Brownian Motion

Eleven more things to do on a Friday afternoon, er II. That's Roman for two, not eleven.)

Fri, 4 Apr 2008 15:59:15 -0600

So this comment by a dear friend appeared on my facebook wall today: "dude, update your fucking blog already. pi day was like, forever ago. what are you waiting for, 4.20?" A few hours later, I ran into another friend who was similarly disappointed with my low productivity (hey, take a number, alright?). Anyways, while I do think 4.20 is a great date for a blog entry and I totally had the grooviest idea about what to write, but I totally forgo—wait, wait—nope, gone,

But then it occurred to me that it was the first Friday of April, and the sun is shining through my office window, and no one else seems to be working today, so what the hell?

Here's another list of shit I found on the 'net when I was supposed to be working, including a few sent in by loyal readers (which, by the way, I appreciate way more than the bitching I get from some people who apparently read my blog but never bother to comment).

Refresh your frakkin' memory of seasons 1–3 of Battlestar Galactica with this 8-minute video. Then read a synopsis of episodes 19 and 20 of season 3. Then go change your frakkin' pants, 'cause season 4 begins tonight! Don't like BG? Go frak a moose, Philistine! (Thanks for the link, hahaha!)

Name your own kung-fu (gongfu in Pinyin) move with the Amazing Verbal Kung-Fu generator. I'm partial to the Vicious Goldfish Charge, but that's because I live in fear of the behemoth in my tank. (Heh-heh, I said "behemoth in my tank.")

Listen to unidentified mystery sounds recorded underwater by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), like "Bloop", "Julia", "Train", "Slowdown", "Whistle", and "Upsweep". If the abyss freaks you out, read about and listen to the Hum.

Ask a biologist for answers to the questions on your mind at Ask a Biologist. (Most of you will have guessed from the title that your questions should be about biology. I didn't, and was dismayed that they couldn't tell me why Daddy left Mommy and me. To be fair, I suspect even Daddy don't know.)

Peep the secret lives of others through the things they leave behind. Prefer eavesdropping on park benches, in crowded caf�s and confessionals to picking up old garbage? So do these people. (Warning: The comments and conversations overheard may contain hilarious levels of stupidity. People whose opinions of the general intelligence of humankind are already dangerously low are advised to consult a physician before clicking the link.)

To be or not to be? Fuck that noise! Banish the verb to be from your vocabulary by writing in E-Prime. Why? Because life isn't complicated enough without imposing dubious restrictions upon oneself in the name of self improvement.

What are you, some kind of bigot? Hell if I know, but find out with this entirely-too-uppity set of tests from those ivy-leaguers at Harvard. Getting that job in airport security afterward is up to you, however.

Make up captions for the oddest photos ever, and have the results judged by your—ugh!—peers. Don't like competition? No problem; this site'll probably suit you better, Pansy. (Thanks, 1-Ton!)

Feed your mind with the paleontological art of Carl Buell, and the graphic novels and cartoons of Jay Hosler. Concerned that all this science might endanger your reproductive fitness? Well, this Java applet showing the relative popularity of integers won't help, but you might want to consider not touching your junk in public anymore. Just sayin'.

Sate your curiousity about the Radium Girls, Lake Vostok, and the hijacking of WGN-TV in Chicago at Damn Interesting. Not interested in stuff that really happened? Then you'll probably be more interested in the Museum of Hoaxes, or in Paris Hilton's college graduation video.

Play the nearly 2^32,582,657−1 point 'n' click games listed at Lazylaces by Graeme (who, judging from his writing, might possibly be the nicest blogger ever.) There are lots of other fun little non-point 'n' click games there too, like the addicting Grow.

Okay, that's it for me. Time to hit the pub and toss back a few pints before heading home to find out where the hell Starbuck really went last March.

It's π Day!

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 13:58:00 -0600

Every year on March 14 we nerds like to celebrate a little something called π Day, perhaps to make up for the fact that our millennial party on December 31, 2000 was colossally lame and sexless. Although most purists would sneer at celebrating after 1:59 AM, I prefer to be a little more accommodating to my gentle readers.

Thus today, in exactly one minute, I invite you to join me in reciting the first million digits of π.

Those of you reading this entry after 1:59 PM (MDT) may still honour the memory of Archimedes of Syracuse by finding a Roman soldier and having him kill you.

Noli turbare circulos meos.

How is it that I'm still employed?

Tue, 11 Mar 2008 14:15:03 -0600

It was only after the burst of laughter that it occurred to me the phrase 'post-coital pillow talk' might not have been my most appropriate choice in today's meeting.

FSM, Please Touch The Irish With Your Noodly Appendage

Tue, 4 Mar 2008 11:17:37 -0700

Now that's Catholicism, baby!

If you vote, you can't complain.

Mon, 3 Mar 2008 15:29:45 -0700

Once again, we've reached that time in Alberta when we stand up, staunch the blood from our aching, fissured rectums, and with a plaintive, Dickensian whine, ask, "Please Sirs, can we have some more?" The Tories have ruled Alberta with an iron fist for the last thirty-seven(!) years. Since then, we've had nine elections in which the voters of Alberta have resoundingly endorsed the party whose policies are as empty as their heads.

And I've voted in only one of them. In 1997. Since then, I've been I've been a conscientious abstentionist. Every election, I find out who my candidates are. Every election I try to speak to at least one or two of them. Every election, I dutifully find out where the nearest polling station is (this election it's at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Elementary/Junior High School). And every election, I don't vote.

Now believe me, this is tough for me. I was a good kid; I helped little ol' ladies cross the street. As an air cadet, I spent more time in citizenship classes than in gliders or airplanes. I pay my taxes, and I correct store clerks when they undercharge me. Hell, I still believe in the principles of POGG.

So what happened?

Well, quite frankly, I was let down. The selfish, stupid, dipshit majority of Albertans let me down. Democracy let me down. Well, me and everyone else in Ralph's World. You see, back in 1997 I was working for a small department in the Alberta government. Despite the fact that I was a fresh-faced idealistic polemicist at the ripe age of 22 years old, my manager recognised my talents at synthesis (or more accurately, recognised the lack of such talents among the rest of the staff), and assigned the research and writing of a rather politically contentious report to me. After six months of effort, the report was shredded upon completion, about the same time noted Premier cum plagiarist Ralph Klein began campaigning on a platform of "He Listens; He Cares" and started waxing Garrison Keillor-esque about "Henry and Martha" (sans Keillor's thoughfulness, of course). That in itself is no big deal; reports—like the ubiquitous pre-approved MasterCard^® offers from Citibank^®—get shredded all the time. What is heinous is that the Tories increased the number of seats they had in the legislature by 23.5% in the general election a few months later, even though the existence and contents of the shredded report were leaked to the press.

Fuck you, Henry and Martha. Read a book, you fucking morons. I'm not voting in any system where your double-barrelled stupidity cancels out mine.

So what's Henry and Martha's response to this? "If you don't vote, you can't complain." I've got a better one: "If your understanding of politics is limited to a few choice aphorisms you recall from Grade 11 Social Studies class, please, for the fucking love of the FSM, please don't vote. We don't want to hear your voice. You don't deserve to be heard. Stick to fucking up your local schoolboards with abstinence-only sex-ed, okay?"

Admittedly, that's not very democratic of me. Then again, democracy's not very democratic. Winston Churchill once said (apparently quoting unnamed others), "indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time." He also said, "The greatest argument against democracy is a five minute conversation with the average voter." And he was one of its supporters.

So am I saying you shouldn't vote? Actually, I'm not. I haven't yet got a better alternative than this sorry state of voter-enabled codependancy (other than absolute rule by yours truly which would undoubtedly end in a bloody coup after I've eaten 50% or so of your dumber fellow citizens), so I'd be remiss if I told you what to do either way. (Though nothing constrains the tyranny of the majority like a good minority government, hint, hint.) If you don't vote, please make it an active effort: spoil your ballot, join a local citizen's group, stick a potato in your MLA's tailpipe, just don't pull a "I would've voted but I was too busy." If you do vote, I'd love it if you'd read a little political theory before you did so: I recommend both John Rawls's A Theory of Justice and Robert Nozick's response, Anarchy, State, and Utopia. Just remember that if you do vote, you can't complain. Enabler.

One day in your life shouldn't be a problem...

Fri, 29 Feb 2008 19:20:34 -0700

But in case February 29 somehow is, Phil Plait, the Bad Astronomer, will explain why for you.

Eleven more things to do on a Friday afternoon.

Fri, 29 Feb 2008 16:49:40 -0700

Chach is back in town, briefly, so I've been just less than completely pickled all week—though to be fair, it's not his fault I kicked things off with an Oscar night drinking game involving a shot of J�ger every time the Stonecutters were thanked in an acceptance speech with the ominous 'you know who you are'.

Since I'm barely able to sit upright while my swollen liver tries its best to cleanse my toxic blood, I won't be getting much work done. And if I'm not doing any work, then why should you?

So then, here again* are eleven ways to commit time fraud on a Friday afternoon:

Decipher currently undeciphered languages. Or, maybe no one can read your chicken scratch but you. If that's the case, have it made into a font for the ultimate expression of your narcissism.

Find out exactly what evil chemicals you're slathering on your skin, in your hair, and on those stains on your sheets at the Household Products Database. The site is chock-full of helpful information, like what to do if your skin comes in contact with Herbal Essence Fruit Fusions Moisturizing Body Wash (now with Diazolidinylurea™!): "If spilled, wash skin immediately with soap and water (do not use solvents). Change into clean clothing. If skin reaction develops, contact dermatologist."

Build your very own city with MyMiniCity. Better yet, visit mine. Every click to the site adds one teeny-tiny electronic person to the city, who then presumably chops down a few trees, builds a little house and a farm, and starts voting for whatever local conservative wingnut promises to keep out the immigrants. Enough clicks and perhaps, just perhaps, the city will grow to the size where a Lebanese family can live out their dream by opening up an Opa! franchise in a local mall food court.

Name things with the Random RPG Name Generator from Squid.org. (That's how I named my little city.) Why have a cat named Mittens when you could have a cat named Khoronia Fleshbutcher?

Listen to Tim Blackwell's swarm music, music that "exploits the parallels between self-organisation in Nature and the spontaneous organisation of improvised music." Whatever, it's better than Nickelback.

Colonise the alien planet of Calypso in Entropia Universe, a massively multiplayer online role-playing game. Technically it's free, but you might have to shell out a little if you wanna do anything more than run around getting whacked by alien critters. If you run into a space chick named Mara in the game, say Hi: that's me.

Read about politics and pop culture in easily digestible lists on Cracked.com, the thinking person's answer to Fox News. (Well, anything that's not Fox News is the thinking person's answer to Fox News, and technically Cracked.com falls into the set of things that aren't Fox News, so Q.E.D.)

Join me and the rest of the Cephalopod Army on Pharyngula, the baddest and most popular science/atheism blog on the cold side of the Earth's crust, in championing the ideals of the enlightenment against dark forces.

Convert an analog wall clock into a binary clock. Why? 01001001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101110 01101111 00100000 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101001 01100100 01100101 01100001 00101110.

Discover some of the cooler places on your home planet with Google Earth Cool Places! (Works well with Google Earth; best with the actual Earth.)

Get fit, or at the very least develop an unhealthy obsession with what and how much you eat, with FitDay.com. Hey, what kinda blogger would I be if I didn't look out for my peeps once in awhile?

Alright, that ate up the afternoon. Time to hit the bar!

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* Bored already? Want more? In case you missed 'em, here are the first eleven.

Man Bootfucks Horse's Junk

Fri, 8 Feb 2008 14:14:24 -0700

What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.

—My Humps, The Black Eyed Peas

Sometimes there's so much What. The. Fuck?! in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in.

I've gotta say that, frankly, I'm intrigued. Very intrigued.

I'm gonna have to ask for a little elucidation from the equestrian readers here: Is kicking horse nuts considered appropriate etiquette, and if so, in what situations? Are there classes I can take on this apparently not-yet-popular pastime? Like maybe from that Sally Struthers correspondence school*? Are there other animals which similarly enjoy (or at least tolerate) a good ball-booting? Is special footwear required?

Y'know, I took my fair share of biology classes in university, but I reserved most of my passion for anthropology, the study of the one species I thought it was acceptable to make toe-to-groin contact. If only I'd known back then that we're not the only ones....

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* You know, they teach aircraft mechanics by correspondence? Aircraft mechanics?! The next time you fly somewhere, remember that the pilot has all kinds of reduntant backup systems in case he starts talking to God, but the guy who riveted the wings on probably learned to do so by disassembling a bong in his parents' basement.

My dog ate my internet.

Mon, 4 Feb 2008 16:26:40 -0700

I forgot to update last Friday, so you'll have to wait until this Friday for another Friday blog (If you haven't noticed, I've been trying to discipline myself to have something for you every Friday so I don't get in the habit of not updating for months at a time. If it makes you feel less neglected, consider the fact that I only wash my hair every week or so and oy!—don't even start with how long it's been since I clipped my toenails. Especially that skeevy little dewclaw on my pinkie toe. What the hell is up with that thing?) I promise lots of gunfights, gumfights, car chases, car chaos, and sex, always with the sex!

In the meantime, why not lend your vapid existence some meaning and contribute to the vast wealth of human-accumulated knowledge? C'mon, it's not like you're using that tapioca in your head for much else. (Note: These are real research studies, not the meaningless Which Heath Ledger Contraindicated Medication Are You?-type tests that clutter your facebook profile.)

Ever wondered about your own moral sense? Well, wonder no more! The Cognitive Evolution Laboratory at Harvard University sponsors an online Moral Sense Test.

How come James Blunt sucks so very, very hard? Truthfully, science doesn't yet know any more than it knows how to open a tin of smoked oysters without spraying oil across the Perry Ellis shirt your sister gave you for Christmas. You can help fill this knowledge gap by participating in the Music Universals Study. You know, like How do other cultures perceive music and whatnot? And no, they don't know what type of music L. acidophilus likes best, so stop asking!

Ever been told you're outta your mind? How would you know if you were in it? Dude, that's some trippy shit right there. Get deeper with the Mind Survey, and stop bogarting that joint.

Ever crossed the street when you saw a Thracian walking your way? Well, don't feel too bad. They're extinct, and everyone knows extinct peoples are untrustworthy. Find out what other bigotries you're harbouring with Project Implicit. (In case you were wondering, it's true: you are the only person who surreptitiously checks out men's packages, pervert!)

How come you hang on my every word, while you had no problem shooting at that cop screaming at you to release the injured hostages as a sign of good faith? Simple: I'm fucking gorgeous. Who else do you listen to or ignore? That's what the Face Research people are wondering.

Alright, you've got your assignments, so what are you hanging around here for? Stop being one of the cromulent masses and go embiggen yourself.

The Black(er) Dog

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 12:41:54 -0700

This morning I awoke to a text message on my cell phone from my sister (well, not really: it was "Black Cat" by Janet Jackson on 92.5 JOE FM. So I listen to shitty pop radio in the morning—sue me). In ominously laconic language it read: The black dog had a fire last night.

For those of you who don't know, the Black Dog Freehouse has been the centre of Whyte Avenue scenester culture since it opened in 1992. I've performed in six or seven off-Fringe plays there, pounded at least ten times that many shots of J�ger and at least one hundred times as many pints of Grass.

When I got to work this morning, a quick search on Google revealed, well, very little:

EDMONTON/630CHED - It took more than an hour for firefighters to locate and extinguish a very smokey fire in a Whyte Avenue bar during the night. The call to the Black Dog pub, 10425 Whyte Avenue, was received at 4:12. The fire was under control forty five minutes later and was declared out at 5:30. Smoke from the fire spread into adjacent businesses including a bank but the fire was confined to the bar. The cause of the fire and the extent of fire, smoke and water damage is not known.

Okay, nothing too disturbing there other than the fact that my sister apparently listens to 630 CHED (Official Motto: Right-wing like FOX, but less open-minded.)

A little more searching reveals that the fire was started by a smouldering cigarette left in a wastebasket in a downstairs office (well, the downstairs office), but quick action on the part of the Edmonton fire fighters confined it to that room.

A cigarette? I knew they were dangerous, but I had no idea they had the potential to burn down one of your favourite watering holes. I mean, lung cancer's like, bad 'n' shit, but it's nothing compared to the prospect of a new space opening up on Whyte only to be filled with some tasteless dance club filled with jarheads and cowboy hat-wearing skanks.

Anyways, it looks like the Dog will be out of commission for awhile, so you'll have to find somewhere else to tear it up. You can always join me at The Next Act, or even better, stay home and learn a new craft.