Make an impact.
Get tangled in the future.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Sugar-Coated Pecans on Toucans in Tin Pan Alley for Supper Again
I was in the study/lab/front bedroom/junkroom composing a symphony (yes, writing mathematical formulae can feel like that - what is music, after all?).
"I was in..."
The start of the first sentence of this blog began a train of thought, not a beguine, and diverted me from the path I intended to take.
I wanted to express my thanks to those I have not thanked lately, like Jason and Danielle of South Side Swing and one of their swing dance students, Brianna, for bringing my wife and me into the world of 5-6-7-8 dance routines.
After 25 years of wildly thrashing on the dance floor, much to my wife's tolerance (if not impatience or embarrassment), I have joined the throngs of men who give in to their wives' demands to look like one half of a coordinated couple on the parquet.
We have learned, if not perfected, one of many swing styles, this one called Lindy, if I remember correctly.
Thanks to the folks at Alabama Youth Ballet for the use of their facilities. It is interesting to learn to dance in a building where ballet and martial arts are taught at the same time. Sometimes, I feel like I am hearing dancers in tutus being tortured by karate chops (or is that taekwondo* next door?).
Much to learn, much to learn. I am at the newbie mercy of my dancing instructors. Patience, little grasshopper, you will learn to swing without upsetting the rice mat.
[*the blogger dictionary wants to change this word to Wonderbra - interesting]
But as usual, I digress, my thought set compressed against but decompressing from the style of writers like Mary Roach, John Locke, James Joyce, Douglas Adams, etc., who wander far afield and may discuss the philosophy behind the design of portable toilets to highlight the need for better television remote control devices just to conclude that the random spread of tree limbs in a forest does not constitute the secret code of a group of nomad herders on the upper steppes of Nowheresville.
I suppose I will not return to the thought that attracted my body to the virtual thought set extension system of wireless keyboard and mouse to announce to you...
Oh yeah, that's it!
I have found, in a dusty old volume of chemical formula conversion tables, the necine bases needed for the internecine basis upon which that which cannot be told or mentioned can be written about in the first epic volume of an X-part set of technical manuals for translating the definition of materials which do not exist in the universe as we know it.
Exciting, is it not?
More as it develops.
I have my programmers running more "what if" scenarios about the changes to the 1000-year plan should we release the full description of the weave pattern that is fully exposed in and around us all the time, ripping apart the fabric of space and time as we see the universe today.
"Parallel universes"? Ha! What a childish concept.
Do I hear the Big Bang fizzling out?
But I get ahead of myself, as usual.
"I was in..."
The start of the first sentence of this blog began a train of thought, not a beguine, and diverted me from the path I intended to take.
I wanted to express my thanks to those I have not thanked lately, like Jason and Danielle of South Side Swing and one of their swing dance students, Brianna, for bringing my wife and me into the world of 5-6-7-8 dance routines.
After 25 years of wildly thrashing on the dance floor, much to my wife's tolerance (if not impatience or embarrassment), I have joined the throngs of men who give in to their wives' demands to look like one half of a coordinated couple on the parquet.
We have learned, if not perfected, one of many swing styles, this one called Lindy, if I remember correctly.
Thanks to the folks at Alabama Youth Ballet for the use of their facilities. It is interesting to learn to dance in a building where ballet and martial arts are taught at the same time. Sometimes, I feel like I am hearing dancers in tutus being tortured by karate chops (or is that taekwondo* next door?).
Much to learn, much to learn. I am at the newbie mercy of my dancing instructors. Patience, little grasshopper, you will learn to swing without upsetting the rice mat.
[*the blogger dictionary wants to change this word to Wonderbra - interesting]
But as usual, I digress, my thought set compressed against but decompressing from the style of writers like Mary Roach, John Locke, James Joyce, Douglas Adams, etc., who wander far afield and may discuss the philosophy behind the design of portable toilets to highlight the need for better television remote control devices just to conclude that the random spread of tree limbs in a forest does not constitute the secret code of a group of nomad herders on the upper steppes of Nowheresville.
I suppose I will not return to the thought that attracted my body to the virtual thought set extension system of wireless keyboard and mouse to announce to you...
Oh yeah, that's it!
I have found, in a dusty old volume of chemical formula conversion tables, the necine bases needed for the internecine basis upon which that which cannot be told or mentioned can be written about in the first epic volume of an X-part set of technical manuals for translating the definition of materials which do not exist in the universe as we know it.
Exciting, is it not?
More as it develops.
I have my programmers running more "what if" scenarios about the changes to the 1000-year plan should we release the full description of the weave pattern that is fully exposed in and around us all the time, ripping apart the fabric of space and time as we see the universe today.
"Parallel universes"? Ha! What a childish concept.
Do I hear the Big Bang fizzling out?
But I get ahead of myself, as usual.
The light at the end of the tunnel...
...is the conductor waving a lamp, inviting you to jump on-board!
Three more points of light:
And maybe, if we're lucky, Brian Cowen will be out of a job soon!
Three more points of light:
And maybe, if we're lucky, Brian Cowen will be out of a job soon!
Good news for modern mandible exercisers
My wife and I do not have a regular, or rather, favourite produce market.
By way of convenience, we purchase most of our food products at either Publix or Walmart but we make sure we visit farmers' markets and make the occasional tour through Earth Fare or similar specialty stores for variety.
We were glad to hear that Walmart and the Housewife of the White House (a/k/a the First Lady; a/k/a the White Housewife (sorry, Mickie, I couldn't resist the juxtaposition)), Mrs. Barack Obama, announced the industry-leading effort to make healthy food choices more affordable.
On a separate note, the Conglomerate today announced that in order to increase profits and prevent retail businesses from having to put all their sales in one seasonal basket, Christmas season is being split in half.
Those born on odd days - 1, 3, 5, etc. - will celebrate Christmas on its regularly scheduled day in December (or January in the Orthodox system).
Those born on even days - 2, 4, 6, etc. - will celebrate Christmas on 25th June, or its equivalent in your local calendrical system.
Those taking exception to this new system will have to petition the Conglomerate for permission to switch from one day to the other.
Families or coworkers caught casually celebrating the holiday together, or more specifically, accepting gifts on the day for which you and/or they are not permitted to celebrate, will be barred from giving or accepting gifts for a period of years determined by the level of expense associated with your and/or their celebration.
In a related note, birth centers are now scheduling specific times and dates to accommodate pregnant women who choose to go through the natural birth process. Births may be arranged so that all family members are born on odd or even days. They may also be arranged to occur within the range of newly-organised signs of the zodiac.
Kodiak bears with Kodak cameras will not be accommodated, however much they want to participate in this joyous new celebration of All Things Commercial.
The Conglomerate is taking the bears' request under consideration and seeking advisement about other species being allowed to shop for Christmas now that they have a level of self-awareness nearly the same as ours.
The Conglomerate continues the ban on advertisements directed toward nonhuman species, giving the other species the opportunity to educate themselves about common fallacies, tautologies and illogical suppositions buried in many adverts.
Veterinarians for Equal Access to Life (VEAL) applauded the Conglomerate's stand on this important issue of species equality, despite hoping that the Conglomerate would issue a Universal Rights of Species proclamation.
Thousands of comedians died today but no apocalyptic group took notice and sounded the alarm that the end is near. Satirists and satyrs are rolling over in their eternal sleep to keep from getting cloud or brimstone sores, as the case may be.
It was fun to watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune over the past few weeks to observe the time-delayed buildup and release of tension associated with the midterm Congressional elections.
Sociology of the Future is also sociology of the nearterm past. My Futurists University will issue you a bachelor's degree if you can give us all the correct answers (or at least 56% of them (+/- 5%), if you pay us enough), without knowing the questions, of course, or the courses' syllabi.
By way of convenience, we purchase most of our food products at either Publix or Walmart but we make sure we visit farmers' markets and make the occasional tour through Earth Fare or similar specialty stores for variety.
We were glad to hear that Walmart and the Housewife of the White House (a/k/a the First Lady; a/k/a the White Housewife (sorry, Mickie, I couldn't resist the juxtaposition)), Mrs. Barack Obama, announced the industry-leading effort to make healthy food choices more affordable.
On a separate note, the Conglomerate today announced that in order to increase profits and prevent retail businesses from having to put all their sales in one seasonal basket, Christmas season is being split in half.
Those born on odd days - 1, 3, 5, etc. - will celebrate Christmas on its regularly scheduled day in December (or January in the Orthodox system).
Those born on even days - 2, 4, 6, etc. - will celebrate Christmas on 25th June, or its equivalent in your local calendrical system.
Those taking exception to this new system will have to petition the Conglomerate for permission to switch from one day to the other.
Families or coworkers caught casually celebrating the holiday together, or more specifically, accepting gifts on the day for which you and/or they are not permitted to celebrate, will be barred from giving or accepting gifts for a period of years determined by the level of expense associated with your and/or their celebration.
In a related note, birth centers are now scheduling specific times and dates to accommodate pregnant women who choose to go through the natural birth process. Births may be arranged so that all family members are born on odd or even days. They may also be arranged to occur within the range of newly-organised signs of the zodiac.
Kodiak bears with Kodak cameras will not be accommodated, however much they want to participate in this joyous new celebration of All Things Commercial.
The Conglomerate is taking the bears' request under consideration and seeking advisement about other species being allowed to shop for Christmas now that they have a level of self-awareness nearly the same as ours.
The Conglomerate continues the ban on advertisements directed toward nonhuman species, giving the other species the opportunity to educate themselves about common fallacies, tautologies and illogical suppositions buried in many adverts.
Veterinarians for Equal Access to Life (VEAL) applauded the Conglomerate's stand on this important issue of species equality, despite hoping that the Conglomerate would issue a Universal Rights of Species proclamation.
Thousands of comedians died today but no apocalyptic group took notice and sounded the alarm that the end is near. Satirists and satyrs are rolling over in their eternal sleep to keep from getting cloud or brimstone sores, as the case may be.
It was fun to watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune over the past few weeks to observe the time-delayed buildup and release of tension associated with the midterm Congressional elections.
Sociology of the Future is also sociology of the nearterm past. My Futurists University will issue you a bachelor's degree if you can give us all the correct answers (or at least 56% of them (+/- 5%), if you pay us enough), without knowing the questions, of course, or the courses' syllabi.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Market Potential
Is it possible that the U.S. is the equivalent of a "niche" market now?
If so, is American English still the world's best language for universal communications?
If yes to both questions, then do I pay more attention to developments in China/India and less to the U.S. in creating the storyline that walks/surfs the front wave of our species' changes, chronicling them on a site like baidu but using my subcultural language that is easily translatable to Mandarin?
Pause for thought processing on this subject overnight...
If so, is American English still the world's best language for universal communications?
If yes to both questions, then do I pay more attention to developments in China/India and less to the U.S. in creating the storyline that walks/surfs the front wave of our species' changes, chronicling them on a site like baidu but using my subcultural language that is easily translatable to Mandarin?
Pause for thought processing on this subject overnight...
The knotty patterns of Celtic designs
I was working my way through "resonate: present visual stories that transform audiences" by Nancy Duarte, famous author of "slide:ology," when the Committee sent a committee to meet me at an undisclosed location.
In the old days, we would have picked a cheap location to meet and later use as a film location in a re-enactment for fictional narrative purposes only, not as a training video presented on national television disguised as a miniseries that some of my esteemed colleagues have accused us of.
These days, using technology that no one has been able to decipher, in more ways than one (because we decided to go ahead and put to use our knowledge of that which does not exist in this universe), I can sit in the driver's seat of my petite bulldog, putter around town and find out what my comrades, colleagues and associates want to discuss while hidden in full view.
So, while I was mentally flipping through Nancy's pages as I drove into town to exchange tickets from one performance to another for a traveling musical show passing through our burg, a special subcommittee (don't call them thugs or strongarms) appeared to persuade me to get out of my paper journals and back on publicly available territory for all to see and even the playing field.
They reminded me that I made a lifelong commitment to the Committee in exchange for access to unlimited use of the network called our species in the global/solar ecosystem.
Here I am, translating the untranslatable into legible mathematical formulae to help our species understand the interlaced layers of matter/antimatter familiar to us woven with other "material" that we can't yet detect using conventional instrumentation, and the Committee wants me to make a ruling/judgment about the humour used by a British actor in a bogus, self-centered, self-absorbed, self-inflating industry awards show shown on the tellie for gullible global audiences!
Pardon my English but can I ask the Committee to piss off or sod off?
We've got a species to save and they want to worry about the bonuses they're projected to make at the end of the next project tied to marketing a film loaded with bad actors, a thin plotline and over-the-top CG effects?
Everyday, common stuff that businesses deal with in one jargon-filled form or another.
Just as some look at Germany's industrial growth from the early 1900s leading to mechanised war and predict that another country will want to assert itself militarily in the next couple of decades, futurists predict that the day of the living actor and surrounding business of entertainment is transforming into an army of mechanised automatons that can be mixed and matched to act out any plot perfectly.
The Age of the Algorithm.
Biorhythm experts need not apply.
Hasn't the Committee heard this already?
I assume I repeat this to comfort their insecurity about meeting their stockholders' and marketplace's fickle expectations.
The ubiquity of shows dedicated to analysing who wore what on the red carpet is a clear indication of the obsessive behaviour of examining the lint and minutia of a dying industry, or at least one in a long narcissistic decline.
The audience is its own set of actors, happily unpaid and writing/performing scripts madeup in the moment.
Now, on to more Earth-shattering analysis. How do I draw a symbol for something that can't be represented by a symbol?
In the old days, we would have picked a cheap location to meet and later use as a film location in a re-enactment for fictional narrative purposes only, not as a training video presented on national television disguised as a miniseries that some of my esteemed colleagues have accused us of.
These days, using technology that no one has been able to decipher, in more ways than one (because we decided to go ahead and put to use our knowledge of that which does not exist in this universe), I can sit in the driver's seat of my petite bulldog, putter around town and find out what my comrades, colleagues and associates want to discuss while hidden in full view.
So, while I was mentally flipping through Nancy's pages as I drove into town to exchange tickets from one performance to another for a traveling musical show passing through our burg, a special subcommittee (don't call them thugs or strongarms) appeared to persuade me to get out of my paper journals and back on publicly available territory for all to see and even the playing field.
They reminded me that I made a lifelong commitment to the Committee in exchange for access to unlimited use of the network called our species in the global/solar ecosystem.
Here I am, translating the untranslatable into legible mathematical formulae to help our species understand the interlaced layers of matter/antimatter familiar to us woven with other "material" that we can't yet detect using conventional instrumentation, and the Committee wants me to make a ruling/judgment about the humour used by a British actor in a bogus, self-centered, self-absorbed, self-inflating industry awards show shown on the tellie for gullible global audiences!
Pardon my English but can I ask the Committee to piss off or sod off?
We've got a species to save and they want to worry about the bonuses they're projected to make at the end of the next project tied to marketing a film loaded with bad actors, a thin plotline and over-the-top CG effects?
Everyday, common stuff that businesses deal with in one jargon-filled form or another.
Just as some look at Germany's industrial growth from the early 1900s leading to mechanised war and predict that another country will want to assert itself militarily in the next couple of decades, futurists predict that the day of the living actor and surrounding business of entertainment is transforming into an army of mechanised automatons that can be mixed and matched to act out any plot perfectly.
The Age of the Algorithm.
Biorhythm experts need not apply.
Hasn't the Committee heard this already?
I assume I repeat this to comfort their insecurity about meeting their stockholders' and marketplace's fickle expectations.
The ubiquity of shows dedicated to analysing who wore what on the red carpet is a clear indication of the obsessive behaviour of examining the lint and minutia of a dying industry, or at least one in a long narcissistic decline.
The audience is its own set of actors, happily unpaid and writing/performing scripts madeup in the moment.
Now, on to more Earth-shattering analysis. How do I draw a symbol for something that can't be represented by a symbol?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Wanted: A Nonrecombinatorial Novel Approach
I can't remember the last reader comment I received.
Thus, instead of flipping bits in a server stored in a data center I know not where, I return to my paper journals.
A spot guaranteed to garner zero reader comments (other than mine) or my thoughts uninterrupted (other than by the cats).
THE END once more
Thus, instead of flipping bits in a server stored in a data center I know not where, I return to my paper journals.
A spot guaranteed to garner zero reader comments (other than mine) or my thoughts uninterrupted (other than by the cats).
THE END once more
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