Month: December 2005

  • Having shined and risen, I'm now enjoying that other bottle of Singha.


    "Shockingly exotic color of transparent saffron; intensely cereal nose. A few lazy bubbles work their way to the surface, but a mouthful releases a nice explosion of carbonation that’s just downright refreshing. The slightly citrus attack is useful for cutting through larp (Thai minced meat salad with mint) and a bottle or two is absolutely de rigueur for extinguishing more incendiary chile-spiked foods. In my book, the best beer Asia sends our way."
    - David Gadd, Patterson's Beverage Journal, May 2005


    Will visit at my brother's log cabin midday to celebrate my daughter's birthday...









    Somewhere in central Ohio there is an actual log cabin on a forested hilltop, my brother's cabin, with a year's stock of supplies in the basement pantry.  When I first walked into it and saw the array of goods on the shelves, I thought I was in a grocery store and looked around for a shopping basket.  Shelf after shelf of non-perishables abound.



    Did somebody say *hideway* ?!


    My brother built, finished, and furnished the cabin by himself, beyond the basic assistance of having heavy equipment come in to excavate and lay the base foundation.



     


    After that, I'll return home and spend the remainder of the day (night) reading.


    Those of you partying, party real good.

  • I’m ending the year much in the same manner I spent quite a bit of it.


     


    Any guesses?


     


    Sleeping?


     


    Watching TV?


     


    Making love to irrepressible women?


     


    Naw.  I’ve just finished a 5 mile Dreamland cemetery run and it’s just about sunset.  All the snow of pre-Christmas has melted (it’s in the mid-30s) and I’m now perched on the ground upon a bed of fallen pine needles beneath a giant pine and I’m drinking  a beer.  But there’s a difference.  Instead of the ordinary and cheap Beast beer that I drank all summer, I’m treating myself to a Singha (“The Original Thai Beer”) and it’s very, very good.  Better yet, it (and another bottle) was part of a holiday gift from a new, most endearing friend and so is cherished even more in this moment of post-run solitude.


     


    Solitude : contemplating a seemingly so distant Sol at solset.


     


    Tomorrow?  Shine and rise.  Rise to drink that other Singha.


     


    -originally posted on Friday night

  • Who Really Gives a Leap Second?
    World Clocks to Pick Up Another Second Today




    I don't really celebrate End Year's Day/New Year's Day per se , though I 'observe' it as a member of society.  It is, after all, a pure invention, not even celebrating a deserving occasion of any astronomic or historic significance.  It is, at base, Trickster Time elevated to a stature divine.  And since Time, in the full course of life, serves variously as both a light and dark faerie (ultimately, consort of the faerie Death), I opt out as a full-fledged celebrant, preferring instead to watch a candle burn imprecisely rather than a ball drop with deadly precision.


    Time, after all, is a truly strange notion and the calendar is a quirky invention to try to manage it.  Yet in hopes of mastering the powers of prophecy and predictability provided by accurate synchronicity, people of all ages and cultures have seemed preoccupied with measuring and recording the passage of time.


     



    The earliest recorded year in history seems to be 4236 BC, 6239-6240 years ago.  The ancient Egyptians, like probably almost all ancients, observed cycles of things.  For instance, they realized that the yearly inundation of the Nile occurred while the ‘dog star’ Sirius danced close to the Sun.  They devised a 365-day year to 'capture' this cycle.  Problem was (and is): the cycle they were observing was closer to (but not precisely or constantly) 365.25 days.


     



    Contesting with this type of precision provided by solar events, remained the need of farmers to know when to plant.  The moon seemed more attuned as an indicator to them with 12 moon cycles between one planting season and the next.  Consequently, the Babylonians devised a lunar calendar based on alternating 29-day and 30-day months to furnish a 354-day year. 




    So, in the center ring circus of inventing the year, the Egyptian Sun (and Sunday) battled the Babylonian Moon (and Monday) for the hearts and minds of timekeepers.


     



    But there were, for the even more observant, a lot of other ‘time skirmishes’ preventing time from being pigeonholed precisely.  The Mayans, apparently high on drugs (my intuition), devised 17 concurrent cosmological calendars, to handle observed discrepancies.  Their calendar based on Venus (the ‘Sacred Year’) provided a 260-day year (4 ‘quarters’ of 65 ‘days’, subdivided into 5 groups of 13 days).  Yet their ‘solar’ calendar (the ‘Seasonal Year’), chained to cycles founded on their base-20 counting system, had 360 days (18 ‘months’ of 20 ‘days’ each) to which they added 5 ‘unlucky days’.  Both ‘years’ ran in tandem and started anew on the same day every repeating 52 years.


     



    Such complications in trying to make sense of time on Earth!


     



    Even the current western world’s pope-prodded calendar (Gregorian—Gregory XIII) employs a system of ‘leap years’ ( 1 ‘leap day’ added every 4 years, ...like in a couple of years,).  Except... years that are evenly divisible by 100 are excluded as leap years, unless they are also evenly divisible by 400, in which case, they are re-included as leap years.


     



    And, in a tenaciously-clinging attempt to maintain this pope-prodded calendar (devised essentially to make church ‘holy days’ eternally repetitive, even if, like Easter, some of them would end up ‘floating’), the current scientific/money-based ("Time is money, money time.") western world needs to tweak the calendar even further by inclusion of either positive or negative ‘leap seconds’ about every 500 days.


     



    It’s like this:  'Current time', as you and I know it, is measured with the precision of the ‘atomic second’, that is, the length of time required for 9,192,631,770 cycles of the Cesium atom at zero magnetic field.  (We've a carbon-based life system, but a cesium-based time system!).  This ‘atomic second’ when first devised in 1956 was then ‘back-linked’ to the Earth’s 'rotational second' in the year 1900.  The atomic second thus defined was equivalent to the interval defined by the fraction 1 / 31,556,925.9747 of the year 1900.


     



    Complicated enough for you yet?  Don’t groan.  For the sake of scientific precision, what’s a few more manipulations?


     



    So here’s the clincher: the year 1900 is no longer equivalent in length to the year 2006 or any year hereafter.  Tidal braking, core fluctuations, even atmospheric anomalies (and scientists aren’t even really sure what else) slows the Earth’s rotation constantly.  Hence, the ‘cesium second’, post-anchored to the length of the year in 1900, would soon become imprecise unless those ‘leap seconds’ were added on, now and then, to ‘match’ the earth’s rotation to time.


     



    What’s the point of all these man-invented time-synthesized adjustments?   Precision.  What’s the cost?  A truer harmonic relationship with the naturalness of the cosmos.  As a society, we love time.  Yet isn't true love, backgrounded by the unfolding of cosmic processes, timeless ?


     



    Indeed, we become in the image of the gods we worship, and Time, aka Chronos, currently sits atop the pantheon.  Hence, are we ever so precise a people unto ourselves.  But ever increasingly out of synch with much of everything else.  If Love, aka Eros, instead sat atop our pantheon,  I think we would see our years lengthen without leaps and we would allow time to ‘slow down’  in tune with the cosmos as mandated by the slowing rotation of the Earth.  Chronos, dear Chronos forbid!


     



    Still, the rotation of the Earth is slowing (days are getting longer by leap seconds at the rate of 2 ms per day, or .7 seconds per year) and will continue to slow until, just as now one face of the Moon always faces the Earth, someday one face of the Earth will always face the Moon, too.  And, then, apparently unmoving vis-à-vis one another, the Earth and Moon will have a stare-off for forever more.  Now that’s true cosmic love for you. (If you care not to reflect poetically, but seek more of the science behind this, go here.)




    Until then?  We leap and pretend that not a damn thing's changing.

  • I'm 95% certain that of all the bloggers posting on Xanga this morning 73% are female (plus or minus 10%),  n=100.


    - leftover legacy insight from my days as a univerisity grad school statistics prof


    Also, many of the males I encountered seemed angry.


    Go figure.

  • 1)  After scrutinizing, on the whole, all that’s going on in Xanga these days, I’ve concluded that Nostradamus, in three quatrains, predicted the 21st Century explosion of this, our Blogging phenomenon:

    Quatrains - Century I

    14
    From the enslaved populace, songs, chants and demands,
    while Princes and Lords are held captive in prisons.
    These will in the future by headless idiots
    be received as divine prayers.
     45
    A founder of sects, much trouble for the accuser:
    A beast in the theater prepares the scene and plot.
    The author ennobled by acts of older times;
    the world is confused by schismatic sects.
     64
    At night they will think they have seen the sun,
    when they see the half pig man:
    Noise, screams, battles seen fought in the skies.
    The brute beasts will be heard to speak.

    2)  I was just drifting deeper and deeper off into daydreams at work when I was startled to catch myself openly (in my dream context) professing “It’s not my happiness I’m worried about.  It’s yours.”   I then abruptly jumped back into my conscious frame of mind (more or less, the current one) and got the distinct impression that I had been  ‘psychically blogging’ on the Psychicnet (Psychonet?!).    Anyone out here happen to intercept my communiqué?   


     


    3)  Experimenting again.  Soon time for a social experiment, Xanga permitting…

  • Time presses us. Sometimes softly.  But ever toward  an ultimacy: and/or hard and/or brutal but always mortal.


    Sometimes we press back.  Wise men, women have warned that we'll forever lose that battle.  No doubt. 


    But when I go, at least I'm going to rip into Time, take a chunk of it with me, make it pay for wanting to fuck.


    As Crazy Horse (see profile pic) daily proclaimed: "Today is a good day to die."


    He knew well.  Lived well.  Loved well.  And died well.


    ...just my prelude to a Happy 2006 New Year. 


    (if this seems harsh, I'm just trying to shake off the Christmas mush)


  • In the balance, always darkness with light.

  • I celebrated the beginning of winter today ( the darkest day of the year) by running 5 miles in one of the darkest places (a cemetery—of course, those who know me aren’t surprised) in less than clement conditions (chill temp 10 with a total overcast and slight flurries) just before sunset. 


     


    With sunglasses on. 


     


    I cherish sunlight and the Sun, but on a day like today, I thought, why not to darkness succumb?  And so I began to run.  And as I began to run, I found myself thinking cold, dark thoughts and contemplating cold dark deeds.  Feelings of being taken advantaged of, insensitively teased, and abandoned overwhelmed me.  Damn the opportunists, teasers and abandoners.  Damn them all to hell, my heart pouted.


     


    But after the 2nd of 7 laps, I found myself reflecting and asking myself if those feelings were really mine.  I wasn’t summarily dismissing them, but I didn’t entirely own them either.  Instead, I made a conscious self-kill decision to suspend belief altogether—not to really trust such thinking and feeling—but simply to permit their play as my entry participation into the shadowy flow of the world around me.


     


    Interestingly enough, as my metabolism perked up (3rd mile-4th lap), this mental and emotional coldness—that had at first gripped me and then continued to play with me—was concomitantly transformed into a more vibrant, energetic outlook.  I started thinking about those people who need me (well, both those I know who do and others who seem to) and what I might next do to respond.  I began considering other activities I might engage in tonight, besides running, to build me up and make me stronger—blogging, not strangely, being one.  I had found the fire within. Again.  And with sunglasses on, I was all aglow. 


     


    "Be ye lamps unto yourselves," advised the Buddha during his final sermon.  The solution exists within the inherent nature of all of us.  "Be your own confidence," he continued.  "Hold to the truth within yourselves as to the only lamp." 


     


    (written/posted from a wifi coffeeshop on the Case Western campus, a mile from the cemetery)

  • It’s been 5 years here today.  Five effervescent years.  And I’ve never (though always) been gone.


     


    The feeling’s real.  I love you and you and you and you and…


     


    Oh  hell.  I might as well admit it. 


     


    It ain’t a writer’s love. 


     


    It’s purely blog lust.


     


    It’s the must of oozing, the cost of schmoozing, the reason I’m boozing.


     


    Words.


     


    And beyond those words, images.


     


    And beyond those images, real people with real bodies.


     


    If I could only get my real hands on you.  Again.


     


    All of you whom I crave so have a key on my laptop’s keypad ( except ‘i’ which is reserved for me) dedicated to you.  And as I type ‘your letter’, I feel ‘the touch’.  You may have noticed that I repeat certain letters more than others.  Take the letter ‘u’ for instance.  I am always fondling ‘u’, pressing against ‘u’, remotely succumbing to ‘u’.  It’s fate.  Look at your keypad.  ‘u’ and  ‘i’ are forever together.  Even when ‘u’ (every so often as ‘u’ do) turn away from me and ask ‘ y’ it is so,  ‘i’  merely shuffle in place, cast my look aside and admit ‘o, o, o, o,’.  ‘o’ is all 'i' can say, until, entirely dejected by your temporary flight from intimacy, 'i' cast my head downwards and realize it’s ‘o’ ‘k’.   ‘u’ are ‘u’ and ‘i’ am ‘i’ , together we’re the ‘ui’ in suite (the we in sweet) and our eternal constellation’s no lie.


     


    So to the extent that my blog is an orgy, my laptop’s the lovebed and we’re all key-cuddled forever together.


     


     Blog lust.  Comment to comment, dust to dust.

  • A letter to Admin John...


    John,


    Are you guys aware of a purported worm/hack on Xanga called 'exodus'?


    It's described here:
    http://www.xanga.com/wutuwaitn4/409355933/item.html


    and the purported perpetrator is :
    http://www.xanga.com/exodus223
    (wutuwaitn4 warns not to go there when logged in or you'll get infected)

    It looks like these two sites may have been defaced:


    http://www.xanga.com/vs_thekeystolife
    http://www.xanga.com/luckylucy
    (not sure if they are safe to visit when logged in, either)


    I hope this helps!


    Steve


    update: John has responded in a comment. 


    Also, Xanga has officially reacted/replied to this here:
    http://www.xanga.com/updates

  • It deals with a series of adventures of a very low grade of morality; it is couched in the language of a rough dialect, and all through its pages there is a systemic use of bad grammar and an employment of rough, coarse, inelegant expressions. It is also very irreverent. . . . The whole book is of a class that is more profitable for the slums than it is for respectable people.
    -St. Louis Globe-Democrat review of the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, March 17, 1885


    ***


    Have you ever shut down a Xanga site?  I hadn't but got interested in what is involved when that 'Schwelgien' site turned up "shut down by its owner..." (Actually, I have some reason to believe that it was shut down by one of the Xangagods and not its owner - but that's another matter).


    First thing I discovered is that it's final - there's no return.  And in order to assure that you know it, Xanga has you take a series of tests.  Yes, tests.  If you can't pass the tests, you can't shut down your site.  This is  hilarious...


    Before you shut down your site, please take our three-step training quiz!


    That's correct! Just two more steps before you can shut down your site...


    That's correct! Just one more step before you can shut down your site...


    Congratulations, you've successfully completed our three-step training quiz! For added security, please sign in - then, you'll be asked to confirm the shut down.


    To confirm that you want to shut down your site, click "Yes - Shut Down Site"  


    ***
    I found my cell phone in the snow.  In the photo below (last post) you can see a reflection of myself, a chapel, snow, and a street in addition to a back-lit projection of stained glass emanating from within the crypt I'm photgraphing.   The phone had fallen from my hip into the snow near the street as I hurried to take this photo before the lighting changed.  And so it lives to beep another day.



  •  


    she didn’t call.
    looks like i’ll never know the adventure


    of sushi and birthday cake, after all.


     


    full moon, instead.


     


    make it special, after dark.


    scale the wall of the cemetery,


    run laps amidst a hundred thousand faded lives,


    and listen to roomya whisper


    me colorfully living stories


    about the dead.


     


    leave tracks in the snow.


    and wait for winter melt


    to refresh the world again.


     


    Update, Sat. 7 am: I followed my recipe above.  My cell phone ended up, I believe, leaving its track in the snow since I had it with me while running, but after leaving the cemetery I found it missing.  I was tempted to return and search for it in the dark, but since the cemetery usually goes unvisited at night anyway, I have decided to wait till morning's first light to return and scout about for it.  Throughout the night, I called it several times to make sure it was still on, and not in use, and that nobody had found it (or if found, answered).  Not sure what I would have done if a phantom voice answered hurling curses at me for running on sacred grounds.  Though my instinct would have been to return immediately, with camera in hand, to retrieve it from said phantom.

  • Extreme Blogging


     


    Yesterday’s post was the first blog post ever (spanning 5 years now) that I composed without a PC.  I was in a bar, drinking beer, and writing by bar candlelight.  There wasn’t enough light to see what I wrote, merely enough to see the blank space remaining on the paper.  Now for many, this might not be so unusual.  But I never (well, almost never, except for yesterday’s foray) write longhand anymore other than to scribble on post-it notes at work. So for me, blogging so was highly unusual.  Yet given others’ predilections to do so readily, it can hardly be characterized as extreme.


     


    Is there such a thing as “extreme blogging” in the sense that as ‘extreme sports’ is to ‘sports’ :: ‘extreme blogging’ is to ‘blogging’ ?  And, if so, what might constitute it?


     


    I’ve blogged wirelessly from a cemetery on Halloween night.  Is that extreme?


     


    I’ve blogged wirelessly exchanging blog comments with toreibjo while driving down Interstate 90 as he watched my wireless webcam broadcast shots of the highway live to Norway.  Is that extreme?


     


    I don’t know.  I’m asking your help in possibly defining a new genre of blogging—extreme blogging.


     


    If there’s ever to be such a thing as extreme blogging, should the “extreme” refer to:  What else you’re doing while you blog (while flying a plane upside down, while at the altar getting married to two soon-to-be spouses, while holding up a bank that you work at )?  Where you blog from (the top of Mt Everest during a storm, the center of the Bermuda Triangle just above the vortex, just outside the perimeter of a secret terrorist training camp that’s about to get bombed )?  Or what you blog about (any and everything taboo, something that qualifies in the annals of “Believe It or Not”, your visions while imbibing ayahuasca—which would probably constitute both a ‘what else you're doing’ and a ‘what you blog about’)?  Any of these?  All of these?  Or is there some better criteria?


     


    Have you ever blogged in the extreme?  If so, what qualified it as such?  Or if you haven't but could, what form would it take?



    Is this a good idea to pursue?  And/or am I just nuts?


  • I simply can't believe it.  Someone on Xanga seemingly cares enough about me to assume a highly suggestive identity-trapping of mine (my last name, Schwelgien) and go on a mission directed from God, or as least, the Blues Brothers' Mother Superior, on my behalf.


    What mission you ask?


    Well, take sonotcool's read on this:









    Xanga

    Just an FYI:

    Someone subscribed to me, under what I think is your last name, and is trying to let everyone know that you are married. Of course, that is no surprise to me; I knew that already. A few of your other readers are commenting there. The person doesn't claim to be you, but seems to want you to "come clean" about your marital status because you write as if you are single and looking.

    Posted 12/12/2005 at 4:39 PM by soNOTcool


    What can I say?

     

    1) I deny nothing.

    2) I admit nothing.

    3) Those who have ever had a need to know, always knew firsthand from me personally.

    4) Those who never had a real need to know...

       a) knew anyways because they were either

           i) psychic, or

           ii) attuningly ever-so female (same thing)

       b) didn't know, but probably didn't (and don't) care anyway.

     

    What constitutes 'a need to know'?  Ha!  You might better ask: Is life better served or enslaved in being bound to the exigent continuum?  Or:  If a beautiful question doesn't have a beautiful answer, is a better-than-a-bad-boy-answer an appropriate improvisation?

     

    But, regardless. Here's  now the exciting particpatory challenge to you:

     

    Who else amongst you are aware of these shenanigans of "Schwelgien"?  Let's together find out who this stalker-type he or she really is.  Not because it really matters to the fundamental unravelling of the core of the golden eternity.  Nor because it's key to anticpating the next increment of the yet incomplete table of the periodic elements.  But just because, apparently by sonotcool's FYI, it's a living Xanga mystery.

     

    A Xanga mystery!  Well, since "Schwelgien" has never had the genuineness to confront me in this matter personally and sincerely, I must rely upon you.

     

    So, here's what you can do to help solve this so important  Xanga mystery:

     

    1) Let me know if  this "Schwelgien" has ever subscribed or commented on your blog.  Or not.

     

    2) If she/he has subscribed or commented, and you have a Xanga tracker of some sort, provide, if you can, his/her IP address trace.  If she/he has visited but left no tracks on your tracker, let me know that, too.  Going 'trackless'  is an indication of sophistication that, in and of itself, would limit the suspect list.

     

    3) Include any comment that he/she might have left for you here.  Perhaps the wording the he or she may use will key me into her/his identity.  Or perhaps the 'revelations' shared with you may betray this busybody to me (and, of course, I'd, in turn, share the news with you)  since a singular detail could theoretically have been shared with only a special somebody.  And should I hear it again from you at large, then that would indicate that that special somebody's lips somehow got unsealed. 

     

    Should I learn nothing from any of you, I will not be disappointed.

     

    Should I stumble upon some discovery with the assistance of one or all of you, I'd more than likely find myself shocked with a grin.

     

    Always a beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.  Ya think?

  • I was riding to work today and imagined no signs or signals anywhere ever again upon the road.  The road became significantly more visually pristine.  It was a joyful, chaotic, anarchic vision.



    I sat in the cemetery yesterday at sunset, after running, and nurtured myself in the frigid zone.  O clear cold stream of air.  O shadows of bones strewn into the darkness of infinity.  Give me icy bitter wintry more.  Make me forget the sultry summer sun that I adore.


     


    allseasons 
                                 Cemetery Crazy Horse (see profile pic)

    I have lost my mind many times before.  But this very last time, well, I kind of felt like I was about to die.  In fact, an acquaintance aside me, (perhaps merely imagined, perhaps otherwise) mentioned  “Are you okay? You look like you’re having a heart attack or stroke or something.”  I suppose that indicates how highly I identify ‘self’ with ‘mind’.  But self won out.  Only my mind died.  I’ve got a new mind now.  It’s only 3 days old.




     


    July 3, 2001, I first coined the term ‘xangarelic’.  Now, 8 days short of 5 years here, I will still not concede that I resemble that remark.  No, no, no.  Birds shall turn out to dinosaurs before my blog ossifies into a historic xangament of any sort.  For truly…



    may my heart always be open to little
    birds who are the secrets of living
    whatever they sing is better than to know
    and if men should not hear them men are old


    —e.e.cummings

  • Bridge and Bridget


     


    There’s a winding bridge that traverses the once infamous burning Cuyahoga River.  Upon this bridge yesterday, as I came around one blind turn, I encountered a car stopped in the inner fast lane (my chosen lane, too) too very few feet ahead.  My immediate reaction: “Oh my God, no.”  And with the brakes instantly applied, I stopped and then got around it.


     


    Standing behind the car was a young woman alone talking on a cellphone. “What the hell,”  I pondered, “I might as well just join her.”  So I pulled over and parked in the fast lane, too.  And met Bridget, who had just run out of gas.


     


    “I came around the bend before I even saw you,”  I exclaimed.


     


    “I know, this is the worst possible place to get stranded,” she conceded.


     


    “Do you have help coming?”


     


    “Yes, my friend is bringing some gas.  She should be here in 5 or 10 minutes.”


     


    I got a couple or iridescent orange traffic cones out of the back of my SUV and positioned them uplane of her car.  If someone was going to plow into us, they’d have to take out the cones first—nice consolation, huh?


     


    Hold it right there.  This story isn’t going anywhere.  Yes, she was a gorgeous girl.  No, I didn’t get her number.  Yes, the gas arrived and Bridget spilled it all over me.  No, all the other cars that were surprised, as I was, didn’t crash into us creating a gory mess.  Yes, Bridget apologized profusely for spilling the gas on me and I then took over the refueling process.  No, she didn’t light up a cigarette to quell her nervousness.  Yes, we both agreed it was both an unusual and beautiful view from the bridge of the Cuyahoga River and Lake Erie and joked that we had both stopped just for the view and not because of trouble.  No, we didn’t linger any longer than necessary but got the hell off of the friggin’ freezing bridge probably never to meet up again.

  • Another stupid Xanga story: Twin girls thrown in jail for making death threats on Xanga.


    Although in itself this doesn't seem so glamorous now, the invention of a paper-thin foldable battery is bound to launch dozens of wearable computer innovations.  Prepare to log yourself into the human network.


    When it's right, falling out of love is a beautiful thing for the soul.

  • Here's some trivia that was sent to me in my workplace.  I'm lazy.  Does anyone know if any of this is merely urban legend material or otherwise not accurate?


    Many years ago in Scotland, a new game was invented. It was ruled "Gentlemen Only...Ladies Forbidden" and thus the word GOLF entered into the English language.


    In the 1400's a law was set forth that a man was not allowed to beat his wife with a stick no thicker than his thumb. Hence we have "the rule of thumb"


    The first couple to be shown in bed together on prime time TV were Fred and Wilma Flintstone.


    Every day more money is printed for Monopoly than the US Treasury.


    Men can read smaller print than women can; women can hear better.


    Coca-Cola was originally green.


    It is impossible to lick your elbow.


    The State with the highest percentage of people who walk to work: Alaska


    The percentage of Africa that is wilderness: 28% (now get this...)


    The percentage of North America that is wilderness: 38%


    The cost of raising a medium-size dog to the age of eleven: $6,400


    The average number of people airborne over the US any given hour: 61,000


    Intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair.


    The first novel ever written on a typewriter: Tom Sawyer.


    The San Francisco Cable cars are the only mobile National Monuments.


    Each king in a deck of playing cards represents a great king from history:


    Spades - King David
    Hearts - Charlemagne
    Clubs -Alexander, the Great
    Diamonds - Julius Caesar


    111,111,111 x 111,111,111 = 12,345,678,987,654,321


    If a statue in the park of a person on a horse has both front legs in the air, the person died in battle. If the horse has one front leg in the air the person died as a result of wounds received in battle. If the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person died of natural causes.


    Only two people signed the Declaration of Independence on July 4th, John Hancock and Charles Thomson. Most of the rest signed on August 2, but the last signature wasn't added until 5 years later.


    Q. Half of all Americans live within 50 miles of what?
    A. Their birthplace


    Q. Most boat owners name their boats. What is the most popular boat name requested?
    A. Obsession


    Q. If you were to spell out numbers, how far would you have to go until you would find the letter "A"?
    A. One thousand


    Q. What do bulletproof vests, fire escapes, windshield wipers, and laser printers all have in common?
    A. All invented by women.


    Q. What is the only food that doesn't spoil?
    A. Honey


    Q. Which day are there more collect calls than any other day of the year?
    A. Father's Day


    In Shakespeare's time, mattresses were secured on bed frames by ropes. When you pulled on the ropes the mattress tightened, making the bed firmer to sleep on. Hence the phrase......... "goodnight, sleep tight."


    It was the accepted practice in Babylon 4,000 years ago that for a month after the wedding, the bride's father would supply his son-in-law with all the mead he could drink. Mead is a honey beer and because their calendar was lunar based, this period was called the honey month . which we know today as the honeymoon.


    In English pubs, ale is ordered by pints and quarts... So in old England, when customers got unruly, the bartender would yell at them "Mind your pints and quarts, and settle down." It's where we get the phrase "mind your P's and Q's"


    Many years ago in England, pub frequenters had a whistle baked into the rim, or handle, of their ceramic cups. When they needed a refill, they used the whistle to get some service. "Wet your whistle" is the phrase inspired by this practice.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~AND FINALLY~~~~~~~~~~~~


    At least 75% of people who read this will try to lick their elbow


    ..............................................................


    Believe it or not, you can read this:


    I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdgnieg.The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh?

  • As Iraqis embrace democracy, the U.S. is about to crush all remaining vestiges of Al Qaeda in Iraq.
    ( —ths blogline is paid for and is brought to you by the LincolnGroup, a PR firm hired by the Pentagon to plant favorable stories in the press.)

    I find it revolting that the U.S government through the agency of the Pentagon would hire a PR firm to pay Iraqi reporters to plant American-written propaganda in their media as if the stories were native portrayals of the current state of affairs.  Story here.

    We’re trying to convince Iraqis that democracy is good, right?

    And then we go and ‘buy’ their integrity and by doing so undermine the independence of their press.

    Is that the way democracy works in America? Or is it better not to answer that question?

    The Press in America is Free! And Democracy assures us it will ever be so.
    ( —ths blogline is paid for and is brought to you by the LincolnGroup, a PR firm hired by the Pentagon to plant favorable stories in the press.)

  • The 9/11 Commission has just released its Report Card assessing the federal government's response to its findings arising from the 9/11 catastrophe.  CNN summarizes the Report Card as U.S. gets 'more F's than A's' in post 9/11 preps


     


    Well, I suppose its always easy to be critical.  But how easy is it to be self -critical?  I decided to find out by comparatively assessing myself upon some made-up categories here on Xanga according to 'Then' (pre- and circa 9/11/2001) and 'Now'...


     


    Technically innovative blogging



    Then:  Immensely so.  Created many Xanga-specific scripts; sponsored the first mobile blog videocam  in the world; sponsored the first Xanga chat room (Blogchat); often took the lead on recommending new innovations for Xanga to implement.                  


    Now:  Little interest in further improvisations unless they are quick and painless. 


     


    Previous Grade: B+


    Current Grade:  D-


     


    Creative/conceptually innovative blogging


     


    Then:  Outbursts of uncontainable creativity interspersed with punctuations of corny gooffiness.


    Now:  I’d like to think the goofiness is gone.  I believe my greatest creative contributions lay yet ahead.


     


    Previous Grade: B+


    Current Grade:  A-  (pending developments)


     


    Frequency of updates to my blog


     


    Then:  Almost never missed a day.  Often posted multiple posts on a single day.  Actually at one point created an automated script that posted 'new' posts every 15 minutes (left it up only for about 40 hours.)


    Now:  Averaging perhaps 3-4 posts a week.  May sometimes go 3-4 days without a post.


     


    Previous Grade: A


    Current Grade:  C


     


    Overall frequency of commenting around on others’ blogs


     


    Then:  Hours and hours almost everyday. 


    Now:  Very infrequent.


     


    Previous Grade: B-


    Current Grade:  F


     


    Visiting/commenting-on/discovering  new users/sites


     


    Then:  Excitedly so—almost everyday.


    Now:   Rarely.


     


    Previous Grade: B


    Current Grade:  F 


     


    Blogging from work


     


    Then:  Excessively and dangerously often.


    Now:   Blue moon.


     


    Previous Grade: A


    Current Grade:  F


     


    Featured Content watching


     


    Then:  I used to lead  Featured Content.  Yep, I was indisputably ‘most popular’ for a time.  Watching was then incessant.
    Now:  Almost never.  I only occasionally check FC to see if anybody featured is posting nude profile pics of themselves.


     


    Previous Grade: A


    Current Grade:  F+


      


    Criticality of Xanga to my social life


     


    Then:  At times, Xanga and its extensions (email, chatting, messaging, etc.), were the entirety of my social.


    Now:  What social life?   J.K.  But not truly significant therein.  Hence, tangential—marginal.


     


    Previous Grade: B+


    Current Grade:  F- (is that a Freudian ‘F’? And does the '-' mean its minus from my life?)


      


    Criticality of Xanga  in inspiring my Muse


     


    Then:  Essential.


    Now:   As much, perhaps more, than ever.


     


    Previous Grade: A


    Current Grade:  A+


     


    Hey, I ended with an A+.  According to the rule of "what have you done for yourself lately" and restricting my short term memory to its shortest possible span, it looks like I'm doing OK.  In other words, my Muse may still be addicted, but I am not addicted to Xanga anymore.


     


    -end of profession of Xanga non-addiction (mostly)-

  • What creatures venture forth into the stark winter beauty of Dreamland?  Tracks do tell...



    Scampering nut crackers.


     



    Cats gone feral.


     



    Red fox prowling fight after sunset.


     


    onlythelonely


    URO


    Unidentified Running Object.

  • Being ‘here’ isn’t really possible.   For one thing, by time you read this, I’m already gone.  So I tell you I just ran 5 miles in Dreamland.  Just.  I’m still steamy in my sweatpants after the run and I’m obelisk-leaning as I stroke this.  No, not that ‘this’.  This very this.  ß (I took two sips from a beer between that last sentence and this one.)  Temp is 30 F. and conditions are calm.  There are wee birds off in some trees to my right chattering along…


     


    may my heart always be open to little
    birds who are the secrets of living
    whatever they sing is better than to know
    and if men should not hear them men are old
     -e.e.cummings


     


    But…


     


    Though I’m most likely still somewhere roaming this planet, I’ll probably be provocatively engaged in some other very different activity during your stopover (or flyby, whatever the case may be) here.  ß (Another couple of sips.)  There’s work to be done.  There’s a life to be led.  There’s a world to be won.  The heart that languishes is lost.  Hence, even though I often feel marginalized by our society and its constituent interacting members, I push intrepidly on.  Onwards.  Never stopping, if doomsday never comes.


     


    Okay. To hell with the intrigue.  Later, I’ll be updating Kim Gillilan’s SugarPineDesigns website to include her “Black & White Beauty” kit that is now featured in the current issue (Feb. 2006) of American Patchwork & Quilting magazine.  The kit sells for $30.  And since the the current issue came out, her web traffic has quadrupled.  So I better get busy.


     


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