air kisses

During the day, I tend to stow my Handy in my front pants' pocket--perhaps an unwise and an unfortuneate spot. It vibrates before it rings, though I miss quite a few calls while I'm on the march and there's a hint of ambient noise. I think I'd require a squad of cheerleaders to alert me sometimes to an incoming-call. I've noticed, however, that I occasionally get phantom vibrations, a twitch, along my thigh, and I'll bat my leg until I'm satisfied that there's no one on the other end. It's sort of like the sensations from a phantom limb, these galvanizing disturbances. I wonder if they are electromagnetically-influenced muscle spasms or anticipating to hear from someone. Why aren't phantom sensations ever very nice ones? Not a phoney feeling of an arm that's no longer at my disposal or a missed call, but rather a ghostly brush from H's lips?

reptile farm

Either staying close to home or ranging far and wide, it seems that most weekends were spent exploring and sometimes discovering jewels of castles, churches and ruins. I felt like I had not done that, relaxing and rambling down a tiny road, getting lost, for quite some time, but H and I spent a shortening day doing just that. We hadn't sought out any special sites since we were considering renting this storied-joint but decided against it,after piquing the count's interest, for practical reasons. Also, I could imagine the peasants revolting and coming after us with pitchforks. There is a lot out there to be discovered--heresay is gainsay over a navigation system, which seems to take the fun out of getting lost.

This is not a Pipe

The superlative directory of wonderful things BoingBoing posted a bit of dadaism in signage last week for this bilingual road sign in Wales. I spotted this similar ad absurdia meme by the fleet garage at work. I wonder what sort of delivery system they have in place for slapping up these signs. It's sort of like dodgy, cheap underwear inspected by Inspector #52.

a very merry un-birthday from me to you

For sometime, I have been kind of reticent mentioning my birthday to colleagues and such because I in part feel that I've had quite enough of them as it is. A bit of a party among friends is something altogether different, though. I think, however, that the bigger reason I try not to call attention to my getting older is because it's a time for personal evaluation--but the sort of personal polite that is also acceptable at the office New Year's Eve party. I've cringed always on being questioned about my resolutions, so much so that I'd like to avoid the situation altogether. It's a bit of Schadenfreude, not of being perfect--not even necessarily content, but decidedly happy. It's like the raging drunk loudly declaring his resolve to have more fun as the rest of the gathering quietly toasts the passing year. And never brought to mind... I want to be smarter about things, generally, and dedicate more time to studies and being creative, but I am fully succumbing to the travel-bug, I like my job and I'm hopelessly in love.

All Hallows' Eve

Halloween causes reflection of the nature of terror, the nature of fear--though they all this ghoulish mimicry is to either appease or confuse what terrorizes us. Considering all the different lenses on what's scary, I doubt anyone wants to emulate the frightening things out there. It's time to play the Pyramid: stubborn stains, having a wash that's not whiter than white, not having the appropriate tool for DiY projects, not having superior supplemental homeowners' insurance, not having the perfect partner, paying too much for anything whatsoever, not having a perfectly-toned body, hay-fever and seasonal allergies, dated ringtones and Handys and PCs! Oh my! And guess what? That's just European tv. Apparently my mother purchased a giant plasma televison to experience larger-than-life pharmaceutical passion-plays in the States. Instead maybe we dress up like those consumers we see in the commercials everyday to appeal or confuse.

Asimov

Sometimes, while trowling the internet, humans encounter a succinct test such as this, which can once and for all establish the end-user as a sentient being. It's an odd sort of Turring-test that can prove that the gentle-surfer at the other end is not some malicious bug or a diabolical Evil-Genius. I wonder if such a lithmus test will endure into the future. Could humans devise such an ingenious test that a robot would never be able to pass? Text not recognized--malfunction, malfunction! Would it become standard to be asked to validate one's humanity when making any transaction? Discobear575--there, that shows I am legitimate.

The Maverick and the Soccer Mom

It's passing for excitement nowadays--maybe a bit of distraction from the implosion of the rest of the world. McCain and Palin are still tight like prom night, never mind that she might be the very co-efficient of drag on the entire campaign (hmmm...drag, I ought to be Sarah Palin for Halloween--I can't imagine anything scarier). I have no sorrow for the destruction of the Republican ticket--I think they're perfectly-matched, sort of like Caligula and the horse he appointed senator--but rather the way it dulls the entire discussion and maybe exaggerates differences that are not really there. Here's what we know: Obama is a Marxist, a befriender of terrorists, and a totally not esentially different person from John McCain. It is maddening.

Now McCain is playing dismissive with calls that his thrust is falling short and ignoring polls that show him slipping further and further behind. Maybe--Pepsi Choice sponsored by PepsiCo is an invitation to a little white lie: some responders may be too embarrassed to admit to a pollster that they want to vote for the ticket with the only candidate with executive office experience, but will do so in the privacy of the voting-booth, or to tell a stranger that they won't vote for a black man.

copyFight

It seems there was a fleeting golden age for the stuff of reference, nostalgia and inside-jokes, and albeit, it was a virtual one, ready resources for a quick study and appending an effortless and expansive footnote to anything. Throttling battles over intellectual property and old claims laid to old monpolies and video-vaults have put an end to that, however. The one great wealths of clips and music have been diminished, certainly, and video form is sometimes a poor substitute for original sources seen in their original context. It's scary to think that coming generations may never hear of a Charlie-in-a-Box, Snaggletooth's laugh or a puppet called Madame, except maybe as contemporary allusions that are only intended for members of the mature audience, because of niggling copywrite laws. I was once going to explain to H that my father regarded my mother as Fred and Barney did the Great Gazoo, batting away an invisible gremlin, but it is really hard to explain without a few visual cues.