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Do the saved use LaTeX?: .posted by ben on Oct 13 at 19:27

Someone should write a book arguing against the divinity of Christ and call it God is the Anti-Christ.


michael caine's madness: .posted by ben on Oct 12 at 23:51

I really should have read The Secret History a long time ago. Alex (the other one as always) told me to read it maybe two years ago... my mother's been bothering me about it for ages, but The Little Friend was so annoying I didn't trust her. Finally, Devin lent it to me with a big pile of other books.... and it's good. I'm still shocked.

I have a morbid fear tom's been hacked, but I can find no evidence of said hacking... which may just mean I'm inept... patching BSD is very confusing.

For some reason Belle and Sebastian reminds me of Madness (that Michael Caine song anyway... though there's really no rational similarity at all. Next I'll be comparing Big Country to Tosca.

The coffee pain is gone, though my laptop is a casualty

I watched Frida. I don't understand the urge to make artists into beautiful people. The point of Frida Kahlo is that she is not one of the beautiful people... though it was interesting to see that house which I vaguely remember visiting.

The worst is that new Gwyneth Paltrow movie... The beautiful people do not do math. And Anthony Hopkins is her advisor? No. Not possible. Sure he's a strange looking man, but he doesn't take nearly enough meth to be a good mathematician. Now Erdos... there's a crazy meth addicted mathematician for you.

I realized the other day that I'm optimistic... because if all this heat death doom and gloom is correct, then there is no hope at all... then, any time I express even the slightest bit of hope, I am being infinitely more optimistic than is warranted.... semantics are stupid.

And then there's Collin's favorite... Paul Sally...


ness: .posted by ben on Oct 11 at 14:26

Jimmy's earliest complete memory was of a huge bonfire. He must have been five, maybe six. He was wearing red rubber boots with a smiling duck's face on each toe; he remembers that, because after seeing the bonfire he had to walk through a pan of disinfectant in those boots. They'd said the disinfectant was poisonous and he shouldn't splash, and then he was worried that the poison would get into the eyes of the ducks and hurt them. He'd been told the ducks were only like pictures, they weren't real and had no feelings, but he didn't quite believe it.

-Margaret Atwood, Oryx and Crake, pg. 15

Fuck with me and I'll segment your appendix.: .posted by ben on Oct 10 at 23:56


too much sushi: .posted by ben on Oct 10 at 23:50

I just figured out how to get the image analogy stuff to train on multiple images. I came dangerously close to sending a stupid email to the guy who wrote the code.

My head is less explosive, but still not back to normal. I think I'm going to go to bed as soon as I can park my car legally. Not very exciting...

I'm listening to a J5 song called Jurass Finish First. Everyone should download it. It is very good.

I lost a 7x7 go game to someone who doesn't know how to play today. It was the first time she'd ever won. Then I watched her play Magic... ga.... brain fried...

At least I didn't run into Rakesh tonight.


I'm so white.: .posted by ben on Oct 10 at 17:23

I'm the man in the middle
spinning mad riddles

waiting at the strip mall
for her to call

like dorothy parker
i'm moving up to barker

to live in the mountains
and drink from fountains

i'm the rhyming master
i keep coming faster

none of that double french shit
here's how I bench it

lyrical couplets
toasted like crumpets

this is all a joke
staring on while my friends do coke

on a victorian mirror
i keep asking "who's my peer?"

who fuses the music with no illusions?: .posted by ben on Oct 10 at 17:04

The only coffee I've had in over two days is a decaf mocha. Thankfully, the blinding pain in my head is starting to recede.

My iBook is cooked. The apple people think it's the AC adapter. They are so wrong. I have to wait a week while they send me one, and then I can get on to sending them my toasted iBook as a whole.

Dorothy Parker is a little too close to my state of mind right now.

I have no idea what I'm going to do tonight... actually that's a lie... I'm going to drive somewhere (possibly Devin's), sit at the Trident while my legs atrophy, and probably get cheap sushi. Sake does not sound good right now.

I've been listening to Talulah Gosh. I like to say Gosh. I think twee is about as good for me as Dorothy Parker. I have fall break Monday. That's fall break in it's entirety... Monday.

The Prufrock's people have started playing Magic. One of the decks said "10 Year Anniversary." I'm old n'stuff.

I can't find Eekamouse lyrics. That is because he speaks gibberish.

Hopefully there's some good movie out.

I just got crazy deja vu staring at the line "the blinding pain in my head is starting to recede." I have no theories as to what that means.


New Improved Angst Includes Men Too: .posted by ben on Oct 10 at 12:19

Dorothy Parker - A Telephone Call
Outlook crashed and killed all my mail from this morning. So, if you sent me something, send it again: .posted by ben on Oct 10 at 12:10

I tried to buy Rakesh a cup of coffee and he refused. Josh talked to him and it turns out he was trying to decide whether or not to hire a lawyer to sue me. Josh apparently convinced him that suing people isn't as much fun as it sounds. So it sounds like I may end up paying half his repair bill to maintain whatever Trident denizen status I have left. I have these images of him getting the entire car repainted at my expense.

I probably ought to tone down the militant pedestrian act in the future.

Now I'm scared to go to the Trident because of him. I'm also scared to go to Prufrock's because of the hot hot chocolate incident.

Terry, the owner of Prufrock's, took down The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock that used to hang downstairs. Instead, they're these pictures of presumably happy Latin Americans sorting coffee in what appears to be a gigantic sweatshop. Buy organic!

In other dislike of Terry news, she asked me if I knew the name of " That guy who comes in here all the time asking for money." I had no idea what she was talking about, though I finally managed to get it out of her that it was the deaf black guy... a lot more specific that some panhandler.

Fortunatly, I didn't know his name. Right after asking that she scurried over to some cop and began to report on the poor man. Somehow I doubt he's done anything wrong, though I don't imagine he'll be around Prufrock's much anyway.

I miss the friendly hippies. There's some new guy at Prufrock's who's probably younger than I am. He hangs out with a bunch of dreadlocked CU students, yet he has a messenger bag with GOP, Campus Republicans, and Bush pins all over it. Actually I'm probably wrong about the exact pins, but you get the point.


I want to buy all the people I've wronged a cup of coffee.: .posted by ben on Oct 9 at 14:22

The most interesting thing likely to happen to me today happened. I dumped hot chocolate all over myself, my iBook, someone else, her books, her cd case, my new linen shirt, and the ground. I am sticky. I am going to take a shower now and pretend I am graceful.


I burn bridges with Fresnels.: .posted by ben on Oct 8 at 23:11

By the time you swear you're his,
   Shivering and sighing
And he vows his passion is
   Infinite, undying-
Lady, make a note of this:
   One of you is lying.

-Dorothy Parker

Once a week I have an original thought. It is not that time of the week.: .posted by ben on Oct 8 at 20:46

When wise Ulysses, from his native coast
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests toss'd,
Arrived at last, poor, old, disguised, alone,
To all his friends, and ev'n his Queen unknown,
Changed as he was, with age, and toils, and cares,
Furrow'd his rev'rend face, and white his hairs,
In his own palace forc'd to ask his bread,
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed,
Forgot of all his own domestic crew,
The faithful Dog alone his rightful master knew!

Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay
Like an old servant now cashier'd, he lay;
Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man,
And longing to behold his ancient lord again.
Him when he saw he rose, and crawl'd to meet,
('Twas all he could) and fawn'd and kiss'd his feet,
Seiz'd with dumb joy; then falling by his side,
Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died!

-Alexander Pope

 

 

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