Regal
He had tumbled over.
The stereotypical derisive criticism of a blog is that it is a place where the author simply posts pictures of their cat and rambles about meaningless things. Given my propensity to do the latter, combined with the fact that I do not own an animal, I still think I could pay homage to this stereotype by posting a picture of Mykala’s (possibly hypnotized) cat, and Mykala herself.
Now that I have embraced these things, I will move on to other ideas. I could start recording more poetry, more classroom experiences, less poetry. Alternatively, I could aim to do the best meaningless rambling and cat picture posting the world has ever seen. Hard to say what will happen.
Saleen Parnelli Jones Mustang - Sweet, sweeet 2007 Saleen Mustang in highway orange (well, they call it something else, but it’s clearly that color). About the transmisson, from the article:
Watts linkage. Remember those two words. That’s what takes this Mustang from acceptable to damn near perfect. As much as we liked that sweet-sounding, rev-happy motor, the suspension is what really convinced us this was the Mustang to have.
While we griped that the previous Saleen Mustang we had was no canyon carver, this one practically begged to be taken to the twisties. The whole time we had it, we were impressed with the ride quality as well. That suspension provides a ride that is remarkably smooth for the level of grip available. Only the sharpest bumps produced a shudder inside.
I’d like to drive a normal Mustang, but these Autoblog guys are incredibly lucky to have tested this rare gem.
Zorba’s response embodies a supreme appreciation for the richness of life and the inevitability of all its dilemmas, sorrows, tragedies, and ironies. His way is to “dance” in the gale of the full catastrophe, to celebrate life, to laugh with it and at himself, even in the face of personal failure and defeat. In doing so, he is never weighed down for long, never ultimately defeated either by the world or by his own considerable folly.
— Jon Kabat-Zinn, about Zorba the Greek; an excerpt from Full Catastrophe Living
Today, at the St. Thomas gym, I was walking around, minding my own business, and then I got hit in the head by a 45 pound steel bar. The kid who was brandishing the thing apologized promptly, I replied with “no problem.” I can’t say for sure, but I think it was an accident.
I don’t consider myself particularly gifted in the art of conversation. My one hard and fast rule is to avoid saying too much or revealing a lot of my personality; I would rather most people saw me as shy and reserved, instead of judging me on a sliver of myself that is likely misrepresentative of the whole. This default reserved behavior is important in surviving when speaking to or interacting with a novel group, where you can feel the judgments flying back and forth like biscuits in a food fight.
The biscuits certainly fly around in my lab group, where we have a lot of dead time between experimental procedures. Staring into the laminar flow hood watching the micropipetting of IgG antibodies for the ELISA assay, I found my brain listening to a conversation amongst the girls in my group about open bars at weddings. The general consensus was, if it could be afforded, an open bar is a fun option for most any reception. Conversation continued, touching on making beer free but charging for liquor, and finding the appropriate people to pay for such amenities. Emboldened by the relaxed atmosphere, I thought I would chime in with a comment: “Yeah, or you could make it BOYB for the reception.” *silent cymbal crash indicating humor*
Crickets. No response at all. If I had been a comedian on stage, a very long cane would have pulled me off into the wings. Now granted, my statement wasn’t particularly funny (I’m not defending it on those grounds), but I really don’t think it earned the title of Worst Conversation Addendum Ever — No Response Necessary. Though earn that title it did. Handily, even. I threw in the conversational towel and went back to keeping my mouth shut.
↓ More