I have a new favorite bus person, but he's not on my regular bus/train route. He's on the bus I take on days when I have volleyball games, so I'm surprised I've already seen him twice.
I have dubbed him the "Silent Messiah". There is something going on with him that causes his right arm to shoot skyward with alarming frequence. Maybe he's doing it on purpose. I'm not really sure. The end result is that he sits there, not uttering a sound, and his arm stretches toward the ceiling of the bus -- or the sky if he's at the bus stop -- eyes closed, fingers splayed, and then he lowers his elbow, bringing his arm down. It's so easy to imagine evangelical sermons going on inside his head. Ergo, Silent Messiah. Either that, or he's a rock star inside his head.
I would like to point out that he is always carrying a book that is by no means an easy-reader. It might seem, based on what I've told you, that he's intellectually lacking, but I'm pretty sure this is not the case. He just has a physical tic of some sort that I think is kind of fun to watch. It would be neat to find out what he's actually thinking.
The USDA photojournalism site rules. Really. I know you don't generally put the terms "USDA" and "excellent web content" together in your head, but they've got some really neat photos. The kicker, though, is that they're all in the public domain. This means they're free for you to use. Seriously. Neat. (Link via James)
In other news, I'd like to offer a meek apology to those of you who have answered the various surveys on my site. It has been a really long time since I've gotten around to updating those. I keep telling myself I'm going to, and that I will automate the whole process, and then I get really busy or hungry or tired and I forget. Sorry. It is my goal to update all of those by the end of the week, though. I promise.
I suppose it was only a matter of time, and I've long held the belief that there are plenty of mad scientists attempting to clone themselves in their basements, but I didn't think human cloning would be done in the name of Jesus. I should have known better, of course.
I would also like to point out that I can't believe these people named their company Clonaid. It sounds like a cross between a made up business name in a 1980's movie and a nasal decongestant. Also, their spokesperson's family name is Kwak. This is a joke, right?
Actually, the news article and Clonaid web site totally remind me of this guy who was at my bus stop one night, about three years ago. I was a little tipsy and I suppose this made me more approachable, or more receptive to crazy conversations at the bus stop. He wasn't freaky looking or anything, just your average guitar-toting, slightly unkempt hippie guy heading over to the Hawthorne area. Somehow, he worked the conversation around to aliens and he was telling me all about how they're all around and were here before humans arrived. I started agreeing with him because, well, it was funny.
The bus came, and we both got on. I found a seat, and the dude hung out in the aisle next to me, telling me about how he was convinced that aliens proto-cultured the Earth. His main proof was that Eve came from Adam's rib: "That's total evidence of cloning, man!" he exclaimed.
"Wow," my eyes went wide. "I never thought of it that way!" I won't pretend that it was all acting on my part. Actually, I recall asking him questions because at some point, the rational part of my brain wanted more information before completely discarding this theory. Of course, discarding the theory didn't take all that long, but I was amazed to find myself in the middle of this conversation, and I just kept going with it. So, we talked for the duration of the ride.
"It's so good to be able to talk to someone who understands this stuff," he told me as the bus pulled up to my stop.
"Yeah, I know," I replied, and made my exit.
Do you ever get that thing where a word pops into your head and you don't know why, but you keep thinking of that word and wishing you could use it in a sentence? I've had the word plenipotentiary stuck in my head all day.
As a side note, the Merriam Webster audio feature rules. It even says dirty words.
When Cherz first mentioned his ice block plan, I was doubtful. I thought he was nuts. Now, I'm not saying I was wrong about that; I'm just trying to give you some background, flesh out the scene a little.
It wasn't hard to envision a block of ice when he described his plan. Ice. Big cube. Frozen water. Yeah, I get it. But trying to picture the contraption he created by putting a rope into the water before freezing it (which required emptying the contents of his freezer, or at least moving them around a great deal) was a bit harder to imagine. More difficult still, was trying to picture Cherz sliding down a steep hill on top of this thing. That, in the end, was his goal.
So, yesterday, Cherz, Silky, and I all ended up at Mt. Tabor with a block of ice that had rope handles protruding from the front. It probably measured about 1' x 1.5' x 7". We first went down a fairly mild slope, and it was way more fun than I expected it to be. Mostly, I was there to take pictures; I didn't actually intend to participate, but it looked like fun, so I had to give it a try.
Then, the boys decided the slope was too tame, so we went to a really steep slope. We agreed it might be about a 40° slope, but none of us is very good at estimating these things. Cherz placed a towel on the ice block and climbed on. With a shrug that seemed to say, "Well, here I go. I hope this doesn't hurt," he picked up his feet and went speeding down the hill.
"Holy shit," I probably said. I'm really not sure. He did fine, though, and only tumbled off when he got to the rougher stuff at the bottom of the hill.
Next up was Silky, and his experience seemed to be similar. Then Cherz went again. "Are you going?" they asked me when the ice block had been hauled back up the hill. I hesitated. On the one hand, they looked pretty beat up by the weeds and flowers and whatever else they went careening through. On the other hand, they both had huge grins on their faces. "Yeah, I'm going," I told them. "I can't get all girly on you now."
At this point, I was thinking I could use my feet to slow me down. If I put them on the ground in front of me (not a good time to be wearing sandals), it seemed likely that I wouldn't go as fast, and I'd be able to dig my heels in. This was a severely flawed assumption. Sitting on the ice block, I looked down and could not see the rest of the hill because of the slope. I could see about ten feet in front of me, and then it dropped off.
I leaned forward to give myself a little momentum, and that was it. I saw green and purple rushing at me and thwapping against my legs. I saw some brown dirt. Mostly, just the green and purple, though -- grass, plants, purple flowers. Thwappity-thwap-thwap, I descended the hill at an amazing speed. It felt like a hundred miles an hour, but was probably closer to ten.
Finally, I got to a point where the foot dragging paid off, and I was able to stop myself. I looked back, and realized I'd gone way farther than I expected. Silky and Cherz were standing at the top laughing. I was laughing. I stood up, shaking with adrenalin, and hauled the ice block back up the hill. Cherz told me that I shouted "Woooah," as I took off, which I didn't remember doing.
In subsequent runs, both Silky and Cherz took some pretty good tumbles at the bottom of the hill -- the ice block had fallen apart in the front and kept catching on things. It was then decided that the ice block should be destroyed, which was promptly done (after a quick search for Cherz's wallet and truck stop sunglasses).
About a half an hour after we had started, we all headed back to the cars, off to our respective homes and showers. Ice blocking is dirty work.
As for the pictures, they won't be developed until I have a chance to set up my darkroom. If any turn out well, I'll make an effort to post some of them on this site.
Oops. It turns out my mom wasn't the first person to use or invent the word slitch. I don't think she had heard it before, so in a sense she did come up with it all on her own. But a couple of other people also came up with it all on their own before her. A quick google search reveals that there was a short film called "Slitch". It was made back in 2000. Also, a friend told me that Heinlein might have used the word at some point.
Still, the campaign continues. Slitch is still not a word I've heard in public, and I hear a lot of things while riding the bus. I guess this somewhat detracts from the purity of the quest: the word slitch has a bit of a head start on my mom. On the other hand, it really is a fun word to say, and the fact that it so precisely describes certain people (using three fewer letters!) makes it efficient to use.
Slitch is the word.
Awhile back, I mentioned on this site that my mom wanted to come up with a word that made it into the vernacular. She wanted to hear a word on TV or in a mall or something and know that she came up with it. You probably don't remember this, but then again, my rodent stalker remembered the little dinosaur guy I used to have on my home page, so maybe someone out there is paying attention after all.
Anyhow, to get to the point, my mom has come up with her word. It's slitch. Slitch is a noun meaning "slut-bitch". Mom's example? "Britney Spears is a slitch."
So, let's all help make one woman's dream come true. Maybe we should have a contest for best use of slitch on a blog, or in an e-mail. I don't have any prizes, and kudos aren't worth much, but we can come up with something, I'm sure. At any rate, spread the word, folks. It's fun to say, and it has the added bonus of making my mom happy.
Happy Birthday, Lukester!! I hope you have a wonderful 13th year!!
I am morosely fascinated by the final meal requests of death row inmates in Texas. The ones with no meal requested make me a little sad, but the worst is the note at the top that says "* The final meal requested may not reflect the actual final meal served." I can't help but wonder if Miguel Richardson got the birthday cake and all that fruit he requested, or if Stacey Lawton got his jar of dill pickles. (Link via i'll take punctuality)
Eww. Smell this.
Oops, I was wrong. It wasn't Capitol One who called me, it was Capitol First. They suck. They just called AGAIN. Grr.
Whoever they are, they've stepped over a line. They somehow got the wrong telephone number for me at work (one digit off), and ended up calling the desk of one of my co-workers repeatedly. Only they didn't say who they were. While I was out last week, he said he got a couple of phone calls a day. Whoever it was would ask for me, and when he said I wasn't here, they'd hang up. Or, he'd answer and say, "this is Rob," at which point they'd hang up.
When I came back to work yesterday, Rob told me about it, his manner suggesting that he thought I was in some pretty big trouble. I guess he thought it was a collection agency or something, about to send Guido around to break my kneecaps. Luckily, I don't owe anybody any money, so that's not it.
This morning, he shouted over to say that he got one of those phone calls. "Send them over," I told him. He transferred the call.
"This is Rebecca."
"Hi, Rebecca! How are you?" She sounded way too peppy at this point. I hate peppy, particularly before I've finished my morning cup of coffee.
"Who is this?"
"This is camrumph mruurph --"
"I'm sorry, who is this?"
"This is Capitol First, and you're pre-approved for a --"
"You're kidding me. You've been calling my work number to offer me a credit card?!"
"Yes."
"This is where I work. Please never call here again."
What a bunch of door knobs. It's bad enough that they're calling so frequently to offer me a credit card, but to be rude to my co-worker, refuse to tell him who they were, and hang up on him repeatedly is beyond the pale. Instead, they had him thinking I was in some huge kind of trouble... the kind of trouble that doesn't really involve words like "pre-approved".
I suppose it's possible that it wasn't really them, but I don't know who it would be otherwise, or for what other purpose they would be calling. My life is generally devoid of intrigue, so I can't imagine it's someone who knows me. I can come up with a thousand nefarious plots that flow forth from such a seemingly benign beginning, but none of them are really feasible. Maybe I'll use this in my next novel, though.
I'm disturbed that there is a movement to re-name 9.11.2001 as God Bless America Day. Happy G-BAD? I do like the idea of naming it Holy Fucking Shit Day, but it seems like we might want to leave god out of it. Enough people are confused about the involvement of god in the events that occurred anyhow.
I don't think calling it "September 11th" will be confusing after another one rolls by, but if it does become confusing, why wouldn't we just make reference to the World Trade Center, or airplanes flying into buildings? Can't we use context clues? Do we have to give it a name? Is there an official name for the day JFK was shot? I won't point out all the holes in the arguments on the GBAD site; if you don't find them self-evident, you won't agree with me anyhow.
(Link via Feral Living via A Small Victory via Royal Rodent)
Yo. I'm back, but I don't know what to say just yet. A whole lot happened in the last couple of weeks. Or rather, I did a whole lot, but I don't think you will find it all that interesting. A brief summary, in no particular order, would look something like this: I moved, with the help of six wonderful friends, got a cat, sang Christmas carols in my sister's minivan, drove approx. 1800 miles, went to the wedding of one of my best friends from high school (beautiful wedding), saw a bunch of people I haven't seen since high school, met up with some friends from 8th grade I haven't seen in 12 years, got a set of 6 sporks for a housewarming gift (they're really quite nice), spent over a week with hardly any internet access (it didn't hurt at all), saw my grandma, saw my uncle, saw some of my mom's friends I haven't seen in awhile, endured the 110 degree heat of Chico, CA, remembered why I moved away from there, played Scrabble, ate ice cream, remembered tons of things from my childhood while driving around the Bay Area, got lost in SF, got even more lost in SF, had a Krispy Kreme doughnut (mmm)... There's more, so much more, but it's boring to talk about like this. I'll tell you stories later, okay?
In the meantime, I have to catch up on work stuff. Also, only one person e-mailed me about a book while I was away. What's up with that?
Radio Silence: I will be away for awhile. I don't know how long, but it might be a whole ten or eleven days. I'm moving tomorrow and then I'm heading to California next week. I do not have any idea whether or not I will be able to get e-mail in any kind of reliable fashion. It will be spotty at best until I get hooked up in the new house.
I'm actually kind of looking forward to getting away from the computer for awhile... It will be interesting to rely on primitive technology, like the telephone, for communication. (Yes, that was a joke.)
In the meantime, you should all read at least one really good book and then tell me about it.
Byebye.
I love books.
A while ago, I said I thought it would be neat to have a "book passy aroundy project thingy". Eloquent, isn't it? What I meant by that was we should all take books we really, really like and give them to someone and everyone keeps passing the books around forever, or until they fall apart. I thought it would be cool if everyone who read a book signed their name on the inside cover, or left a little scrap of something, so that the books would collect more and more character as they went along.
Of course, I never executed on this idea, and it's a darned good thing because someone already did it! Sarge at work just pointed me to bookcrossing.com, which is all about passing on books and tracking them. How fun!!
Occasionally, I notice that advertisers or people who make things think women are stupid. Like the talking Barbie doll that said "Math is hard." Sometimes, though, I can't tell whether the people who come up with these things are stupid, or if they think we're stupid, or both. What I'm really talking about, though, is something I saw on TV last night. There was an ad that was pretty much aimed at the female audience, as it was about a feminine hygiene product (Carefree pads, I think). "Air," my TV told me. "It's in the air." They went on to explain that there's air in them there pads.
But come on, air is in the air? First: lame. Second: even if a pad is called "air," the whole thing sounds dumb. Third: not to be too graphic or anything, but I'm not sure you want anything that results from the female monthly cycle to go airborne or be in the air.
Okay, so maybe it's not that they think women are stupid. Maybe they didn't envision us all sitting around our television sets nodding in agreement and saying to each other, "Mm hmm, that's true. Air is in the air." I guess in this scenario, we're all supposed to leap up and go buy maxi pads, as though we can never have enough. Like they're shoes or something.
