The 'I don't have time to post' Post

I have a bunch of new posts lined up, but before I can type 'em up and post them, I have a "few" things to do:

• ECON Prelim (hopefully, I passed)
• COMS 330 Design Document for a large-scale database system that may take over my life and/or explode some time around late November.
• STS 355 essay - 3-5 pages on 19th century computers, and how they give me warm gooey feelings inside. (I still have to check whetber the bits I wrote at 4 A.M. are logical, or even coherent. I may be taking bets on that one.)
• Statistics Prelim (not too painful, but those are the ones to watch out for...)
• COMS 330 Homework.
• Run around, wildly flailing my arms about and yelling at squirrels.
  (I also did a bit of general primal screaming for good measure.)
• Statistics problem set (well, I turned something in...)
• COMS 474 project, where I have to teach a stupid computer what the stupid word "activate" means. Stupid. I finally got it done, with what I thought were a bunch of errors. it turns out that those errors are not errors, but difficulties that everyone has in making a word-sense disambiguation system. I did ok.
• Write beatnik poetry for the religious college student Here it is:

  Must repent. The end is nigh. Problem sets? I go to a Godless university. Sigh.

• Repent.

Arrggh.

Business (Cards) as Usual

I designed these a few months ago and ordered 500 through vistaprint.com. Ask me, if you want one - I have a lot to spare:

Oh, and if you were wondering, ephebiphobia is "an abnormal and persistent fear of teenagers."

They've Got a Way With B-O-L-O-G-N-A

True story. A few months ago, I was in Scranton, PA (Motto: "We're not stupid enough to be coal miners...anymore."), visiting family friends with my family. I woke up Saturday morning, and I was laying in bed, and I asked my brother the following question: "If your bologna really did have a first name, and, like, you knew it, then would you really be willing to eat it?" I believe he was speechless. (And for those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about, look here. Cretins.)

Info

Just a little FYI. I actually started posting seriously on my less inane blog, On One Foot, so check it out. Also, if any of you guys (all 5 of you!) want to get informed of when I update, try using the "subscribe to bloglines" button on the right. It's easy to sign up, and by doing so, you'll make the world a better place to live in. For me.

Grin and Bare It

It's time to go back in the hazy mists of time to the days when men were men and women were women and cantaloupes were really these advanced beings from Jupiter sent to either destroy all life as we know it or pick up an extra-large Blizzard ^TM at Dairy Queen. (It's currently unclear; our translators are working on it.) In any case, I recall way back in March, that it was Purim, the Jewish holiday of gift-giving, sillines, and, depending on who you ask, either drunken revelry, or sober reflection on how you don't really have to get drunk and how we're missing the point anyway. I was on Spring Break and I went up to the Penn to visit some friends for an extended weekend, and...well, the details are a bit hazy, but everyone assures me that I had a great time and that the nuns aren't pressing charges. So all in all, it was good times. Shortly after that, I returned to chilly Ithaca, and Hillel had a masquerade party. The party was to take place after Shabbat, and while I'd decided earlier that I would attend, I still had no costume that morning. Yes, I suppose I could go without a costume, but I would hate to break a habit of simply being in fine form. Then it hit me. (Don't worry; I recovered.) Why not just go without any clothes on? I mean, dressing up is mostly just about dressing as someone else. In this case I'd be dressing up like a nudist, (or a newborn baby - take your pick.) Or...maybe not a nudist, but a flasher! Yes! My costume could involve not only nudity, but action as well! After Shabbat, I set to work. I had a trenchcoat already, and I realized that wearing my dress shoes with no socks on accentuated my beautiful unclad legs. So I was done from the neck down. Then, to round it out, I borrowed a sketchy hat from one friend, and some apt sunglasses from another. I was set. I had only to go out to the party and expose myself. I know what a lot of you are thinking. "Ilan? You did WHAT?! You've GOTTA be kidding me." (Except for you, Charlie. You're probably thinking "Cheese. What if I was made of cheese?" But you're special, Charlie.) Your incredulity is justified, I must admit, but sometimes, a man has to do what a man has to do, and sometimes those two men are really one and the same. I went to the masquerade, and I gloriously threw open my coat in front of crowds, and while I did not win the costume contest due to blatant favoritism and/or disgust, man, was it liberating. For the benefit of our younger viewers, and in case I ever want to run for a public office higher than Assistant Dogcatcher, I have only included the "before" picture here in plain view. But for those few voyeuristic readers who just need to see it, look here for what's behind the trenchcoat. Don't forget to zoom in!

Back, and better than ever!

Any Superman fans out there? So do you remember how he died, then was gone for a while, then came back, only more powerful than before? Well, the same sort of thing has happened to me. only I don't wear tights. Not in public, anway. But I am more powerful than before. Scary, isn't it? In any case, I've been a busy bee. First of all, as you can see below, I've migrated all of the old posts from the xanga site to here, right down to the comments. Everything you need should be available through this domain, so to those of you with blogs, change your links. So what have I been up to, you ask? Well, quite a bit, as I will likely discuss in future posts. Let's see...so I'm back in Ithaca, and surprisingly happy about it. Aside from taking a class, I'm working on a super-cool project in Human-Computer Interaction group at cornell. (Take a sec to look at their logo. Yes, it is a little stick figure with a squiggly line to a box, presumably representing a high-tech computer. Apparently, not only is the Information Science department on the cutting edge in HCI, but also in squiggly-line development technologies. My theory is that at some point they needed a logo, and someone drew out this one, likely on a napkin. And then they forgot about it. Silly researchers.) We're developing a nifty little system to help directionally impaired people such as myself find their way around Cornell's sprawling rural campus. I do not know how to tell if a campus is sprawling or not, but Cornell's campus definitely sprawls. It sprawls the begeezus out of Columbia's campus. The system, using GPS and wireless technology, will show a person using a palm computer or a smart phone where he/she is on a campus map. In addition, it will direct users to "hidden collections," such as the kinematic model collection or the brains collection. Supposedly, the brains collection, a set of (disembodied) human brains, are the possession of the Department of Psychology, though I was under the impression that psychologists studied living brains. If my suspicions are correct, the brains really belong to Cornell's Department of Necromancy and Zombie-Related Activity (NeZRAc), but let's just keep that between you and me. So I think that brings you up to date, with the big things at least. I'll give you some of the little things here and there, which much more regularity than once every four months. Oh, and one more thing. If you haven't yet noticed, I've started a second blog, one which will be for more serious stuff - my musings (some Jewish, some not) and maybe a bit of poetry. I have a couple of poems up there, but look for a real introductory post there in the nearish future. Before I sign off, in the interest of full discretion, I should make a few rather important clarifications. I intentionally do not follow the style of many bloggers, who frequently link to humorous or interesting pieces scattered throughout the web and in other blogs. For the time being, at least, I have dedicated myself to bringing you a set of somewhat more original humor than your average blog. Which is not to say that I don't occansionally borrow other writers' styles, but that's an altogether more acceptable and clever form of plagiarism. And being clever is what counts. But the material on this site is original, to the benefit of both the reader and my ego. Which brings me to my next point. This blog, this whole hours-consuming enterprise, is merely an elaborate attempt to boost my ego. As the third of three children, as the kid picked last in gym, as the kid who (no kidding) was fed worms and put in the dryer by his older siblings, it's time to fight back aginst a world which has ignored me and all it has to offer me for too long. I am self-possessed, hear me roar! This blog is for my ego. That is its purpose. The more people read it, the better I feel about myself. I suspect that this is true of many blogs out there, but I am coming out and saying it. You, my readers, are here for my amusement, for my enjoyment. Dance, monkeys, dance! Ah, this is the life. If only these tights didn't chafe so much.

Links For You

In violation of my long-standing policy of only posting my own original entertainment, and not links to any sort of other entertainment, nor (God forbid) anything truly worthwhile, I present you, dear readers, (all 10 of you) with a link to a rather worthy cause from my friend Alisha:

http://lishhh.blogspot.com/2005/03/mishloach-manot-and-tzedakah.html

In return, I believe I have full rights to take her firstborn child or her first million dollars - whichever comes first.

And when you're done with that, and want some entertaining Purim material, head on over to a site made by dear friends of mine, www.onlytzaras.com. Yes, it's everything you were afraid of. Just go with it.

Reality TV and Other Disasters

This whole reality TV thing is getting out of hand. I mean, it's gotten out of hand already, but this is worse. I mean, there are the maddeningly mad Martha Stewart-wannabes on "Wickedly Perfect" (the first reality TV show in CT....figures), the disturbing families on "Wife Swap" and "Trading Spouses," the whole digging up emotional scars and picking at 'em on "High School Reunion," and who can leave out that mucus-encrusted gem (or is that "gem-encrusted mucus?") of the Fox lineup, "Who's Your Daddy?" Please tell me that there's a special level of Hell for the producers of these shows. Like one with both "holy wrath" and "great vengeance," with some brimstone mixed in for good measure. What is brimstone, anyway? You never hear about it these post-biblical days. You don't see a newspaper with the headline SEVEN-YEAR-OLD MIRACULOUSLY SURVIVES DANGEROUS BRIMSTONE ACCIDENT "That Was Some Pretty Strong Brimstone," Authorities Say. But that would be cool, wouldn't it? The headline, not the brimstone. I imagine brimstone is very much in the "not cool" category. In any case, back to reality...TV. What's next? Who's going to be able to top that? I'll tell you. Fox is going to strike again, with a show where they just videotape real people being taken out back and getting shot. It's called "When Guns Go Off," and it's sure to be a hit. Ok, so that last one I made up, but admit it: for a split second, you believed me.

Arrrr....You Kidding Me?

Ok. The natives are restless, and I'm out of excuses. The largest complaint (as measured in square feet) I get about this site is lack of regular updates. So I'm going to try this: In addition to any extra posts I want to add, every Sunday or Monday, I intend to provide you, Dear Readers, with an update the likes of which the world has never seen. I intend to make one more drastic change in the future, namely moving to another site, but I have to add stuff and fiddle with the HTML before I can do that. For now, it's just the weekly update. So, here it goes: My roommate thinks he's a pirate. No, not a software or music pirate, but the kind that plunder on the high seas, sing about rum and dead men's chests, and wear far too much eye makeup. I'm not quite sure whether it's a delusion or an aspiration, but either way, there's reason to show concern. I'm not making this stuff up. He goes around singin pirate sings, and enjoys everything pirate-related, except (hopefully) the whole keelhauling bit. (What is keelhauling, anyway? It's doubtless unpleasant, much like drawing and quartering, thrawing, or garroting, but how does one keelhaul, exactly?) Despite our best efforts to convince him otherwise, he has maintained this position. College students. Can't with 'em, and.... ....that's all I've got. So it was his birthday two days ago, and a mutual friend and I went to Walmart to find him a gift or two. We asked the guy at the front of the store where the pirate section was. Honestly. I kept a straight face, while he struggled to understand what we asking for. Walking away, towards the toy section, I laughed about this. Then I realized that we were making the life of a hardworking, honest American more difficult with our childish joke. Then I laughed again. (I'm going to hell, aren't I?) To make a long story short, we got him a pirate balloon, a plastic pirate sword, a copy of "Muppet Treasure Island," an ice cream cake, a flask, a cup with the words "Drink. Pee. Repeat." on it (that one wasn't my idea, and due to a misreading, we discovered the concept is worsened when you take out the first period from that line), a Nerf-like missile launcher, and an axe, with a sharpener, and we wrapped them in My Little Pony wrapping paper. Let me clarify. The first two weapons are meant as toys, and are relatively harmless, but this was a real camping axe, about a foot and a half long. In case you were wondering, we got him the pirate stuff because of the whole pirate thing, the flask and cup because he's into bartending, and the axe because he like camping. Looking at his presents, you'd think that he was a drunk outdoorsman-pirate who likes ice cream, balloons, and My Little Pony. Man, is he messed up. In any case, I'm not sure what I was thinking. I actually bought my roommate who thinks he's a pirate a real axe, with real and present lodging-in-my-head potential. If this is my last post, please let it be known that I leave my life savings to the Time Cube guy, my stereo to the Flat Earth Society (I hear they throw wicked parties!), and my toenail collection to science. Let it be known, or I'll keelhaul ya. Just as soon as I figure out how.

Truth Be Told

Ok, so first of all, at least three people asked me whether the implication in the last post was true. Let me get this straight: You guys think that having run over a defenseless animal, I would not only not express deep and sincere remorse, but that I would actually ridicule the poor beast as well as its legal guardian?

Well, yeah. I guess I would. Good call. But in this case, I was making stuff up. I should clarify. Since funny stories are almost always funnier when true, I generally make it quite clear when I am telling a true story. For instance, I might say "I am not making this up," or "This is a true story," or "Leave $1 million in unmarked bills underneath the water fountain by 5 PM, or little Fifi is going back into the well." In all of those cases, I'm serious, ok? In all other cases, assume I'm joking, or assume it might be true - whichever makes me look better. Bear this in mind while perusing these here postings, and you will not be the lost souls you so clearly seem to be, seeing as how you're busy reading this. Remember these rules, because, after all, little Fifi is depending on you.

Driving, Part Deux

The way I figure, if one is supposed to drive "defensively," and the best defense is a good offense, I acted appropriately.

Unfortunately, the cat's owner did not agree with me.

Hawaii

I have a birthmark on my arm that kind of looks like Hawaii (if you squint a bit). Yeah, I know people have interesting talents - being able to wiggle their ears, oppress the destitute masses of an undeveloped country, or conjugate Latin verbs (stuck up overachievers in the corner - are you listening?), for instance. But this is Hawaii! We're talking about the 50th state on my arm, for Pete's sake!

Wait. Who's this Pete character, and why are people always worried about his sake? Why don't you worry about my sake every once in a while, for a change? I bet you Pete isn't out there worrying about your sake, while I....Ok, so I don't worry about your sake much either. But hey, at least I'm better looking. And I have that birthmark. I bet you Pete can't top that.

Butting In

I've been on vacation, and therefore too sluggish to write. Or slug-like, at least.

But I did get a chance to check out that bastion of excellent pop-media magazines, TIME. (By the way, did you notice that TIME magazine's site is actually www.time.com? Wouldn't you think that such an impressive domain name would go to some person or institution who dealt with - I don't know - time? Just my opinion. Then again, it is a magazine whose title is in ALL CAPS, as you can see on its cover as well as its website. That must count for something.)

So, anyway...where was I? Ah, yes, the article in TIME. This article was discussing happiness. I found it rather interesting, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I gave it 4 stars. Or, rather, I was going to do so, until I came across the following (completely unaltered) quote:

Asking people how happy they are, Kahneman contends, "is very much like asking them about the colonoscopy after it's over. There's a lot that escapes them."

Did you catch that? I promise I'm not making this up. Ok, well maybe a bit of context would help you, but I changed nothing in this quote. In case you missed it, let's look at it again:

Asking people how happy they are, Kahneman contends, "is very much like asking them about the colonoscopy after it's over. There's a lot that escapes them."

I'm not sure what to say. Understand that this guy Daniel Kahneman is, according to the article, a Nobel-Prize-winning psychologist from Princeton University. Did he really just compare happiness to a colonoscopy? Did he honestly juxtapose a general feeling of elation and joy with one of the most uncomfortable medical procedure performed in a regular checkup? If this isn't one of the signs of the apocalypse, I don't know what is. Ok, maybe a heavenly rain of fire and brimstone upon the wicked. But in terms of pre-brimstone signs, I'd say that happiness-colonoscopy comparisons are right up there.

And furthermore, the double entendre there is just sick. (Go back and read it again. You'll get it. Then you'll wrinkle your nose in disgust.) I can't touch that one. Not with a ten-foot pole, not with anything. I mean, I'm beside myself. Heck, I'm behind myself. You'd have to be some sort of uncaring bum to use people who need colonoscopies as the the butt of your jokes. Making fun of poor souls such as those is crueler than pulling an old dog's tail. Sick, sick, sick.