Why so serious?

The last comment to my post about comments (uh-oh, I'm slipping into a self-referential loop) mentioned hated laughter, and my reply flippantly referred to the powerful and terrifying God of the Internets. That, in turn, reminded me of one of my favourite quotes:

"God is a comedian in front of an audience too scared to laugh."

-Voltaire

So go ahead, laugh, and don't worry about whether or not anyone knows.

(That reminds me -- I still haven't seen The Dark Knight yet.)

(On the other hand, I'm still not sure if seeing it in the Medicine Hat multiplex won't ruin the entire experience.)

(For comparison, I saw Batman Begins at the Grande Prairie Cinema 6 without a worry.)

(Apparently, I'm applying to be the Headmaster of House Parentheses. I should stop now.)

Right in the double indemnities.

My first Tae Kwan Do tournament ever is coming up in less than a month, so everyone in class is getting ready. Tonight, though, in some friendly no-contact sparring, I jumped up, and my opponent had already taken a hearty swing at where my liver had been a second ago.

Pow.

But, in preparation for said tournament, this was also the first class in which I had ever worn a cup during practice. My friends, that was the closest I'll ever come to winning the life insurance lottery without actually dying.

It was a very good day.

Playoff season would be murder.

It's a period of mourning here in Medicine Hat... my moustache has died. Almost subconsciously, the muttonchops have bloomed in memoriam.

It was a fine 'stache, no doubt about that. But vanity proved my undoing, and as I trimmed it one morning, I thought I'd add a little divot to the top. Alas (and I should have seen this coming), the hairs I trimmed on top provided all the body below it. What was left was so ghastly, I had no option other than to reach for the lather.

Apparently, a central truth to the grooming of facial hair is: "As Above, So Below."

Which got me to thinking.

I've talked about the need for a new new age before, but this one I like: divination by beard reading.

Advantage #1: Time. If someone comes to me for a reading, they're looking at a two, three month process minimum, with weekly record-keeping appointments, that's a lot of billable hours. Er, I mean... actually, no. That is what I mean. Moreover, that's a lot of time to retroactively prove my theories between sessions, and a lot of time to research likely statistical progressions of the future to pass off as predictions. The longer the beard-reader can keep things going, the better.

Advantage #2: Motivation. People aren't going to grow a beard for three months just to find out why they had that dream about a windmill last night. Beard-reading lends itself to the important questions, the ones that are worth working on for three months. This simplifies the beard-reader's job considerably. Better yet, it can be helpful: three months of placebo is a strong prescription, especially when they're carrying the relevant good luck charm right on their face.

Advantage #3: Fashion. Being able to tell people exactly how to trim their beards? That almost makes this whole idea worthwhile by itself.

Hm. That last one is quite an advantage, indeed. You know, for an extra fee, I could even grow the beard myself...

I wish I'd thought of that.

In the post-election analysis at The Greenhouse today (and specifically, the embarrassingly low 41% turnout), one of our associates said that he had a dilemna while voting:

- he didn't like any of the local candidates.
- he wanted to exercise his right to vote.
- voting for a "joke" candidate wasn't an option, what with the aforementioned "glorious four-year plan to purge homelessness."
- he didn't want to spoil his ballot, since he preferred not to appear illiterate.

So, he went to the voting registration desk, and requested that he officially decline his ballot. As you can imagine, it took the volunteers at the desk more than a little while to find the proper response in their official handbook. At the end, though, my colleague was able to successfully decline his vote without abusing his voting privileges.

My buddy MJ heard this story, too, and thought about it for a second.

"You know," he said, "you'd think it would be easier than that, since all our ballots were de-Kleined a few years ago."

If I didn't know that he actually reads this blog every couple of months, I would totally be taking credit for that line right now.

Subjects and Objects.

Driving through the city yesterday, I saw a sign for one of the season's last garage sales, gamely trying to drum up an audience before the frost. It looked like this:

GOT BABY'S
NEED STUFF
1236 ROSS
Tot's Clothes+More

You see, this is why I like NaNoWriMo. It holds on to that crazy idea that maybe, just maybe, people would treat words with more respect if they used them more often.

On the other hand, I couldn't help but smile when I drove past the sign, and saw their aborted first attempt on the other side:



Yes. You go, baby.

Fresh from the greenhouse.

Work update #1: I guess I really am learning a lot of new things at this job. Today, for example, not only did I manage to make the mass spec (check the price tag) do something it's never done before, but I've learned to enough to list at least a dozen ways in which this new problem shouldn't even physically be possible. Ah, never a dull moment.

Work update #2: My division at work received the following e-mail from one of our own:

>From: Xxxxxx Xxxxxxx
>To: Xxxxx Xxxxx, Xxxxx Xxxxxxxx, Denton Froese, Xxxx Xxxxx, Xxxxxx Xxxxx
>Subject: group photo, 9-11 microns
>
>Hello all,
>
>At some point this summer I'd like to take a group photo for possible use
>in presentations. Just for fun, I'd like to use the thermal imager.
>Who knows: between nine and eleven microns, maybe
>Denton's pant legs will match?*/

I will be forever grateful for this e-mail, for nothing else could have allowed the following reply.

>From: Denton Froese
>To: Xxxxx Xxxxx, Xxxxx Xxxxxxxx, Xxxx Xxxxx, Xxxxx Xxxxxx, Xxxxxx Xxxxxxx
>Subject: Re: group photo, 9-11 microns
>
>I hope you're not asking me to wear my hot pants...
>
>-Denton

Some days, my life is a better one than I deserve.

Slapstick.

Today at work, I almost fell out of my chair backwards in a manner that would have had me land on my face. A sufficient amount of windmilling was able to stave off disaster, although I somehow managed to pull my hamstring in the process.

The cynical person might assume that naturally, that's exactly when my boss walked in the office. Hah! I'll have you know that I was actually talking to my boss when this happened.

Welcome to Labville: where nothing happens in half-measures.