You may have heard about the recent meme battle between Princess Leia (played by the very interesting Carrie Fisher) and Captain Kirk (played by the equally interesting William Shatner).
The battle prize: which is “better,” Star Wars or Star Trek?
It began with a photon torpedo fired from the Enterprise. The warhead contained an anti-Wars payload of roughly one-quarter Mega-grin:
I felt a spark while shaking hands with someone tonight, and that [obvious pun]ed the thought that, “Oh, gee, here we go: The Season of the Spark.”
Now I do mean a literal spark, as in zap, as in ouch, and that ouch-rageous zap signals (again, in the very literal sense of exchanging a very readable, very detectable, signal) the Season of the Spark.
And that means two things.
I suppose a “golden” date could refer to a really good time out with the perfect someone. Or it could refer to a couple of hot oldsters, past their silver years, tearing up the town.
I suppose the oldsters could double the value of their gold by being with that perfect someone. It doesn’t matter; I mean neither perfect occasions nor advanced years. I speak, literally, of the date.
It’s 11-11-11, and that’s slightly fun and slightly rare. It’s a bit like your Golden Birthday, when your age matches the date (for example, when you turn 19 on the 19th of whatever month). Today we match on the date, month and year; trifecta gold! And of course, double bonus points just before lunch at 11:11:11!!
I had a pair of weird dreams this weekend. They’re worth remembering. I’m not sure what the hell they mean, but they’re also worth considering. (For me, I mean… I’m not sure what your interest is. Consider it another webside tale.)
Now, I’ve never had a nightmare. The one time I did have a nightmare, it turned out to be reality. I don’t mean that in a metaphorical (or even metaphysical) way, as in, “My marriage turned out to be a nightmare.” I mean, what supposedly was a bad dream, wasn’t a dream at all, but a misinterpretation of reality. (Actually, we’re back to my marriage again.)
I mean dreams, literal dreams. When you sleep dreams. I’ve never had a bad one. Except for the time when I was just post infant (headed for postmodern), and I had what I was told was a bad dream about a bird running across my New York City bedroom floor. Except later my rents found a mouse in the house (or something house mouse-like). So that was no bird.
Gourdians are an earthy and generally shameless lot.
I’ve been absorbing (Gourdians don’t read, we absorb), with great interest, this recent bipedal hand wringing over the perceived violent and disgusting end that befalls some Gourdians. “Woe the lot of the poor Pumpkin Person,” they wail, “How awful to suffer the carving knife!” Well, I want to set the record straight; you couldn’t be more wrong. Here’s the deal.
The highest honor that can befall a Gourdian is to enter the proud ranks of The Jack. Few are chosen, but they are the finest of our race. The most unfortunate of Gourdians have only the ignoble future of rotting in cold, open fields: forgotten, ignored, made as mere mulch.
Those of us with more mathematical bent can enter the Brotherhood of Pi; and these are many, some canned, some fresh. Consumption by bipeds is a glorious end; preferable certainly to consumption by quads (consumption by hexes, or worse, is almost as bad as rotting). Certain of our citizens belong to other consumption sects: the Breads, the Cakes or the Cookies. Truly, any fodder status at least fulfills some useful station in life.
But to become a Jack is the ultimate goal of any Gourdian. Those few who make the grade and are selected go on to become the revered of our nation. Each selected by a biped who stooped down to claim one of us for their own. Each transformed into a unique magic creature to guard the bipedal demesnes. It is the highest calling of any Gourdian.
Gourdians Gather!
I’d also like to say a few words about, so called, Pumpkin Porn.
Here, too, the bipedal view may miss the mark when it comes to Gourdians. Remember that we’re born under open skies and live our lives naked under those same skies. For us, when you’re talking about the birds and bees, this is literally the case.
And if there’s one thing you can say about Gourdians, we’re an earthy species. We have no real concept of personal space or privacy; there’s just too many of us sucking on one vine (if you catch my drift).
So remember, for good luck, Carve a Jack! And kiss a Gourdian!
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Brain Bubbles. If the name’s not immediately fully descriptive (especially when combined with the previous post about seeking a new voice), I’ll explain it another time. I’ve already written too much saying that much.
This is not particularly reflective of anything in particular, just ruminations about then and now.
More reflective of peculiar than particular!
It may or may not be obvious there’s been a bit of radio silence recently. I find myself… stymied, and it has muted my muse.
Part of it comes from looking around and being humbled by the amazing quality work given to the internet by so many. The interweb is a landscape of both common clay and veins of riches.
I feel humbled by the task of contributing anything of worth.
Ten years ago today I was at work, and the world was largely as it had always been: sometimes difficult, sometimes easy, sometimes painful, sometimes joyful. As it had always been.
As I worked at my desk, I slowly became aware of a general level of commotion coming from our “TV area” (an area nearby where we sometimes met for meetings). The commotion continued, but I knew we had no meetings scheduled that morning. Eventually I got up to see what was going on.
As I approached, it was apparent that most of the department was there; a couple of the guys were standing in the doorway. I rounded the corner and looked in and saw the TV screen just in time to see (a replay of) the second tower falling.
That was my first contact with 9/11. Seeing the second tower fall.
I was trying to keep up with the physics4me feed when I came across an article that made me sad: Higgs boson signals fade at Large Hadron Collider. It’s not unexpected, but for a while there the news was pretty exciting. It seemed like maybe we’d finally found the Higgs.
That I felt sad made me realize hope much I was hoping for a Higgs. A Higgs Contact.
I said a while ago that I wanted Alien Contact. Of course, that does have the potential to go badly for us… but it might not. It would be one of those life is never the same again major events. Not that plenty of major events haven’t happened in our various lifetimes. We’ve walked on the moon, knocked down the Berlin wall and invented reality TV (and the iPhone).
I’ve written articles here that touched on art theory, quantum theory, science fiction theory and number theory. There are many more theories: gravitational, electromagnetic, economic, social. Of course, there is also pure, practical and applied theory.
The idea gets around. On the outskirts there are theories about UFOs, ghosts, Noah’s Ark, many more!
And there are the “my theory” theories put forth from soap boxes, fliers and now blogs such as this. Literally such as this, since here’s my theory about theories.
Posts pertaining to programming!
Logos con carne 