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| Wednesday, February 18th, 2004 | | 3:18 pm |
| | Tuesday, November 18th, 2003 | | 3:01 pm |
potty training
My roommates, who apparently read in the bathroom, put a basket accross from the toilet and filled it with "lad" magazines. This means that for about 10 minutes a day for the last month, as I sit on the commode and work on loosening my bowels, I have been staring at the semi-naked picture of Krista Allen (who's she? some pretty starlet, I dunno) on the December 2003 cover of Stuff magazine. I fear that beautiful big-breasted brunettes in red lingerie now invoke in me an entirely inappropriate Pavlovian response. | | 2:52 pm |
expectation management
I got a credit card charge from some bogus "Shoppers Advantage" plan. I called them to cancel the charge and got put on hold. The on-hold waiting music was Rolling Stone's "You Can't Always Get What You Want" Later the same day, I couldn't access my bank's website. I called their tech support and got put on hold. Their song was from Phantom of The Opera: "No more talk of darkness/Forget these wide-eyed fears/I am here, nothing can harm you/My words will warm you and calm you" talk about setting the mood Current Music: Phantom of the Opera/All I Ask of You | | Saturday, September 20th, 2003 | | 12:47 am |
new york notes
Riding in a bus along Manhattan's 9th avenue on a completely empty stomach is an indescribable experience. Every nation in the world has sent a delegation here and established a restaurant. I thought that acids would eat a hole in my stomach. Walking in Manhattan is as demanding as any sport. Like a runner in an obstacle race, a New York pedestrian must stay in shape, must keep practicing; otherwise, the obstacles will keep bumping into him and cussin' him out. Another New York landmark has disappeared: the door closed, the windowfront bare, the floor strewn with dirt, a "For Rent" sign in front. There's nothing more to see at the 42nd street Peep-O-Rama. 42nd Street subway station bench on a Friday night: Pretty Maids All in a Row on the F train: a posse of mean-looking Hispanic men walks by, gently swaying their hips. Gay Latino Gangbangers. Boy, was I glad there were other people in that subway car. on the F train: a black woman with long straight red hair and a "I love my hair" t-shirt. Yes honey, those hair pieces are expensive and should be treated with love. | | Friday, September 19th, 2003 | | 3:26 pm |
where I've been for the last couple of months
I've been away on a special mission for the goverment, trying to infiltrate American code into Red China Linux. Mission accomplished: now anyone logging into that commie OS just needs to input the top secret password C 1 4 0 W N 3 Z J 0 0 to become root. | | Sunday, September 14th, 2003 | | 10:39 am |
I have a theory that when we dream, we dream a series of disconnected (or loosely connected at best) images. The dreams we remember are stories we tell ourselves in order to understand what we really saw. Today, just before waking up, I've dreamt of a TV commercial. Open with a slow PAN across a photograph - it's a a wedding, the bride and the groom in full regalia are walking hand in hand down the aisle ZOOM into the guy's head. FULLSCREEN a huge-ass TV set. It's showing a football game. TOUCHDOWN! A group of guys jump from the couch they've been sitting on and into the frame, hands upraised, celebrating. The groom is in the guy in the middle. ANNOUNCER: "We don't just show you the picture, we show you the subtext behind the picture." But of course that's not what I really dreamt at all. This is only what I can remember dreaming now, while I'm dreaming I'm writing a journal entry. | | Sunday, August 31st, 2003 | | 8:39 am |
why do people always overgeneralize everything? | | Sunday, June 1st, 2003 | | 3:53 am |
cure-all
what is the perfect way to cure depression? what gets rid of a lingering cough? the end all and be all of medicine ALCOHOL | | Saturday, May 31st, 2003 | | 10:31 am |
I'm constantly losing my cellphone. As a result, I call myself more often than everybody else put together | | Friday, May 30th, 2003 | | 4:09 pm |
finally - a truly intuitive input device
Today, Slashdot linked to this reviewof an unusual keyboard, which looks like ... well, a picture is worth a thousand words  | | click on image for full view |
Quoting from the article:
Despite--or maybe because of--the OrbitTouch's similarity to the female anatomy, it's very comfortable to use. Your hands rest very naturally on the twin domes.
First off, the mere appearance of the domes implies that they should be turned and twisted. Every person who stopped by while I was testing attempted to turn one of the domes--I quickly had to slap their hand and point a finger toward the ominous, and obvious, warning label directly on the front of the keyboard (pictured below).
 |  | | click on image for full view |
</font>
Notice the warning label--do not twist the domes!
On a serious note, this keyboard is supposed to be more ergonomic and less prone to carpal tunnel, but it basically replaces the movements of your fingers with movements of bigger joints - wrists and shoulders. How can that be less damaging to your body than a regular keyboard is something I don't get | | Thursday, May 29th, 2003 | | 3:37 am |
| | 3:23 am |
о чистом романтическом чувстве
Никогда не заходите в туалет сразу после любимой девушки! Когда находишся в романтическом настроении, когда сумел себя убедит что ты сейчас в обществе самой красивой, самой доброй, самой умной, самой замечательной на всем свете, а потом заходиш в ванную комнату и в твой нос вторгаются произведенные ей кишечные газы.... Пьедестал на который поставленна она, рушится вдребезги, и жизнь снова становится совершенно обыденной. Мне кажется, что женщины относятся к вещам более прагматично, и спокойно переносят тот факт что их любимый возможно, как говорится, full of shit, но мужчинам этого лучше не осознавать. Надо познакомится с такой, у которой гавно не пахнет. | | 3:00 am |
shopping on 5th avenue (part II)
I went into Versace and walked up to the counter. - Can I have a plastic bag? - I said - Just a bag? - they said. - Yes. - I said - It will be fifty dollars. - they said - Okay. - I said. So I gave them 50 dollars. And they gave me a plastic bag. Sure, it's expensive, but you should feel the quality of the material | | Wednesday, May 28th, 2003 | | 3:34 am |
shopping on 5th avenue
Today I bought a "I went shopping at Gucci but all I got was this lousy t-shirt" t-shirt. Nah, I'm just kidding. I couldn't afford it. | | Tuesday, May 27th, 2003 | | 12:37 pm |
a new way to write essays?
I just noticed a "new" Google feature - Google Answers. Google has recruited a cadre of experts on every subject, and they answer questions posted on subject-by-subject forums for nominal fees. The range of answer prices I've seen was $3-15. Anyone can scroll through the forums and see the past questions and their answers. Like everything else they do, Google has done this feature very well - most of the questions posted seem to be answered propmptly, and the answers are of consistently high quality. Googlers must have done a great job selecting their pool of expert contractors. Judging by the answers, all of them seem to be professionals in their field of expertise. The most interesting part of this service is the nature of quesitons one can see in the scientific forums. At least half of them sound suspiciously like essay questions from college humanities assignments. And they are answered. In very good prose! And at length! Surpisingly, Google experts don't mind writing somebody's essays for a nominal fee averaging around five dollars. So from now on, it's not necessary to sweat over a blank page and fight writer's block. Spend five bucks, post your essay topic to Google Answers, wait 24 hours for an answer to appear and then just cut-and-paste into your favorite word processor. | | 12:22 pm |
месяц назад я играл в баскетбол - мяч ударил меня по указательному пальцу, палец распух и когда ушиб прошел палец остался слегка искривленным две недели назад простыл, охрип и кашлял. Охриплость прошла, но кашель не проходит. Раньше, такие мелкие болячки у меня проходили, не оставляя следов. Когда повреждения огранизма начинают постепенно накапливатся, это значит что молодость прошла - наступил средний возраст. it's all downhill from here | | Saturday, May 24th, 2003 | | 4:32 pm |
странно, но факт - чаще всего хорошие идеи мне приходят в душе. душ - почище лубой другой части моего каждодневного расписание. ср. с Красотой по-американски | | Friday, May 23rd, 2003 | | 2:45 pm |
| | 2:27 pm |
I was a late grower. When I was 16, finally I started to drop hairs on my chin and I was super excited. I've spent an inordinate amount of thought figuring out how to shave, what the correct technique is, wherever to use an electric shaver or a razor, etc. One of my mother's friends gave me this advice: "Of course, you can get a closer shave with a blade. But since you have so many zits, if you shave with a razor, you'll cut them all off, and will look even uglier. So just use an electric one." Naturally, I never spoke to him again. The strangest part of this story is that I wrote it up, with almost this exact wording for my MIT admission essay - and got accepted. MIT - it truly collects all sorts of weirdos. | | Thursday, May 22nd, 2003 | | 7:35 am |
from http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2002/06/30/nart30.xml : Italian concept artist Piero Manzoni canned 90 tins of his own faeces in 1961 an ironic statement on the art market. Each can contained 30 grams of his faeces and Manzoni sold it for the same price as if it were gold. "I should like all artists to sell their fingerprints, or else stage competitions to see who can draw the longest line or sell their shit in tins," he wrote. "If collectors really want something intimate, really personal to the artist, there's the artist's own shit. That is really his." The cans were sealed according to industrial standards and then circulated to museums around the world. The Tate gallery in London, the Pompidou Museum in Paris and the Museum of Modern Art in New York have bought cans since. However, canned shit eventually explodes. At least 45 of the original 90 cans have exploded by now. Just put yourself in place of a person who, after paying its weight in gold for a seminal work by an incredibly important international artist, has the precious objet d'art explode right in his face. Can you imagine the disappointment? |
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