tick tock

365.25 days in a year, 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in an hour, 60 seconds in a minute. That's 31,557,600 seconds a year. If we kept the day, but got rid of leap year day every four years, and went to base ten we could go with a New Second*tm* for time, it would be very simple to switch over. Empirical thought is for suckers.

The scientific definition of a second is 9,192,631,77010 vibrations of an atom of Cesium-133. In New Time, we define one day as 2,D25,C32,D2E,70016 (794,243,384,928,00010) vibrations of an atom of Cesium-133. You can use the following approximate conversion factors:

1 new second = 1.3110 (1.5216) seconds
1 second = 0.75910 (0.C2316) new seconds
1 new minute = 0.35210 (0.5A016) minutes
1 minute = 2.8410 (2.D816) new minutes
1 new hour = 1.510 (1.816) hours
1 hour = 0.66710 (0.AAB16) new hours

Department of Cart Before the Horse Department

From Google ads:


Find what I found funny, and win a prize.

Epiphany

I witnessed a pretty amazing display of biking acumen today on my way to get some celebratory pie at the Half and Half. A bike messenger on a fixey with toe clips stopped at the light right in front of me and balanced perfectly while waiting. I was impressed. I was even more impressed when his radio went off and he took one hand off the handlebar to answer it, all while still balancing.

Later today I was riding my bike up Barbur, returning from class. No hurries, not going particularly fast. My vision got a little funny, but nothing major. Then it got worse. Then my eyelashes felt something. Extensive blinking did not solve the problem. Soon it became clear that my contact had fallen out and was caught in the space between my face and my sunglasses. I decided that was the best place for it right then, and kept biking. I could see it and it didn't seem to be moving, so I figured I could make it all the way home before doing anything with it. Then, right before the big hill, it moved an inch to the right. This was concerning, as it was now much closer to freedom. Blinking and scrunching made it worse, but I could not grasp it with my fingers. Then it moved again, this time out of my sight. I had to stop. Luckily it was still stuck to the inside of my glasses. Really stuck too, and very dried out. What should I do with it? I can't carry it the rest of the way. I can't put it in my pocket. Obviously there was only one place it could go, so into my mouth it went. It immediately stuck to the roof of my mouth.

Off I rode. However it soon became clear that there were complications. I could not get enough air through my nose. I couldn't see very well. I didn't want to swallow. I didn't want to open my mouth to breath. I was climbing a steep hill. This rapidly became the most difficult thing I have ever done on a bike. Three things became clear to me: you never stop being a dork, you can only hide it well, I am not that good at biking, and it is time to get laser surgery.

I measure God....and he comes up short.

A former graduate student (I don't believe a degree was earned) from my graduate department posted this statement on our listserv on the topic of environmental and developmental sustainability. I loved it for various reasons....any thoughts? My original reply follows in bold...maybe that spurs debate.

The Earth is unbounded and limitless. How can 'man' measure that which he is has no knowledge of, in other words how can you give something away you don't have. The true form and shape of the earth is not known by any scientist, eologist, engineer, explorer, ruler, cartographer..etc.Even the coordinate systems and projections we commonly utilize as geographers are centered on error. So, understanding our lack of knowledge is actually the most wise approach- and the first step to true knowledge and wisdom.God cannot be measured. As far as sustainability is concerned- seems to me the answer to this question rests with understanding of water and the sun.

But then again- What do I know?---until next time

please excuse the masculinity of this response and the further interruption of your days, but i gots me a hankerin' to type.SOME would argue, i stress some, that it is man's responsibility, as delegated by god, to use those "gifts" that separate him from lower animals in order to maintain god's creation. this involves having some type systematic understanding of our surroundings in order to demonstrate prudence in deciding upon actions that affect the before mentioned creation. very generally, the open pursuit of systematic understanding is science, which does not purport perfect knowledge or understanding. wow...science does coexist with belief in god.OR...we can just close our collective eyes and hope for the best...i mean have faith.

Adventure

It’s something we do everyday, the calming routine that leads to rote. Well, it’s something I do everyday.
I’ve chosen to speak of me as the royal we, thereby raising you and I together as one in the crown.
It’s the bus, and it’s how I get there, it’s how I Roll as the kids say and how it’s determined the third simple machine.
Middle of this week I needed juice, and juice is to be found on my ride home. The 39th and Hawthorne Fred Meyer has a selection.
I’ve heard it called the ghetto Freddies, but I think it’s perfectly fine. I’ve bought a wide selection of items there, from TVP to Carharts, to juice.
A similar type of juice I planned on buying this fateful day.

The 14 bus will drop you off before the corner if traffic permits, meaning if the bus is stopped, you can get off and walk. It was, I did. Hatebreed was booked at the Hawthorne Theater, so lip rings and black hoodies did abound. The easy mark of rebellion for the generation of now, a future of minimum wage and vacant tug jobs for men who will wear their name on their chest and neglect to change the filter after their Thursday shift at Jiffy Lube. In this sea of aborted potential shone a man. A man who never drops the light smile from a visage that would not look out of place on Mt Rushmore, be that a product of his skin tone or features. Mona Lisa as a man as envisioned by Gutson Borglum; at 1:1 scale. It was Robert. My friend.

Robert was wearing a raincoat: though the weather was not just pleasant, it was delightful. I might not have noticed the raincoat as such, but the hood was over his head, tightly drawn as if he were a Mennonite woman. Pleasantries exchanged, I asked why he was there. He was there for work. I was willing to help. Robert’s stoicism is a poor match for Dreyfuss, but I am one with the spirit of Estevez, the one true son of Sheen. We would stand true on this corner, amongst the teens, passed by Trimet busses, and look for his subject. A burglar, enemy of Freedom, about to find out the only Thought more important is Justice. Robert was looking for a burglar, and thought he donned a protective vest underneath that raincoat, I would brave lawlessness protected only by a plaid shirt.

Robert is cop. And I helped.
A gallant foil in the fight against crime, appearing to be just another weary traveler at the stop completing Robert’s costumed performance.
That of lawman en mufti.


Until the light changed, then I left and got my juice.

translated from the original French by Le Corbusier

Until I write something,

Just make do with the best video ever made.

NEVAR FOGET 9!!

23 years ago today I missed the greatest birthday party of all time.
I will forgive, but I will never forget.

More Tripe

I was on the bus this morning and the woman next to me was reading.
Hey, I was reading too, it ain’t no thing.
I was reading this book of short stories, really short, nothing over 1000 words.
But I’m like everybody else, I glance. I’m a glancer.
And this woman is tempting me. She is doing this thing where she pinches the top sheet of paper and wiggles it.
Kind of like when people need to lick their fingers before turning each page.
People that do this are disgusting and borderline retarded by the way.
This woman is reading 8.5x 11 sheets of loose leaf paper, 11 pages worth.
My glancing over with my super speed reading abilities sees “Harry” “Dragon” “Muddles”, so I know she’s reading Harry Potter, but probably of the fanfiction kind.
Do you guys know fanfiction? It’s pretty sweet. Middle aged ladies write stories about characters in popular culture. It’s like they want the adventures to go on, so they make their own books. There are different kinds, each totally wack:

Crossover: Stories about two different kinds of characters. Ever wonder what would happen if the characters from Star Wars met the characters from Bridget Jones Diary? Evidently some people do.
Slash: stories about two straight dudes doin’ it. Not in a gay way though, remember this is fat ladies who love cats fiction.
MPREG: You should look this one up yourself, just not at work.

Anyway, I wanted to take a look at what she was really reading, did she buy the book online and print it out, or did she write this herself.
So I mesmerized a snippet that I could google, to see what it really was. Here was my result.

Peoples Is Crazy

This to me is totally fascinating. Plagiarism? Or Spontaneous Universal Idiocy?

Last week at work

I gave my notice last week, and Friday is my last day. I'm all dedicated to making the transition as smooth as possible, but at the same time, I kinda don't care. So I'm like 15 min on work, then like 10 min off, and then deleting old emails and other mundane stuff......

What do you/did you do after giving notice?