(no subject)
I've noticed that most of my past few posts have been not at all about things I've done and mainly about odd little thoughts I have. And that suits me fine, so I'm going to do another one.
Is Angela Lansbury still alive? I thought this while waiting for a show to start, and I eventually concluded that she probably wasn't, because I remembered her being old when I caught the odd episode of Murder, She Wrote in my youth, and that was like, forever ago. Still alive, though. Dick Van Dyke, too. Also, if he had been born 60 years or so later, he never would've made it through high school with that name.
Note to crowd-surfers: you cannot surf back to front. You can do front to back and maybe side to side if you have an especially alert and perceptive audience to work with, but never EVER back to front. If you try it, people will not see you coming. You will hit them in the back of their heads and you will fall.
A couple of weeks ago, I made a chicken omelette, which can be unsettling if you think too much about it. I mean, I was eating meat from an animal wrapped in the solidified ova of the same animal. Then I got to wondering if, with proper application of time travel, I could paradoxically eat a chicken omeletted in its own egg. By this time, my omelette had become cold and I had made "omelette" into a verb, so by any reasonable standard, I had clearly overthought said omelette.
I should try making jello shots out of orange jello and vanilla vodka.
So, if you feed Mogwai after midnight, they turn into Gremlins. When does it become okay to feed them again? You'd think the wise old Asian archetype would've mentioned that.
I saw an article titled "Dolphins Help Shark Attack Victim" and my first thought was "Oh fuck, they're teaming up." Seriously, think about it. With the dolphins' smarts and the sharks' lust for death and dismemberment, we wouldn't stand a chance. Luckily, it turned out that the dolphins were helping a victim of a shark attack. We really dodged a bullet there.
I don't see the need for the word "guano". Why not just call it "bat shit"? How come bats are the only animals that get their own private word for their shit? Why is their shit more special than my shit? Do they think they're better than me? Are they? I'm worried now. Side thought: I think any competent therapist would feel a little silly writing the following in their notes: "Subj. expresses feelings of inadequacy re:bats". Didn't that sentence seem to have more than its fair share of colons? There were only three, but doesn't that feel like a lot when it's colons we're talking about? When I was re-reading it, I was all like, "FUCK, another colon?"
People die of natural causes all the time, but I've never heard of anyone dying of unnatural causes, except possibly in H.P. Lovecraft stories. Do people ever die from artificial causes? Do hippies die from all-natural, organic, gluten-free causes? A friend of mine theorized that it's just something they say when old people die and they're not really sure why, but they don't want to tell grieving people, "Yeah, he died because of the old. Watch out, it's hereditary."
Last thought: I was thinking about how pheromones cause women who live in close proximity for longish periods of time to have synchronized menstrual cycles. Don't ask me why I was thinking about it because I honestly can't remember. Anyway, I started to wonder if a woman could intentionally adjust her date of bleedage(you know, to avoid work conflicts and whatnot) by hanging around with another woman who was on a more appealing schedule. This led me to wonder whether the date they both settled on would be halfway between their original dates or if it would be closer to one, which then led me to imagine grand competitions which one would win by keeping her period as close to its original day as possible and pulling others towards her own.
This is how my mind works. Things like this are happening in my head ALL THE TIME. It's a blessing and a curse, and now I'll be debating the relative merits of calling it a "blurse" or a "clessing" for the next few hours.
P.S. The song I'm currently listening to is the one that plays during Buffalo Bill's junk-tucking dance. It's a good song!
Is Angela Lansbury still alive? I thought this while waiting for a show to start, and I eventually concluded that she probably wasn't, because I remembered her being old when I caught the odd episode of Murder, She Wrote in my youth, and that was like, forever ago. Still alive, though. Dick Van Dyke, too. Also, if he had been born 60 years or so later, he never would've made it through high school with that name.
Note to crowd-surfers: you cannot surf back to front. You can do front to back and maybe side to side if you have an especially alert and perceptive audience to work with, but never EVER back to front. If you try it, people will not see you coming. You will hit them in the back of their heads and you will fall.
A couple of weeks ago, I made a chicken omelette, which can be unsettling if you think too much about it. I mean, I was eating meat from an animal wrapped in the solidified ova of the same animal. Then I got to wondering if, with proper application of time travel, I could paradoxically eat a chicken omeletted in its own egg. By this time, my omelette had become cold and I had made "omelette" into a verb, so by any reasonable standard, I had clearly overthought said omelette.
I should try making jello shots out of orange jello and vanilla vodka.
So, if you feed Mogwai after midnight, they turn into Gremlins. When does it become okay to feed them again? You'd think the wise old Asian archetype would've mentioned that.
I saw an article titled "Dolphins Help Shark Attack Victim" and my first thought was "Oh fuck, they're teaming up." Seriously, think about it. With the dolphins' smarts and the sharks' lust for death and dismemberment, we wouldn't stand a chance. Luckily, it turned out that the dolphins were helping a victim of a shark attack. We really dodged a bullet there.
I don't see the need for the word "guano". Why not just call it "bat shit"? How come bats are the only animals that get their own private word for their shit? Why is their shit more special than my shit? Do they think they're better than me? Are they? I'm worried now. Side thought: I think any competent therapist would feel a little silly writing the following in their notes: "Subj. expresses feelings of inadequacy re:bats". Didn't that sentence seem to have more than its fair share of colons? There were only three, but doesn't that feel like a lot when it's colons we're talking about? When I was re-reading it, I was all like, "FUCK, another colon?"
People die of natural causes all the time, but I've never heard of anyone dying of unnatural causes, except possibly in H.P. Lovecraft stories. Do people ever die from artificial causes? Do hippies die from all-natural, organic, gluten-free causes? A friend of mine theorized that it's just something they say when old people die and they're not really sure why, but they don't want to tell grieving people, "Yeah, he died because of the old. Watch out, it's hereditary."
Last thought: I was thinking about how pheromones cause women who live in close proximity for longish periods of time to have synchronized menstrual cycles. Don't ask me why I was thinking about it because I honestly can't remember. Anyway, I started to wonder if a woman could intentionally adjust her date of bleedage(you know, to avoid work conflicts and whatnot) by hanging around with another woman who was on a more appealing schedule. This led me to wonder whether the date they both settled on would be halfway between their original dates or if it would be closer to one, which then led me to imagine grand competitions which one would win by keeping her period as close to its original day as possible and pulling others towards her own.
This is how my mind works. Things like this are happening in my head ALL THE TIME. It's a blessing and a curse, and now I'll be debating the relative merits of calling it a "blurse" or a "clessing" for the next few hours.
P.S. The song I'm currently listening to is the one that plays during Buffalo Bill's junk-tucking dance. It's a good song!