Why Yin Isn't Yang, And Other Dystrophic Musings.

We were all so close to being pirates.

2005-11-08T07:37:00.000-08:00

The etymology of the word "Hello" reveals what the world might have been like: (1883) alt. of hallo (1840), itself an alt. of holla, hollo, a shout to attract attention, first recorded 1588. Perhaps from holla! "stop, cease." Popularity as a greeting coincides with use of the telephone, where it won out over Alexander Graham Bell's suggestion, ahoy. Central telephone exchange operators were known as hello-girls (1889).

What would the world be like today if we all said "ahoy" on the phone?

One can only wonder....

*ring*
"ahoy!"
"avast, ye landlubber!"
"My mom's not home right now."
"Shiver me timbers!"
"what?"
"Thar she blows!"
"I'm going to hang up the phone now."
"grrr! Argh!"
*click*

Do: Watch the Colbert Report

2005-11-03T22:49:00.000-08:00

This has got to be the most hysterical show I have seen in a long, long time.

Some examples of its humor:

"Fun fact of the day: America has only had one civil war. So far."

And, in an interview with a congresswoman from Ohio's 11th district: "Your state is the birthplace of 11 astronauts. What is it about Ohio that makes people want to flee the Earth?"

2005-11-03T12:00:00.000-08:00

The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right… and who is dead.

Story Time.

2005-10-31T11:55:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He was a happy boy, and liked to play for hours with his little sister. Sometimes, he would fall down the stairs, though, or bump into walls. One day, his mother realized that something might be wrong, and so she took him to the doctor. After many visits and dozens of tests, the doctors found that the boy was blind in one eye. Also, he had a drinking problem.

THE END

"Extra Whorish" Olive Oil.

2005-10-23T13:00:00.000-07:00

Math of the Day:

(1) Extra-virgin Olive Oil Container, Discount Warehouse Size

(1) Wall

(1) Very Bored Kitten
(1) Loose Cap from said Olive Oil Container
____________________________________________
(4) Little catpaw-shaped dabs of Extra Virgin Olive Oil

x (40) Feet^2 of Apartment Surface Area
_______________________________________

Answer: 160 Minutes of Pain

Sundered Slumber

2005-10-22T23:35:00.000-07:00

Wrapped for my nap in brown goose down,
The thunders sunder my dreamless slumber;
I shake awake, my stomach quakes,
My mind adjusts, it trusts, it must,
My fear, so near, it’s still right here.
Counting miles, pouring rains
Mounting smiles, flashing panes
Rumbles tumble, stumble, my thoughts crumble
Soon snoring and pouring
Sound one and the same.

Serenity.

2005-10-21T18:29:00.000-07:00

Just like good old fashioned nucleotide excision repair (transcription-coupled), everything's back on track.

Biting the (absentee) hand that feeds you.

2005-10-21T11:00:00.000-07:00

I'm a graduate student. At least, technically; I have an advisor and thesis committee, a great deal of esoteric data that maybe 20 or so other people in the world would understand (and possibly care about), and eat plenty of pasta.

However, tracing the path of my academic career to this point feels like that Kevin Bacon game. I am a member of an academic department in a cancer institute located in Buffalo, NY. That institute possesses a charter from the State University of New York at Buffalo, so my doctorate will ultimately bear that name. My thesis advisor is a member of a department outside my own, and carries a joint appointment. She migrated to Philadelphia to escape certain personal matters and in pursuit of a new job to start a new academic department from the ground up. She took with her those students continuing their degrees. As a result I am four degrees away from home base.

I have fallen through the cracks, and while I do blame myself for this gap in communication with the powers that be, I must bear some sense that I do not exist within a vacuum.

The last few months I have existed on my own, tethered to nothing but my own mind and work, being pushed aside by those who are holding the torch to light my path. The darkness I have found myself in sheds an eerie glow, and I see shapes and movement reflected by this, but I know that what I see is not the entirety of matters.

And I have recently stumbled. The tone of my sudden communication with the Powers that Be apparently bore an undercurrent that left feathers ruffled.

This is the lesson: No matter how far along you think you are, no matter what peak you think you've reached, keep in mind that there will always be one just ahead, occupied by someone else who feels the same sense of accomplishment in their current standing... who you need to interact with in such a form that they are fully aware of your current position beneath them. And you need to respect them, because they are your model of success.

Even if that peak they stand upon is normally obscured by clouds, rendering them nonexistant to your everyday perspective.

2005-10-20T21:49:00.000-07:00

This is one of a series of pictures taken during a biannual fireworks concert at Longwood Gardens
copyright Andrew Ippolito

Echelons of Secant: The Eighth Deadly Sin

2005-10-20T21:00:00.000-07:00

I will admit this: My sin is the sublime art of procrastination. What you are currently witnessing is the next iteration of such behavior. I strongly feel the urge to petition the Catholic Church, Dali Llama, or the late Douglas Adams -- whatever power governs the List of Seven (7) Deadly Sins -- to add Procrastination as the Eighth.

Look at it as my contribution towards divine population control.

Thought of the day: Secant: The Secret Language of Pirates.
(Thanks to Chris for the inspiration.)