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| Research correlates pimples with flat tires
Results of a recent pilot study (Houghton, 2007) suggest that if one wakes up with a pimple on one's nose, the chances of getting a flat tire that day are highly probable. Chances of this occuring increase significantly if one foolishly believes the pimple isn't going to wreck one's day, and that it can just be covered up. Initial t-tests indicate only a moderate correlation (r = 0.6) between the two factors if one concedes to believe the pimple is, in fact, catastrophic, and does not leave ones home. However, if one is arrogant enough to think everything's going to be fine, the correlation is significantly higher (r = .99). Experts agree that the best way to bypass the first factor being followed by the second is simply to not leave one's home (Houghton, personal communication, 2007). If, however, one should decide to risk the outing, side effects include, but are not limited to:
- Mortifying public mishaps
- Irritability
- Bloating
- Cramping
- Empty bank accounts
- Last minute cancellations
- Nausea
- Regional flood alerts, possibly requiring evacuation
- Getting astringent in the eyes
- Loss of productivity
Should these things happen, it is recommended to shave one's legs in order to feel more powerful and capable, drink green tea, and wear something sexy. Do not consider going to the gym, as such a place on such a day only attracts disaster.
It should be noted that the correlation has not yet been shown to be multidirectional, and one need not fear a flat tire will lead to a pimple on the nose.
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| After having received a dozen random emails in my inbox about "so-and-so-and-their-dog has invited you to join facebook", I decided last night to find out what it was.
BAD idea. I open up my email this morning to find approximately 4023 messages (maybe more like 23) from people contacting or adding or poking (what on earth is that, anyway??) me.
It's kinda fun. And I don't get how it works, so, naturally, I have to figure it out. And look at everyone's pictures.
I have a lot of work to do this week... and suddenly I'm thinking it ain't gonna get done.
Good thing I don't have an addictive personality
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| I realize I've basically abandoned this page, and blogging in general has become less interesting as I've had nothing to procrastinate. However, I've a few major things on the go for the next few weeks. Thus, I anticipate a xanga resurfacing, if only for a time.
Many lessons and new twists to the journey have come up since the start of Lent. A turning point came about for me the other day as my colleague and chiropractor adjusted my ribs in a wild flying-squirrel-squashed-me-like-a-bug move. It felt, to say the least, a little vulnerable. The last place one would expect to go to a new level, but the brief, acceptably cryptic blog version is that the accumulation of my struggles relating to my inability to truly release myself, combined with an unbelievable talent for complicating things, sank deep into me in that moment.
That very evening, I came across a piece of simplicity that shifted my thoughts on how I complicate things as I do - a portion of which I will leave you with, until I come up with clever things to write on my own.
The context: Christians in prison on Easter Sunday.
There is not a single cup. But a score of Christian priosners experienced the joy of celebrating communion - without bread or wine. The communion of empty hands. The non-Chrsitians said: "We will help you; we will talk quietly so that you can meet." Too dense a silence would have drawn the guards' attention as surely as the lone voice of the preacher. "We have no bread, nor water to use instead of wine," I told them, "but we will act as though we had."
"This meal in which we take part," I said, "reminds us of the priosn, the torture, the death and final victory of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. The bread is the body which he gave for humanity. The fact that we have none represents very well the lack of bread in the hunger of so many millions of human beings. The wine, which we don't have today, is his blood and represents our dream of a united humanity, of a just society, without difference of race or class."
I held out my empty hand to the first person on my right, and placed it over his open hand, and the same with the others: "Take, eat, this is my body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of me." Afterward, all of us raised our hands to our mouths, receiving the body of Christ in silence. "Take, drink, this is the blood of Christ which was shed ot seal the new covenant of God with men. Let us give thanks, sure that Christ is here with us, strengthening us."
From Visions of a World Hungry, by Thomas G. Pettepiece
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| I meant to post this in honour of Shrove Tuesday yesterday, but then I fell asleep. I may just do all my Lenten activities a day late.
In honour of Shrove Tuesday, Mom & I decided to go to De Dutch Pannekoek House for lunch. I thought to myself, "I wonder if they'll be especially busy today? I wonder if they'll do anything to mark the occassion, such as give out free pancakes?" I quickly decided this was foolishness. Much to our surprise, however, we walked in, and there were balloons and meager attempts at festivities, with signs saying, "It's Shrove Tuesday!! $2 from every pannekoek goes to breast cancer research!!"
"?! Well, that's nice, but what's the correlation between Mardi Gras (sometimes known as "Pancake Tuesday") and breast cancer?"
I pondered.
Then it clicked. Pancakes, breasts... pancake breasts........mammograms!
Those clever Dutch persons. Always generous, always looking for ways to help out.
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| always one to scoff at the corporate giants demanding when and how we celebrate our love, i like to remain cynical of the v-day, however much i may be in love. it seems to me that we've lost sight of the fact that when you ask someone to be your "valentine", you're asking them to be beaten to death as a martyr for doing good deeds, ending in a beheading.
of course, i'm certain that lovers everywhere have felt that that's what a commitment to love is like at times.
that said, the David is a glorious creature. having agreed upon abstaining from gift-giving during this ™ dictated pagan-turned-christian-back-to-pagan-lust-fest of a festivus, he naturally couldn't resist the urge to buy me books on chocolate. guilt would have riddled me, yet he has such a way of giving that it absolves me of all guilt when i take our agreements literally, as i know it gives him great joy (keeps him well-fed) to give.
speaking of well-fed, after lavishing gifts on a very weepy little woman, he served up bacon-wrapped scallops and biodynamic wine, followed by stuffed portobello mushrooms, steak, and broiled veggies, all done to exquisite perfection. and, to end the perfect evening: port & popcorn.
hardly the traditional fatal flogging of the ancient roman world served up mid-feb, and not nearly so stupid as heart-shaped boxes. in spite of my valentinian cynicism, I accept.
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