"There are two things you need to have to pick up any girl: the first is you have to be entirely convinced that they all have deep-rooted insecurities; and the second, no matter what you do, they'll love you."- Max Clark.
2.20.2008
Quotation of the day.
"There are two things you need to have to pick up any girl: the first is you have to be entirely convinced that they all have deep-rooted insecurities; and the second, no matter what you do, they'll love you."- Max Clark.
2.17.2008
A Quotation from the Depths.
Periodically, I issue challenges to students in the classes I teach, dangling extra credit in front of them like candy or hard drugs. These challenges are rarely met. Recently, however, I have received a student's response to one such gauntlet, and think it's pretty good.
I challenged my students to try to write a sentence that employed three different meanings of a particular vocab word: precipitate.
Here is a student's attempt:
"The precipitation made the precipice periously slippery, and precipitated the precipitate hiker's demise."
He translates it thusly:
"The rain made the cliff slippery, causing the headstrong hiker to fall to his death."
Now, if he had incorporated a zeugma somehow, I would apprentice him to myself in all ways literary and academic, thereby procuring for him excellence and glory perennial.
I challenged my students to try to write a sentence that employed three different meanings of a particular vocab word: precipitate.
Here is a student's attempt:
"The precipitation made the precipice periously slippery, and precipitated the precipitate hiker's demise."
He translates it thusly:
"The rain made the cliff slippery, causing the headstrong hiker to fall to his death."
Now, if he had incorporated a zeugma somehow, I would apprentice him to myself in all ways literary and academic, thereby procuring for him excellence and glory perennial.
2.14.2008
Perhaps a bit too much
I just can't seem to think of a way to, to lie, split an infinitive with an infinitive.
What's more, I can't think of a way to, to blatantly lie, split an infinitive with a split infinitive.
Here's a Q: is "tutu" a verb? Let me OED, for a bit.
Nope. "tutu" is not a verb. BUT "tu-whit" is! So.
Now we can have some real fun--
Ahem.
A Syntactic Bloom and Dactylic Find in the Parlo(u)r:
a Very Brief Story
Everyone's fingers began to reek of cigars more than did their cigars. Thusly did each individual keep keen watch over his phalanges, lest some absentminded gentleman heedlessly attempt to snoppa (as the Swedish Phonetician would say, with a not unusual popping sound of the lower lip), light, and smoke them in the function of cheroot.
As per usual, the thread of conversation was giving way, and statments began to form without reference to any preexisting dialectical or narrative flow, as if proffered in the capacity of attractive and unimportant flowers--the elegance or curiosity of their structure, not any meaning therein, comprising their principal value.
"Come evening," prattled the Apostate Grammarian, "'tis the owl who begins to hoot wildly; to wit, to shamelessly, to shamelessly, to shamelessly neologize, onomatopoeize, tu-whit!"
To facilitate laughter, the Swedish Phonetician removed the Pinochle Player's finger from his mouth, alerting all to the fact that it was no longer missing.
What's more, I can't think of a way to, to blatantly lie, split an infinitive with a split infinitive.
Here's a Q: is "tutu" a verb? Let me OED, for a bit.
Nope. "tutu" is not a verb. BUT "tu-whit" is! So.
Now we can have some real fun--
Ahem.
A Syntactic Bloom and Dactylic Find in the Parlo(u)r:
a Very Brief Story
Everyone's fingers began to reek of cigars more than did their cigars. Thusly did each individual keep keen watch over his phalanges, lest some absentminded gentleman heedlessly attempt to snoppa (as the Swedish Phonetician would say, with a not unusual popping sound of the lower lip), light, and smoke them in the function of cheroot.
As per usual, the thread of conversation was giving way, and statments began to form without reference to any preexisting dialectical or narrative flow, as if proffered in the capacity of attractive and unimportant flowers--the elegance or curiosity of their structure, not any meaning therein, comprising their principal value.
"Come evening," prattled the Apostate Grammarian, "'tis the owl who begins to hoot wildly; to wit, to shamelessly, to shamelessly, to shamelessly neologize, onomatopoeize, tu-whit!"
To facilitate laughter, the Swedish Phonetician removed the Pinochle Player's finger from his mouth, alerting all to the fact that it was no longer missing.
2 Mathematically Playful Letters of C. L. Dodgson (Lewis Carroll)
My dear Edith,
Many thanks. I am awfully busy: so cannot write at any length. I send you 1.000000 kisses (you understand decimals?).
Your loving,
C. L. Dodgson
*******************************************
Honoured Sir,
Understanding you to be a distinguished algebraist (i.e. distinguished from other algebraists by different face, different height, etc.) I beg to submit to you a difficulty which distresses me much.
If x and y are each equal to "1," it is plain that 2 X (x2 - y2) = 0, and also that 5 X (x - y) = 0. Hence 2 X (x2 - y2) = 5 X (x - y).
Now divide each side of this equation by (x - y).
Then 2 X (x + y) = 5.
But (x + y) = (1 + 1), i.e. = 2.
So that 2 X 2 = 5.
Ever since this painful fact has been forced upon me, I have not slept more than 8 hours a night, and have not been able to eat more than 3 meals a day.
I trust you will pity me and will kindly explain the difficulty to
Your obliged,
Lewis Carroll
Many thanks. I am awfully busy: so cannot write at any length. I send you 1.000000 kisses (you understand decimals?).
Your loving,
C. L. Dodgson
*******************************************
Honoured Sir,
Understanding you to be a distinguished algebraist (i.e. distinguished from other algebraists by different face, different height, etc.) I beg to submit to you a difficulty which distresses me much.
If x and y are each equal to "1," it is plain that 2 X (x2 - y2) = 0, and also that 5 X (x - y) = 0. Hence 2 X (x2 - y2) = 5 X (x - y).
Now divide each side of this equation by (x - y).
Then 2 X (x + y) = 5.
But (x + y) = (1 + 1), i.e. = 2.
So that 2 X 2 = 5.
Ever since this painful fact has been forced upon me, I have not slept more than 8 hours a night, and have not been able to eat more than 3 meals a day.
I trust you will pity me and will kindly explain the difficulty to
Your obliged,
Lewis Carroll
Quotation of the day:
"Everyone knows Custer died at Little Bighorn. What this book presupposes is...maybe he didn't?"
-- ELI CASH
Score.;?!:
From the last post, here is the score--
Bronze medal--
! = 2
Tie for Silver (the judges gaze dubiously at "?")
? = 3
. = 3
Gold medal--
: = 5
and honorable mention--
; = 1
***************************
Incidentally, """ and "," were disqualified due to testing positive for drugs.
Bronze medal--
! = 2
Tie for Silver (the judges gaze dubiously at "?")
? = 3
. = 3
Gold medal--
: = 5
and honorable mention--
; = 1
***************************
Incidentally, """ and "," were disqualified due to testing positive for drugs.
: vs .
The colon in the previous blog post, just after the word "too", was placed there retroactively--I orginally had placed a period after the "too". The reason to this rhyme: the period performed the simple function of ending the proposition, ending the thought. I had ended the thought and, at the time, was going to launch into further related thoughts about the nature of my daydreams. But then, hours later, upon seeing what was the blog post's final product (or the blog post's final product sans the colon substitution being presently discussed) I thought something like this: "if I switch that period out for a colon, then the question will be provoked: was there [a] something further to come, namely a description of the daydreams, which was then aborted hours later for self-induglent and self-referential pseudo-intellectual blathering, OR [b] is what actually follows the colon within the blog post constitutive of my daydreams; that is, were my daydreams really about what follows the colon? To further reiterate [b]: is it the case that whatever all the words between "between the time" and "thusly ending" are getting at (that elusive and variegated non-physical object, that mess of propositions,) IS the "one thing in particular" that which the "weird" and "disturbing" daydreams are about??
What a dilemma: [a] or [b]! Look what a colon can do!
What a dilemma: [a] or [b]! Look what a colon can do!
as i calmly fume.
It's one thing to wake up at 5am and drive to Garden Grove when you have something particular to get done. It's another thing altogether when you wake up at 5am and drive to Garden Grove to daydream.
I have been daydreaming, and doing little else. My daydreams have been weird, disturbing. They've generally been about one thing in particular, too:
Between the time I wrote the previous sentence and the time I am writing this one, I taught two classes, one on American History and one on American Literature; it's taken about 2 hours. Funny, how I gave you no warning that such a long period had elapsed. The least I could have done was to give you a "*********" or "..." or something typographically indicative of thematic or temporal change.
Can you imagine what this blog post would have been if I had stopped writing it with my most recent sentence? Try. Imagine. It would have hardly seemed a blog post at all. It has the general beginnings of something narrative-like...my first few sentences seem to hide a latent autobiographical jaunt. (Incidentally, the "..." in the previous sentence indicates a twelve-year passage of time, within which I was magically pegged and imprisoned within a rotten pine tree.) According to all literary queues available to the reader at the beginning of this post, there seems to be some story that wants relaying--the post seems to be going somewhere. To follow it up with a simple tongue-in-cheek meta-linguistic trick admittedly seems cheap, but to END THE BLOG POST with such a cheap trick seems downright dialogically uncooperative, almost as uncooperative as ending the blog post with mere commentary on the dialogically uncooperative nature of thusly ending.
I have been daydreaming, and doing little else. My daydreams have been weird, disturbing. They've generally been about one thing in particular, too:
Between the time I wrote the previous sentence and the time I am writing this one, I taught two classes, one on American History and one on American Literature; it's taken about 2 hours. Funny, how I gave you no warning that such a long period had elapsed. The least I could have done was to give you a "*********" or "..." or something typographically indicative of thematic or temporal change.
Can you imagine what this blog post would have been if I had stopped writing it with my most recent sentence? Try. Imagine. It would have hardly seemed a blog post at all. It has the general beginnings of something narrative-like...my first few sentences seem to hide a latent autobiographical jaunt. (Incidentally, the "..." in the previous sentence indicates a twelve-year passage of time, within which I was magically pegged and imprisoned within a rotten pine tree.) According to all literary queues available to the reader at the beginning of this post, there seems to be some story that wants relaying--the post seems to be going somewhere. To follow it up with a simple tongue-in-cheek meta-linguistic trick admittedly seems cheap, but to END THE BLOG POST with such a cheap trick seems downright dialogically uncooperative, almost as uncooperative as ending the blog post with mere commentary on the dialogically uncooperative nature of thusly ending.
2.13.2008
Morning.
Ben has just gone outside to yell at Edison employees armed with tree-clippers. He, Ben, is armed with tree clippers--not the Edison employees who are intent on cutting our trees down.
I, on the other hand, am eating breakfast. Serenely.
Breakfast:
I, on the other hand, am eating breakfast. Serenely.
Breakfast:
2.12.2008
Categorically broadening experience.
Today for lunch I went to buy some cheap fruit at some au naturale grocer place. Nothing processed, everything as God intended it, etc. Lots of fruits. When I made my way to a pile of tangelos, I was overtaken by their color. The orange was so vibrant that it seemed to produce some more-intense-than-is-usual sensation in me. At first sight they were catching; they demanded one's sight. Rapt by the fruit, I came closer and attempted to get close enough so that my entire visual field was occupied by the zingy, tangy color. I want to exaggerate by writing I was short of breath. Something felt impressed upon or tingued or in some other way profoundly affected within me. Then I turned to my left, where there were small watermelons, a dark green, and the sight of them struck me as dynamically soothing. I felt actively soothed--in the way cool water might sooth my skin, my eyes felt soothed. The watermelons were physically easier to look at; it took less real physical effort. I look backed at the tangelos and cringed slightly. Maybe my eyes were contracting in some violent way that made my whole body want to contract with them. It's so strange for me to conceive of visual pleasure, but that's what it was. Tactile or olfactory or gustatory pleasure makes good and easy sense to me...but I felt visually pleased looking at those colors.
here endeth my account.
here endeth my account.
Beware...
Village Bible Church, where I instruct students in the early morning about History and Literature...
has the quietest flushing toilet I've ever experienced. The lack of a torrential swoosh when I flush leaves me somehow unclean. It is as if the noise that usually accompanies my bathroom exit-procedure has now become a psychologically necessary component in the act of rectal ablution.
Beware the silent toilet.
hahahahahahahahahaha i am ridiculous.
has the quietest flushing toilet I've ever experienced. The lack of a torrential swoosh when I flush leaves me somehow unclean. It is as if the noise that usually accompanies my bathroom exit-procedure has now become a psychologically necessary component in the act of rectal ablution.
Beware the silent toilet.
hahahahahahahahahaha i am ridiculous.
More of the like.
This morning, in Denny's, Midlake was playing. Life can surprise you, and so can the band Midlake. Why have a show around 5:45 in a Garden Grove Denny's, eh Midlake? No principled reason stands behind this morning's delightful performance. We have to just take it with gladness and bewilderment, as we take all the quirky, multiform arrangments of matter with which we are daily met.
Okay, here're (I was going to write "here's", but I would have hate to is be was negligent [Yes, all those words were intentional] in my duties to the arcane rules governing English verb agreement.) some thoughts.
The old thought project about possibility with the monkeys. Remember? You know, given the nature of possibility, if you had sitting diligently at typewriters an infinite number of monkeys (chimps? baboons? lemurs? [okay, I just wikipedia'd {excuse me, my betters, for my half-cocked attempt at past-tense-verbizing 'wikipedia' by simply adding an apostraphe and a 'd' ("Pardon me, I was using the subjunctive instead of the past tense. Yes, we're a way past tents, we're living in bungalows, now." --Groucho Marx, Animal Crackers. [As I went to look up how to spell "bungalow", I was lead to an online article in pdf form that discusses the heavy metaphysical question of what is a bungalow???. In the article, they even quote Groucho!! Hoorah! {You have no idea how badly I wanted to put a period instead of an exclamation point behind that "Hoorah". (You have no idea how badly I wanted to put an exclamation point instead of a period behind that ""Hoorah"" [I realize this comment doesn't afford me a yet further entrenched parenthetical remark, but I just have to say that I am listening to a live recording {is there any other kind?} of Elliott Smith, and am loving it. {Oh boy, now to figure out how many end-parentheses to tack on...}])}][It took me about half a minute to get this far in tacking on various end-parentheses. Just keeping you posted as to my progress. Allow me to gulp before proceeding further. {Consider this a gulp}]), but really, how ought one to conjugate "wikipedia", that kooky neologism of a verb, in the past tense? (Insert long parenthetical excursus instigated by a Groucho Marx quotation here)} "primate". To repeat, {for those who are a little lost} I just wikipediaaslkdjlakjsdlfkjasd "primate", and let me tell you, there are some messed up freaking primates. Messed up. I mean, have you ever seen a tarsier??? No?
All I gotta say is:
What. the. hell.])
...and an infinite amount of time (and presuming these monkeys [chimps? baboons? lemurs? tarsiers??] had infinite life spans), those bad boys could pump out the complete works of William Shakespeare.
Now, the thought experiment just makes sense to me. Given the nature of possibility, if you had an infinite amount of time and an infinite number of immortal monkeys plunking away at typewriters, every possible text would be generated. Not only would they be able to scratch Shakespeare's ouvre off their list, but they would also generate poorly done Inuit translations of Shakespeare, the text of Macbeth written backwards, with two extra spaces just before (after? since we're doing things backwards?) Macbeth callously responds to the news of Lady Macbeth's death (sorry to spoil it for you. But seriously, it wasn't me. Blame the freaking monkeys. [stupid joke, I know]), they'd pump out this blog post for goodness sake, they'd generate every text file on my computer, they'd generate The Void, by Perec (a novel that manages to refrain using the letter "e".), everything, *v*rything.
Okay, lets take that thought experiment in mind, holding ourselves back from thinking of all the other wacky texts those crazy monkeys would type. (That text which would result from converting internet explorer, the *.*exe file, into a *.*doc file, except with T.S. Eliot's actual last words reproduced three lines in.) But here's my thought. You could pull this thought experiment with music and have fun too. Think of the guitar. You can splice it up into strings and frets, which create some-odd number of units, each unit being the cross-section of a given string and a given fret. Every song played on the guitar, then, is simply a given disposition of such units combined and put into a given sequence. You'd have to stipulate how long each given unit would be played too, along with other open variables (sliding, hammering, etc.). But then, you could come up with a way of translating such combinatorial sequences into a typable code (in fact, you don't have to come up with anything: this is simply what guitar tablature is. Check http://www.ultimate-guitar.com) But all typable codes are covered by my infinite primate friends! (Sounds like a good movie title. Any directors in my reading crowd? "My Infinite Primate Friends" starring Jonathan Charles Wright. Academy Awards will multiply like Jack Rabbits.) So, conceivably, given an immortal and maximally proficient guitar player, you could generate a gazillion such possible songs on the guitar. Clearly, too, similar moves are availabe for other instruments. Try to imagine all possible symphonies. I dare you.
Incidentally, I've reconsidered the original thought experiment. And whereas I do believe an infinite number of monkeys or chimps could generate the complete works of Shakespeare, along with every other possible text, I absolutely refuse that an infinite number of tarsiers could get anywhere freaking close. Those messed up little imps aren't writing jack. Not a chance. Stupid tarsiers.
Okay, here're (I was going to write "here's", but I would have hate to is be was negligent [Yes, all those words were intentional] in my duties to the arcane rules governing English verb agreement.) some thoughts.
The old thought project about possibility with the monkeys. Remember? You know, given the nature of possibility, if you had sitting diligently at typewriters an infinite number of monkeys (chimps? baboons? lemurs? [okay, I just wikipedia'd {excuse me, my betters, for my half-cocked attempt at past-tense-verbizing 'wikipedia' by simply adding an apostraphe and a 'd' ("Pardon me, I was using the subjunctive instead of the past tense. Yes, we're a way past tents, we're living in bungalows, now." --Groucho Marx, Animal Crackers. [As I went to look up how to spell "bungalow", I was lead to an online article in pdf form that discusses the heavy metaphysical question of what is a bungalow???. In the article, they even quote Groucho!! Hoorah! {You have no idea how badly I wanted to put a period instead of an exclamation point behind that "Hoorah". (You have no idea how badly I wanted to put an exclamation point instead of a period behind that ""Hoorah"" [I realize this comment doesn't afford me a yet further entrenched parenthetical remark, but I just have to say that I am listening to a live recording {is there any other kind?} of Elliott Smith, and am loving it. {Oh boy, now to figure out how many end-parentheses to tack on...}])}][It took me about half a minute to get this far in tacking on various end-parentheses. Just keeping you posted as to my progress. Allow me to gulp before proceeding further. {Consider this a gulp}]), but really, how ought one to conjugate "wikipedia", that kooky neologism of a verb, in the past tense? (Insert long parenthetical excursus instigated by a Groucho Marx quotation here)} "primate". To repeat, {for those who are a little lost} I just wikipediaaslkdjlakjsdlfkjasd "primate", and let me tell you, there are some messed up freaking primates. Messed up. I mean, have you ever seen a tarsier??? No?
All I gotta say is:
What. the. hell.])
...and an infinite amount of time (and presuming these monkeys [chimps? baboons? lemurs? tarsiers??] had infinite life spans), those bad boys could pump out the complete works of William Shakespeare.
Now, the thought experiment just makes sense to me. Given the nature of possibility, if you had an infinite amount of time and an infinite number of immortal monkeys plunking away at typewriters, every possible text would be generated. Not only would they be able to scratch Shakespeare's ouvre off their list, but they would also generate poorly done Inuit translations of Shakespeare, the text of Macbeth written backwards, with two extra spaces just before (after? since we're doing things backwards?) Macbeth callously responds to the news of Lady Macbeth's death (sorry to spoil it for you. But seriously, it wasn't me. Blame the freaking monkeys. [stupid joke, I know]), they'd pump out this blog post for goodness sake, they'd generate every text file on my computer, they'd generate The Void, by Perec (a novel that manages to refrain using the letter "e".), everything, *v*rything.
Okay, lets take that thought experiment in mind, holding ourselves back from thinking of all the other wacky texts those crazy monkeys would type. (That text which would result from converting internet explorer, the *.*exe file, into a *.*doc file, except with T.S. Eliot's actual last words reproduced three lines in.) But here's my thought. You could pull this thought experiment with music and have fun too. Think of the guitar. You can splice it up into strings and frets, which create some-odd number of units, each unit being the cross-section of a given string and a given fret. Every song played on the guitar, then, is simply a given disposition of such units combined and put into a given sequence. You'd have to stipulate how long each given unit would be played too, along with other open variables (sliding, hammering, etc.). But then, you could come up with a way of translating such combinatorial sequences into a typable code (in fact, you don't have to come up with anything: this is simply what guitar tablature is. Check http://www.ultimate-guitar.com) But all typable codes are covered by my infinite primate friends! (Sounds like a good movie title. Any directors in my reading crowd? "My Infinite Primate Friends" starring Jonathan Charles Wright. Academy Awards will multiply like Jack Rabbits.) So, conceivably, given an immortal and maximally proficient guitar player, you could generate a gazillion such possible songs on the guitar. Clearly, too, similar moves are availabe for other instruments. Try to imagine all possible symphonies. I dare you.
Incidentally, I've reconsidered the original thought experiment. And whereas I do believe an infinite number of monkeys or chimps could generate the complete works of Shakespeare, along with every other possible text, I absolutely refuse that an infinite number of tarsiers could get anywhere freaking close. Those messed up little imps aren't writing jack. Not a chance. Stupid tarsiers.
2.11.2008
The Boy Who Wrote Wolf.
During the late afternnoon and the early evening the sky moves from one shade of blue to another by means of some orangey color. Kooky, huh? But beautiful. Kooky but beautiful. This orangey color is, I think, somewhere in between Gamboge, Persimmon, and Tawny. Lets call it Gamsimmony. Remember those good old Wes Anderson phone commercials?
No?
Let me refresh your memory:
or not. They've deleted them from Youtube. WHICH IS TRAGIC. Those commercials were beautiful. Works of art. Works of beautiful art.
I'm listening to Radiohead and neglecting my manifold duties.
My computer screen is the only light on in the house.
A fly or flee of some kind seems to be voraciously reading my blog post. What a literate little bug-like creature.
Would you like for me to make this post into a biopic on your life, little flee/fly/insect thing?
Hm...guess not. It flew away.
Oh wait! It's back! I guess the old dictum is true: 'If you love something, set it free...and then smash it against your screen'. No I'm joking, I didn't smash the little guy. He's flittering around my first paragraph now. He seems to be beckoning to me--what's that little guy? You want me to look up "gamboge" on google, because you've never heard of that color?
Alright, I made that up. In fact, the fly thingy didn't actually come back at all after the first time it fluttered against the light of my screen. I made up his return and his beckoning and all that. Made it up. In fact, I made up the fact that I was listening to Radiohead and that all the lights were off. All made up. Blatant fabrication. Falsehoods. I even lied when I wrote that the Wes Anderson commercials weren't on youtube.com anymore. Go look them up; I dare you. I just was too lazy to go look for them. In fact, I wasn't in the first place paying attention to the change in the sky and frankly don't care about it and don't think it's particularly beautiful at all. Made it all up. It was easy, I just had to type some words. It's called fiction, people.
Okay, I made some of that up. I actually did watch the sky, admire its beauty, listen to Radiohead, turn off the lights in the house to admire the Gamsimmony-blue sky. A fly/fleeish thing did knock against my screen for a while. That was all true, and then only after all that did I start to lie, lying about lying, lying about telling the truth.
The entire previous paragraph is false.
Nope. I take it back, that paragraph is actually true.
I am laughing so hard right now. This is so entertaining for me. I could do this for a long long time.
Alright, alright, though I am actually very entertained by this, I wasn't and am not literally laughing. That was a load of baloney, inserted for exaggerative purposes. Okay, I just forced myself to chuckle a little to invalidate my most recent claims. I might not be laughing genuinely, but I AM laughing. Okay now I'm laughing genuinely. No, I'm not, that was a lie. OKAY OKAY NOW I AM REALLY LAUGHING THOUGH. THIS IS FOR REAL. I THINK THIS IS SO FUNNY. I AM LAUGHING. SO FUNNY. I SWEAR!
"Wolf!"
No?
Let me refresh your memory:
or not. They've deleted them from Youtube. WHICH IS TRAGIC. Those commercials were beautiful. Works of art. Works of beautiful art.
I'm listening to Radiohead and neglecting my manifold duties.
My computer screen is the only light on in the house.
A fly or flee of some kind seems to be voraciously reading my blog post. What a literate little bug-like creature.
Would you like for me to make this post into a biopic on your life, little flee/fly/insect thing?
Hm...guess not. It flew away.
Oh wait! It's back! I guess the old dictum is true: 'If you love something, set it free...and then smash it against your screen'. No I'm joking, I didn't smash the little guy. He's flittering around my first paragraph now. He seems to be beckoning to me--what's that little guy? You want me to look up "gamboge" on google, because you've never heard of that color?
Alright, I made that up. In fact, the fly thingy didn't actually come back at all after the first time it fluttered against the light of my screen. I made up his return and his beckoning and all that. Made it up. In fact, I made up the fact that I was listening to Radiohead and that all the lights were off. All made up. Blatant fabrication. Falsehoods. I even lied when I wrote that the Wes Anderson commercials weren't on youtube.com anymore. Go look them up; I dare you. I just was too lazy to go look for them. In fact, I wasn't in the first place paying attention to the change in the sky and frankly don't care about it and don't think it's particularly beautiful at all. Made it all up. It was easy, I just had to type some words. It's called fiction, people.
Okay, I made some of that up. I actually did watch the sky, admire its beauty, listen to Radiohead, turn off the lights in the house to admire the Gamsimmony-blue sky. A fly/fleeish thing did knock against my screen for a while. That was all true, and then only after all that did I start to lie, lying about lying, lying about telling the truth.
The entire previous paragraph is false.
Nope. I take it back, that paragraph is actually true.
I am laughing so hard right now. This is so entertaining for me. I could do this for a long long time.
Alright, alright, though I am actually very entertained by this, I wasn't and am not literally laughing. That was a load of baloney, inserted for exaggerative purposes. Okay, I just forced myself to chuckle a little to invalidate my most recent claims. I might not be laughing genuinely, but I AM laughing. Okay now I'm laughing genuinely. No, I'm not, that was a lie. OKAY OKAY NOW I AM REALLY LAUGHING THOUGH. THIS IS FOR REAL. I THINK THIS IS SO FUNNY. I AM LAUGHING. SO FUNNY. I SWEAR!
"Wolf!"
2.01.2008
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