Monday, 27 August 2007 A.D.

Another day in the history of planet earth. What will happen today? Something significant to be sure. Will it go into the history books as a world-changing event? The Butterfly Effect says that the fluttering of a butterfly's wings in Indonesia can cause a hurricane in the Atlantic. Small changes affect everything. . .because everything is connected??? Perhaps. Everything on the planet is linked to everything else. For every effect there is a cause. Everything causes something else to happen, either directly or indirectly. . .which is how prayer must work.

This morning I ate two bologna sandwiches for breakfast and drove to a car dealership to see about a bumper they promised to fix for free as a condition for buying a truck.
I bought the truck to carry my stuff across the North American continent, but apparently that is not going to happen soon. I wish it would happen soon, but I think I know the voice of God, and the last time I moved across country (to Hawai'i) God told me not to do it. I felt the exact same tone of voice this time, only not as sharp and pointed. Now I have a hundred and fifty silver horses that need feeding.

What does one feed 150 horses? Modified corn and old plant remains, of course. What else?

It's going to be nice out today. I think I shall go running.

Washington State

I do not think I shall be going here as soon as I had planned. I simply don't feel quite right about this little journey I had planned in great detail. Something about it bothers me and I hate being confused and not knowing all the facts. Too many unknowns.

Some stuff about me:

I find it really difficult to not micromanage. I see other people at work, and when they leave, sometimes (I must admit) I re-do what they did because. . .you know, their results just don't look right.

When I have an opinion, and know I am right, only God himself can make me change my mind. And sometimes, He has to almost speak audibly to do so.

I find it terribly difficult to just help people, especially when others are more willing to step in. I either do not help, or do everything by myself. There is no in-between.

I detest incompetence and laziness with a passion bordering on fanatic. If I think somebody is one of these two things, I have been known to ignore them completely or step on their head.

Misspelled words irritate me to no end.

Memo

Dear You-know-who-you-are,

Do not use my weight bench as an ironing board. The vinyl seat was not designed for very hot temperatures. If you continue to do so, I will roast you over a pile of hot coals.

Thank you.

Me.

a non-rhyming poem-like word thing

Walking along the shore
Red sand beneath my toes
I shiver

That, my friends, is a Martian haiku

Trapped!

Trapped in Belbury.

This is how I feel right now. . .and no Jane either.

Some of you know what I mean.

Everything seems to be going great, until you meet the ghost of Whither.

The spirit of Whither that seems to follow you around and won't leave you alone. Try as hard as you might, you cannot escape. For how can one escape from a wandering spirit?

You simply go through Life on the path that lays before you, doing what you do, and then. . .everything comes crashing down. Or rather, slowly erodes.

Then one ceases being creative, melancholy sits in the seat where happiness used to dwelt, and Whither walks by. . .old man Whither. . .humming his dreadful tune. . .

Always humming.

After a time, everything becomes meaningless, like wind chasing. Nothing really matters, or so it seems. And one thinks that all one has done in Life was for nought.

Is it Depression?

Nope. It's a battle between the mind and the spirit.

Elvis is dead

Live with it.

30 years ago, the king of rock and roll died while sitting on the toilet.

No lie.

I was 3-years-old at the time and remember nothing of it.

Actually, he died 30-years-ago today minus two, but who's counting.

Uncle Buck

Uncle Buck

Ever see the movie?

I have an Uncle Buck.

Tis true.

In my biological family, there is a man who is classified as an uncle in relation to me, and his name is Buck. Actually, he's my great-uncle Buck, but I still call him

Uncle Buck

Uncle Buck has long curly red hair and a pointy red beard.
Uncle Buck rides a Harley and smokes a pipe.
Uncle Buck always wears blue jeans.
Uncle Buck lives in the mid-west and can play a banjo.
Uncle Buck does not wear ties-he wears bolos.
Uncle Buck likes to bowl.

Uncle Buck

A Light Paradigm Shift

Suppose that light, all the light in the universe, all the photons taken together simultaneously as a whole (this might be bad grammar, but hey, it's 3:30 AM), is really a single entity. And that when one measures the position of a photon, one is really measuring one aspect of light, when in reality, light has it's fuller existence in a higher plane of reality than ourselves. That is, light is in it's fuller form, in a higher dimension than us 3-dimensional humans. So when one measures the location of a photon, it is analogous to measuring one side of a crystal, when in fact, the crystal has many sides.

So, when you you perform your measurements using 3-D tools, from our perspective, what you measure is a 3-D aspect of light. This would explain all the mysteriousness of the famous double-slit experiments, and how every photon and electron seems to know the location of every other sub-atomic particle.

It's all the same creature. Make sense?

Castroleum Bonapart, the Carribean Sea-Monkey. . .

Coming soon to a post near you.

Farewell my friend

I'm selling my car.

If anyone wants to purchase the one and only turquoise chariot of Mr. Puddle E. Glum, he is willing to make a good price. . .$2,900 in U.S. dollars, or $10,000 Canadian dollars, and I will even consider pesos and Euros. Gold bars would also be nice, as would stock in Berkshire-Hathaway.

I washed it today in 107 degree weather.

It took awhile as the coin exchanger only accepted ones and fives and I had two tens. I went to the dollar store, not exactly dressed for public appearances as I was wearing a wrinkly white tee-shirt and had not shaved.

"But is not this how most dollar store shoppers look?"

Good point, and quite true, nevertheless I hate the unkempt grunge wispy look. Naturally, one cannot waltz into the dollar store without buying something, so I bought a half-gallon of Sunny Delight even though it has been known to change your skin colour from off-white to a semi-jaundice mustard.

I washed the car. It was clean. It was dry. Then it began to sprinkle. . .and thunder. . .and lightning. . .and then the passenger door opened as I was leaving the car wash. . .and then the open passenger door would not shut. . .seriously. . .The Sunny Delight was cursed, I am sure. . .so back to the car wash I go.

To spend the next 20 minutes fiddling with an extremely greasy metal clip that allows one to shut passenger doors. . .on a 107 degree August day on a busy road in the bad section of town with homeless people staring at the sweaty white guy clearly breaking the rules of car washes everywhere in this great land of ours that clearly state,

"No mechanical work of any kind on the car wash premises."

Fortunately, the only other human there was the owner of the car wash giving me sinister looks.

Pics forthcoming.

100 Degrees Fahrenheit

Current temperature in Chesapeake, VA not including the above 90% humidity.

I am in the pre-packing stages of my trip across the face of the North American continent in one month's time. This is where you pile up all your belongings in stacks to see exactly how many boxes you need to haul them in. I lost count after 40 or so which means some of the stuff will have to stay here, be sold, or given away.

Except the National Geographics. Some of these puppies are 50-years-old, and who throws away NG magazines?

Nobody.

Is it the yellow border? The pictures of naked Botswani tribal women riding zebras? The stories about 16-year-old kids that tour the world alone on their private sailboat? The Polar adventurers? The maps?

Growing up, I decorated most of my bedroom walls with National Geographic maps.

I'll have two cows, cover em' with blankets, and mate em' with pigs

Definition: cheeseburgers

--from a Dean Koontz novel (I think it was Odd Thomas)

Another must read.

Nope. Haven't been blogging much lately. Summer you know. Most of the blogs I read are pretty sparse during the dog days of summer.

And why is this?

More stuff to do.

Yoda am I. . .apparently