Verbing the Noun

Pinnacles Monument Climb

2011-07-18T12:11:00.000-07:00

"I can't do it. I can't," I whimpered while humoring the idea that a finger nail of rock on this 85degree incline might be a ledge to stand on.

Then I thought of Obama's campaign of yore, and continued on.

(original photo and decision to obamiconicize | benjamin chun)

Hacking My Way Through the Pearly Gates

2011-06-27T21:21:00.000-07:00

Shoelace Bombing

2011-05-23T01:50:00.000-07:00

When there is a social gathering, amidst a whirlwind of conversations, spontaneous action, unsourceable, or extremely loud, sounds, possibly light stimuli and intoxicants, one might find oneself coming up with an unorthodox litmus of the success of the party/social game; a party metric of sorts.

One metric I came up with is retying people's shoelaces, and measuring by the pair. Sometimes you walk into a jackpot, an anteroom to a shoes-off room, and you have the element of surprise on your side. Prey return to shoes and find they look badass and revel in the mystery. Other times, you may have to start talking about laces to potential prey. There is much to talk about, many angles to take. For example, you can discuss the semiotics of different lace color combinations when worn by gangs, and rogue whatnots. Eventually, you want to lead into drawing attention to the laces on your prey's current kicks, and then a short introduction to the most comprehensive shoelace site there is in the webs of the Oracle today. If you sound excited about the site and the topic, there will generally emerge a mutual desire to toast to the discussion, seal the deal, or perhaps continue it a bit longer while engaging in the actual act of learning how to tie shoes a new way. This is, of course, not truly a hunt, but a spreading of joy, a toast, a punctuation, an 'if you remember only one thing from tonight, remember this when you walk in these shoes.'

Extra Style Points: for carrying around extra laces for executing the bi-color lacing methods.

I relaced three pairs of shoes last night.

Things Chris Retface Didn't Know When He Was Younger and Living in Holland

2011-05-23T01:25:00.000-07:00

I thought 'cooties' were real and 'bed bugs' were faery tale. These were English words whose meaning I tried to deduce from their use. Cooties were some kind of virus you could get from kissing, and bed bugs were some mythical monster parents mentioned to their children before shutting off the light. Perhaps to dissuade them from getting out of bed again, lest the bed bug monster bite them.

-a paraphrase of Chris

Proposition With Apple

2011-05-23T01:07:00.000-07:00

Agilius Maximus says that it is customary in some regions of Azerbaijan that upon asking her parents for their daughter's hand in marriage a man must then peel the skin off of an apple in one complete spiral unit before them.

Perhaps something to do with attesting to the ability to keep oneself cool, and one's hand steady, even in the turbulent waters of marriage.

From the Annals of Self Discovery - Of Gods and Parents

2011-04-30T18:45:00.000-07:00

[snip]

Janeuary 17, 2002

When we were little, we believed in his power and were, thereby, hurt by it.

But we have grown now and all he is to us is an irrelevant background.

I guess believing opens your soul to hurt as well as other things.

Maybe God is so powerful because so many believe in him.

My pen is leaking.

[snip]

Eye Spy

2011-04-14T20:04:00.000-07:00

Watch in a dark environment at full volume and don't stop when the screen goes black at the end. Watch here at 480p, same rules, for a video not truncated slightly on the righthand side ;)

PSA: What Does a Real Caucasian Look Like?

2011-04-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

The video speaks for itself (watch in 720p):

Watch without the clipping on the righthand side here

Fear Killing Tricks, Brought to You by Robb

2011-04-06T10:02:00.000-07:00

Two games Robb employs when he gets a little shaky in his startup boots:

The what's-the-worst-case-scenario game

AND

The no-one-else-truly-knows-what-the-hell-they're-doing-either game

"...the rest of the time, I'm a neurotic mess."

Nondeductive Deductioning

2011-03-30T13:54:00.000-07:00

It has come to my attention that my relationships with people and my motivation to do anything is strictly dependent on how warm and sunny it is outside. Constant battle with the cold the wet the windy leaves my seemingly endless fountain of energy, and willingness to coexist, wanting, to say the least. It's quite simple. So much more simple than I had initially thought. So what to do? Hunt the endless spring and mitigate intermittent entrapment in the earthly slumber with musicing, dancing, and bouts of running in the rain. STOP.

thugging

2011-03-20T23:13:00.000-07:00

precious seed, you photic bead
your lips, your blips, those gilded snips
what i wouldn't do with you in my fingertips

Namespaces are one honking great idea (or Day 1; Might as well be)

2011-02-03T22:27:00.000-08:00

there's craving for a mindless sidewalk shadow break
there's sadness as my mind heaves and wheezes over partial gibberish
there is one kind of import allowed here
no tabbac wrapping
no string smoking
wrong interactive mode
ifs
and
fors
dirty whores
i'm looping

today = ['minuscigarettes', 'pluscoding']

Thus Spoke the Duchess Hucklefaery

2009-10-07T11:48:00.000-07:00

Sever the hand that lies in wait

but hold the one you cannot sate

for one will wither once bound

the other will fuse at your wrist,

a second wing, not fist.

-zhek

Disillusion

2009-08-18T23:01:00.000-07:00

Written @ 16yrs of young:
On my maternal side, there is an experimental chemist. She harvests her cells and watches them grow. Her maternal instinct drew her to such duties as raising, feeding, and doting upon the damned little microscopic life forms. The paternal side houses a theoretical physicist. it does indeed “house” because he is rarely seen outside of one. The origin of such choice of livelihood may be that men enjoy musing much more than they enjoy doing and the multitude of hypotheticals this field provides satiates that predisposition.

While we are children the realm of our existence only spreads as far as our family. The rug is earth, the roof is cloud and parents, God. We are only capable of digesting so much food and, in this manner, there is also a limit to our understanding of creation and leadership. Mother and father create humankind (siblings and self) and world (house.) As God is supposed to be (though it may be disputed,)parents are infallible and the model after which the Adams and Eves of the household were created. As children fall victim to age and knowledge, they become criminals of thought and desecrate nthe holiness of the household by losing their faith in the God(s.)

PSA: Fresh Cut Grass Returns the Favor

2009-04-05T22:28:00.000-07:00

It was painfully brought to my attention that grass can be cut so cleanly that one who is practicing forward rolls on it just might find herself lacerated by many tiny blades across any skin bared to them.

Conclusion: Wear long-sleeves when practicing parkour.

Exhibit A/B (poor quality)

Expressions of a Short While Ago

2009-03-30T12:41:00.000-07:00

Stimulus package:
As in "I hear he has a nice stimulus package"

and

Bailout:
As in instead of "Roooooolll out"

and

Bail it out:
As in instead of "break it down"

Called Grandma Today

2009-03-16T19:19:00.000-07:00

It was emotionally draining for a few reasons.

She resents the fact that I do not call her frequently, aka not at all.
I do not know how to explain it to her. Mostly it's the language. I am ashamed for losing so much of it, for stalling between each word when I try to get simple sentences across. She is 92 years old and has so much to tell and here I stand at this mound of history and cannot begin to catalyse anything but small talk. A blithering fool, the dumb child, the one she already liked much less than its older brother, that star, the more frequent caller, the one who lived with her for some time when things got rough in school and at home. Where does one begin but with many mini beginnings. When i called in the past, i would make some promise or other, such as "I will call again soon" and "i will send photos", just to jump to the end, to the dessert when we wish each other well in the most genuine way we know how, and I let her off the hook from holding my hand through the conversation.

She doesn't tell me that she resents me or say anything negative. Mostly, this sentiment is conveyed through inquiries as to my brother's wellbeing, whereabouts, and recent accomplishments. She mentions the photo him and my sister-in-law that resides brilliantly on her frontispiece. As an aside, upon inquiry, I find out that there are more photos in her recently gifted collection from my mother; of Peretz in various places in the world, some feature my sister-in-law next to him, and in passing she recollects that there are a few of me as well, with balloons in my hand. I look happy to be alive.

She is mostly well though loses her balance occasionally. She is writing some memoirs, to which she plans to refer us some day. Upon being informed by my brother in this conference call (my ploy for having a translator present), that he will be in town for a month in June, she responds that she hopes to get to see him.

At some point during the call, my side of this triangle goes silent, as I find myself reduced into a sob ball. This continues for a few more exchanges between the other two who cannot hear, until I gather myself together to throw in a joyous exhortation here and there and inquire as to her health. The call ends soon enough and I return to a ball. In the sweet thereafter, my housemate and I begin to speak Russian in preparation for my next installment of call to grandma (paternal), and upcoming trip to visit my extended family on the maternal side.

I am again brought to come to terms with where I am. To start with what I have in my fanny pack and gulp down the gaping hole before which I stand.

Open Work Environment Art

2009-03-05T23:36:00.000-08:00

Ingredients
light beam
stray DVD
leaning item
wall
love
desperation

Exhibit A/B

Result
Coworkers stop and look and smile and remember what color looks like.

Women's L.L. Bean Casual Wear: Catalog Revision

2009-03-05T22:35:00.000-08:00

Formless cotton, knit, or canvas tops and bottoms that come in an assortment of sterile pastels, navy blue, and sailor white. Pattern options are plain, college-ruled, microscopic polky dot and strategically placed anchor. Yes, an anchor.

Targeted Demographic: Nautical Nurse or people who want their clothing to scream "I'm on a motherfuckin boat" or "I'm not a sailor, I just want to look old money...a lot" or "A hike?! In this? You must think I got this out of the 'Outdoor Gear- Hunt/Fish' section"

My next Halloween costume: Nautical Nurse

Fight Prose With Conscience, eh?

2009-02-09T18:23:00.000-08:00

A postcard yet to be completed.

Them's Fightin Words: Say It!

2009-02-06T12:40:00.000-08:00

"I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's work, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it. We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TV's while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that's the way it's supposed to be. We know things are bad - worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we are living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, 'Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster and my TV and my steel-belted radials and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone.' Well, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I want you to get mad! I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot - I don't want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crime in the street. All I know is that first you've got to get mad. You've got to say, 'I'm a HUMAN BEING, Goddamnit! My life has VALUE!' So I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window. Open it, and stick your head out, and yell, 'I'M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!' I want you to get up right now, sit up, go to your windows, open them and stick your head out and yell - 'I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!' Things have got to change. But first, you've gotta get mad!... You've got to say, 'I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!' Then we'll figure out what to do about the depression and the inflation and the oil crisis. But first get up out of your chairs, open the window, stick your head out, and yell, and say it."

-Network

We Need More Wall Singing

2008-11-19T09:27:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I hear the whisper of a melody over these walls.

Parkour From the Core

2008-10-17T16:12:00.000-07:00

A nascent-stage hobby of mine: parkour

Problem area: the double kong

Traffic Trick

2008-10-09T19:08:00.000-07:00

When you are somewhere that is so crowded you can't even dart around people in order to get through, look for someone with a baby in a stroller, and walk behind them. This works as well as driving behind a sirenous ambulance.

Diggin Daily Show Coinage

2008-06-29T16:11:00.000-07:00

"pundit pivot":
Announce something as if the opinion of others, spin it around,
and ask the question of the public as if it's common currency.

ex. "There may be some zombies who like brains," and then putting one's arms up all ambulacorpse-like and chanting "brains, brains, braiiiiins."

Channel Crunk Hop

2008-06-29T13:03:00.000-07:00

'Pure zen.'
-Anselm (LabRat)

Coming soon, to Labs near you...

Can You Hear Me Now?

2008-06-23T10:32:00.001-07:00

When one parses poorly:

"I'll give it a once over" sounds a lot like "I'll get it when I'm sober."

Relevant contributions from my frisky friend, Aaron:
"i am a picadillo" :: "eye on sherm's armadillo"

"you have to give her a smackdown aaron" :: "i shave a river intact, brown baron"

"are you with me? or are you wispy?"

Whachoo got?

cemented

2007-06-08T00:10:00.000-07:00

Today was like that time I jumped into the Mediterranean and looked up at the water at my reflection from below. Calmly suspended. I had jumped first off of that rock. Not older brother, but me. Only, instead of the Italian boy who saved my 5 year old self from the undertow, the bus driver stopped the bus until I could feel my legs again.

"careful, those tracks can be pretty slippery."

Google Trending Game Shoot Down

2007-06-06T00:33:00.000-07:00

I have recently been informed that this game isn't as cool as I thought. Here's why:

We can see patterns between the religions and 'farming' entries I mentioned in that previous post because the total search volume is high and, thereby, comparable. However, it is not a significant comparison because it is not normalized by total search volume. This makes the results we see merely neighbors of scale. Chance acquaintances. Artifacts.

You can make this pattern happen with pretty much any terms searched frequently enough and at a similar enough frequency.

However, frequencies are relative, as a friend just pointed out and there are spikes that cannot simply be explained away by scale.

Chaos, we'll get you next time.

Alexamania

2007-03-20T00:29:00.001-07:00

I recently listened to a great 'This American Life episode' about a certain Alex Zharhov. It begins ~2 minutes inwards. I found it magical throughout and was touched by a character I feel I know very well. In the same vein is my friend, Alex B.'s blog.Pictured: Alex with Russian 'Diplomat', Vladimir Zhirinovsky, who holds the distinction of being the only minister to begin a fight during a parliamentary session by splashing a glass of orange juice at a fellow minister's face.

In college they called him 'Crazy Russian Alex', or 'crazy' for short, or 'Sashok' (by those particularly near and dear to him.) I prize in both Alex' their senses of absurdity, wild childish curiosity and naivetee which don't ever come off as shortcomings in any sense whatsoever.

Google Trending

2007-03-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

I have been meaning to tell of my newest find while playing with google trends, but got delayed in the mish mosh of job application or, as my brother likes to say, 'preparation for job application'. But now that I have a new computer, I am at the ease of leisurely personal usage of my blog. What Peretz & I have found is that Google trends is a very intriguing source pool of data. One game that you can play is a guessing game:
Put together a list of closely linked search terms (in this case: religions)
and click enter to view the graphs corresponding to a few years of google search entries over time.
Note: sometimes traces overlap quite perfectly and it is only in those situations, be it due to similar scaling, or generally true correspondence (impossible to tell as of yet due to the lack of actually data points,) that you can move on to the next step.
Come up with a list of terms that may intuitively but not obviously corresponds to the subject of the previous terms, and try one at a time along with the previous pool.
The more far-fetched it sounds, the more interesting for one can go on to future discussion of why this may be the case. Success entails finding a search entry whose form overlaps very evidently with the primary pool. In this case, the term that corresponding well to a list of religions is 'farming.' Note that it may take a few tries with regards to any of the entries for the scaling might be to far off between entries for an evident pattern to arise. For example, 'harvest' does not work even though it is a likely explanation as to the link between religions and farming (aka harvest calendar/cycle/holidays.)

fig. 1 is a graph of the google search volumes corresponding to the terms Christianity (light blue), Judaism (red), Hinduism (orange), Buddhism (green) and Farming (dark blue) over time.

If you get caught up in this game and wishing that the interface permitted access to singular units, preventing you from conjecturing further as to the cause of overlap, contact google and suggest it to them when Google Labs officially releases Google Trends.

Chatter

2007-01-19T03:30:00.000-08:00

may we never talk like parrots, only fly like them.

Hybridingo

2007-01-19T03:28:00.000-08:00

Hybridized words we have developed at home recently:
someotherwhat
someotherwhere
someotherwho

Bubbles & Jinsoo

2006-11-29T17:04:00.000-08:00

Because Peretz' fellow lab mate had just defended her PhD, and because I usually have no evening plans, I hopped in a car with brother and a few other oddballs and rode off to join her in her festivities at the Lounge of Bubbles last night. I found myself 'sitting' at the edge of a footrest, stealing sips from peretz' champagne flute, and taking photos of the ceiling (below), when I turned around and made eye contact with the woman whose purse I had mistaken as my own (not sure why, hers was Dolce & Gabbana, mine was, well, cheap,) only catching myself mid-manual immersion, several times. She beemed back at me and gave me a hearty 'HEllooooo!' and that is how I met Jinsoo. She asked what we all did, I told her I had no connection with these folks other than that we were all celebrating the graduation of someone whose name I could not recall to her. I asked, and relayed the information. Jinsoo burst forth with her champagne flute about 6 feet away from the graduate, with another hearty beam and 'congratulations, Adrian!' quite startling her. After a surrogate clink, middlemanned by Peretz, she sat back, enjoying the champagne with her lovely grin and loungeing pose. I asked her what she did and she told me she dated young men, and giggled rather endearingly. I told her I was jealous and asked her what she really did when she was not dating young men. One of the members of her party spoke up perkily and the other followed suit. They handed me a book written in Korean but with photographs that seemed to indicate that she was a person that stood on stage with a microphone, sometimes with other people, sometimes without. I guessed that she was a host of some sort of show and the coterie nodded enthusiastically singing her praises, and saying that I was close, and that her show was a very passionate one (to which she appended 'young men' with another giggle.) She asked what I do:"I like to say that my job is 'preoccupation' because I am yet to be occupied and, well, I am rather preoccupied with that fact." She looked at me quizzically and asked me if I had a business card, so I took her coaster, carved out a teardrop shape with my nail file, and wrote: 'Master of Bubbles: Jane Partensky - (my e-mail)'

She took it and gave me hers.
This is what it said: Jinsoo Terry- Advanced Global Connections

http://agcseminars.com/
http://jinsooterry.com/
She runs a series of seminars consisting of an unorthodox approach to executive leadership and business training and is somewhat famous in Korea and, most importantly, very endearing.

Rite of Passage

2006-11-27T18:55:00.000-08:00

Even duckies must leave home at some point:

hirsute

2006-11-27T18:34:00.000-08:00

in commemoration of recent Neanderthal developments:

home barbershop

Li'l Nob

2006-11-26T18:30:00.000-08:00

Snoqualmie, WA is where Twin Peaks was filmed. With some half-assed sense of significance, I had cherry pie at the 'Twin Peaks Cafe', which has recently been renovated after a large fire (cause unknown,) and went to the falls on whose edge the series' Lodge/Hotel was located. Nearby the falls, on the roof of a real cabin, a few harnassed men hammered away at cedar planks. One shouted down that he liked my hat. I took a picture and said I liked their straps and asked where I should send the picture, no response but as I walked away, I could've sworn I heard someone shout 'little tree rob at yahoo!' I swiveled back and asked 'did you just say little tree rob?' The others laughed and one chided 'little nob rob!'
'Let's be serious here, gentlemen, now how do you spell that?' I asked the one named Rob.
'I can write it down...' he mumbled as he rummaged through his pocket for a pen, which he found, and a paper, which he didn't. He looked around quizzically for something to write on and picked up the cedar he had been about to fasten to the roof and boldly spelled out his coordinates. I think this is a lovely way to receive an e-mail address. It's hard to forget who gave it and what he does for a living so it doubles as a business card. Additionally, I can put it into my closet to protect my woolens from moths:

I sent the photos and, as he had promised, he responded with some photos of the falls when they flooded, as well as a little surprise (cropped to protect identity):

Red Poncho

2006-11-26T18:01:00.000-08:00

My housemate, Anselm, was recently in Chile.
He returned bearing gifts. Mine, a red poncho made of Alpaca wool.
My brother, Peretz, and I soon embarked on a trip Northwest, with stops in Oregon (Eugene 'n Portland,) and Washington (Snoqualmie and Seattle). In each of these places, we had a host. Each host, we subjected to walking through the streets with the poncho as a parting gift. Unfortunately, not all involved are pictured:

try it.
The question on everyone's mind is: "where did this soft poncho come from?":

Here's Another

2006-11-26T17:39:00.000-08:00

A few more reasons to tac onto 'Here's One':

Placeholder for a Title

2006-11-09T03:50:00.000-08:00

I've rewritten this first sentence a few times already. You're never going to see what was to take it's place. The same goes for my first posting. I created an introduction for myself and for all ensuent passages. This is how you will watch my development, I said. Essentially. Then I rewrote it saying the same thing, merely rearrangeing the words. Four subsequent logins led to four new versions. Then I stopped posting. If this were a diary, if paper were being scratched and scrawled and stashed under my pillow (don't you dare look there,) it would be a different story. In two senses: I would write in it consistently (for who do you turn to when all of the working people fall asleep and you don't know what day it is,) and one could see the course of my thoughts unfolding, see how I put it (not perfect, but there, as opposed to rolled over and over by an angry incompetent feeling index fingered backspace.) If the point is to trace my steps towards self-definition then my mistakes should be indellible as much as my successes. My inability to retrieve the right words, my swimming, groping, flailing, attempting to latch on to a crack in your wall, a wall that exists, should be documented. I should not have the license to edit my past. But it seems that this is the social contract we sign when we expand our realm of influence, by getting a blog, say. Your shout can span much farther than your pillow, and thereby it should be a good shout. You can't get it back. So you keep taking it back, pulling in your line and storing away your rod, before it goes out there. It's a new kind of battle, the crippling encounter with ourselves in a vacuum. Although we are aware of the fact that we are merely stem cells until something has bitten and that nothing will bite if the only bait is an abstract placeholder for a worm. I feel stuck in a constipated klein bottle, a disjoint between the director and the perpetrator within.

Here's One

2006-10-06T16:37:00.000-07:00

People ask me why I chose San Francisco as my post-college residence and I have been searching anxiously for a concrete answer to give them.
Here's one:
A Playground Sign on Bryant and 17th

Stem Cell

2006-09-23T22:32:00.000-07:00

Upon graduation and my ensuent transcendental homelessness, I have set out to test the bounds of my new stomping grounds. What better city than or why not San Francisco? My new address is under my brother's sink, and my newest state is that of disorientation, and my sticky limbs seem to have picked up a cough.
From each new coordinate in my pounce towards self-differentiation, I will send out a postcard to the here and now.