I'm an international playboy without the money, influence or access. I'm sure this is just some kind of oversight.I am an irreformable Cynic and an irrepressible optimist. (If you see that capitalization precludes contradiction here, I'm yours, no questions asked.)
I see The End Is Near because yesterday is not far off.
I EAT BUGS, and I vote.
I am become Shiva, destroyer of worlds. And maker of pancakes.
I am poly. I don't have to have multiple partners, but exclusivity isn't inherently a priority. To me, sexual exclusivity feels silly, and even kinda wrong in a possessiveness way.
No relationship limits any other by principle alone. Time may be finite, but happiness, caring, and love are not.
Here are some more words that make me happy:
playa-spice, defenestration, splunge, neutrino, G�del's incompleteness theorems, free beer, cake or death
I am an iconoclastic half-wit for hire, and I work for cheap
Before this I was teaching for a year in a refugee camp in Thailand. It was hard and gritty. After some years I may be ready to revisit, but don't know when I can go back.
I teach undergrads. I study things no sane person would try to comprehend. I oggle SQUIDs in ways that probably make them uncomfortable, experiment on various invocations to manifest a quantum computer, and search (one hopes not in vain) for dark matter. When I need to relax, I fix things.
The more stressful life gets, the more high-energy and less self-conscious I get on the dance floor. Lately I've been taking "damn dancing fool" to new heights.
Finding the switch-points between Chaos and Order. Making strange things make sense, and the familiar absurd.
Almost everything I try. ...though I still can't whistle with crackers in my mouth.... and combing my hair still presents special challenges.
I think when the zombie hordes come I'll have the MacGyver-like skills, cool head, steady aim, compassion for the living, and reliable supply of one-liners to keep me an audience favorite and thus ensure my survival until at Least 10 minutes before the closing credits.
I'm the token hippie in my department. Back in Santa Cruz, I'm the token straight man.
More and more often that scruffy but endearing just-out-of-bed look befitting of a well-meaning but befuddled academic.
- Anything written by Robert Anton Wilson
- Most of Neil Gaiman
- Gravity's Rainbow (even if, or maybe because, I don't understand it)
- The Alchemist (sappy, yes, but short and beautiful like poetry)
- Moby Dick (honest. it could happen)
- Dead Man
- Cemetary Man
- Gates of Heaven
- Big Lebowski
- Fight Club
- Office Space
- Lost in Translation
Only the greats. Miles Davis, Thelonius Monk, and Beethoven's Hammerklavier. Yeah right. I admire the shit out of that stuff, but what do I REALLY listen to?
- Yo La Tengo
- Jason Webley
- Frou Frou
- Loreena McKennitt
- Paul Oakenfold
- Bob Marley
What's that purple spiky thing over there called? Some kind of mollusk? A vegetable? In any case, can you put it in my soup? When I'm NOT in Thailand I like a wine as austere as I am and my cheese as pungent.
- The Interweb.
- Really. When I move into a new place I arrange for HSI before garbage pickup, water, parking permits, whatever. Take THAT, Manslow!
- Play. And adults not self-conscious about looking juvenile.
- You. (-d'Awww.... no he didn't)
Who made the mess, who's responsible, and who's going to clean it up?
Was that due *yesterday*?*
uh, and what's this purple spiky thing in my soup?
It's both unsettling and relieving to discover that a sex drive can occasionally take to the background.
You want to know the truth behind the bullshit. And the bullshit behind the truth behind the bullshit- because Lies are the only language we have to express Truth, and yet we approach closer every day. That's the God's honest bullshit.