Then last Wednesday, while ransacking the prepared foods section, I ran into him at the WholeFoods™ on Highway 1, just north of Victoria Park. What an unexpected surprise. I recognized him immediately but he had some difficulty recalling who I was. It hurt my feelings but I cannot blame him for it. Still, I was angry. It felt like an undeserved slap in the face. And how could I fail to recognize my friend Juanito? He looks EXACTLY as he did back in 1963-64. I mean, the little bastard has not grown an inch, put on an ounce, nor aged a day! There is nothing more annoying than eternal youth, especially when it happens to someone else. Luckily I have acquired a thick carapace of good manners and some wisdom since those years and was suavely able to greet him warmly ( after explaining who the fuck I was, that is ) and invite him to have a drink at Mona's on Sunrise Boulevard. I thought getting him into Mona's was going to prove difficult, what with his looking five-years-old and all, but he somehow was able to charm everyone just the second before they actually saw him and we were sitting at the bar before my eyes could adjust to the red darkness. He ordered a milkshake and was given a white russian without being asked for an ID or anything. Couldn't they see, he is just a child? I ordered a Macallan and Vigo ( the bartender ) looked at me as if I had spoken in some ghastly bad imitation of his native Estonian dialect. "Yoowantawhatt...?" Snarl. Blink. "Just get me a Bud...?" cleared the atmosphere somewhat. Considering the circumstances, however, it went quite well. We had a good time reminiscing about our friendship and exchanged some what-happened-after stories. After exchanging phone numbers I drove him to the luxurious beach-front hotel where he was staying with his current family. ( How the fuck did he get to WholeFoods™? Did he walk? Did his au-pair somehow forgot him there? ) I went home in a funk. Suddenly my sagging gut, under-the-eyes-bags, thinning hair, perilous potency, seven marriages, grown-up children who never call, it all became hard to keep out of my mind. I felt cheated. Transgressed. Transgressing. Transgressive. Not because we had lost touch since that was my fault as much as his, perhaps mine much more. But for him not to grow up... What right does he have to remain as we were then? I remember insisting to my parents that they set a place for him at the table and serve him food or I would not touch a bite of mine. ( Which amazingly, they did. ) Holding my nanny's hand to the left and Juanito's to the right to cross a street downtown. Dividing up toys with arms-control exactitude. Whatever life offered me was immediately partitioned and a fair share handed over to him. And now it is obvious that he decided not to share the biggest burden. ( And how did he manage that bit of magic? ) But what bothered me the most ( and made me feel like an embittered heel ) was that Juanito had clearly not stagnated during these past 39 years. One would reasonably imagine that anyone who peterpans his way through such a stretch of time and space must, at least, go insane. Become a freak. A sordid shell. Exhibit A. Specimen. Case history. Maladjusted, poor, anti-social, homeless. Juanito is the opposite of all those futures. Bright, witty, confident, aware of his good fortune, ungloating, trim, at ease. Also, he is obviously doing better in the family-attached-to department. The hotel was top-notch and his clothes and manners flawless without being ostentatious. My family back in the 60s was quite snobbish but we were barely middle class. I assured him that we would get together again but now grave doubts fill my mind. At some point we would have to face the fact that the only things left to talk about are my past and his future.

A quote...
<< The grave was dug through solid marble, but
>> the marble headstone came from Vermont. It was
>> in a pine wilderness but the pine coffin came
>> from Cincinnati. An iron mountain over-shadowed
>> it but the coffin nails and the screws and the
>> shovel came from Pittsburgh. With hardwood and
>> metal abounding, the corpse was hauled on a wagon
>> from South Bend, Indiana. A hickory grove grew
>> nearby, but the pick and shovel handles came from
>> New York. The cotton shirt on the dead man came
>> from Cincinnati, the coat and breeches from Chicago,
>> the shoes from Boston; the folded hands were
>> encased in white gloves from New York, and round
>> the poor neck, which had worn all its living days
>> the bondage of lost opportunity, was twisted a
>> cheap cravat from Philadelphia. That country, so
>> rich in undeveloped resources, furnished nothing
>> for the funeral except the corpse and the hole
>> in the ground and would probably have imported
>> both if it could have done so. And as the poor
>> fellow was lowered to his rest, on coffin bands
>> from Lowell, he carried nothing into the next
>> world as a reminder of his home in this, save
>> the halted blood in his veins, the chilled marrow
>> in his bones, and the echo of the dull clods
>> that fell on his coffin lid. >>
>> Henry Grady, Georgia, 1889

OnceMoreSuckYourThumbOnceMore

Link of the day...
donottrustanyone

It has been conclusively demonstrated by science that our parents dissuade us from sucking our thumb way before we have finished. There is an exact amount of thumb-sucking cycles, different for each person and depending on genetic and environmental factors, that must be performed in order to allow for the normal development of the brain, and therefore, of personality. The need and imperative for the attainment of this silver-bullet number of thumb-sucking cycles is the result of millions of years of evolution and should not be fucked with. When BLANK, BLANK and BLANK discovered this in 1973, they conjectured that the almost absolute majority of humans in the planet had had a 0.00000027% probability of having attained BLANK, as they termed it. They thought all these people were condemned to a life of personality retardation without any chance of improvement. The only solution, therefore, was to concentrate on the hopes of future generations. Due to the vast moral, ethical, cultural, social and political implications of their discovery and the necessity for revolutionary change on a global scale, they contacted the United Nations and held talks with its highest representatives, all the way to the Secretary General, then BLANK. Unfortunately they were mere persons of science and did not give a moment's reflection to the need for discretion. News about their discovery and their health proposals trickled up to the leaders of all major organizations. In a bizarre episode of ecumenical devilry members of the Catholic Church, the Ku Klux Klan, the Opus Dei Conclave ( an organization so secret and extreme that Dan Brown refrained from slandering them in his best-selling "The DaVinci Code" for fear of lethal reprisals, ) the Justin Tymberlake Fan Club International, three elderly ex-members of the Jewish Mafia in Brooklyn, the Society for the Prevention of Lemur Glaucoma, José Jimenez, the Southern Baptist Conference, al-BLANK, ( al-BLANK's political arm, ) and BLANK Murdoch met in a diner at the corner of Geary and Murphy Streets in San Francisco, on 13 February 1974, Friday, at 11:22 pm, and there concocted a fiendish plan for the suppression of humanity's only hope for progress. Nine months later BLANK, BLANK and BLANK disappeared from the Campus of Barry University in SoFlo on the eve of a meeting about the renewal of their research grants from the NIH. That same morning, an unmarked van from the CDC ( Centers for Disease Control ) had a flat-tire near Davie, SoFlo. A rooster crowed three times before being fatally run over by a delivery truck in Peters Road, Plantation, SoFlo. Britney Spears woke up in tears from a nightmare where she suffered the same fate as Debbie Gibson only to find a purple pimple exactly on the top tangent of the left cheek of her behind. Neither the liberal nor the conservative media devoted any time or resources to the disappearance of the Barry Trio, as gossip-mongers had monickered the scientists. And then... nothing happened. Ever. Only thanks to a Mandelbrot set of coincidentally mysterious events is this information reaching your ears or eyeballs at this very moment. So here is what you should do: 1. Suck your thumb until an epiphany hits you. Do not do so in public, or course. Practice your cycles in the privacy of the can or in your trailer if you live alone or with a family permanently in an alcohol-induced comma. When the moment comes, you will experience a life-changing inner release and will be transformed into the person you were supposed to be. 2. Make sure that your genes are passed along to as many as possible. Of your numerous progeny, make sure the ones you raise are allowed to suck their thumb. What is a future orthodontia bill compared to peace and happiness for all mankind?

A quote...
<< Jvstitia procvrat pacem et injvria bellvm hvmilia
>> verba svnt nvntii pacis et superba belli. >>
>> Ramon Lull
>> 1274, Mont Randa, Mallorca

HTMLMYASS

Link of the day...
buttherearestillpioneersoftheoldirk

When are Adobe or Macromedia ( or someone else ) going to develop a decent web layout tool? But lets immediately tend to the obvious. 1. I can hand-code quite good HTML with just a simple text editor. 2. I only do it as often as is absolutely necessary but have been forced to break a leg many times for real, bona fide corporate clients. 3. I believe the web is as vital as paper to our civilization. So all arguments of the << you are a lazy, ignorant, ludite >> are thus disallowed. ( If you use them I'll simply delete your empty balls off of here. ) I am also old enough to have kerned type for a living with a bloody x-acto knife but happily exchanged all the tools of that craft for digital ones, so know that I am no traditionalist fool. Prior to thus changing my working life for the immensurably better, I participated in the weird world of typesetting code. You may not know it but this is what HTML was really modeled after. One would sit in front of an obscenely expensive machine ( rented or granted by the hour ) and type formating commands ahead and after chunks of the actual text that would, when output, produce all manner of typographical sophistication. Which brings me to my point. Primitive and cumbersome as that was, it could produce sublime results under the right hands. ( And, of course, it beat sharp-object cut-and-paste by a world. It was progress even though nobody could afford it except the typesetting houses and many money-wasting corporate schlockos who used it to output the same courier-and-times-roman un-kerned shit they could do for a penny with an IBM Selectric. ) The world-wide web is a revolutionary development but the HTML that enabled it is actually a horrible step back. Right past the moment when personal computers ( those not running the evil OS ) had acquired the capacity for the refinement of typesetting code and more, without its labor and arcanity, along came HTML to badly impersonate it. It is no coincidence that the first generation of publications in htmlese were dead-ringers for the ugliest examples of courier-and-times-roman corporate documentia. ( In a related development, the U.S. Foreign Service recently announced that in order to get-with-it it is switching all diplomatic documents from Courier to... Times Roman! Those bolsheviks, what will they think of next? ) Microsoft is ( surprise ) partly to blame for this. Not UNIX, which already had things like Donald Knuth's TeX as well implemented ( for unixdom ) showcase standards. HTML instead was built for the most unsophisticated hack of the 20th century: Windows™. Yes it was, because it had to support all those PCs of crap commoditised machines that dominated the landscape. So we all got Velveeta™ instead of cheese because most of you did not know the difference between adult sex and pre-teen wanking, to put it gently. ( Here I will introduce a diversion to quote two of my best friends who said the ultimate truth about this side issue of good taste. First Dr. Greg Carter, psychology professor and master illustrator told me years ago in North Carolina: << Hector, no matter what you do, in the end, after all the effort, 90% of anything will always be schlock. >> Later, as a corollary, Mr. William Humm, pundit, curmudgeon and optical wizard added: << Yes, Hector, and when it comes out to 80% it is because 10% is masquerading as fashion. >> Depressing but impressive. ) Throughout history new developments in communication via the written word had always advanced ALL the state of the art. Güttenberg's process allowed for typographical finesse beyond what was possible before, ( with the obvious exception of illuminated texts. We still cannot match those. ) The "invention" of HTML may be the first time in history that progress arrived loaded with retrogress ( not in a non-related field, as is common with other examples of negative progress, but exactly in the same field it is supposed to improve. ) To help explain this odd happenstance we find the fundamental difference between the old innovators and these modern ones. The former knew in intimate detail the art, process or method they were trying to replace or improve. The latter ( and this is rampant in the computer field where high-IQ-idiots constantly manage to automate the wrong thing ) are surprisingly ignorant and uneducated ( even after coming out of the best schools ) and believe their carelessly-acquired standards represent the best-of-class. And so we come back to our starting point: nice as they are, ( I use them both, ) Adobe GoLive™ and Macromedia Dreamweaver™ are sadly as comparable in power and sophistication to the original PageMaker 1.0 as fat-slob Microsoft Word™ is to Aldus Manutius' letterpress. They make HTML a little easier to live with but do not offer anything near as revolutionary as the PageMaker-MacPlus-LaserWriter trio did way back when. When is Adobe finally going to release their long-rumoured PostscriptPlayer plug-in for web browsers? When is the World Wide Web Consortium ( W3C ) finally going to release a standard that includes support for modern page description languages ( PDLs? ) When are we finally going to get something that will make us feel the thrill of liberation and empowerment we felt back in 1985...?

A quote...
<< Don't you see? From now on
>> our visual record will be highly suspect. >>
>> Opus
>> Bloom County

FoundTheTranslator( 翻訳 )?

Firts link of the day...
ジョー・ジラード ( 著 ) // 石原 薫 ( 翻訳 ) // 私に売れないモノはない

レビュー
出版社/著者からの内容紹介
ギネス記録12年連続世界No.1のセールスマン
まずひと言、とにかくめちゃくちゃ「面白くてためになる」本です。『私に売れないモノはない！』の書名（原書は『How to Sell Anything to Anybody』の通り、ジラード氏は「ギネス記録12年連続世界No.1のセールスマン」。しかも本書は全米100万部突破のベストセラー。とにかく「売って売って売りまくる！」凄まじい人です。さらに、本書に出てくるジラード氏の「顧客を絶対に逃がさない！」セールステクニックの一例をご紹介すると…
◎顧客が250倍になる「ジラードの250の法則」
◎名刺は今の100倍必要だ！（1週間あたり500枚）
◎顧客が味方になり「協力者」に変わる！
◎新規客＆リピート客が次々と買っていく「観覧車」テクニック
◎顧客の迷いを一瞬で消し去るテクニック
◎DMを確実に読ませるテクニック
◎売り込み電話で必ずアポを取り付けるテクニック
などなど、なんと最後は、何もしなくても顧客が押し寄せてくるようになる！
著者について
ジョー・ジラード（ Joe Girard )
... 続きを読む

Second link of the day...
ハーバードビジネススクールプレス ( 著 ) // Peter Cappelli ( 原著 ) // 石原 薫 ( 翻訳 ) // ハーバード・ビジネス・エッセンシャルズ ( 2 )

レビュー
出版社/著者からの内容紹介
企業を支え、ビジネスを動かす「人の力」。
その力が最大限に発揮できる職場作りとは？
ハーバード・ビジネス・スクールの講義の本質をコンパクトに凝縮。
豊富な実例とやさしい語り口で、最新のビジネス理論が驚くほどわかる！
職場の問題を現場の目線で網羅的にまとめた、貴重な書
今、日本企業は経営的に厳しい状況に直面している。採用は手控えられ、社内・社外を問わず流動化が進展している。……そのような時こそ、マネージャーも職場も、もう一度、働き方を含めた職場のあり方、その見直し・点検が必要となるのである。本書は新しい働き方、仕事の与え方、優秀な部下への配慮の仕方、C クラス社員（だめ社員）の弊害、組織の中のサブカルチャーの存在、労働時間、職場のメンタルヘルス、職場環境などなど、職場の問題を多様に網羅的に取り扱い、その中で部下指導、部下管理、職場のあり方を考える際に有効な検討課題が数多く含まれている。
——（慶應義塾大学総合政策学部教授・SFC研究所キャリアリソースラボラトリー代表　花田光世）
内容（「MARC」データベースより）
ビジネスマンに不可欠な武器を得るための新シリーズ。雇用流動化の時代にあって、「人事力」がかつてないほど必要とされている。優秀な人材の確保から社内リソースの活用まで、厳しい時代を勝ち抜く人事の秘訣を説く。

A quote...
出発まで

月日は百代の過客にして行かふ年も又旅人也。舟の上に生涯をうかべ、馬の口とらえて老をむかふる物は日々旅にして旅を栖とす。古人も多く旅に死せるあり。予もいづれの年よりか片雲の風にさそはれて、漂白の思ひやまず、海濱にさすらへ、去年の秋江上の破屋に蜘の古巣をはらひてやゝ年も暮、春立る霞の空に白川の関こえんと、そゞろ神の物につきて心をくるはせ、道祖神のまねきにあひて、取もの手につかず。もゝ引の破をつゞり、笠の緒付かえて、三里に灸すゆるより、松嶋の月先心にかゝりて、住る方は人に譲り、杉風が別墅に移るに、

草の戸も住替る代ぞひなの家

面八句を庵の柱に懸置。

PositivelyNegative

Link of the day...
dontpointthatthingatyourselforanyone

A quote...
<< Pourvu que ça dure! >>
>> Laetitia Bonaparte ( Nap's mom. )

ConspiracyTheorist

Link of the day...
idonotlikegossip

Yesterday I woke up angry and frustrated. Through carelessness with an idea that required absolute secrecy and complete anonymity its security was breached before it even got off the ground. Will I ever have such a good idea again...? Thus my frustration and ill humour. However, friends are much more precious than art or brilliant ideas. It was actually my own fault. Got too excited and moved too fast. Was not taken seriously because I am always joking and playing around with some reality versus fiction dilemma. Like the story of the little shepherd who cried wolf once too many times. But enough of that. The interesting thing is that it only took a few hours for my mind to start formulating possible ways of fixing the problem. Many of which went well beyond the limits I have always counted on to keep me on this side of morality. I refused to consider those alternatives but the thoughts were really there, struggling to get a foothold somewhere and become reality. Secrecy and anonymity are highly corrosive substances. One should be very careful when handling them.

A quote...
<< From whence it happens, that they which trust to books,
>> do as they that cast up many little summes into a greater,
>> without considering whether those little summes were
>> rightly cast up or not; and at last finding the errour visible,
>> and not mistrusting their first grounds, know not which
>> way to cleere themselves; but spend time in fluttering
>> over their bookes; as birds that entring by the chimney,
>> and finding themselves enclosed in a chamber, flutter
>> at the false light of a glasse window, for want of wit to
>> consider which way they came in. >>
>> Thomas Hobbes
>> Leviathan, Part 1, Chapter 4

JoggingMyAwareness

Link of the day...
thebluesfromcastilla ( You will need the ( gasp ) Windows Media Player. )

Just went jogging, ( or running, as it is called these days, ) simply went through the motions of running. My body appreciated it. I did not. Did not run far, just in the perimeter of the apartment complex where I sleep. I have not done any running for almost two years. ( Thus, am very out of shape, to put it mildly. ) I thought my running was motivated by the pleasure of exercise, by how it made me feel; my body and my self. But today I discovered that I am a bloody jogging snob, no sportsman. Because I miss stepping out of my door at 5:00 am in San Francisco to run along the waterfront, skirting the bottom of North Beach, going around Telegraph Hill, past the bit of the Financial District that sticks east and under the Bay Bridge into South Beach to finally turn around in front of the Ball Park and run back home to a very hot, 40-minute shower. Missed it so much that today's running could not satisfy. So back in SF it was the scenery I enjoyed, not the exercise. I suspected this but now know it to be true. Someday I may learn to love the exercise ( ...a deliberate split infinitive and what are you going do about it? ) and that sportsmanship may blot out the ultra sub-urban shopping-center wasteland that I find myself un-habiting in 2004. ( Yes, I also lack a strong appreciation of my good fortune. ) Meanwhile, yesterday was a more successful day.

A quote...
<< This world —who can escape it?—
>> As old as the earth are its cares.
>> Like a flock of egrets, the cascade descends thousands of feet.
>> Like fish scales, waves ripple timelessly over the water.
>> Tips of trees and eaves redden with the sun,
>> Distant cliffs touch the clouds.
>> Sharpening his hook the angler hopes to share the feast of gulls.
>> How I yearn for Fu-chun and Yen-ling. >>
>> Zuisen Tögen, XIV Century

Moronoia extremis

Link of the day...
HolyActionFigures,Batman!

About a month and a half of work in peace. ( Nadie me estaba jodiendo la paciencia todo ese tiempo divino. Je suis comme l'homme nouveau aux mondes nouveaux. À la paix merveilleuse... ) Since last Wednesday evil morons ( バカ ) are snapping at my heels. Yesterday I arrived with energy and was sapped of it all within two hours. After work I retired from humid-and-hot SoFlo to ... eat, drink, read, listen, watch, work, sleep. 1. Chicken salad from WholeFoods™. ( ...without which precious establishment I'd starve. I thank them. ) 2. Guinness™. It's good for you. << A Guinness™ is like a sheaf of wheat. >> Marcel Proust ( CAVEAT EMPTOR : it shall be permanently stored in your yet-to-be pot belly. ) 3. << Eats, Shoots & Leaves >> by Lynne Truss, ( her actual name. ) Hilarious. 4. Puffy, Led Zeppelin, BBC World Service, Radio Dismuke, Boredoms ( Pop Tatari, ) Yoshinori Sunahara, etcetera. 5. << In The Cut >> by Jane Campion, director's commentary. Interesting. 6. Worked a bit on my Secret Project. Entertaining. ( Thank Zeus I can still amuse myself. ) 7. To Vesselina Kasarova and Anonymous 4, as usual. And now << yeah, back to the old freezerinos. >> ( ...movie quote. )

Tis today's doggerel...
A If you watch your fucking blog,
B If you click << refresh >> a million times,
A You're a bigger moron than the dog,
B Who eats its own vomit and so rhymes.
C So make yourself a fucking life right now,
C And don't dare stop t'ask what, why, where or how,
D Useful secrets can only be revealed,
D To those that God has not yet killed & grilled,
A And still have time t' learn to cog'.

An attributed quote...
<< Ah, how society feels itself threatened by the human senses! >>
>> John Keats in Anthony Burgess' ABBA ABBA

FirstInk

Link of the day...
thelongarmofthelaw

This is the beginning. Asi comienza esta jodienda. C'est la première charogne des mes blogparôles. Will this #@!%$&* be worth writing and worth reading...? We shall find out soon. Or not. Welcome ... is anybody out there? ( And why should I care...? Is this going to be a self-absorbed ego-fest...? And if so, so what? Is that not the purpose and the power-source of the whole god-damned blogging phenomenon? One could argue that it may be therapeutic for so many people to be prolifically ranting away in such a private-public manner, with the enhancement ( or detriment ) of images, sounds, typefaces, animations, links and the possibility ( not-so-great if one is not already well-provisioned with friends who will indulge one's excesses of expression ) of real responses from real people, ( if so, ) etcetera. Diaries are a lonely task, though that is their supposed advantage. Calling the Psy-chic Network or going to a real fake psy-chic surely are no better than the masturbatory satisfaction of self-published electronic pamphlets, broadsheets and leaflets. We are decidedly back to the era when one could sell doggerel in the street, with a vengeance and almost universal literacy, or what goes for it where you live. Blogging is amateur publishing that feels "real," ( the computer providing the realistic production values for little money or effort, ) but has a small likelihood of confronting a reading public who is not already friendly and well-disposed to the blogger. ) At least ( one imagines ) in the vast majority of cases. So, hoping not to libel anyone, including myself, here goes.

Quote...
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