In the name of organization and boredom and heroism and Tuesday, I went through every blog in my subscription list. If the person's site either didn't load or hadn't been updated in the last 3 months, I unfollowed. Of the 588 people I once followed here, 9 remain active. And of the 579 blogs I unsubscribed from, only about 10 still existed as blogs and not a "this no longer exists" message.

There are two types of change. The kind that is interesting and the kind that you can use for skee ball. The old Xanga had some nifty ways of easily finding other bloggers. Yes, in the last few years it would only let you find college-bound Asians for some reason, but at least people could be found.

Without those features, we few survivors are all running around blind -- lost mice in a maze or rather a cemetery. Then again, perhaps green grass will grow around here again.

Speaking of grass, I learned that Peyote is not the same as marijuana. Thanks, books.

Xanga has migrated to WordPress, six years too late. It is a bitter-sweet moment, as we're in a better boat, but there is a startling lack of crew on board. It seems that most of the people drown.

It is 3am, New Year's Eve morning, and I'm sitting here casting a letter in a bottle into a sand dune. Writing is an enjoyable exercise, but right now I'd rather have tapioca pudding or a brain willing to finally seek sleep or a fox.

When eBay first surfaced, everyone would spend hours searching through auctions, a time sink for finding things you never knew that you didn't need at all. Once I almost bought a flak jacket. I've never been in danger of shrapnel, but for $55.00, how could I not have needed such a fine jacket?

Now that eBay has rotted into a giant, uninteresting, outdated, slum of profiteering, the real fun is at KickStarter.com, where you can donate money to fund people's projects. The spectrum of projects is broad (album, graphic novels, board games, gizmos, whosits, whatists, and thingamabobs galore). And in return for funding, you often receive something back, such as a poster or original artwork or the actual product. It is like the Make-a-Wish Foundation, except it is powered by bright ideas and cash, rather than sadness and sports heroes.

Earlier this week while browsing comics projects, I discovered a project for "Galacticat, volume 1", which is a comic about a cat who is a space taxi driver. I backed the project, not only out of a love for space, animals, animals in space (what happened to that NASA?), and spaces filled with animals, but because of one particular perk:

"Your name and likeness (and personality traits, if you so choose) will be used to create a character in the Galacticat storyline! We will characterize you as an animal person of your choosing, while retaining your physical characteristics."

Yes, I am going to be in the comic, as an animal, in outer space. I'm about to be immortalized in awesomeness and whatever part of the Dewey decimal system covers taxi-based literature. All week I've been debating merits of different animals in space, personality traits that might be suitable in a comic, and of course, who will voice my character when Pixar picks up the option for the movie. Hell, the artist even lives in the same city as I do!

When the comic ships out, I'll be sure to post an update about it. 

This is so much more useful than a flak jacket.

Earlier this week a friend equated one of my recent efforts to dressing up as a dead horse. Or perhaps he meant dressing up a dead horse? Now I'm saddled with confusion. By all means he is right, but I argue that if you're going to have a dead horse around, that hasn't been re-animated as a wight Game of Thrones style, it may as well look good or at least presentable. Place a nice afghan over it, set out a few coasters to keep away water stains, and layout an impossibly large coffee table book about esoteric contemporary modern art. Throw up a teepee to the side and invite Kevin Costner over.

I should have woken up last Saturday, tossed open the blinds, and proclaimed that "This day shall be spent outside!" Instead I woke up, saw the lack of clouds and thought "I must venture forth to the living room!" Then I proceeded to do what all Xangans before have failed to do: a visually decent blog theme. Few will notice the changes and even fewer will care, but I fear not! I didn't spend much of Saturday on it, but I did delay enjoying sunlight for it, which is odd by I'm fine with. I enjoyed doing it, and I felt like decorating in the most geekiest fashion possible.

Some of you will venture here and see boring white squares on a gray background, while those of you who have seen the death of old browsers see a thestral before you with drop shadows and rounded corners. Ooooh! Ahhhh! Eeee! And the rest of you are wondering what thestrals are and why you're not outside and why no one makes a toaster that accepts lobsters, instead of bread.

"An Indonesian Supreme Court hopeful may have torpedoed his chances at the job after suggesting that women might enjoy being raped, infuriating a wide array of critics." (link)

Two things.

1. If you can't say something bad about rape, don't say anything at all.
2. It is scary that the article states "infuriating a wide array of critics" rather than "...infuriating every sane person".

It reminds me of one of the best Kids in the Hall sketches:  

For those of you not in the know:

That is all for today.

When learning a language, I particularly relish being absurd.

Jean-Bob Barker: "Bonjour! Quelle huere est-il?"
Optimus Prime des Autobots: "Il est quatre heures. Pourquoi?"
JB: "J'ai besoin d'acheter un grand magasin parce que j'ai perdu mon portefeuille."
OP: "Sacreblue!"
JB: "Merci."
OP: "De rien."
JB: "Au revoir. N'oubliez pas de stériliser les Decepticons!"

Translated:

JB: "Hello! What time is it?"
OP: "It is 4 o'clock. Why?"
JB: "I need to buy a department store because I lost my wallet."
OP: "Sacreblue!"
JB: "Thanks."
OP: "You're welcome."
JB: "Goodbye. Remember to sterilize the Decepticons!" 

Imagine that you can focus your brain power on an object and make it explode. Now imagine that there is one can't-be-exploded object in your apartment or janitor's closet or steeple or wherever it is that you pass time mentally detonating objects. But you're not aware of its invulnerability. You strain and struggle, wearing yourself to exhaustion, to collapse.

I have a teacher, Will Franken, who applies a level of effort magnitudes greater than that to the pursuit of elevating comedy. His conviction is bold, brutally honest, untouched--peerless. I'm not saying that he can't elevate comedy. I'm saying that every Newton of his energy is intensely and continuously focused only on comedy. He doesn't simply approach comedy, he pursues it with scrutiny and philosophy.

When you work with him, interesting philosophies and opinions appear that you'd never considered. The other night he pointed out how fame ruined everything. To paraphrase:

For the longest time fame didn't really exist, and it wasn't an achievement a person strove for. No, instead you pursued your art, honed it, elevated it. You reached the top of your craft through being immersed in it and from there were able to live off it. You'd made it. Then came "fame", and someone said "No, you've not made it until you're famous. That is what matters." And now the achievement of fame, not the achievement of elevating your art, has become "making it".

Fame yanked the soul out of art.

And to round it out, fame delivered an exacting and crushing kick to soul in that people often state that they want to gain fame, but few people know what they'd do with it. They have no actual reason or use for fame. They've never thought beyond the moment of obtaining fame. How can you skillfully temper that fame and keep your soul if you have neither vision nor plan nor even vague notion about what you'd do once you have it?

One of the best compliments I ever received came from a teacher who told me that of all the math students he'd had, I more easily comprehend complex concepts than anyone else. Strange concepts are naturally easy for my brain to swallow. I don't know what other people spend their time thinking about, but my brain tends to stray towards the abstract.

I often have ideas where I understand the math that would be needed to support an idea and how that math would work but lack the finesse to bring forth that math. For example, in 2004 while I traveled by train through Spain I picked up a small notebook at a depot and over the afternoon proceeded to write a set of rules. When applied, the rules are how one would teach an autonomous computer system to visually identify objects. And from there I wrote a different set of rules on how to give such systems a form of intuition.

And on occasion I've had theories which I later discovered other people had thought of first. Such a moment is a bit depressing, but it is also very inspiring to have a moment where you know that you independently arrived at the same conclusion as someone else, even if the other person arrived their first. For example, in high school I developed an idea that I later encountered in my psychology classes known as "Matching Theory".

About 12 years ago I picked up a sketch book and in the back I created three columns. The first column is about a girl. The second column is about the expansion of the universe and time dilation (or rather, expansion of the universe without the existence of time). The third column, related to the second , is about positioning in space. I never put weight behind the 2nd or the 3rd columns because they seemed novel and I don't have any math to go with them.

Then last week, while listening to an episode of Radiolab titled "Space", Neil deGrasse Tyson (a brilliant physicist) explained that Einstein's general theory of relativity states that: "if you live in an expanding universe, in this fabric of space and time, no matter where you are, it will look like the center".

Which is very strange to me, because that is what column 3 says too.

Today I awoke and proceeded to lead the life of a 10-year-old boy.

At work, the Indiana Jones Lego set I ordered finally arrived. I took a casual photo of the set, but then my VP insisted that I take a proper photo. This is why I love where I work. The result of his suggestion, one cardboard box and one Google image search later...

(While on the subject of Indiana Jones, a few weeks back I had the good fortune of seeing Raiders of the Lost Ark on digital IMAX. A more perfect action and adventure movie would be difficult to find.)

After work I settled down and had a delicious bowl of Annie's macaroni and cheese. I'd never heard of Annie's until I read an article about Facebook stock. The article listed better investments, Annie's being one of them. Economics has never tasted better.

If you've never had Annie's, flee your seat, purchase a box of each flavor, and settle into a world of pasta-based addiction. Cooking has been forever ruined by a palatable amalgam of powered-cheese goodness made from rabbits. Or made by rabbits. Or approved by rabbits. I don't have time to read the label to settle the debate, so form your own rabbit-based, rabbit-labor, or rabbit-approved opinion. You won't find a better macaroni.

Then I read more of "A Storm of Swords" and finished the evening with a delicious bowl of pudding.

A fine day to say the least.