I had to add this quote, because it still makes me laugh out loud:
Mr. James: "The original title of this book was 'Jimmy James, Capitalist Lion Tamer' but I see now that it's... 'Jimmy James, Macho Business Donkey Wrestler'... you know what it is... I had the book translated in to Japanese then back in again into English. Macho Business Donkey Wrestler... well there you go... it's got kind of a ring to it don't it? Anyway, I wanted to read from chapter three... which is the story of my first rise to financial prominence... I had a small house of brokerage on Wall Street... many days no business come to my hut... my hut... but Jimmy has fear? A thousand times no. I never doubted myself for a minute for I knew that my monkey strong bowels were girded with strength like the loins of a dragon ribboned with fat and the opulence of buffalo... dung. ...Glorious sunset of my heart was fading. Soon the super karate monkey death car would park in my space. But Jimmy has fancy plans... and pants to match. The monkey clown horrible karate round and yummy like cute small baby chick would beat the donkey."
Home sick today, and bored. I decided to write a post, translate it to, oh say German, and then translate it back to English again ala 'Jimmy James, Macho Business Donkey Wrestler'.
I hate ill its. I’m fatigued and have very little energy. Of course it is outside, supposed a beautiful day one of the last beautiful drop days here in Minnesota, but I am clung to the other half within expenditure of half of daily sleeping and, wishing, which I slept, because I feel so terrible.
Tonight I stopped into the local coffee house to partake in a cappuccino. On the counter was a leaflet from the local police regarding a sexual predator that had been recently released from prison, and who is living in the area. This kind of thing invokes a few responses from me. First is fear, fear for the women I know in the area, and the women I don't. Second is thoughts of the problems with sexual predators in general. Is it right for a society to hold a person in jail because they think they might commit a crime (ala Minority Report). But, how does a society protect itself from such predators. This conversation always leads me down the path of cause. Is it that these people are morally bankrupt and/or genetically flawed (nature), or is it the society that they are part of that lends itself towards the creation of such behavior (nurture)? Or, is it a nature and nature scenario, as Tam would most likely argue.
I once listened to an interview with the psychological pathologist who worked with Jeffrey Dahmer, and he believed that Jeffrey, and people like him, were not violent per say, but had sexual perversions that they are unable to fulfill within the bounds of normal society. I found it interesting that this psychologist was dismayed by the killing of Jeffrey Dahmer, and really believed that Jeffery was a sick man that didn't deserve to die that way. I imagine many would feel otherwise, and many felt that he was a monster and deserved his fate. I'm not so sure. I have never been one for the eye for an eye kind of punishment. To me, killing is wrong no matter what the justification, or who is killed.
This leads me to the discussion of evil in general, and it seems relevant to the current political climate. Is a person evil in heart, or do they become evil because of circumstances. Again, we can get in a nature verses nurture conversation. I prefer the philosophy of Herman Hess's Siddhartha:
Siddhartha tells Govinda that in order to teach about the world,
Buddha had to divide it into Samsara and Nirvana, into illusion
and truth, into suffering and salvation. But the world is not
divided. It is neither wholly Samsara nor wholly Nirvana, just as
man is never wholly a saint or wholly a sinner, nor is life wholly
suffering or wholly salvation. A sinner can become Brahma and
attain Nirvana. Siddhartha picks up a stone and tells Govinda that
previously he would have considered it a thing of no value
belonging to the world of Maya. Now he sees the rock as
belonging to the cycle of change; within time, it may become a
plant, animal, or man. The stone is part of the unity of the world,
containing God and Buddha.
I both love and hate fall. The hate mainly derived from my distain of school as a child, and the dread I felt as Labor Day approached. I simple despised school, and, as fall neared, the weight of this dread slowly pulled me down into a pit of loathing and despair. However, as an adult, I love fall, the clear brilliant sunsets, the crisp smell of autumn in the air. It can be one of the best times of year in Minneapolis, as long as you can push out the thoughts of the impending winter…brrr…
Fall also signifies change, new school, new season...
Change is in the air my friends, and I can feel it turning around the corner…
Disclaimer: technical, and most likely boring content follows:
I have been working on the SCO Unix IVR server for the past month or so. Let me clarify one point, there is only one account on this machine, and that account is root (for all you non-Unix people out there, it is the super-mega-ultra user account). At least once a day, I find myself killing a background job with the command kill %1. But, for some damn reason, at least half the time, I don't know why, I slip on the shift key and type kill 51.
ivrdev666 >kill 51
kill: 51: no such process
It's only a matter of time before there is a process id of 51, and I will kill it. And you want to be my latex salesman?
This is a message from the emergency broadcast system. We are on the lookout for a woman and a small dog. They are both armed (with a plastic shopping bag or two of dog poo) and dangerous. If you see these two scofflaws, be advised: they may be off leash, and highly volatile. You can make an attempt to call this dog to come, but it is highly unlikely that he will. They both show a complete lack of respect for the law, and must be brought to justice.
I came this close to bidding on an ibook on ebay last weekend. It was cheap, and I imagine it fell off a truck somewhere. Instead, I got what I have been wanting for years and years. Now all I need is those leather pants and some hair extensions, and I can get the band back together.
Two hours in the dentist chair, and I say, "It feels like I've had a foot crammed in my mouth for an hour." The Dr. responds, "I don't think I had my foot in there?" Everybody's a comedian...Kinda hard to laugh when your shirt's covered in blood.
And how the hell does the dentist understand what your saying when you've got a rubber wedge keeping your mouth wide open, a face full of novocaine and a finger or two crammed in your orifice.
Dr inquires, "So you're a programmer, do you know of Lawson Software?" I respond, "Brmph ackl blrumph perg frugle brl." He seamlessly translates back to me, "Oh, so you did some contracting for them last year."
I was having a conversation at dinner last night about inter physical relations. Make out session was how they put it. This conversation eventually let to the metaphor of baseball and how it helped define the level of intimacy one has obtained with a certain individual, ie: I got to first base or second etc. It soon become apparent that we had different understandings of what level of physical contact each base defined. The more conservative of the group (you know who you are) defined first base as kissing or make out session, but I defined first base as hand placed on breast (ahem…).
There was much confusion regarding this issue, and I imagine, depending on your moral, religious or sexual inclinations, each base could mean more or less to each individual.
What a perfect opportunity for a bitter survey:
Footnote: The woman we were with pointed out that only men could define this sad and simple system, and it's quite pathetic that men think three bases are plenty before sliding into home. Of course, I pointed out that I have spent most of my life trying to steal home, and that all this talk of bases was making me tired.
Today was my last day at the physical therapist. He said things seem to be going well, so I am on my own. I've been pretty good with the physical therapy. Been doing my daily strength exercises, and I've been trying to stretch the shoulder regularly. The only problem I have is forgetting to stretch while at work. I get lost in some problem, and the next thing I know the day is half over, and I haven't stretched once. A friend has been IMing me once in a while with the message STRECH to remind me, but she hasn’t been as regular as I need.
Today I hacked out a simple app that dumps a prompt to my screen every hour telling me to stretch. This is probably the first time a software application I have written has directly replaced a human being. I made sure to IM her and tell her she was fired! I imagined security guards shutting off her computer and escorting her out of the building, then sending her a very small, almost insulting, severance check...
This song has been rolling around in my head for the past few weeks. There is a great version on The McGarrigle Hour. The melody has been haunting me for a while. While in New York, we went to see The Kid Stays in the Picture, and this melody played for a large portion of the sound track...
We spent a fair portion of the weekend strolling around Brooklyn, Park Slope, Prospect Park, and a nice drive through Bed-Stuy because Tamara and Julie had seen an ad for a brownstone for sale, cheap. Labor day weekend, and there was a huge carnival. We got stuck in a hellava traffic jam. Julie's car is apt to overheat, and when it does, the clutch fails to work properly. Not working properly defined as deciding randomly to put the car into gear even though you are pressing the clutch peddle to the ground with enough force to ram your foot through the floor of the car. We were lucky enough to experience this phenomenon again on the Brooklyn Queens expressway in another massive traffic jam as we meandered our way towards the Triborough Bridge. Julie had been mentioning how she wanted to sell her car, and how it wasn't a very good New York car. She failed to disclose the full details until we were actually overheating in traffic. On Sunday we took the train…
While at dinner with my family, we had a discussion about mumus. My mom said the title of her memoir would be "A Bee flew Up My MuMu". I'm still laughing.
