Don't Shake the Flask

Because you don't know if it'll explode

The new version 1.3 is my Ruysch layout. I could have kept the astrolabe but decided that Frederik Ruysch was a better metaphor for this site and blogging in general. While Ruysch breathed life into his specimens with wax, I try doing the same thing to my thoughts and experiences with words.

I should have learned from earlier experience that large doses of caffeine would unapologetically wreak havoc on my system. Feeling a bit warm, I ordered a brain freeze (a cold coffee drink) from the local café. Instead of reveling in a buzzy headache, I started getting really tired. Maybe next time I should stick to the ice water.

Linkage:
Google Bombing. Nice to know there’s a way to influence search results without paying the company.
What Pattern Are You? I am tie-dyed.

There’s a meme going around. I’m not going to perpetuate it. See the top of this post. Is it an expression of post-modern nihilism? A silly prank? I’m still trying to figure out what it means although I’m suspecting it may mean nothing at all. The area code, though, is for San Francisco if anyone cares.

I’ve also been noticing how everyone is using the word snarky. At first I thought it was one of those new made-up words like wazzup, but apparently, it’s been around since 1906. Its frequent use is driving me up the wall. Once is okay, but if it’s used once every paragraph or more, the adjective loses its edge. The writing begins to sound like a diatribe from a slimy Jack Nicholson look-a-like.

On a sunny day like today (February has no business pretending to be June), I get the malicious desire to see something fall apart. I don’t want to see something catastrophic like the degeneration of a culture in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart; I only want to see the little things that would be irritating. Take for instance the guy riding his bicycle and walking his dog at the same time who I saw this afternoon. It would have amused me to no end if the leash got tangled up in the spokes causing the bike to suddenly jam. The rider would then be thrown, scraping legs and elbows and stopping numerous go-carts that never had a real destination to begin with anyway. The dog would be unhurt, but sensing the ensuing confusing, would take the chance of chasing a passing cat into one of those grassy areas that have signs that say “No Dogs Allowed”.