A poster regarding a story about (potential) new iPads on MacRumors said, and I quote:
But no, Apple is going to wishy wash (being forum appropriate with word choice) and let Microsoft (for one) continue to climb higger.
I’m pretty sure if you go to the Microsoft site right now, the slogan they have displayed there is Climb Higger.
It’s a reference, of course, to the world-famous Mount Higger, the tallest mountain in all internet comments sections. Meanwhile, Apple is going with the wishy wash, a new, magical method for manufacturing processors in super-clean rooms.
These are exciting times for both technology and random people making comments on the internet.
(Ironically, I think the point the person was making as he fought with his keyboard, is not entirely inaccurate, that Apple is being conservative with their technology while Microsoft, with products like the Surface Studio, is championing the sort of innovative design Apple was once known for. Still, I want a new iPad, anyway. Microsoft could still make my socks roll up and down with a Surface Pro 5, but probably only due to its price.)
a sharp and often satirical or ironic utterance designed to cut or give pain
a) a mode of satirical wit depending for its effect on bitter, caustic, and often ironic language that is usually directed against an individual b) the use or language of sarcasm
When I was younger I employed sarcasm so regularly it was entitled to full benefits and vacation pay. Thinking it over, I haven’t really reduced my usage of sarcasm, I just have fewer opportunities to wield it. For example, I’m wise enough to know that sarcasm is often not the best tactic in the workplace (co-workers do not seem to share this trepidation based on the regular barbs that go a-flying).
Looking at that first definition, though? Designed to cut or give pain? Ouch. Literally. When I employ sarcasm, it’s certainly meant for effect, chiefly to skewer the target of said sarcasm. In that sense, it can be said to be intended to cut. Give pain? Not so much. I’m not a sadist, not even a linguistic one. When I use words as weapons I’m more like a mug swinging a club I can only manage to lift, rather than a skilled fencer darting to and fro, stabbing at will.
The second definition, though, that’s entirely me. When I prick a finger and draw blood I’m fairly certain a little sarcasm leaks out. I don’t always target individuals, though, preferring to broaden my targets to entire institutions or groups.
What brought on this bit of self-reflection was a perusal of some of the posts on this blog, specifically my writing prompts (the ones I create, not the ones I tackle) and how they are uniformly sarcastic. Why is that? Am I secretly afraid of producing mediocre prompts and so write ones that aren’t intended to be taken seriously? Is it a reaction to so many writing prompt collections being silly while trying to be serious? More the latter, I think.
Coming up with a few decent prompts is pretty easy. Coming up with a dozen? Trickier. Coming up with hundreds, especially hundreds that aren’t spewed out by an automated process? It is difficult, so bless those brave souls that try, even as I mock their efforts. I don’t mean to be cruel and fully open myself to similar mockery with the hundreds of nonsensical posts I’ve written here.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I blame my head cold and the obligation to write. I’d rather be sleeping and don’t look forward to staggering into work tomorrow, still feeling unwell and having to battle stuffed-up sinuses, caustic co-workers, and other stuff, all of which could be solved through the simple expediency of winning the lottery.
Time for bed and NyQuil-fueled dreams. The best dreams.
I subscribed to a Pinterest newsletter until it started regularly including content that I was not only not interested in, but found unwelcome. This happened despite specifically indicating what my interests were. Somehow I still ended up getting loads on “pinterests” featuring topless tattooed women on motorcycles. I mean, if you like that, great. But I don’t and Pinterest really, really thought I did.
I subscribed to a Medium daily digest and the first one I got was an unusually rich trove of interesting topics and info. This proved to be a fluke as it subsequent digests were nothing but self-referential articles about getting more people to read your posts on Medium mixed in with right-wing screeds or poorly-written and unoriginal stories. I’m perfectly fine with being unoriginal, provided the spin provided is interesting or well-constructed. Instead, I find articles where the rules of English have been tossed aside in favor of a weird quasi-informal tone that reads like something halfway between a Facebook post and a text message.
I unsubscribed to the Medium digest.
The Pocket digests still arrive every few days but I find I’m looking at the stories less, in part because some of the digests are thinly-disguised collections of links to support the inevitable “sponsored” story (which is really just an ad) and also because the political stories are almost uniformly depressing these days and much of the rest of the news is the same as well. It feels like hope has been crushed down in favor of the rich and stupid being allowed to shape our inevitably dismal future.
Mostly I wonder if it will ever be possible to filter this kind of stuff so it shows things I find genuinely interesting, while at the same time avoiding the creation of an echo chamber where I only get news or exposure to ideas I already accept. I keep at open mind and I’m always willing to listen (within reason). I imagine a world where I didn’t have a Facebook finger. The Facebook finger is represented by the ‘swipe down’ gesture used by my index finger as I go through the Facebook news feed, vainly hoping for something that isn’t a regurgitated meme, insipid “like and share of you agree” bit of inspiration or an allegedly cool thing/video someone (along with thousands of others) found.
But I don’t think it will ever be possible, at least not until the far future (if we as a species make it), so for now, the only way to filter is to do it manually and suffer the memes, the self-indulgent nonsense and the “you’ll find this interesting!” stuff that is actually the opposite of what you’re looking for.
Strictly speaking, the weekly write-in wasn’t postponed, only my participation was.
Friday: I felt that weird little twinge in my sinuses and throat that said, “You may be catching a cold!”
Saturday: The twinges became manifest. I officially have a cold, but it’s not too bad. Some NeoCitran helps me feel better. I still plan on going to the writing group.
Sunday: Nose is very irritated. Sneezing develops. Generally feel blah and listless. Decide not to inflict my potentially contagious self on the others attending the write-in. On a day when it reaches 9ºC and snow is a literal impossibility, I also do not run.
I eat toast and jam instead. It leaves me unfulfilled because my nose still hurts.
Now I’m having tea, which will temporarily soothe but also lead to me getting up multiple times to use the bathroom because that stuff goes through me like nobody’s business.
Also today, I started reading an article linked on Medium that lists 50 ways to make yourself better and gave up after realizing the list is a few common sense items wedged in-between a bunch of unsubstantiated nonsense, like “have faith” or “create an automated source of income.” The author also keeps citing the wealthy as inspiration, overlooking the fact that wealthy people are among the worst people on this planet. He cites Peter Thiel, for the love of…Pete. His advice boils down to “Be white, male, super-rich and you’ll do just fine!”
This guy is a jerk. Why is he a jerk? I will tell you.
This picture was taken during my commute home, on the Canada Line, around 4:40 p.m.
Transit Jerk Explained
He’s sitting on the outside seat, making it more difficult for other people to get by to the empty window seat next to him
He has his legs crossed, which makes it even more difficult and sends the implicit message, “Go away, don’t even try.”
He is doing this during rush hour when the train is inevitably going to be crowded.
He has his bag in the “Keep Area Clear” space at the front of the car. Stuff left here can go flying if the train makes an emergency stop.
His water bottle is on the verge of popping out of his bag and rolling onto the floor.
Bonus: He’s wearing a vest.
Today on the commute home four of the seats up front were occupied by people’s baggage (said people obviously riding in from the airport). Question: What is more deserving of a seat: your baggage or another human being? Answer: You know the answer, jerk. Move your damn luggage.
This concludes my yearly transit rant. Since switching almost exclusively to riding the SkyTrain rather than the bus, I find most of my complaints are of a mechanical nature–that is, taking issue with problems besetting the system such as stuck cars, failed switches, etc. In the olden days of bus riding my complaints were almost exclusively about the people on the bus rather than the bus itself. So in that sense, my complaints now are a lot milder.
But still, the jerks are still out there, with their fancy bags and crossed legs and, “Oh, you want to sit here? I had no idea other people rode the train!”
A few nights ago I had a dream in which I was at a meeting at work and a group of us were gathered around a large conference table. Standing at one end was a former Academic Dean and she had donuts. But how do you distribute the donuts to people sitting around such a large conference table? In Dreamville you just use a device specifically made for just such a dilemma.
It consisted of three parts:
a long piece of narrow, rounded wood
a tube similar to a Pringles potato chip can, but about twice as big around
a fishing rod-style reel to act as a winch
and donuts
The donuts were loaded onto the piece of rounded wood. Sadly this meant no Boston Creams or other yummy filled donuts. The loaded donut “stick” would then be inserted into the long tube and at one end of the tube, the donut deliverer would use the reel/winch-like device to slowly push the donut stick out of the tube across the length of the table, allowing people to grab donuts as they slowly went by.
In the dream it was brilliant and everyone found it quite clever. In reality, it would work best if the laws of physics could be suspended, people didn’t care what type of donut they got and everyone was too lazy to just get up to grab a donut from the box (which would at least burn 5 of the 250 calories the donut would ding you).
This is apparently what happens when I go over a month without a donut.
it snowed today. Boo. But by afternoon it was sunny and the snow was gone. Yay.
I had a terrible headache last night in bed (no, a real headache). Boo. I took Advil and it actually worked. Yay.
I continue to acquire more old music than new, though I’m at least grabbing albums I didn’t own back in the 80s and 90s. Recent purchases range from au fromage to well-regarded classics:
Billy Joel, The Bridge – the beginning of the slide down for Joel creatively, though not his nadir
Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Welcome to the Pleasuredome – cheesy, with weird wide-ranging covers but there’s no denying the irresistible pulse of “Relax” and Holly Johnson lifts every song with his enthusiastic vocals
Crowded House (debut) – pretty pop with just enough smarts to make it more than just pretty pop
Neil Young, Harvest Moon – a gentle, sweet album
I tried and failed to think of any frog-related puns today (there was a reason for this–the puns, not the failure, which was simply lack of imagination on my part)
The Tim Hortons “Roll up to win” contest is on and I’ve won four times. I gave away my two donut wins but kept the coffees (which I will use for tea)
less than two weeks until Daylight Saving Time returns. Yay.
my weight loss for the month will probably be minimal at best and negative at worst. Whoops. But my body fat percentage is down. Yay.
I’m still a bit sore from my outdoor run two days ago. This is mildly embarrassing.
NASA’s Spitzer Space Telescope has revealed the first known system of seven Earth-size planets around a single star. Three of these planets are firmly located in the habitable zone, the area around the parent star where a rocky planet is most likely to have liquid water.
The discovery sets a new record for greatest number of habitable-zone planets found around a single star outside our solar system. All of these seven planets could have liquid water – key to life as we know it – under the right atmospheric conditions, but the chances are highest with the three in the habitable zone.
The planets are very close to each other and to the sun (all are closer than Mercury is to our sun), which in this case is not an issue because the sun is an ultracool dwarf. This is the closest group of planets we’ve found that could potentially support life.
The idea of life existing beyond Earth gives me hope. I’d like to think that others out there have done better than we have here.
And that they’ll be nice to us.
This poster illustrating the relative size and positions of the planets and sun is also neat:
Way back in the olden days of 1982 I attended Malaspina College. I was fresh out of high school, full of spunk and determined to make a career of being a waiter. My training took the form of completing the two-year theater program at Malaspina.
Ho ho.
I had a change of heart in the second year and never finished, alas, so my career as an actor was nipped in the bud while I was still a teenager. Who knows what fame and riches I left behind? (If someone hands me a time machine I would be willing to go back and find out, even if the results were a reverse sort-of It’s a Wonderful Life and I experience the sad trombone of having made the wrong call back then.)
None of this is especially relevant to what I am about to show, except that back in that first year we mounted a spring production of Oh, What a Lovely War. There were 14 performances in all, which was about a dozen more than I was accustomed to from high school plays, and we all had multiple parts as the cast of dozens only had about a dozen people to fill the roles. I had seven parts, ranging from a German soldier cut down by machine gun fire, to a Scottish ghillie, a Belgian general and several others I dimly remember. The general wore a very tall and silly hat. The German soldier was a logistical challenge. I and three others walked onstage, got cut down by machine gun fire, collapsed dead to the ground and then had to sneak offstage while the rest of the cast paraded in front of us to begin the final musical number. But wait, there’s more! Not only did we have to sneak offstage, we also had to change costumes and then bring up the rear of the line that originally started in front of us.
Live theater can be awesome like that.
One scene involved the famous suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst handing out pamphlets in a town square. The actors also worked on props (I helped turn a rubber chicken into a duck for the scene with the Scottish ghillie) and several cast members produced lovingly handcrafted pamphlets which I kept after the show closed. Most of them looked like this (excuse the water damage–I have no idea where it came from, but these things are nearly 35 years old):
The spelling of “suffragette” varied according to whoever wrote a particular pamphlet.
A couple of the pamphlets were infused with what one might call a more modern sensibility (Mary was a cast member).
Finally, there was one pamphlet that everyone secretly dreaded–and thrilled–to receiving, because it was absurd and prone to making you laugh, which was wholly inappropriate for the very serious scene in which the pamphlets were handed out.
This worked even better because back then the McRib was still relatively new so making fun of it still had a certain novelty value.
Trying to make fellow actors break up onstage is, of course, a long tradition in theater. A friend, for reasons unknown, described this as “scoobing.” I don’t know why, but that seems to work.
Looking over this stuff kind of makes me want to go back into theater. Mostly it makes me wish I was 18 again. The world was fantastic and fun when I was 18. I got to wear funny hats and pretend to get shot and sing and dance.
I also actually liked the McRib. But I was 18, so I not only still had that teenage sense of immortality, I also had no taste. See also: my hair (which was cut short for the play, making it the first decent haircut I’d had in a decade).
Yesterday was February 13, the day before Valentine’s. As I was shopping for groceries I wondered if Easter candy would be butting up against the shelves stuffed with Valentine’s confectionary (Easter is on April 16 this year, over two months from now). I suspected this would be the case–and I was correct. There were chocolate Easter bunnies and candy eggs and other assorted Easter goodies right next to the heart-shaped chocolates.
We are one step closer to uberholiday, when all holidays merge into one giant, continuous celebration. It sounds grand in a hedonistic kind of way but the reality would just be endless ads all year long, an unrelenting assault on the senses (well, more so than usual).
The next step toward uberholiday will be Mother’s Day stuff showing up before Easter. Soon people will buy bunnies for Mother’s Day. Next will be bunnies in heart-shaped baskets for mom. From there will follow a full descent into holiday chaos and madness.
