Plurp: Teleological Scrumptia

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2003.05.25 : 2003.05.31

Saturday, May 31, 2003
Blab. The Helen groupies amongst our readership will rejoice at this.
I know I am risking but I am about to try something that will be either accepted and published in Plurp or discarded. Each day I will submit "Helen Thinks." Today is it about a play that Steve and I saw today in which the lead character is a research fellow at some prestigious university in England doing something involving String Theory.
[He remarkably reminded me of Dave Chess.]
I know nothing about Physics (I never graduated from college because I refused to take any science classes) and demonstrate my ignorance quite often in private and unfortunately in very often public. To me, the dialog was Physics. I was appropriately impressed. But as I sat next Steve, I would occasionally glance sideways to see if he was at all embarrassed at what the playwright pretended to KNOW to be science. I always worry when we attend theatre or a movie or a dinner where someone feigns to know SOMETHING about science. I am embarrassed.
The play was interesting despite the fact that its author's knowledge of physics was that of an aging Kansas City Star reporter. At one point the protagonist, an astrophysicist who (mysteriously) does string theory, describes a garden hose as seen from a distance as "a two dimensional object, and only upon closer examination do you see that it has three dimensions." Um ...

It also falls back on the century-old claim that "science proves that bumblebees can't fly," a cocktail party assertion allegedly demonstrating that scientists don't know anything.
But, hey, the author probably paid as much attention to science in college as we did to playwriting.
The difference is: We don't claim to know anything about playwriting.
But we have long since made peace with the notion that scientific ignorance is acceptable, and even cute, in modern society, whereas literary ignorance is the mark of genetic inbreeding.
Which is to say, we enjoyed the play very much.

Blab. A reader is impressed with our suggestions for a postmodern Matrix sequel.
"the dialog is entirely postmodern literary theory"
For the love of god, man, don't give them ideas!
L.
No! It would be way cool!

Blab. A reader convinces us that we should stop blogging.
What if monkeys were one of us?

Just a blog like one of us.
Just a strange fur with a brush,
trying to make its way home.

Blab. A reader has ...
Our very own Stormtroopers
The present-day image reminds us a lot more of the redshirts from Alien II (BTW one of our favorite movies).
But, either way, metaphorically and all, ...

Blab. A reader insists that ...
You Have to Be Pleased when a country gets such leadership that fills you with pride and intelligence.
As a result, we learn things!
Halliburton has agreed to pay $6 million to settle about 20 investor class-action lawsuits involving an accounting change started at a time when Vice President Dick Cheney was still the company's chief executive officer.
The settlement, which still must be approved by the court, involves investors who claimed they bought Halliburton stock at inflated prices between May 18, 1998, and May 28, 2002, because the company misstated its revenues.
Gosh. This seems to qualify him perfectly for his current position. Doesn't it?

Blab. A reader with no nose writes:
it should be noted that UNH is actually in West Haven, not New Haven (they don't seem to mention that on their site). Which I point out because UNH smells. Unlike my dog.
How does it smell?

Blab. A reader who may well be famous writes:
It's like a car crash somehow -- you know, when all the traffic on the other carriageway slows down to have a good old gawk -- disturbing, even horrific perhaps, but compelling, in a rather sinful sort of way. I've been here for hours, and I'm not even sure why... I blame Dave & Danny, myself. That and the Mythku, of course.
Anyway, at one point I spotted your apalling restaurant names thing, and it reminded me of a particularly drunken conversation I had with my brother some time ago regarding a restaurant themed around vicious world dictators. It all started because I'd been served a small portion of chicken wings arranged in a circle, and after eating a couple of them, the remaining four looked almost exactly like a swastika*...
It was just a short lurch from there to Chicken Nazi (served, of course, on a tomato coulis), and then onwards to the obvious Pol Pot-roast, Baby Duck Duvalier, Fascist Asparagus, Banana Republic and all the rest. I think we vetoed Lenin Meringue Pie, but I'm not entirely sure.
I don't have a name for the damn thing though, or a full menu yet -- maybe your readers can assist?
T
* well, almost exactly like a swastika would look if it was made of unevenly-arranged chicken wings, garnished with a little sprig of parsely, and served on a white plate. Writing horror for a living does terrible, terrible things to your mind. You've been warned.
Welcome, T! Clearly, you are congenitally suited to your new affliction as Treasured Reader. For our part, we turned purple, choked, and had tears running down our cheeks at such linguistic masterpieces as Lenin Meringue Pie, which you are not allowed to veto. Just wonderful! We look forward to your continued contributions.
To encourage your disability, we offer a very minor nomination to your menu:

Talibanana Split

With equal impotence, we demand that our dwindling readership contribute to the menu of that magnificent new restaurant, Le Dictateur.
(BTW, did we never publish our Bunny Cuisine? No?)

Plurp.
Obviously, there is an economic cost,
and Bentham talks about this.
How many overseers will the Panopticon need?
How much will the machine then cost to run?

Friday, May 30, 2003
Blab. A reader condenses what might otherwise be a lengthy response to our query about the lyrics for some song or other.
http://tinyurl.com/czdv
Nice! Google is your friend. Maybe not our friend, but your friend. Sniff.

Blab. A pirate-terrorist writes:
I don't have official ASCAP-licensed sheet music to compare it to, but this looks like the song you speak of.
Written by Eric Bazilian (ex-The Hooters). Guitar tabs here.
We think it would have been funnier if he had been named Adam Bazilian.

Blab. A reader sends us a link to a certain picture.
Pony boy. Or possibly girl.
Oh dear. Probably-unworksafe link deleted by us. Oh dear.

Blab. Our Midwest Correspondent writes:
You have ads for local strip joints on your radio? Sheesh. Some people have all the good ads.
Hey - it's New York.

Blab. An enthusiastic reader suggests a nerdly ...
Field trip!!!!
Specifically ...
Visitors to Scotland will be able to see a spectacular natural phenomenon over large parts of the country later this month when an annular eclipse of the sun takes place on 31 May.
Better hurry.

Blab. On SCO's slime-fest, a reader writes:
Have you read the Open Source Initiative's position paper on the SCO v. IBM case? The paper makes a number of interesting points, although it is painfully obvious that the author, Eric Raymond, has little or no experience with legal matters.
I find one of his statements especially interesting. "The community of Unix hackers that had grown up around the pre-commercial releases never lost the conviction that, ethically, the Unix code belonged to them - the people who had the ideas and wrote the code - regardless of what the legal paperwork said."
L.
We feel that way about our own work at IBM, and figure that IBM owes us a billion dollars or so. Hey - maybe that's SCO's reasoning!

Blab. A friend writes:
id like to ask if you would please remove the reference to Nathan Maddox from the archive of your site.   I understand that you have full right to express whatever opinion you wish freely, and i know we all do this when it seems so removed from our lives, however Nathan was beloved by many and out of respect for this gentle soul who left us far too early i would wish you honor this request. thank you. a friend
Certainly. We always comply with the wishes of our Treasured Readers. Consider history rewritten, just for you.

Blab. Referencing an ancient Plurp entry, perhaps simply out of nostalgia, or perhaps in response to our plea for conspiracy theories that later turned out to be true, a reader writes (or, more accurately, we write):
"In 1996 Journal of Toxicology and Environmental Health reported that the combination of pyridostigmine bromide anti-nerve-gas pills, DEET in insect repellent, and the insecticide chlorpyrifos produced, in hens, a neurotoxic effect similar to Gulf War Syndrome. Abstract here."
So the claim is that this wild story, unbelievable even at the time, turned out to be an accurate account of Gulf War Syndrome? That seems somewhat unlikely to us.

Blab. A disturbed reader writes:
There's something disturbingly symmetrical about this guy.

You want disturbingly symmetrical? Try this.

Plurp. We saw Matrix Reloaded today. Capsule summary: Gnostic systems administration. With car chase.

Plurp. A lot of the dialog in MR was either tedious, or funny, or both, although (as far as we know) not on purpose. Imagine having to deliver lines like, I believe that we are here for a purpose; I believe that the prophesies are true, all with a straight face, and spoken in such a slow, staccato stage voice that we are convinced that you appreciate the shape of the words but have no idea of their meaning.
There was, indeed, a good deal of gnosticism in the script, with a hefty measure of leftover Zen as well.
What we'd like to see - and we'd pay good money for this - is an SF action film in which the dialog is entirely postmodern literary theory.

Morpheus: This coherent reversal, submitting semiology to a "translinguistics," leads to its full explication a linguistics historically dominated by logocentric metaphysics, for which in fact there is not and there should not be "any meaning except as named."

Neo: I am well aware that I have never written anything but fictions. I do not mean to go so far as to say that fictions are beyond the truth. It seems to me that it is possible to make fiction work inside of truth.

Morpheus: Since language is a form and not a substance (Saussure), the glossemes are by definition independent of substance, immaterial (semantic, psychological and logical) and material (phonic, graphic, etc.).

Neo: The displacement and transformation of frameworks of thinking, the changing of received values and all the work that has been done to think otherwise, to do something else, to become other than what one is -- that too is philosophy.

Wouldn't that be great?

Plurp.
The blue dog
was disturbing,
symmetrical,
gnostic,
and rewritten

Thursday, May 29, 2003
Blab. Morton Gurney writes:
"Bed races in Morton, WA?"
Reminds me of a story. A couple of friends of mine, Scott and Dan, regularly attended an auction of excess equipment from the local university, picking up a number of those old oak desks big enough to use as an aircraft carrier, old-fashioned wooden desk chairs, various bits of electronic equipment and so on. Most of this treasure resided in Scott's basement, as Dan lived in a condo with no storage space to speak of.
One day, Dan bid on and successfully bought a hospital gurney. Scott was bewildered by this purchase, and a bit put out, knowing it was going to take up space in his basement, but he didn't say anything. A while later, another gurney came up in the auction, and Dan successfully bid on and purchased this one, as well.
Now, Scott felt compelled to say something, and asked Dan, "Why did you just buy two hospital gurneys?"
"One gurney would just be a waste," Dan replied. "Two gurneys is a race!"
Human traditions puzzle us. Why do humans congregate for annual parades, competitions defined so arbitrarily as to be hopelessly obscure, or collecting as fetish activity?
We don't know.

Blab. A reader admits to vehicular homicide.
Steve, we drove through Morton on our way to Mount St Helens 10 years ago, remember? Morton is right outside the blowdown area from the volcano. I don't think I have ever been so impressed than I was by that trip to the mountain. I also had a college friend from Morton.   Poor kid.
H
You're under arrest.

Blab. On the recent Plurp search results, Helen writes:
I'm on top again!
(helen naked pitures)
She likes being on top.

Blab. On our recent adoption of Bilious Bill, Plaything of Demonic Felines, a reader writes:
Oh, I thought it was "Bill" as in "Bill the lizard."
Ah yes, Teddy Roosevelt's lizard. Such lovely nostalgia.

Blab. On that article we linked on a university in "Canada" teaching kids out to write computer viruses, a fan of Fred Cohen writes:
reading the article about the virus writing class. God, Fred Cohen is STILL around? Geeze, I thought he was dead or something. What a jerk. And where the hell is University of f*cking New Haven??
Fred does seem to pop up in the oddest places, doesn't he?
As might surprise our linguistically gifted reader, the University of New Haven is in, well, ...

Blab. A reader solves the mystery of that there song from yesterday.
RE: Joan Osborne
Lyrics! We love lyrics!

Blab. A reader solves the mystery of that there song from yesterday.
The title is simply "One of Us," while the line in question is "What if God was one of us," which is probably why you couldn't find the lyrics before. Either that or you were just lazy and didn't even try to find it before asking your readers. Here you go.
Here we go.
What if God was one of us
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make His way home
We really like these lyrics. So much of Christian tradition insists that Jesus was otherworldly, godlike, transcendental. But the New Testament portrays him very much as a regular old human who happened to have a few weird powers (e.g. that pig thing). We like the view that this song takes of Jesus in the modern world, just a slob like one of us. We imagine him going home to his grimy apartment in Hell's Kitchen, cooking up a can of chili, and wiping up the cat doo with a wet paper towel.
It reminds us (but only a bit) or our rather less talented idle speculation some time ago (which we still find very, very funny, consistent with our well-known affliction).

Blab. A reader has a riddle for us.
What city has the highest sales tax in the country?
If you had asked which airport in India has the highest tax rate, we would know the answer: Gujarat and Kerala charge the highest rates at 36 per cent and 34 per cent, respectively.
If you had asked which state has the highest sales tax in the U.S., we would also know.
But city? We don't know. Perhaps our reader do.

Blab. A single reader takes on our challenge of finding a conspiracy theory that turned out to be true.
Maybe if you go back a bit farther for your conspiracy theory: "The U.S.S. Maine was not destroyed by a Spanish attack."
Although I don't know if this is a good example, as it seems there were quite a few reasonable people proposing it at the time--even if most people at the time did believe that the Maine was destroyed by the Spanish--so I don't know if it really qualifies as a conspiracy theory.   Also, it's not definitively established as true today; although more evidence now seems to point to an internal, accidental explosion, it seems that it's not enough to be considered conclusive. More here.
We don't remember the Maine. Prolly before our time.
In any case, that seems like a weak example, in both the conspiracy part and the turning out to be true part. Readers?

Yow. Really, really big boom: the most powerful explosions in the universe. (Friend Bill, take note.)

Plop. Just kidding.
[S]enior Bush administration officials have begun to lay the groundwork for the possibility that it may take a long time, if ever, before they are able to prove the expansive case they made to justify the war.

Yow. You've been following the great SCO case with rapt anticipation, right? This is the one in which SCO (the "owners" of Unix) claims that everybody's violating their Unix license and has to pay them Big Bucks. They've sued IBM for a billion bucks, for instance. Microsoft recently bought a license from SCO, presumably to help SCO torpedo Linux and other Windows competitors. They're so much fun.
Well so now, now, it turns out that SCO never owned the Unix license in the first place!
"Novell challenged SCO's assertion that it owns the copyrights and patents to UNIX System V, pointing out that the asset purchase agreement entered into between Novell and SCO in 1995 did not transfer these rights to SCO."
Novell also discloses that SCO has been begging Novell for the rights to IP that SCO claims it already has:
"Over the last few months you have repeatedly asked Novell to transfer the copyrights to SCO, requests that Novell has rejected." [...]
"Apparently SCO's management team knew that they did not own Unix while pursuing their sham campaign against Linux," observes Bruce Perens.
You just plain gotta love this. You gotta!

Yo. J. Fred Shirley-Harold, the Legend Continues.

Plop. We realized with horror late this afternoon that it's not Friday. Aaaargh!!!

Plurp.
The blue dog
was just a slob like one of
us

Wednesday, May 28, 2003
Blab. Are you sure?
Yes I Arf
You arf, we arf, we all arf for ...

Blab. A reader wants all of the details of our life spelled out.
You live above a theatre?
Let's just say that we told a story in which a catnip-stuffed toy named Seymour flung himself off of our terrace to land far, far below, only to be forced into a life of abuse and neglect in the dark and diseased alleyways of New York.

Blab. A reader has an alternate theory.
Me thinks Dr. Plurp did away with Seymour for the purpose of a fresh storyline for his tired ol' weblog. Poor cat. Lonely cat. And we don't think Bill is a very good name. It's lame. I like the name Willie.
We named the new resident Bill because he is green and sickly-eyed, and struck us very much as a seasick (and hence bilious) rodent.
But our reader likes his Willie, and who are we to take issue with that?

Blab. On the new topic of foreign heads of state that have meetings with Dubya, a reader writes:
I knew there was a reason I disagreed with Dubya. Imagine being caught in a room with him, cowboy boots, non-focusing eyes, potato chips, and that goddam rescue dog! Oh, lord. Enough to curl your hair.
It is a frightening thought. We find our hair curling at the mere idea.

Blab. Our marketing department writes:
Now HERE is a reason for Autonomic Computing!
To wit:
Though it might look like a hospital from the future, this Indiana hospital is all high-tech and in the here-and-now. The Indiana Heart Hospital features a totally digital environment, with no charts and no X-ray films. Every medical record is stored on a computer system, giving doctors information on current medications, allergies or prior surgeries. Because there are no medical charts, every bed is flanked by a computer, so doctors and patients can see scans together and discuss the patient's course of treatment.
As a computer professional, we would trust our life to a leading-edge medical system that relies entirely on a custom-built computing system.
Oh, most certainly. We would.

Blab. A concerned reader writes:
What's the deal with your bed, d00d?
Thanks so much for asking! Helen arranged today for an elven woodwizard to take a look at our dilapidated bed. The elf told us that Bobo the Wonder Dog, who installed our bed frame some five years ago, skipped a couple of steps. One step was attaching the headboard to the frame with the bolts that are pretty much the only structural elements that hold the bed together. The other step was installing a support in the middle of the bed that keeps it from falling onto the floor.
We thought of the many times when we crawled under the bed, our head inches away from the scarcely-supported and heavy bed frame, to plug our computer into the wall. It was not a good thought.
Fortunately, the elf knew feces from shoe polish, and was able to fix both problems, and rebalance our buffet so the doors don't stick to boot, in less than an hour.
So thanks, Bobo. We have set out a bowl of Alpo laced with strychnine, as a gift. Enjoy.

Blab. A reader has an alternate theory.
Sir: Recycle your bed and make it into a racing machine.
Bed races in Morton, WA? We rather suspect our bed is too heavy, and better suited to other Olympic events, which will remain unspecified.

Plurp. What are you searching for, this week?

helen naked pitures

imani

artsy

pony

pony boy

vietnam vote

alyssa milano naked pitures

arsenic poisoning pictures

blue dog naked pictures

boy

Several things stand out here.

Some kind reader or readers have returned helen naked pitures to the top of the list, beating out last week's favorite, imani

People are searching for pony boy. What is it?

The naked pictures and naked pitures contingent is as creative as ever.

Thank you for your covert channels.

Yak. A Helenism from an executive meeting today.
stake in the sand

stake in the ground

line in the sand

Yak. A Helenism from a radio ad for a local strip joint.
without a question

without a doubt

without question

Plurp. A failed Helenism from our whiteboard. We can't remember the context.
Get my mind behind

Get my mind around

Get behind

Plop.
While many students would be expelled from their political science programs for making car bombs, the University of Calgary plans to make the construction of such bombs a part of the curriculum.
This fall, the Canadian school is offering a class for fourth-year students titled "Terrorist Weaponry," in which students will build and test their own bombs. The move has touched off a wave of criticism within the community.
Ken Barker, head of the school's political science department, contends that such a class is needed to better understand what motivates those who commit terrorist acts, which he says are a growing problem.
"Somebody who is suggesting we are doing enough really has their head in the sand," Barker said. Plus, school officials note that information on how to make car bombs is already easily accessible.

Yow. Nice Scientific American article by Fox & Patterson describing their work on Recovery Oriented Computing. Good stuff.

Plurp. Our major accomplishment at work today was to move 5,419 emails still lingering in our in-box from 2002, the vast majority of them unread, to a folder entitled Unplumbed Depths. This means, with high probability, that we will never, ever look at them. Those of you still expecting a reply should exhale.
Now all we have to do is deal with the 2,044 that are still in our in-box from this year and we'll be all set.

Plurp. Readers can prove decisively that they are much, much more Web-savvy than we are by sending us a definitive link to the lyrics of the song What If God Were One of Us (we think that's the title, anyway) by Joan Osborne (we think she wrote it, anyway).

Plurp. Lunchtalk today asked an interesting question. Are there any established conspiracy theories that later turned out to be true? That is, are there any events for which a widespread conspiracy theory existed, a conspiracy theory which was widely regarded as wacky, for which facts later surfaced that proved that the conspiracy theory was correct after all?
If it had turned out that the Mafia, or the CIA, had turned out to have set up Lee Harvey Oswald as the patsy in the JFK assassination, that would qualify.
We came up with one good example: that U.S. inoculations of soldiers against nerve gas in Gulf War I caused Gulf War Syndrome, and that the U.S. government covered up this "fact".
Readers are invited to (1) provide compelling Web evidence for the above "facts", and/or (2) provide compelling Web evidence for other examples of conspiracy theories that turned out to be true.
(This is where we find out how many nutters we have in our readership. This frightens us in advance.)

Plurp.
The blue dog
was an elven conspiracy theory
that was never proven

Tuesday, May 27, 2003
Blab. A reader guesses things.
We are guessing that
The cute blue dog did agree
To Haiku Speaking
Arf you sure?

Blab. A reader feigns politeness with what seems to us a pretty nosey question.
Sir: Does the blue dog have a name? Will you tell it to us?
To tell you the truth, we don't know! Would it make a difference to you?

Blab. A reader suggests a blog for which we would not seem to qualify.
the perfect 'log for cat "lovers"
But wait! It's a touching story about a mechanical device called a Kittipult, which sounds good already.
Annoyingly, kitty-gags seem to be lost in the post, so still too much mewling.
We have found a new ally.

Blab. A small hen writes:
the world is coming to an end
Thus we learn of the Curse of the Quarters!
[S]ince the Mint inaugurated the ["50 State Quarters"] coin series, a string of unfortunate events has befallen many of its subjects.
We understand that Dubya has ordered the U.S. Mint to create coins imprinted with the likenesses of Osama bin Laden, Kim Jong Il, and several leading Democrats.

Blab. A reader spelunks Blogshares.
Searching for "http://www.stevewhite.org/log/current/" - Possible matches:
Jewish Current Issues
The BradLands: Must See HTTP
http://koiwa.hn.org/sugge/
http://kianfar.blogspot.com
obscurity.com
funferal - current events
Università della Tuscia - Seminario HTTP
Current Events
Current Brainstorm
Anger Management Course
Creative Chicks
Current playlists
http://blogs.pathfinder.gr/blogs?blog=186
Our Savior Lutheran - Current Events
http://astonVilla.blogFootball.com/shortland/
The Left Foot Living Review
Current Projects
Visitem meu novo blog http://rosiclea.blogspot.com
Newsprint: A Current Events Blog
Currently on Spinsanity
Searching alternative URLs...
No blogs found matching "http://www.stevewhite.org/log/current/" as an alternative URL
How did you avoid Blogshares?
Funny you should ask! We looked at Blogshares over the weekend, for reasons we can't remember. Obsessed as we are with external measures of our lack of fame, we tried to sign up.
We gave them a userid, password, and stuff. Then (as we recall) they wanted us to notify them (or somebody) whenever our stupid Blog got updated. Oh, right! We don't even notify our Dear and Treasured Readers when that happens.
So we gave up. Oh well.
We are greatly amused, however, at the many things that Blogshares thought might match us. We particularly like obscurity.com and Our Savior Lutheran - Current Events.

Blab. A reader compliments us. Or insults us. We're not sure.
BlogStalkingTM is a great addition! Keep those fresh ideas happening, Steve.
Leave it to the genius that is Plurp to come up with an activity for which even our own participation is almost entirely passive. Sloth is, after all, our core competence.

Blab. A reader thinks we have access to the mildly famous.
Can you get me Geddy Lee's autograph? Or how about Gedde Watanabe's?
No and no. We didn't even know who Gedde Watanabe was until today.

Blab. A reader blasts us from our D&D past. With our own words!
(I've still got all the text of the Sorcery Manual around, and have this vague idea of putting it into some modern format like PDF and making it available on this Web site. One of these millennia.)
This was, we note, written in the dawning days of this very millennium. Given that there are only two millennia nearby (that is, within a thousand years or so of "now"), and seeing as how we didn't get around to doing it in that other millennium, it seems pretty darn likely that we're going to get around to doing it in this here millennium.
Or that we're not going to do it at all, of course. There's always that.

Yo. Seymour is not to be found. Helen has looked everywhere. Under the bed. In the closet. Behind the catbox. No luck.

Our theory is that Seymour was sitting around one day recently and he said, Today's the day. He leapt over the low railing, plummeting his soft, catnip-stuffed body onto the roof of the theater a dozen floors below. From there, we figure, he scurried into an alleyway to make his living however he could. Anything, he figured, would be better than having his guts ripped out, day after day, by Him Whose Name Is Deposited On the Fancy Rug in the Dead of Night.
Helen, distraught at the notion of Him Whose not having a partner in mayhem, went out to B3 (Bed, Bath & Beyond, don't you know) and bought Him another. This new partner (we call him Bill, due to his color) is pictured below. Note the body language. Him Whose seemed entirely nonplused. At one point, he laid down by Bill, batted him across the room, and went to sleep. Not good.

Desperate, we rubbed our, well, sweat onto Bill and flung him back at Him Whose.
You will be pleased (if you are Helen) - or sickened and revolted (if you are anyone else) - to know that Him Whose and Bill are now inseparable friends.

Yak.
I'm fluent in Flatula, Jim. I took two years of it in high school.
Would you have guessed Disney? We would not have. Treasure Planet, obviously based on Robert Louis Stevenson's classic that we never read, is very sly, with clever references to Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Men in Black, Hellraiser, All About Eve, Star Trek, Pirates of the Caribbean, extraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter, the Three Stooges, Dan Quail, and Shiva only knows how many thousands of others that we did not catch.
It got lousy reviews. But rent it anyway.

Plurp. Our bed, which we purchased a mere five years ago, is about to fall apart. We are not permitted to tell you why.

Plurp.
The blue dog
had no comment
on the name thing

Monday, May 26, 2003
Blab. A reader jumps to a random conclusion.
Isn't blue dog meant to talk in haikus?
In this context, we must interpret the word meant as was intended to, in the sense that a creator or developer of an object intends its purpose. Not knowing who or what that might be in this case, and indeed we are forced to wonder if that is knowable at all, we cannot answer the question.
We will, however, ask the blue dog.

Plurp. We were watching Just Shoot Me last night. It's a sitcom set in the office of a mindless fashion magazine. The interior design of the office is quite nice - lots of warm woods and blue accents.
We particularly appreciate how the office workers dress in colors that complement the interior design. We would like to see that practice encouraged universally. Please dress appropriately.

Yo. Today, we do your Christmas shopping for you. You're welcome.
This year, you're buying Cultural Icons. (We have not, by the way, altered these descriptions. This is how they are marketed by their respective purveyors.)
Jesus Action Figure
with Poseable Arms & Gliding Action
Everyone has a different take on Jesus. Muslims and Jews saw him as a prophet; Buddhists say he was enlightened; Hindus consider him an avatar (the incarnation of a deity in human form) while Christians hail him as the Son of God. But, wherever your theological compass points, you will agree that this is the coolest action figure since G.I. Joe. Each hard plastic Jesus Action Figure stands 5" tall with poseable arms to reach toward the heavens and wheels in his base for smooth gliding action. Comes in our illustrated clamshell package with biblical quotes on the back.

Monty Python's Life of Brian: Brian Action Figure
Always look on the bright side of life! From the irreverent film "Monty Python's The Life Of Brian" it's Graham Chapman as Brian, the other child born in a Bethlehem manger!
Despite not being the actual Messiah, he still comes with a small cap, robe, sash, waist belt and pouch, sandaled feet, paint brush and pot.

Moses Action Figure
The story of Moses has more action than a James Bond movie. Miracles, murder, plagues, escape, betrayal - his life was filled with dramatic events and exciting adventures. With our 5 1/4" tall, hard plastic Moses Action Figure you can recreate the entire epic saga in the comfort of your own home. Use the removeable shepherd's staff and stone tablets to punish your roommate with God's plagues or deliver the Ten Commandments to your little green army men. Comes on our illustrated blistercard with Moses info on the back.

Michel Foucault
Keenly aware of the fluidity of social identities, this 6.5" Michel Foucault waves his baton in poststructuralist style at all challenges. Shrouded in a special removeable French cloak and with a built-in thoughtful head movement, this superb action figure is essential for both professional philosophers and junior postmodernists.

Plurp.
The blue dog speaking
Michel Foucault lecturing
Mysteries to all

Sunday, May 25, 2003
Blab. A reader appears to doubt that newspaper story about the Bangkok Finance Minister's BMW that seized up because its computing system crashed.
"Windows smashed to free Minister" -- no doubt they used an AMD Sledgehammer CPU with a Linux kernel (although I'm not sure which distribution is called "Minister"). We can only assume the kernel type as they have been follow the NYT style-guidelines for reporters. At least they were specific about the hardware. I presume the BMW was part of Grand-Theft Auto running under XP. How typical of Microsoft to try to cut off their air supply.
Dorian.
We did notice that the story occurred in far-off Thailand. It reminded us of the Weekly World News in that respect.

Blab. Our polite reader apologizes. Sort of.
Sir: I'm sorry; I didn't know taht the latex suit was secret.
Please do be discreet. We don't want stuff we publish here in Plurp to get out. But then, given the size of readership, there's no danger of that.

Blab. A reader kindly provides us with all the material we'll need for the next month or so.
Dear Steve,
Regarding two posts in your Saturday May 24th issue, I am want to respond to the wanton disregard for ultimate goodness, and set the Purr Herd free from the cruelty and ignorance perpetuated by the intuitively bereft who maliciously indulge in cat hatery. It is my wish to extricate the cats from any and all cruel notions that perpetuate societal disharmony via cruel statements about cats, and thereby set them free to purr again to maintain some balance and harmony on the war-wobbling globe.
To wit: (1)
Blab. A reader informs us that ...
"Today, your favorite yoga position is the "Airplane Crashing Into Kittens." This is where you stretch out your arms and legs wide and lay on your belly making propellor noises with your lips."
Then smash kittens? Cool.
Do send videos.
_______
Dear Steve,
Initiates of esoteric perceptions, and therefore perspectives, all know that cats are psychically connected to the Gaian Dream (in which we all participate and call "Life"--yet most do not perceive the harmonious connecting and are therefore engulfed by fear, and thusly do not Purr or enjoy hearing the Purr).
It is well known to paradigm-shifting invisible-fire breathers (the Transcendent Intelligencia?those with inner soul senses fully awakened?The Great Washed) that cats serve Earth?s Creative Ascendant Teleological Scrumptia by protecting Her humming flaming core soulworks-Boudoir from those little demons manifested by human ignorance/fear projections. The proof is in the Purring.
Anyone who harms or dislikes cats has a stunted, not yet fully formed, anima and i.s.a. (inner sensory awareness), and therefore has yet to recognize that the sound of cats purring is a feline replication of the hum of Gaia?s Love Dream. Initiates can follow the sound of purring straight into the Heart of the Being of Gaia residing in Her resplendent Creative Palace in the center of the Core of Earth, and know that She is in Tantric union with the Core of the Sun who penetrates Her there, and they ARE Getting It On!!! in a mindblowing 69 that makes the world go round.   Hendrix knew this. Some clues are in his song: If 6 was 9.
It?s a Tao thing. WooooHUUUUU. Paradigm shifting is at work here. Cats dream and purr a lot, because they perceive this ecstatic union that's been going on for 4.5 billion years.
Purring Cats know these esoteric facts that manifest in the human world as dramodies of the Mysteries of Love. People who love cats and like to hear them purr, know these things, too.
The line is drawn. Those who stand on the side of the moment to moment Purring Perception of Quantum becoming/coming, or those who stand on the side of the undermining the Gaian Dream. Those on the Anti-Purring side are subliminally supportive of the fear-engulfed demons who can?t exist except by vampiring the ego-fear of the great unwashed (hear Homer Simpson scarfing donuts here) thereby perpetuating fear?s offspring: greed and war.   It is said that most neo-conservatives hate cats. But the fact is, cats hate them, because they see through to the fact that they bear the demons of greed and war that destroy authentic life for all sentient beings. You say: "Then smash kittens? Cool."   Shame on you. I would have thought you purred, Steve.
-------------
Item 2. To wit:
Yo. Two important new revelations on SARS today from "scientists". One, from the University of Cardiff, says that SARS comes from space. Another, from the University of Hong Kong, says that SARS originated in cats.
From this, it is easy to conclude that cats come from space, as we have suspected for some time.
-------------
Dear Steve,
The links in the above, didn?t work for me, so I?ve had no look at the source material. If some Hong Kong scientist is trying to make a legitimate case that there is some connection between cats, and humans contracting SARS, I would suggest that SARS cannot be contracted from purring cats.   It can only be contracted from cats if some jerk hurts them in anyway and therefore gets HISSSSED on, or ingests them.   Purring cats create only contentment and well being for all within earshot of the Purr connected to Her--our White Tiger Mother, Gaia, ever mated to the perfected Feng Shui Dragon of awakened male mind?authentic consciousness.
Ever yours,
Wangmo
It's not often that one gets to use the expression Teleological Scrumptia in daily discourse.

Plop. Next: Iran.

Plop.
Syrian President Bashar Assad said in an interview published Sunday that he doubts the existence of Al Qaeda, the terror group blamed for the Sept. 11 attacks and recent strikes in Saudi Arabia and Morocco.

Plurp. We've invented a new low-grade amusement for ourself. It's called BlogStalking^TM. Here's how we play it. We pick some blog that is not obviously related to Plurp, perhaps one that we stumbled across recently for reasons that we can't remember. Not a famous blog, just a blog. Then we link it here without mentioning it by name. And we wait around to see if said blogger notices.
Look, we said it was low grade.

Yow. Via leuschke.
hello we are ants [...]
Simply wonderful.

Yow. Via boingboing.

Plurp. Today we signed up a new summer student for an email account, revised our encyclopedic Architectural Framework document in preparation for its first (and long-awaited) Officially Approved Version, and went through (some, only some, of) the 240 emails in our inbox that are marked Urgent, some of which have been sitting there for over a year.
Do we know how to spend a holiday weekend, or what?

Plurp.
The blue dog
followed the sound of purring straight
into the Heart of the Being of
Gaia residing in Her resplendent Creative Palace in the
center
of the Core of Earth

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