11.29.07
let ε > 0, consider the function f(x). call f prime (x) muhammad.
now let the deriver of f(x) spend 15 days in jail and be deported.
11.27.07
it was 40 years ago today
it was 40 years ago today . . .
magical mystery tour was released in the us.
their best, undoubtedly
koo
koo
kachoob
the coach approaches the podium:
well boys and girls – it seems that tonight – we found out . . . the rutgers alumni assn is exactly who we thought they were!! tony soprano and all. any questions? big ben and his boys needed an umbrella ella ella ella. a s%*t-sloppy end to a $hit-sloppy season. take it deep you whoo-ers.
back in the locker room:
what can i say, i guess we gave them our best, which unfortunately for you group of profound underacheivers was . . . well let’s say what it wasn’t. it wasn’t pretty. we almost had a sweet rudy, little giants, major league, remember the titans, mighty ducks, bad news bears run for the playoffs toward the end, but i guess it wasn’t that exciting because i didn’t even watch the games i knew you would all get lots of yards and no touchdowns in.
the MVD award goes to jamal lewis.
. . . most useless: vince young.
and to the rest of you, it’s been a fantastically disappointing fantasy season, maybe by next year you’ll learn how to play american football . . . in the meantime, try not to get shot and such.
that’s all for now . . .
i guess i’ll be seeing you all later this evening at pacman’s house for the after party . . .
11.08.07
Let me get a grip on this day before
I give up.
Because the leaves (of hues impossible)
Are fallen, a revelation of
Truth in branches bare,
Multiplied in their
Outward,
Upward
Skyward
Spread
Six thousand crunches underfoot
And a smell almost metallic
Urgent like a last drive
(post pattern, seven Mississippi –
Hurry-up offense while snot dries in the wind that picks up while muted colors
Blue
Brown
Green
blend into early evening
as dinnertime smells drift aloft
each leaf is a different day
that has finally come to rest
in unbound collage
random misrememberances misplaced by the wind
in time,
soon, they decompose and one unbecomes one and
returns,
as the boundaries disappear
like
gray trees
against gray sky
over gray men
whose gray dog’s grandfather stood watch
fifty-seven Novembers ago
Faded like painted lines of a soccer field
Regret,
As I
Regress,
Idyllic disconnect
Lament is every leaf upon my car
(I cannot clear the strays upon my seat –
So I take them with me
In my intraplanetary travels
But it’s no use
Their crunch not never-ending
Orange, bygone
11.06.07
the tv-writers are on strike. wait . . . they’ve been working for the past few years . . . could have fooled me.
i guess you could call the air electric, but that’s certainly been said before. you could say it tastes metallic, but that’s not quite it tonight. there’s a smoky taste to it. hmmm. and the trees are orange, especially in the bright lights from below . . . i guess i like trees, but not like the tree huggers . . . but i do wear sandals, i just never rowed . . . but i have hacky-sacked . . .
pervez musharraf is kind of shady . . . as shady folks go, he’s certainly trying to work his way up the ladder (not quite in putin-land) rather than down to nonsupershady-land (think, ummmm, yeah can’t really think of many politician deserving of this example – ) so this guy goes around citing honest abe while explaining his grab for emergency power:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-cSj-V_II8]
- and lincoln was reelected by the people (for the people, of the people) after he took some poetic license with the constitution
11.05.07
i think i’m a nighttimer
the quickest calc class ever.
brisk n fall, finally.
rant | chuck palahniuk
chuck palahniuk is a real twisted pup. however, this twisted pup writes some seriously good words, with a style and rhythm that is kurt vonnegut made excruciatingly relevant for the single digit two-thousands, or whatever this decade and its cultural progeny is called. sure, sometimes he goes astray from what works and lands in uninteresting mess zone, but rant is dead on. rant is a fictional collective oral biography of a typically palahniukian anti-hero. people are split into daytimers and nighttimers (they go party crashing: getting into minor to moderate car wrecks for the thrill of it.) it goes from there. rant is up there. it’s no choke (#1,) or fight club (the ultimate silver medaler,) but it’s a chuck p. all-star. frenetic, messy, and right-the-f@*% on.
11.02.07
the age of spiritual machines – ray kurzweil
[another fmd @ nysc]
i’ve been reading ray kurzweil’s the age of spiritual machines. my first introduction to this piece came from our lady peace’s fourth album, a concept album based on the book. now i must be perfectly honest. even though our lady peace is one of my favorite bands and the concept of the concept itself seemed rather nifty . . . concept albums are rather . . . cheesy at best, so for that reason alone i did not investigate kurzweil’s book. however, the other day i was at the bookstore and was browsing the math and science sections. a title caught my eye: the singularity is near. this is kurzweil’s most recent book. so the rule of not reading things too out of order insisted that i get the shiny covered age of spiritual machines . . . not gonna lie, i do dig the book. it’s out there, but the guy has been right about *some* of his predictions he had for 1999 (made in the late 80s) and a few of his ideas were right about the late single digits of this century. his concise explanations of what computer can do now (or in 1998, rather) were the most effective method kurzeil has to tell his story, and it’s the story that’s central to the book, of where we’re headed.
he’s the first futurist i’ve encountered whose projections of the near and distant future all tend toward the self rather than outward and upward – to space and beyond and all the rest. usually there is talk of colonizing other planets (soon) before we destroy ours, but kurzweil remains fixated upon the notion of intelligence and the line that he imagines to fade away in the near future between that which is originally human and originally machine. his interjected conversations that close each chapter half added a “human” plot line, and half broke up the otherwise intriguing text. toward the end of the book, they make the author come off as more creepy than informative, but that may have been part of the deal, especially in this 2099 that sounds nothing that’s within any of our comfort zones. in closing, i must rescind my initial dismissal based on expected pretension and say that while the age of spiritual machines wasn’t exactly life changing, it was a neat picture of one of mankind’s possible trajectories [glimpsual futurism.] to paraphrase another reviewer from the san fran chronical, it would seem an awful lot like science fiction if he hadn’t been right about other phenomenon already.
11.01.07
so a ten year old may have started one of the so.cal blazes. maybe they should make him spend the next eight years of his life planting trees (like johnny appleseed . . . i always found that story a bit phallocentric – but what can you do)
uncle joe girardi is now the yanks’ skip.
uncle joe torre as leader of the dodgers?
rumors of donny baseball following suit?
it’s the first day of november, an often dour month. there is always so much acceleration towards the end of october, with halloween and the accompanying parties (pagan gatherings, all) then candy, too much chocolate, cryptic seemingly foretelling dreams . . . and november. gobble gobble approaches. then the big fat red man.
i really hope rutgers doesn’t suck this weekend. actually, i don’t really care that much.
