odd anatomy question

Why is it that when you've got something on your mind, you have to get it off your chest?

too wierd

It's a left-brain, right-brain thing:

http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,22556281-661,00.html

Really odd. I started out counter-clockwise, then could switch back and forth, even while blinking or after turning away. Does that mean I use both halves of my brain? God, it sure doesn't seem as though I do....

awesome...but why must I always be unearthly white?

Your Score: Yuurei

You scored 16 in Malice and 21 in Chaos!

The Yuurei are the lost souls of those whose lives were abruptly ended in the midst of great distress or emotion. They are pale, white spectres nearly indistinguishable from humans, except that they possess no legs, indicative of their detachment from the earthly world. Yuurei haunt the place of their deaths, waiting for the opportunity to fulfil some incomplete purpose.



Yuurei are more commonly female than male, victims of male cruelty or neglect. Those who become Yuurei typically die violent deaths, whether by suicide or by murder; they become trapped on earth until they have taken care of unfinished business. Male Yuurei are less common, although a slain warrior may become one in order to set the record straight regarding the manner of his death, i.e. to clear his name from disgrace.



Although most Yuurei are relatively harmless, some may become "Obake-Yuurei," or monster ghosts. Obake-Yuurei, instead of restricting their passions to reasonable limits, are wont to loose their rage and sorrow on any people who happen to be unlucky enough to pass by.

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99% on Malice
You scored higher than 99% on Chaos

Link: The Japanese Demon Profile Test written on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

brilliance

I have no idea why some of this has persisted in my memory for so long, yet here it is, on YouTube...so indeed I am not alone.




"Subway"















An orange sings Carmen


















"Grease" à la Sesame Street



There's actually a ton of "classic" & "vintage" (sic) Sesame Street on YouTube...you may be shocked at how much you remember, and how much you didn't know (for example, who knew Philip Glass was responsible for those trippy rainbow patterns?)....

Remember Kermit the Frog at the scene when G. Washington cuts down the cherry tree?

Or the "This is your life" for the loaf of bread?

Do you know how many ladybugs were at the ladybugs' picnic?

"Gimme one-two-three-four, but if you love me more, gimme five, gimme five..."

Who upset the two little dolls in the little dollhouse?

Oh, I could go on and on...

passing on

My grandfather died this morning after a long, slow spiral of deterioration that started the day my grandmother passed away. In the years that followed, his mind and body slipped in violent bursts to the point, that in the end, he had probably forgotten most of his life. Is this a blessing, or a curse? It is hard to tell. For the ones that are left behind, our memories are what freshen our grief; it is practically impossible to not replay one's memories of the deceased over and over again in the event of their death, as though doing so in the throes of sadness will more firmly seat those memories in our ever-eroding brains. For him, perhaps to die without real awareness and memory made it easier...we will never know.

As I think about him this day, it's funny what is clearest in my crowded thoughts: his smell, his twinkle, his hands. Foremost, his smell: salt, wood, and oil. I don't mean this in the way that retailers praise men's cologne; but his actual smell...like dusty salt, kept too long in the back of the cupboard; like wood that has been damp and warm in cycles for many years; like oil, a combination of mechanical oil and the smell of 3-day-unwashed hair. To me, it was strong, but never unpleasant, and always seemed strongest when hugging him, scraping his raspy cheek hairs on my face.

His twinkle was the gleam that would appear when smiling. It never appeared when he laughed; Grandpa always seemed a bit sheepish when laughing aloud. But when he smiled, his upper lip rose slightly, the corners of his mouth drew his lips apart, and then the twinkle in his eye would arrive, causing his hooded eyes to appear less stern and guarded, as though he giggled through his eyes.

His hands, when held, were fascinating. To look at them, you'd only see the years they'd spent as a carpenter, electrician, shop owner, mailman, and public servant. They were always slightly dirty-looking, even if they had just spent a half hour in the sink washing the dishes. His hands, when held, were always cool and dry, like blocks of wood that ought to have been splintered but instead had been worn smooth by time.

Many things are lost to me now, cursed as I am with a weak memory. Even should I forget these things, I know every time I hug my father I'll savor a touch of the scent and strength of his dad, my grandfather.

partially inspired by this morning's commute

10 things that bug me:

1. Bumper stickers that say, "My other car is a..."
2. Cars that are flesh-colored. And I'm not discriminating. That means: cream, brown, tan, ochre, etc.
3. Slammed doors
4. Finger wagging
5. Eyelashes stuck in your eye
6. That wierd sewer smell that occasionally permeates San Francisco
7. Sudden gusts of wind
8. "Designer" car horn sounds
9. Imperfectly timed traffic lights
10. Potholes

these quiz things are ridiculous

Your Score: Dionysus

0% Extroversion, 13% Intuition, 83% Emotiveness, 90% Perceptiveness

Although deeply emotional, you are extremely lacking in self-knowledge. You are somewhat needy, and when bored, may become very hedonistic. Your life is a quest for meaning, above all else. You are most like Dionysus. You are primarily interested in serving others, but your efforts are almost always unappreciated. You aren't confrontational, you're often out of tune with your own needs and unaware of the consequences of your own actions.



You are, at heart, a good person. You are very affectionate, and you are very loyal to your friends and family. You are very reluctant to burden others with your own problems, to the point that this in itself can become a problem for the people who care about you. This is a particular of a more general problem. Dionysus sends wave of ruin throughout his personal life. He is the photographer who seduces his subjects. He is the teacher who seduces a student. He is the art student who paints nonrepresentational splashes of color, he is the poet who rejects meter and content. You seek sexual partners more than anything else (this is to exploit the nurturing side of others to help fill your own void). If not sexual partners, this desire to become the object of sympathy with other people can manifest itself in other destructive ways. Stinkfist by Tool explains your condition pretty well. It's very likely that you haven't had many experienced mentors. You don't want them either, because you're the sort of person who rejects criticism and boundaries, but they're also your only hope for reaching any kind of emotional maturity.



Famous People Like You: John Lennon, Mick Jagger, Michael Jackson, Britney Spears, Marilyn Monroe, Hugh Hefner

I'd tell you to stay clear of Hermes, Icarus and Apollo, but you could probably learn something from them. You're least likely to hurt The Oracle, Atlas, Prometheus, and Daedalus, but Atlas and Daedalus won't like you very much.
Seek out: The Oracle, Prometheus

Link: The Greek Mythology Personality Test written by Aleph_Nine on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

cause for concern

I stood in the elevator lobby for about 10 seconds before I heard the first "ding" announcing the arrival of an elevator. I shifted my weight towards the source of the sound. Then a second "ding" chimed from the opposite elevator. I hesitated, then on impulse, though the doors for the second lift opened a second later than the first, I entered the second elevator. Once inside, I turned to look at the empty elevator across the lobby, and I was seized by a (I swear I am not making this up) completely irrational pang of regret at the sight of the forlorn elevator. I actually thought, "I'm sorry" as the doors to my lift closed and the empty elevator disappeared from view.

As I ascended to the 13th floor, I did take a moment to reflect on my disturbing thought. But even as I branded myself at utterly ridiculous, the doors opened again and as I left the elevator I couldn't help but look nervously across the way again, to the closed doors of my rejected elevator, as though it might have followed me upstairs to once again open its doors in dissapointment, and give me a look like a dog left tied in the yard during a rainstorm.

i concentrate on you

I seem to have entered a curious new phase of my life. I am more self-absorbed, self-centered, self-obsessed than I've ever been before. It's really quite a strange sensation, and I'm not really sure how it came about. Suddenly, my "How are you"s seem less sincere to my ears; it's as though I'm less attached to my surroundings by half, and my needs are paramount. When did this happen? It's not as if I'm any busier or stressed than usual -- the lab work is progressing well, and now that my thesis committee has freed me from my cloning albatross-from-hell, and I have a tentative plan for the rest of the year that involves finishing up, writing, graduating, and teaching part-time, I'm actually probably less stressed than I've been in quite a while. Perhaps this is the feeling of a promise of liberation, the approach of an achieved goal, the transition from one sort of life to another. It's difficult to articulate, like trying to describe the awareness that suddenly descends on one as winter yields to spring: the air smells different, the feeling of the breeze as it brushes your skin has changed. (I'm even finding myself translating that last sentence from French into English as I write it.)

I'm now consumed by a desire to beautify my home. I've been seized by a need to read a slew of books and write those three or four different stories that have been clamoring for my time and attention for ages. I want to throw a dinner party. I've even done some cleaning of my lab desk (though I somewhat regret giving up on my little how-much-dust-can-that-CD-accumulate experiment). I don't feel so guilty putting on my headphones at work to drown out the chaos of the lab. I'm not really sure what all this means, if I'm just emerging from the fog of graduate student existence, or if I just need a vacation. But it is strange.

apparently sarcasm doesn't work on my mom's cell phone

Me: Oh, and did I tell you? I got a haircut last week.
Mom: Really?
Me: Yep, it's a new 'do...I've got bangs. Can you remember when I last had bangs?
Mom: It's been a long time. But they're very fashionable now.
Me: Of course, then, it makes sense that I have bangs...since I'm so fashionable.
Mom: (hysterical laughter)
Me: (silence)
Mom: Oh, Jenny, you are so funny....

wednesday night haiku

mismatched pyjamas
taped American Idol
Popeye's chicken strips

two-wheel tease

Ok, so Match.com hasn't found me the love of my life after two months of online exposure. But perhaps I've stumbled onto the latest thing, better than "toothing" or any other social fad: flirting on scooters.

Late one night last week, I had a frigging cold ride-on-the-scooter home. So cold, in fact, that I had a bulky scarf wrapped 'round my neck, its tails stuffed down the front of my leather jacket so my torso was puffed out even more than usual; I also had donned my waterproof/windbreaker pants over my jeans. It was cold enough, given the added wind chill, that I knew my fingers, thighs, and toes were going to be frigid by the time I got home. All I wanted was to get home and into my fleece pants and wool slippers ASAP.

As I drove down Oak Street, cursing at the unnecessarily red light I had managed to avoid, and pounding my cold thighs with my fists to keep warm, I became aware of another two-wheeler approaching me from between two lanes of cars. I was already at the intersection, towards the left of my middle lane, so it was not unexpected for another motorcyclist/scooter-rider to join me at the head of the line of traffic. What was unexpected, however, was that this guy, on a fancy Scarabeo scooter larger than mine, turned his head to me, lifted his helmet's visor, and smiled. I assumed this was just a friendly two-wheeler-to-two-wheeler gesture, like a little hand-wave that isn't uncommon amongst cycle commuters, so I returned the salute with a nod and a little wave of my throttle hand. He responded by lowering his visor, giving his engine a little rev, and nodding to me. At that point, the light changed, and I assumed he'd just hot-dog it and gun his scooter with an obviously larger engine to zoom ahead of me. Instead, as we proceeded down Oak, he switched into the next lane, but kept pace with me, making a point to stop even to where I had stopped, and lift his visor again to look at me!

Now, I was hardly Christie Brinkley in a red convertible. Neither was I dressed in a biker-babe black leather jumpsuit with red flames embroidered on my calves and arms. But we flirted all the way down Oak, flitting towards and away from each other like butterflies. We never tried to speak to each other, and at the end of Oak I turned up the hill towards home, and he turned right to cross Market, giving me a little beep-beep as he left. The rest of the ride home, I puzzled over this odd behavior; I'd heard of truckers leapfrogging on the highways late at night to keep each other awake, but this seemed completely different. Was it flirting? It certainly wasn't terribly safe, given the general inattentiveness of the four-wheel drivers surrounding us. Ah, the dangers of modern mating.