I had a huge realization last night that the device we use to store the photos on our digital cameras is called a “memory card.” There’s no way they planned something like that, right? Like, a group of marketing guys couldn’t possibly be that clever and poetic about an everyday piece of technology, right? I mean everyone so casually says “the photos from the birthday party are on my memory card” as though its not a clever piece of writing and just hand over the 1/2” x 1/2” card with pictures of Justin or Beccy throwing up birthday cake.
I recently read an article about art forgers and then later dreamed I was one. Only, in the dream everyone kept saying “that looks photoshopped” when they spotted it as a forgery. Is that an example of technology encroaching on the world of art? Or perhaps a metaphor for how our society rushes to keep up with increasingly sophisticated forms of art? Or maybe it’s just that my brain couldn’t think of the word “forged” because it was sleeping.
Can you imagine how profoundly different the human existence would be if we had six fingers per hand rather than five? Some might see it as a blessing, but not me. You’d constantly have an extra pinky getting in the way – as though one pinky always in the way wasn’t enough. Or when you brushed the hair from your lover’s eyes you’d have to remind yourself not to let that stray pinky go up their nose. What a hassle.
Woodworking is such a strange hobby. The entire leisure activity is predicated on work for one thing, but also that you have to believe in your heart that the wood wants to be a different shape. How strange to think that you’re doing the wood a favor by allowing it to finally take the form it has always wished. Just let the wood stay how it is, that’s always my belief.
Writing is rules. Whether it’s about word choice or sentence length or subject matter each writer has decided on rules they have agreed not to break. Me? My rules are too many. I won’t use the word “penultimate” because I think it sounds pretentious. I’ll just write “next to last” instead, and problem solved. But why is “pretentious” allowed but “penultimate” not? Because those are just the rules.
To me it feels like cheating when someone orders mac & cheese at a restaurant. It’s simply too good to be considered a meal. It would be like ordering a breakfast that consists of just a plate of bacon without having to sit through the horror of the eggs or the endurance of home fries. Better yet it’s like ordering a paper cone filled with the cherry syrup meant to create a complete sno-cone. It’s just too much pleasure for one person to handle. An ecstasy no one should be able to enjoy.
I had a discussion with my friends about whether neutered animals still feel the compulsion to mate. For example my cat, neutered, has never met another cat in his whole life. I would think that he must think he’s the last of his kind on earth but still searches for clues to find a surviving pocket somewhere out there. My assumption is that he must get lonely and has a hard time dealing with his own desire for love. Humans don’t even really understand it and we’re at least able to discuss it with others of our kind. Regardless, what a thought to imagine the profound sadness of our pets and the lives they lead. Oh, I just realized you now probably think my cat’s name is “Neutered”. It’s not.
If someone were to come to me for advice on the best way to make an apple pie I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea of where to begin. Do you have to make the crust first? Or boil out all the sugars from the apple slices? Or is it like most desserts where you start with a couple cups of brown sugar and see where they take you. Who knows? My point is this : I don’t have the faintest idea why anyone would come to me for advice on baking