Everything about nothing...

yay

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 03:25:13 GMT

coincidence(s)

Thu, 17 Jul 2008 18:56:21 GMT

As I was getting into my car this morning, I saw a few birds sitting on the power line in front of my house. Just before I got into my car, I thought "I've never seen a bird lose its balance or fall off of a power line. How funny would it be if one of them did."

Then one of them fell right to the ground.

Then as I was on my way home from class on the LIE I was just about to get onto the exit 61 off ramp to go home when I saw a sweet Trek mountain bike on a rack on the back of an SUV, and thought "That's a sweet bike, it would suck if it fell off that rack in the middle of the road."

Then it did.

Two mind blowing coincidences in less than 6 hours.

What the hell?

got it.

Thu, 10 Jul 2008 02:08:25 GMT

Women confuse men. That’s a given. But it’s not because we don’t learn from our past relationships; we just forget everything we learned in the time between one and the next. And we only remember how different the two genders are when a woman’s inherent eccentricities rear their wild head, once again.

To keep things in check, we’ve compiled a cheat sheet to help you keep your girl’s differences in perspective. So no matter how cool the chick, chances are she (is)…

Full of Shit: Before you call NOW, let us just say that this is only a periodic trait, and exists in varying degrees. Most of the time, it comes out in what we like to call a “game,” but outside of a relationship it’s called lying. Basically, she tells you one thing, but means something more than her words. (Words only seem to matter when she remembers to use yours against you.) Other times, it happens when she thinks lying serves a purpose greater than the truth of the moment. So, she might have gone to lunch with her ex and said she didn’t–but he was a dick like usual, so it wasn’t a big enough deal to tell you about (i.e., she cares about you enough to not want to hurt your feelings, but not enough to stop looking elsewhere). Now, try going out with your ex…

More Complicated Than You: When a man says all he needs is some time for TV, some time for drinking beer (aside from time spent watching TV) and some sex, he isn’t kidding. Most guys are often easily pleased, regularly content (if not happy) and down for pretty much anything. That’s what we mean by “easy-going.” When you’re not dating a woman (or have just started dating her, and she likes you), she can have no trouble matching that description. However, once she’s comfortably in a relationship, she unveils a net of internal and inter-personal intricacies capable of confusing the crap out of any man. It’s a lot of ins, outs, what-have-yous, and it’s F’ing difficult to remember.

Requires Compliments: Ok ladies, we get it–you have terrible self-esteem. And that sucks. We’re sure it’s our fault, somehow. (How?) But unless you want to start telling us what a gigantic d*ck we have every time we see you, give us a break if we don’t notice what you’re wearing from time to time. Maybe what you’re wearing sucks. Did you think of that?…Uh, sorry honey. What we meant to say was, that weird bag dress you threw on looks awesome.

Believes She Knows More About You Than You Do: Again, this only happens after her relationship is in a comfortable spot. At that point, if there’s something she doesn’t like about you, she will probably try to change it. Note: If you’re cheating on her, it’s ok for her to want that to stop. But if you’re just wearing the wrong shirt, or have the wrong haircut, that’s not her sh*t to change. You know how you want your hair, dammit. Tell her so–she’ll appreciate you standing up for yourself.

P.S. Women: Don’t believe anything Cosmo or any other “female-targeted publication” tells you about what guys like. Just keep it as close to BJs and BBQ as possible and you’re in the green.

Evil Toward Other Girls: Unless you beat women (in which case, you should be getting your ass kicked right now, or in jail–preferably both) it’s difficult to comprehend the razor-sharp viciousness women lash each other with during a feud. Angry women are cold, calculating–and if they decide to fight back, they inflict the most damage possible. And this is the part guys forget: Mess up, and they’ll do the same to you! So if you catch your girl hitting below the belt with emails and rumors against someone you thought was her friend, watch your back, that’s all we’re saying.

Self Conscious About Something: This is essentially the cause of “Requires Compliments,” from above. But what women don’t realize is that, when a guy is with a girl, he thinks she’s hot. That’s a given in a guy’s mind, and doesn’t change much. So we completely forget that women, in general, are nervous wrecks of internal anguish. Usually, their fluctuating insecurity is about their bodies, which they say is a product of our cruel desire for them. (As if women are so kind to each other on this front…) Really, it’s about all types of stuff. So guys, if you take this fact of female existence to heart, it helps explain many of their womanly mysteries. (Not the g-spot one, though…)

Crazy: We know this is cliche, but let’s get something straight: When chemical imbalances (i.e., changes in hormone levels) control your thoughts, words and actions–that’s called crazy. A “visit from aunt flow,” as they say, is enough to throw many women over the edge–at least for a couple of days. And while we will forever hold hope that there’s a reliably sane one amongst them, we are yet to even hear of her existence. In fact, most women admit their (temporary) insanity; you’d know if you listen to them. Don’t, and that’s some sh*t they’ll use against you, if you make the mistake of not knowing what the hell is going on.

Not Funny: Believe us, we’ve met (and dated) plenty of funny women. They’re not always fat and not always lesbian. Some of them are hot, and those chicks are the best. But for the most part, women just like to laugh at our jokes (they all say they want a funny man), and suck at coming up with their own. And when it comes to stand-up comedians, women have Lisa Lampanelli and Sarah Silverman and…uh…yeah, that’s it. Unless you count Courtney Love, but we doubt you want to claim her.

A Star-Fucker: Given the opportunity, most women would seriously consider screwing a (cool) famous person, just for the hell of it. Even your girlfriend. It’s just in their nature. (Non-virgin) guys don’t get obsessed with famous people the way women do. (Just go to a Justin Timberlake concert, or at least stand outside and watch to see.) We’re not saying she’ll cheat on you, but she would definitely weigh her options, given the chance. Especially if the dude plays a guitar or drums. Those dudes get laid, always. Double the chances again if he has an accent. Basically, if she’s going to an after party, agree to meet her there–or consider yourself a dumbass. (She will.)

A Better Liar: When a man lies, he knows he’s doing something wrong. He’ll dart his eyes, mumble, change the subject and try to just get the hell out of the situation as fast as possible. When a woman lies, she can look the person she loves square in the eye and feed him the biggest load of bullshit ever, and make it seem like she’s being perfectly reasonable–more reasonable than usual! (That’s your first clue.) But pity the man who catches his woman in a lie; call her out on it, and she will drop her entire arsenal of your fuck-ups upon your quickly withering form. Forget that tactic; it’s better to just go get drunk and hit on other chicks out of spite.

Enjoys Cat Calls: First of all, most dudes don’t call out to girls on the street; we check out your ass and overflowing push-up bra from a respectable distance. But women don’t just (secretly, deep down) enjoy getting cat calls thrown their way, they expect it. Sure, some dude might go over the line now and then, and that never feels nice. But if nobody stares and nobody says a single lewd comment, she feels less sexy, like there’s something wrong with her that day, or at least with what she’s wearing. Guys, don’t take this as an invitation to hit on every stranger you see walking down the street. But ladies, stop telling us you don’t like it.

Constantly Looks For Inner-Meaning: For men, saying exactly what you mean stands as a matter of pride. But no matter how straight your talk, women like to feel like they have more control over the situation by attempting to decode what you’re not saying, so they can guess how you’re feeling and what to do next. Here’s the thing, ladies: Men only talk to accomplish a goal of some type, like working out a business plan. You talk just to talk. It makes you feel better just to get everything out there. If talking isn’t for any reason other than to talk, he’d rather do anything else.

Uses Sex To Manipulate Men: If she’s looking extra hot and/or acting particularly friendly, beware: she is probably going to ask you to do something you don’t want to do. (This is a perfectly acceptable trade-off in a woman’s mind.) She knows you like sex, and she’s got the tools to use that desire against you–or at least to get what she wants. But sex is what we want, so don’t get us wrong on this one: We want you to use sex to manipulate us. It’s the best form of manipulation possible. But don’t think we don’t know what you’re up to.

Time Trial #1

Fri, 02 May 2008 17:37:50 GMT

Keep in mind that Lance Armstrong is a professional and trains for several hours per day and I do not.

Lance Armstrong, Stage 1 2005 Tour de France time trial =
11.81 miles = 19 km
20.54 min = 1.75 minutes per mile
34.50 mph(avg)

Using those stats, Armstrong’s run =
10.53 miles = 16.94 km
18.32 min = 1.75 minutes per mile
34.50 mph(avg)

Compare that to my very FIRST real time trial run =
10.53 miles = 16.94 km
28.19 min = 2.68 minutes per mile
22.42 mph(avg)

I’m definitely on my way and am not nearly in as bad shape as I thought.

lifetime achievement

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 23:41:54 GMT

http://www.harvardhumanist.org/2008/04/25/scientist-punk-rock-star-humanist-greg-graffin-concertqa-sat/

Greg Graffin to be awarded 2008 harvard humanist lifetime achievement award.

right on.

without teeth

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 20:11:35 GMT

so i just had two wisdom teeth removed.

affirmations:
-getting dental work is not bad at all and people who are afraid of the dentist are wieners.
-it feels good to finally have this done. they have been bothering me for several weeks now.
-nitrous oxide is awesome.
-i need to score some nitrous oxide.

apparently i had some vietnam acid flashback in the office because the nurse came in and turned the NO2 flow lower . all i remember was waiting for like (actually) 30 minutes for the doctor to come in. the nurse gave me some nitrous but the flow was very low. the doctor then bursts in the room. there i am all dazed. all i remember was him coming into the room like a rockstar saying "alright nowww breathe deep chris, we've got plenty of big big tanks of this stuff"... and i was in lalaland. what seemed like 2 hours (but according to my phone was only 18 minutes) later, i had two less teeth and was on my way home.

good times.

more jeff goldblum fun

Sat, 05 Apr 2008 14:11:45 GMT

http://www.bestweekever.tv/2008/04/02/icymi-slow-mo-jeff-goldblum-sounds-a-whole-lot-like-me-on-friday-nights/

dumb idiots

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 01:00:52 GMT

stupid idiots... this is why i am an atheist.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080328/ap_on_re_us/daughter_s_death_prayer

haven't posted one of these in forever.

Fri, 21 Mar 2008 21:16:11 GMT

Favorite song of the moment:

"My Last Serenade" by Killswitch Engage

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 14:36:18 GMT

Political Pokemon

link

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 20:14:22 GMT

This is what preschoolers think about what happens when people get old?

random interesting science facts

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 14:50:30 GMT

-Radio waves travel so much faster than sound waves that a person listening to a campaign speech by radio broadcast can hear the words 18,000 kilometers away before a person sitting at the back of the convention hall where the politician is speaking.

-If a piece of a neutron star the size of a dime landed on earth, it would weigh about 100 million tons.

-Astronauts in space cannot belch - without gravity, gas cannot separate from liquids in their stomachs.

-The interstellar gas cloud that comprises Sagittarius B contains a billion billion billion (yes, that’s three orders of billion) liters of drinkable ethanol.

quote

Tue, 27 Nov 2007 21:39:27 GMT

“I have come to a frightening conclusion. I am the decisive element in the classroom. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that creates the weather. As a teacher, I possess tremendous power to make a child’s life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture of an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated, and a child humanized or dehumanized.”

Haim Ginott, Teacher and Child

special

Sun, 04 Nov 2007 23:25:01 GMT

A momentous occasion for my car occurred yesterday...

Followed shortly by...

shark

Mon, 15 Oct 2007 18:23:35 GMT

who wants to come to the met with me one of these days.

damien hirst's "the physical impossibility of death in the mind of someone living" will be there in the modern art gallery.

i'd also like to go for the sake of going as i havent been there in forever.

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 01:40:49 GMT

this might be quite possibly the most incredibly beautiful instrument i have ever seen in my life... moreso than anything stratavarius could ever do...

another quote

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 21:32:10 GMT

"Adapt and overcome."

oh yeah

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 21:23:03 GMT

P.S... now that school started again, i hope to write more than i did[nt] this summer.

question

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 21:22:07 GMT

The most important question ever asked or to be asked throughout history has been and is...

Why?

Think about it.

undone

Sun, 22 Jul 2007 15:10:02 GMT

You know I can't be like [everybody].
I can't tell you what you want to hear.
I don't know if I can make it better.
All I know is I will be around.

small poem

Thu, 12 Jul 2007 13:10:21 GMT

i'd give you words but no words come to mind
you turn me cold so i'll tell you lies

done

Tue, 10 Jul 2007 21:09:43 GMT

Thursday, August 16th, 6pm.

New ink.

take the time and read it...

Mon, 09 Jul 2007 03:23:22 GMT

She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,' cried the young Student; 'but in all my garden there is no red rose.'
From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
'No red rose in all my garden!' he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. 'Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.'
'Here at last is a true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.'
'The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,' murmured the young Student, 'and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.'
'Here indeed is the true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'What I sing of he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, 'or can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.'
'The musicians will sit in their gallery,' said the young Student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;' and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

'Why is he weeping?' asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
'Why, indeed?' said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
'Why, indeed?' whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
'He is weeping for a red rose,' said the Nightingale.
'For a red rose!' they cried; 'how very ridiculous!' and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are white,' it answered; 'as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are yellow,' it answered; 'as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are red,' it answered, 'as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.'

'One red rose is all I want,' cried the Nightingale, 'only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?'
'There is a way,' answered the Tree; 'but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.'
'Tell it to me,' said the Nightingale, 'I am not afraid.'
'If you want a red rose,' said the Tree, 'you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.'
'Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,' cried the Nightingale, 'and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?'
So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
'Be happy,' cried the Nightingale, 'be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.'
The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
'Sing me one last song,' he whispered; 'I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.'
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
When she had finished her song the Student got lip, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
'She has form,' he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - 'that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.' And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.
She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Yale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.
But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.
And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
'Look, look!' cried the Tree, 'the rose is finished now;' but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
'Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried; 'here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;' and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.
The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.
'You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,' cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.'
But the girl frowned.
'I am afraid it will not go with my dress,' she answered; 'and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.'
'Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,' said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.
'Ungrateful!' said the girl. 'I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has;' and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
'What a silly thing Love is,' said the Student as he walked away. 'It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.'
So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

small poem

Thu, 05 Jul 2007 14:12:22 GMT

i'd hold my breath forever,
but breathing is an involuntary action.

new game

Sat, 30 Jun 2007 02:10:08 GMT

I'm pretty sick of the "obnoxiously nice game".

Tomorrow starts the "fuck everyone game".

Or rather, the "fuck everyone who is an asshole game".