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2002.06.02 : 2002.06.08
Saturday, June 8, 2002
Blab. A member of the Plurp legal staff objects.
My understanding of a Helenism
is that it is the taking of parts of two 'older' expressions to form a
'newer' expression, then "Head Cheese" can only be one if it is newer than
its parts. Since my father (among others) was using it in his childhood
(and he's 87) this might be difficult to prove onne way or another.
Having defined the term Helenism
ourself, we're pretty sure it means "an aphorism that:
-
is built of two well-known aphorisms or phrases, and these should usually
be related in structure or meaning; and
-
is meaningful, and its meaning must be clear despite being an odd amalgam
of its two constituent phrases."
There does not seem to be a requirement that the resulting Helenism be
a new phrase, though we will admit that it's awfully unusual for it not
to be. In this case, Head Cheese is an existing phrase, though we
venture to suggest that most people mean something very different by it.
Blab. A less objectionable reader suggests a
new Helenism.
I was just thinking to myself.
=
I was just thinking aloud.
+
I was just talking to myself.
(Of course, "thinking to myself" is
also used a lot as an opener to the retelling of ones thoughts, but
it's terribly redundant. Unless you are a telepath.)
Good one, and another exception to the notion that the Helenism must be
a hitherto unuttered phrase.
Blab. Imani writes:
hey steve,
i gather from sending you ims that
you are mad at me or avoiding me after the other nite, not sure why but
i guess i should apologize for hittin on you or getting you lost if or
had you came out this way, hopefully its nothing to lose a friend over,
so fill in the blanks for me darlin..........imani
Loyal readers (by which we mean readers with eidetic memories and no social
lives) will remember that Imani mistakes
us for someone else she knows every once in a while, and sends us email
or IMs that seem, well, awfully friendly.
At least, we think this is the case. Otherwise, we're in big,
big trouble with that other lady in our life.
Yak. From the news tonight.
Ronald Dumbsfeld
We like that!
Plurp. How did I get here?
I'm in a movie theater in Santa Barbara, from which Disney must have
gotten the inspiration for the building that harbors Pirates of the Caribbean.
The interior of the theater looks like the outside of a Mexican square
at night. The walls are lined with adobe buildings, above which is a faux
night sky, complete with stars. The theater is huge, by today's standards,
and there is a balcony. Remember balconies?
I was in this theater once, maybe twice, when I went to college
here some thirty years ago. In those times, we used to sit around the living
room, me and my geek buddies, and Tim
May would make us all play What Will We Be Doing Twenty Years From
Now. I had no idea. I wanted to do general relativity, but I didn't
see any way to get a real job doing it. I figured I would be an itinerant
postdoc for the rest of my life, moving from university to university every
couple of years. Or starving in a garret in New York.
Now here I am, getting ready to deliver the commencement address tomorrow.
I did manage to get a Ph.D. in physics, but I never went into relativity.
I did a postdoc, but only one, and I somehow became a successful computer
scientist at IBM
Research. I do live in New York, but not in a garret. And I don't seem
to be starving.
State Street, on which the theater we're in is located, has been transformed
from a rather dull commercial street to a yuppie chi-chi shopping-and-restaurant
area. Rusty's Pizza which, thirty years ago, was a little dive in the student
community that offered All You Can Eat Thursdays (really All You Can Stand;
they made the pizza extra greasy that day) has become several very fancy
restaurants in the swank parts of Santa Barbara. Kinko's Kopies, a little
shack on the edge of campus that did Xerox copies for the discount price
of five cents a sheet, is now one of the
largest office services companies in the country, and still run by
the same hippy guy. The UCSB campus has grown remarkably, as has the surrounding
community, but the dorms and tacky apartment in which I lived, and most
of the academic buildings in which I spent far too much time, are still
there. So is the beautiful beach.
It is all exactly as it was. It is all completely different.
 Plurp.
The blue dog
was on the wall of the restaurant
at which they ate this
evening
Friday, June 7, 2002
Blab. On the topic of our tonsorial
troubles, a long-dead Japanese hairdresser
/ philosopher writes:
Go with the bushido look.
Incidentally, the proper samurai style
would be to shave the front half of your head and pull the rest back in
an oiled ponytail. This would solve your current hair length problem.
Sincerely,
Yamamoto Tsunetomo
This is a most excellent suggestion, which we will adopt immediately. We're
going to have to stop short of carrying a katana, though, for fear of freaking
out our colleagues at work even more than the Bushido hairstyle already
has.
Blab. Plurp's own ritual masochist
checks in with today's self-mutilation report.
OUCH. Yeah, still hurt.
Good to know. We recommend focusing on the head next. No vital organs to
damage.
Blab. Our long-lost Boston correspondent returns to frighten
us out of our sausages.
Oops, a case of Mad Cow was
found recently in Florida - the woman had lived in Wales. My "screener"
when I gave blood last month for the Red Cross cited this as a reason for
the increased concern. Also, Mad Cow is not Foot & Mouth disease
- last summer's scare. (I know - you didn't say it was)
Yours truly, MAVA
Oh. That's not so good. Maybe we'll just stop eating altogether.
Blab. Picking up on the appellation we used to refer to the Sr.
VP of IBM Research, a reader writes:
Did you really mean "Head
Cheese"? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Might even be some
sort of twisted Helenism...
In fact, we've been using Head Cheese to refer to people in leadership
positions ever since kidhood, well aware of the amusing lunch meat connection.
We never thought of it as a Helenism, but we
guess it is!
Blab. Reading the moldy 2001.08.31
issue of Plurp, a reader rants:
Do you know how *OLD* the
Sircam virus is? Does Helen? Has she not even *heard* of updating AV software?
My god it's full of eels!! Sounds exactly like my wife (the not updating
- not the eels bit). -AJL
As the Reluctant and Unofficial but Nonetheless Drafted Technical Support
Dweeb of our household, this would, of course, all be our fault.
Blab. On that image of an Afghan hound
that mysteriously showed up as we searched for Jennifer Aniston, a reader
writes:
To: Captain Plurp
Re: Wednesday's Jennifer Aniston
Plurp search
Loved the dog picture. How fascinating-
that's exactly the image I found when doing an internet search on "clam
dip", "Sees chocolates" and "socks". Perhaps this seeming coincidence links
in some mysterious way with the six degrees of separation concept. I've
observed that where Afghan Hounds are concerned, remarkable connections
are possible.
Your Midwest Correspondent
We thought that might be the case. Awoooo!
Blab. A reader browsing another old issue
of Plurp writes:
chest an'it sad get out of
here
We have no idea.
Blab. A resourceful reader writes:
About that spam -- it
is :)
It's also apparently something at
least 4 years old (my search turned up something from 1998). So,
not only is the sender wrong, he's late.
tsk tsk.
--RAO
Our resourceful reader references an article that explains the origin of
the spam disclaimer from yesterday, the relevant
U.S. legislation and so forth. The bottom line?
There are three problems
however: First, S.1618 was never passed. Second, S.1618 would not actually
have made spam legal, it would have made certain kinds of spam illegal.
Finally, most spam in fact, actually violates the provisions of S.1618.
Thus, [this kind of] disclaimer serves
as a sure sign that the message is spam, and that the sender knew they
were doing something wrong.
So there, evil spammists!
Plop. Our trip to sunny California in preparation for delivering
the commencement address at our undergrad alma mater was made more interesting
than we prefer by:
-
The evacuation of the New York air terminal, just before we arrived, due
to a bomb scare. This
article makes it sound like nothing, but folks on the scene told of
fuse material and a note. While the place was hip-deep in security folks
when we got there, nothing, so far as we know, actually happened.
-
An order of magnitude more traffic in the LA freeway system than we remember
from oh-so-long-ago, leading to an amazingly slow drive from LAX to Santa
Barbara.
But now we're here, and it's gorgeous and all, and the Mexican food is
actually Mexican.
Plurp.
The blue dog
subsisted entirely on
spam and head cheese
sandwiches
Thursday, June 6, 2002
Blab. Astonishingly, we got some spam while we
were out. This one had an equally astonishing claim.
Under Bill s.1618 Title III
passed by the 105th U.S. Congress this mail cannot be considered Spam as
long as we include contact information and a remove link for removal from
our mailing list. To be removed from our mailing list reply with "remove"
and include your "original email address/addresses" in the subject heading
send to here. Include complete address/addresses and/or domain to be removed.
We will immediately update it accordingly. We apologize for the inconvenience
if any caused.
Curiously, this seems to be incorrect on the face of it, as we most
certainly consider it to be spam. Though perhaps we're breaking a Federal
law by doing so, and goodness, wouldn't that be fun?
We will leave it to those
more learned than we to comment on (or even read) the actual text of
the aforementioned Bill.
Blab. Even more astonishing, we got some Chinese spam that actually
addresses (albeit obliquely) a real need of ours.
Dear Sir/Madam,
There is a large mineral resources
of talcum here. We are sole company of be entitled to exploit the talcum
mine. We are a professional talcum company and we have gone into exploitation
of talcum for more than thirty years. We supply mostly talcum powder for
uses in plastic industry, paper making industry, paint industry and cosmetic
industry, etc. The qualities are first-rate.
If your company needs to purchase
talcum powder for production or business, don't hesitate to contact us
immediately. But we must know order quantity, port of destination, use
purpose, packaging requiring and your quality target like brightness, particle
fineness(mesh number), etc, then we are able to quote you exact CIF. We'll
can be prompt to quote you price as long as you send us specifications
by email.
Besides talcum powder, we also supply
talcum pen.
Looking forward to prompt response
from you. Thank you and best regards !
Mr. Long Tan
Guiguang Talcum
West Industrial Development Area,
Guilin, China
It turns out we use some stuff called shaving talc to avoid chewing up
our delicate skin with our electric razor, never having had much luck with
the various perfumy alcohol-based goops intended for that purpose. Mennen,
the company that made the talc stuff, doesn't seem to sell it any more,
and we are rapidly using up the last few containers of it left on Earth.
We wondered if everybody stopped selling it because it was Bad, with
the most probable way of being Bad being that it caused cancer. So this
lovely note from China prompted us to check.
The consensus seems to be that talcum powder doesn't
cause lung cancer. That's a good thing. So we may buy a ton or two
from the Chinese.
We had never heard of a talcum pen. And neither
has Google. Either there's not much demand, or they've cornered the
market.
Blab. On the topic of that strange stuff we found in
our back pocket upon our return from tromping through the sheep fields,
our very own butt boy writes:
At the risk of sounding like
Steve's butt boy, I have to say the notes from the trip are the most interesting
and entertaining takes on visiting Scotland I have ever run across. And
I've run across a few.
God, when, oh when, will we get Prawn
flavored Potato Chips over here on this side of the pond? And, eh, just
how do they do that, huh? Powdered Prawn Sprinkles? Darned Scots...always
at the cutting edge of potato chip technology.
Tom in Tucson
Pining for Prawn Crisps? The
Web provideth. (What is a "butt boy", anyhow?)
Blab. A reader gets all confused, then offers more information
which clarifies the situation.
"I once
got sick in Bora Bora so it's no surprise that you got sick in Quebec,
eh?"
I applaud your dedicated avoidance
of inductive reasoning. We've had entirely too much of that sort of thing.
Personally, after I learned that hitting
my thumb with a carpenter's hammer hurt, I was still agnostic on whether
banging my thumb with a brick, sledge hammer, or anvil would hurt.
Actually, all I know for sure is that
it hurt with *that particular* hammer on *that day* under *certain, narrow*
circumstance. I'll try again tomorrow when the humidity is lower and see
if it hurts then.
We look forward to your continued reports of self-mutilation.
Blab. Cruising a really old issue of Plurp,
a reader enters this in the Blab box, probably intending to do a
search
instead.
number of the beast
We didn't recall writing anything about that, so we decided to search it
ourself. Curiously, we
had.
Blab. A reader who refuses to reveal the source of its information
suggests an ominous confluence between Yours Truly and the Head Cheese
of IBM Research.
Seems to me someone recently
told me that Paul Horn has a ponytail. So now we know who Steve is
modeling his future after.
Or, or least, his hair.
Blab. A cognitively well sharpened reader pokes at this as it
floats by in the collective consciousness.
Possible Helenism: "painting
a roadmap"
Probably from "painting a picture"
and "creating / making / laying out / whatever a roadmap"
Of the various obvious possibilities, Google likes create
a roadmap the best. So that's how we'll
record it. Congrats!
Plurp. In case you were wondering, it's No Original Content Day.
Plurp.
The blue dog
celebrated in the usual
way
Wednesday, June 5, 2002
Blab. A reader tries to play I-Told-You-So over our
difficulties
in getting Internet access from Scotland.
I *did* warn you about internet
access in Ireland. OK, Scotland *is* technically a different country, but
same-same, no?
I once got sick in Bora Bora so it's no surprise that you got sick in
Quebec, eh? You might want to ask the Irish if they consider the UK
same-same, though, no?
Blab. It's been far too long since our readers contributed links
to really stupid Web sites. Fortunately, this reader comes to our rescue.
Surrealist
Domain Name Generator
Cool! We particularly liked fleshychunkchunk.com
and popsicleduckyducky.com,
but maybe it's just the alliteration.
Blab. Next, our readers resurrect a weeks-old
story and get all hot and bothered about it.
I will take the Vanilla Coke
bet with you. I wager it lasts greater than 1 year.
That's very kind of you, but we don't recall actually making a bet of any
kind about this. If we do, though, we'll give you a shout!
Unwilling to leave it alone, another reader writes:
Vanilla Coke is just so *wrong*.
When will we have genuine Chocolate Coke from the Coca Cola Corporation?
That would be October 6, we understand. For our part, we are awaiting,
with bated slake, Double-Tutti-Frutti-Pecan-Mint-Fudge-Swirl Coke, and
the inevitable Double-Tutti-Frutti-Pecan-Mint-Fudge-Swirl Diet Coke. Yum.
Blab. And we haven't had a Helenism
for a while, so here's two!
Too many chiefs in the pie.
I went home with my head between my
legs.
Nice ones!
Blab. A reader flatters us, then tries to guess our gay name.
With Scot ancestry of my
own, I am enchanted by your narration! Thank you for a good morning read...Vangie
Groth
Why, thank you, but your guess is incorrect. Our gay name is not Vangie
Groth. It's Jennifer.
 Perhaps
we should explain. You may recall our desperate
plea to our readers, a few weeks ago, to help us decide on our hair
style. We offered three alternatives: Traditional (see masthead), Artsy-Fartsy
(aka Bushido) and Aging Hippy Techno Dweeb (aka a Pony Tail). Our Treasured
Readers, beset by various learning disabilities, voted for Mohawk, Bald
and the like. So, sadly, our Treasured Readers were not much help.
Faced with such ambivalence, we did what we usually do: Nothing. That
is, we put our creative energies elsewhere, rather than worrying about
what we should do with our hair. Our hair had its own ideas, which generally
involved growing longer.
It has now reached a stage just short of Artsy-Fartsy, and we have discovered
an important geometric principle: If you're trying to make a pony tail,
the hairs at the front of your head have to be longer to participate than
do the hairs in the back of your head.
So we are currently faced with two alternatives. (1) Leave it alone.
This looks sloppy and awful. (2) Make an arsty-fartsy pony tail of what's
available. This leaves the hairs from the front half of our head loose,
or barely pony-tailed and, before long, loose. And they splay down across
our face as if we had simply forgotten about them.
That leads to what we are forced to call the Jennifer Aniston look.
And hence our gay name.
Plurp. Found when searching for pictures of Jennifer Aniston.
Plop. In our recent tromping around Scotland,
we had occasion to think about Mad Cow Disease (bovine spongiform encepalopathy,
or BSE). Specifically, were we at risk of contracting BSE if we ate Scottish
beef? We couldn't figure out how to get Internet access while we were there,
so we couldn't find out. Until now.
The short answer appears to be: Possibly!
The problem is that a cow can be infected with BSE for years without
showing symptoms. While asymptomatic animals may be less infective than
symptomatic ones, they may still be infective. If that cow is slaughtered
and its brain used in food products (sausages, meat pies, beef broth, etc.)
which you then eat, you can contract the human form of BSE. This is invariably
fatal.
Worse, the prions
that are the transmissive agents of BSE are tough little boogers. They
can
survive temperatures up to 350°C (662°F) and can
even survive formaldehyde. So cooking is apparently ineffective in
neutralizing them, and standard sterilization techniques may be as well.
Concerned about all this, the CDC recently
instituted measures to watch for an outbreak of BSE (and related diseases)
in the U.S.
Now granted, the risks are low. BSE is thought to be pretty well in
control in the UK and Europe, and has not yet made an appearance in the
US. There are regulations concerning the use of cow brains and other neural
matter that are supposed to prevent most transmission, if they are followed.
Still, we find this unsettling.
Yo. Go see what Alexa
thinks of us. Turns out we are 2,579,541st
in their rankings of high-traffic sites. Imagine that! 2,579,541st.
We are so proud.
Yow. Paul
Horn, the Head Cheese of IBM
Research, is one of the finalists for the 2002
Discover Magazine Innovation Award in Computing for his role in developing
the concept of Autonomic
Computing, our current obsession.
Sadly, we are not optimistic that he'll win. His competition this year
is:
-
Ari Aviram, IBM Research, and Mark Ratner, Northwestern University, for
proposing in 1974 that computer components might one day be made from a
single molecule.
-
Richard Stallman, for launching the free software movement.
-
Linus Torvalds, for creating Linux.
-
Ray Tomlinson, BBN Technologies, for the invention of e-mail.
-
Tim Berners-Lee, for the creation of the World Wide Web.
Still, that's pretty good company!
 Yo.
Our childhood in California was largely spent traveling between the various
oddities that defined the culture of that state: the Trees of Mystery,
the Mystery Spot, the Winchester Mystery House (California was, at the
time, big on mysteries), Santa Claus Lane, Dinosaur Land.
Naturally, someone with way too much time on their hands now collects
such places. On
the Web.
Yow. Every wanted to see your name up in lights? Well, that takes
talent, so you'll have to settle for seeing your name go
up in flames.
Plurp. We find that meetings are a good source of Helenisms.
All our ducks are lined up
-
All our ducks are in a row
-
It's all lined up
Yo. It seems that there are now female
sushi chefs. Why is this news?, you ask. What is the gynecological
connection? Well ...
"They say that women cannot
make sushi because their hands are too warm and that will ruin the fish."
[...]
"This is what my father has heard
— that women can't make sushi because they wear perfume and makeup, and
the smell of the perfume and makeup will ruin the food, and that women
can't become sushi chefs because behind the counter is a sacred area, and
that women are all silly."
We rather suspect that the origin of these "facts" was male sushi chefs.
But that's just our natural cynicism showing through.
Plurp.
The blue dog's
gay name was
Double-Tutti-Frutti-Pecan-Mint-Fudge-Swirl
Tuesday, June 4, 2002
Blab. In an attempt to catch up on the minor backlog
of Plurp mail that we found piled up behind the mail slot when we
got home, we offer this proof, as if any were needed, that our readership
is confused, ambivalent, bipolar, or all four.
Welcome back! Oh, wait,
no. Never mind.
Now, you see, this is funny as it was sent before we returned. Before we
returned ...
Blab. Plurp's own Masked Haiku Writer had an anxiety attack
while we were out. We hate when that happens.
we're worried out here on
the Pacific edge of things
who feeds the blue dog
when the master is away
watching trees blooming
We don't know the answer to this deep philosophical question, but we do
admire the form in which it is asked.
Blab. A reader of entrepreneurial bent (and we mean that literally)
writes:
Since you're not using this
space, can we use it to film our upcoming Roman Epic movie? Thanks.
Certainly! Just as long as you don't use Natalie Portman. (Hmm. We wonder
what the blue dog would look like in a gladiator outfit.)
Blab. A reader known for wandering the halls naked writes:
In My
Life in Scotland, Part Nine: I Am a Fashion Nightmare, you comment
on the fact that you wear the same clothes for everything.
I have personally taken it as a matter
of pride that there are now very few moments in my life both (a) I am expected
to be clothed; and (b) jeans and a t-shirt or long-sleeved t-shirt equivalent
are not appropraite. "Do I have to wear a tie?" has always been an
important question for prospective employers.
Anyway, if it really bothers you that
you wear the same clothes for everything, might I suggest that you acquire
a custom-made 'Plurping jacket' (one and only one Google hit on 'Plurping
jacket'!). In order to attain the right frame of 'mind' (I use the
word 'mind' loosely) to compose a Plurp entry, you could don the Plurping
jacket.
The disadvantage to this scheme is
that a Plurping jacket does rather sound as if it is a companion to the
now-world-famous 'Detachable
Trouser Garment'. But no, the Plurping jacket is nothing to do with
making it easy for police officers to use the facilities, worthy though
that goal is.
[inw]
Good suggestion. We'll go check to see if CafePress
offers jackets, or robes, or some such. Or maybe we'll just go naked all
the time.
Plurp. While we were out, your top five search strings in our
very own little search engine were:
-
naked
pictures of helen
-
helen naked pitures
-
missing dollar
-
virtual helen naked pictures
-
404
Are we detecting a trend? Hmm?
Yo.
Bush
Says Intelligence [...] Will Be Fortified
President Bush [...] was compelled
to issue a reassurance that his administration is working to strengthen
its intelligence [...].
[He acknowledged] that "we've got
some work to do." [...]
"We need to know" [...] more, [...]
he said. [...]
The president grafted the assurance
that he is sensitive to the critical role of intelligence onto his standard
remarks [...] [about] premarital sexual abstinence.
Yo. Oh. My. God. Two more links closer to Infinite Fame. First,
we appear in the (admittedly lengthy) list of blogs to read over in ariped.com.
We swoon.
And then - be still our bleating heart - we get an
off-hand mention over in Crummy,
claiming envy over the prolific Blabbery we get from our Treasured
Readers. Yay, Treasured Readers! We know that you are as thrilled as we
are.
Yow. Dave
blogs the galldarn funniest thing we've read in recent history: Correspondence
with one of those Sierra Leone scammists, in which the Kindly Contributor
beats them at their own game. And with style!
We are pretty much insanely jealous.
Yo. Hey! It became June some time recently. How did that
happen? We like June. We just don't like it sneaking up on us like
that.
Yow. That unpronounceable
town in Scotland has a Web site.
Of course! It's quite quaint. We even signed
the guestbook.
Plurp.
The blue dog
subsisted entirely on a
diet of
sarcasm
Monday, June 3, 2002
Plurp. Goodness. You've all been rather busy since we've
been gone, haven't you? We do have a lot of Blab
to catch up on. (Not to mention email from our actual, for-money job thing,
from which there are over 300 new and no doubt fascinating emails.)
But not today.
Meanwhile, look what we found in our back pocket.
Plop. But here's a depressing fact. Our usage
logs show that you come to Plurp pretty much as often when we
don't post any new content (e.g. in the past two weeks) as when we post
daily. This suggests a new posting algorithm ...
Rant. We return from a measly two weeks away to find the world
on
the brink of nuclear war. Can't you people do anything without
us? Criminey!
Fortunately, we know for a fact that all of the key political and social
leaders on the Indo-Pak subcontinent read Plurp daily. So this is
addressed to them.
First, to our dear friends in India. Do you have any idea what would
happen if you decided to fry a few million people over your stupid border
dispute? Do you really want to be bombed back to the Stone Age? You've
been doing quite well recently in making political and economic progress,
bringing your nearly one billion people into a peace and prosperity never
before known to them. Don't screw up now.
Next, to our dear friends in Pakistan. Do the math. India can incinerate
your entire country without breathing hard.
Finally, to both sets of dear friends. It has long been said that a
nuclear exchange can only exterminate the stupid. Is that the inscription
you want on the plaques that sit outside the Forbidden Zones that were
once among the most important cultural and religious centers of the world?
Yo. And you
folks in the Glue States have been busy as well, we see.
His mother found Shawn Woolley's
body in a rocking chair in front of his computer. His head was slumped
to one side -- still facing a screen of the online game that she says had
become his obsession.
"That damn game," Liz Woolley said
to herself as she broke into tears.
At Shawn's side was the .22-caliber
rifle he'd used to end his life.
Scattered around him, police reports
say, were dirty clothes, fast-food wrappers, dozens of empty pizza boxes
and chicken bones thrown haphazardly to the floor. [...]
The 21-year-old, who'd hastily quit
his job more than a week earlier, left no suicide note in the one-bedroom
apartment in Hudson, Wisconsin, a small town about 30 miles east of Minneapolis.
The only signs of what had been on his mind were a few scribbled names
and terms related to EverQuest, the online virtual reality game he'd been
playing for well over a year.
[...] Liz Woolley suspects her son
killed himself after being jilted online. But she places the blame for
his death squarely on the game and its maker -- Sony Online Entertainment.
We prefer to think of this as EverQuest doing its bit to clean out the
gene pool.
Plop. According to somebody at the world-renown University of
Surrey, consciousness is just the electromagnetic
field generated by the brain. Or a can of beets.
After all these centuries, we're glad they finally figured it out. (rebecca)
Plurp. Marmite.
Love
it or hate it, the Web has
room for all of you. We love the Web.
Plurp. Oh yeah, and we got a
new Shower Song out of that Scotland thing. Do you like it?
Plurp.
The blue dog
figured that consciousness was just
a can of beets
Sunday, June 2, 2002
Plurp. So we seem to be here again. And, having not
been here again, we seem to have returned with the following tucked into
our back pocket.
My Life In Scotland
Part
One: I Am Jelly
Part
Two: I Avoid Becoming King
Part
Three: I Discover My Noble Heritage
Part
Four: I Devise a Time Machine
Part
Five: My Time Machine Malfunctions
Part
Six: I Learn Things
Part
Seven: I Tromp the Muck of Two Worlds
Part
Eight: I Am Awash in Contradiction
Part
Nine: I Am a Fashion Nightmare
Part
Ten: I Have the Honor of Emma's Acquaintance
Part
Eleven: I Am Nearly Eaten By Wolves
Part
Twelve: I Encounter Mysteries
Part
Thirteen: I Am Accepted by the Villagers of an Unpronounceable Town
Part
Fourteen: I See Dead People
Part
Fifteen: Safe Oot, Safe Home
We are unable to determine what this is. Perhaps our
readers know. But yes, it will be on the test.
Plurp.
The blue dog
wondered -
really, really wondered -
about that mule
saliva
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