tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17274017779664217602024-03-12T16:17:58.178-07:00BZA FlaneurBrendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.comBlogger191125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-44812166179598031592023-06-16T03:06:00.003-07:002023-06-16T03:06:21.905-07:00Azore loser<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I was in the Azores for the last few days. Never been here
before. I went because my ol’ buddy Christoph invited me to stay for a couple
days at his pad on Santa Maria Island – known as the quiet island. Great fun.
He smiled – and drank more alcohol – over those few days than the entire 24
years I’ve known him. He should get divorced more often. There’s another obvious
reason for his altered affect but I was asked to keep it secret from all of my
reader. That wasn’t a typo. You’ll figure it out, Gerv. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He had a dog named Luis Miguel who was as dumb as Christoph
is smart. He didn’t seem to understand that he should get out of the way of
cars or that leashes limit leaping. Looked painful. Over and over. But he is
cheerful and non-threatening. Dye his fur blonde and release him in Hollywood and
he’d end up on a casting couch stained white with coke and white trash wanna-be
actress tears, then on the cover of Elle.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The trip declined after that. Flaneur means risk; risk means
periodic failure. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I ended up losing the hotelfinding game. I had to spend last
night in a hostel. I used to stay in them all the time. The internet here
worked as well as the last time I stayed in a hostel – meaning none. Unlike then,
decades ago, you expect a hostel to have internet. Also no A/C. I did at least
get my own room by paying for it. Other aspects not so bad. Twin bed, fine, I’m
not that fat. Shared bathroom, doesn’t bug me, I’m OK with being naked in public
gyms and hot springs. (Well, more specifically, the showers in the mens’ bathrooms
in public gyms.) No spa facilities, pretty bare room, no problem – I didn’t
need more. It had a bed and a desk, which is enough for me. The mattress was
only slightly firmer than air. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I came here to Ponto Delgado because Santa Maria Island
doesn’t have any flights west across the Atlantic. Also, I heard there were hot
springs here. When I checked into my hotel, they said the hot springs are all full
and my bathing suit will get stained red from all the iron. That sounded kinda
fun, but not the full hot springs. Why, I can get that at Orvis Hot Springs! I’ll
probably be there soon after my arrival in Colorado to enjoy the shoulderfalls.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Oh. Portuguese. When I was in school, I was told that
Portuguese is kinda like Spanish. That’s true, in the same way that Italian and
Catalan are like Spanish – not enough that you can really communicate across
languages, but enough that you can recognize many words after you fail to
translate them. Some words are pretty easy. Even most Americans who (think
they) don’t speak Spanish can probably figure out the Portuguese word “cerveja.”
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Many people on Santa Maria Island – like those in Dolce la
Hulpe in Brussels – spoke surprisingly poor English. Unlike the stereotypical
English speaking tourist, this didn’t bug me. I can pantomime. And I kinda
respect them for bucking the dominant paradigm. As RATM says, fuck you, I won’t
do what you tell me. I would guess what the locals here would understand is
fuck you, ?? ?? ?? ??? ???????.<o:p></o:p></p>Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-78096268707252275732023-06-14T01:55:00.003-07:002023-06-14T05:43:47.963-07:00I think BCI. Waterloo thinking?<p>The 10<sup>th</sup> BCI Meeting was glorious and emotional
as always. This one was in Belgium’s Sonian Forest near Waterloo, the first BCI
Meeting in Europe. It was also the first BCI Meeting with no bonfire. I
organized an unofficial and “officially unendorsed” bonfire at all of the prior
in-person meetings, so it was quite reasonably assumed that I would try to do
so again. The Board and Podium were so worried I’d sneak off and organize a stealth
bonfire that they threatened to follow me around at night. I was flattered.
They ended up putting two bonfire parties on the schedule even though they had
no fires, which we quickly dubbed nonfires.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfSqAyxQCDrG_wkPbnCquGnOno23dqAj-Pn32E58pjti6U39VCUMFwsp90VOuNcNZI_0mH6sSY1eu1YJ71IBcJ2jWMxobUY6Kacy31UjbVYSiDAMPXHS6zTtQBKeqU_3oyVvuGHnPyTPFxR7f7pPByfgoJEPueeetmuWqO3hemcttr9CioFSQdB6Ah" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="975" height="52" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfSqAyxQCDrG_wkPbnCquGnOno23dqAj-Pn32E58pjti6U39VCUMFwsp90VOuNcNZI_0mH6sSY1eu1YJ71IBcJ2jWMxobUY6Kacy31UjbVYSiDAMPXHS6zTtQBKeqU_3oyVvuGHnPyTPFxR7f7pPByfgoJEPueeetmuWqO3hemcttr9CioFSQdB6Ah" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">I was up late every night carousing with an impressive crowd,
driven by jet lag, willpower, and stupidity. Alcohol was involved. I brought a
bottle of mezcal aged in bamboo barrels that I got in Puebla that seemed well
received. Since it was Belgium, they sold beers through vending machines, which
we rapidly exhausted. This exhaustion was exhausting but y’know commitment. The main bar
kept closing on us just because it was 2 AM. I’m glad BCIs couldn’t track the disgraceful
plans I kept formulating after the bar closed. Then they put up this sign and I
realized they didn’t need a BCI. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVMEYOeaHF8JE77I-ddeQJh-v4XjrUuHroILH1FzaQP-W_RslEbuXxWV40PjodHz-SrRh3oLK0bhb669SX-MUge4NYV4T2ymIE3U2P0b3Yh1HKcamoY4l8iTuoeCmilYI3TsFS19mAJt5532VBD2-3kJhMaaHbWj653s-p5EQwIi6jQIUzbjLmRFx/s4032/dont%20drink%20our%20booze%20asshole.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVMEYOeaHF8JE77I-ddeQJh-v4XjrUuHroILH1FzaQP-W_RslEbuXxWV40PjodHz-SrRh3oLK0bhb669SX-MUge4NYV4T2ymIE3U2P0b3Yh1HKcamoY4l8iTuoeCmilYI3TsFS19mAJt5532VBD2-3kJhMaaHbWj653s-p5EQwIi6jQIUzbjLmRFx/s320/dont%20drink%20our%20booze%20asshole.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">The bar is also unable to serve tap water. Multiple bartenders said there's a law in Belgium: giving a glass with tap water is illegal. Belgium is legendary for its silly government(s). So many people just did the same thing I did - ask for an empty glass they could fill themselves. From looking online, it seems that Belgium keeps waffling on whether restaurants should be required to serve tap water. This might merit a spinoff blog post titled "Belgian Waffles."</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My shirt with “Will Argue Science for Money” seemed fitting,
so I wore that some days. Glad I copyrighted that phrase. I was disappointed
that I didn’t think of printing a BCI Society T-shirt too. I’m thinking of
logos now. <i>You think. We know.</i> Could be interpreted so many ways. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Oh yeah. Those conferences have content too. I was quite
impressed with Satellite Event 1, Gerv’s workshop on BCI for mass populations. The
workshop was loosely based on our upcoming paper in Nature Reviews Bioengineering.
Wolpaw’s talk was of course brilliant. So many posters with real advances,
notably new directions. It wasn’t always that way, younger readers (not you,
Gerv). The second meeting, for example, there was some buzz that there wasn’t
anything truly new, just more advances in how to help the same group (people
who otherwise couldn’t communicate). I could comment more on content and
serious topics, but that gets away from the theme of the blog. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To Jose Millan: Jose, remember when I said that BCI
conferences are ever more a reunion of old friends? That was 10 years ago. What
are they now?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jose: Older friends.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thorsten Zander: Do you realize we’re the old guys now?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Me: In 20 years, we’ll look back on this and think we weren’t
that old. <o:p></o:p></p>Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-8649520431915555302023-01-27T07:43:00.012-08:002023-01-27T11:49:26.645-08:00Mandet Mandate?<h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></h2><div><span>I poked around a little for fun. And I also did a quick online search. "Mandet" is a neologism in modern English, but bidets designed for men exist. </span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>I thought that all bidets were meant for post-potty cleaning. There's so much more. I learned that man-bidets could be used before or after sexual intercourse (presumably with someone else), treating hemorrhoids or jock itch, or even nobler goals. I remain too unsophisticated to appreciate the added value over a wet washcloth. Also unclear why any bidet couldn't be used by any sex, gender, or junk. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span>These are images from a quick online search. Notice anything these men have in common? </span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Rate them on a 1-5 scale for:</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Youthful</span></div><div><span>Successful</span></div><div><span>Handsome</span></div><div><span>Physically healthy</span></div><div><span>Manly</span></div><div><span>Not-nerdy</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>But all products aimed toward men use such men, right? No. Wilford Brimley. Life Insurance. Senior living. Oxygen machines. Timeshares. AARP. Manpons. </span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: TiemposTextWeb, Georgia, Times, serif;">"But how do you market moisturizer to the Marlboro Man?"</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #111111; font-family: TiemposTextWeb, Georgia, Times, serif;">--https://www.businessinsider.com/marlboro-man-meets-moisturizer-2011-10?r=MX&IR=T<span><a name='more'></a></span></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #111111; font-family: TiemposTextWeb, Georgia, Times, serif;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcN9n8015a7xQT9ynYnYlOlWMX-3z0zdGXXUttftaA03ntZ1u3bC7nLSmdZw2BckEpLzbAGQBrrGtfvlyvYPwCxTWtFFb_0XCiMsJn7OtByAFIEKLHE2TBh_lKPlBy-voXjXcx2Rp9t4z11Z6_0dVpP112B3dUmtUPv6sdgE-A74n97JEMP0OaGBhW" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcN9n8015a7xQT9ynYnYlOlWMX-3z0zdGXXUttftaA03ntZ1u3bC7nLSmdZw2BckEpLzbAGQBrrGtfvlyvYPwCxTWtFFb_0XCiMsJn7OtByAFIEKLHE2TBh_lKPlBy-voXjXcx2Rp9t4z11Z6_0dVpP112B3dUmtUPv6sdgE-A74n97JEMP0OaGBhW" width="320" /></a></div>"I read a business paper. I wear nice clothes, even on the toilet/mandet. I have the hair, beard, and build of a model."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">--If I buy one, will I be cool like you?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I just shit my pants."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">--"Do you offer same-day shipping?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>https://www.barumiusa.com/post/how-do-men-use-bidets-and-bidet-toilet-seats<span><!--more--></span></i></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZ9aFPpLUeEW_KNpR2oTsLOmiqVIrWVzMuLli9VUCJ18uK-oImMnw1ZsVxYehDdfcs3odOLco92Iy-hCTbHPubKtOJDIIArMOFmXo1flZD_5nYYv2UCpx-ZYg7SA-t9BXp_k_cZ8ZMjKu3Qbumk4iOLdlS_qNPzu9-h3NPGs1fciigVRHAWPLZb3Pa" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZ9aFPpLUeEW_KNpR2oTsLOmiqVIrWVzMuLli9VUCJ18uK-oImMnw1ZsVxYehDdfcs3odOLco92Iy-hCTbHPubKtOJDIIArMOFmXo1flZD_5nYYv2UCpx-ZYg7SA-t9BXp_k_cZ8ZMjKu3Qbumk4iOLdlS_qNPzu9-h3NPGs1fciigVRHAWPLZb3Pa" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span><span>This "bidet for men" claims 80 reviews averaging 4.9/5 stars. I see how it could work without any installation. Squat over the pipe, this guy raises his right arm, and you no longer need toilet paper. That guy would, but that's his problem. </span><span>They instead have a video showing how it's *meant* to work - with *water*.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><i>https://www.pureformen.com/products/bidet<span><!--more--></span></i></span></div></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJRw2HJ2KpEELyTZUdHHiclKl7tm0wZg3HKEQBUB4jZt0WNjVKjX6pL71H4z48CKzaM-VzxupjNMuLUS6zp0HueE5DsMgnOKp5TEBzl-uu5unzQCklJc6VXYbOjv-nZFZqN_2auiVgBwEytwelbSy4PAYUh-5WESfVqB4BSkKtZoPgZxwK437L63VN" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJRw2HJ2KpEELyTZUdHHiclKl7tm0wZg3HKEQBUB4jZt0WNjVKjX6pL71H4z48CKzaM-VzxupjNMuLUS6zp0HueE5DsMgnOKp5TEBzl-uu5unzQCklJc6VXYbOjv-nZFZqN_2auiVgBwEytwelbSy4PAYUh-5WESfVqB4BSkKtZoPgZxwK437L63VN" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">I bought this bidet. Then I realized there's no room in my bathroom.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>https://myomigo.com/blogs/news/5-ways-men-can-benefit-from-using-a-bidet<span><!--more--></span></i></div></span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXR_HCZAXqMAaLICvxU_olMbpBRGwfupAKlmZDR20rdKZtgZ6Bh7vfr1-spBe3B2mS_z_PU08hWDB1tONcpI4-dlO26UrQmFH-yP89hD7EN3zoKeTjk751jh-BUsdNEQRXuv6XdltV746DqCSyj92KUGbs2Gbv12zVIAfgmOMTHfdx1Lf4IEBqbiTv" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="259" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXR_HCZAXqMAaLICvxU_olMbpBRGwfupAKlmZDR20rdKZtgZ6Bh7vfr1-spBe3B2mS_z_PU08hWDB1tONcpI4-dlO26UrQmFH-yP89hD7EN3zoKeTjk751jh-BUsdNEQRXuv6XdltV746DqCSyj92KUGbs2Gbv12zVIAfgmOMTHfdx1Lf4IEBqbiTv" width="319" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This guy's face looks like mine probably did after the sadist sink assaulted me. That was 2 days ago. Lefty remains resentful. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This guy has a great video on male bidet use:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=2510718672496464<span><!--more--></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqtX_6PBJ3u883MPbI_JbOX79asOpm2ZfCE3I04OK30hnAhIszysBkTuWC8D39zaJx0EED2qNqa4sBtXN53qx4nX4xFvr9Nv7wOuKNvRl9BRPzM7ako_zmD5HqQ20BqB85atN8hc_VbDznva8IsEcxCHjpGiIzp5Nbp5fW4isboX5_68Ztczb3qM9m" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqtX_6PBJ3u883MPbI_JbOX79asOpm2ZfCE3I04OK30hnAhIszysBkTuWC8D39zaJx0EED2qNqa4sBtXN53qx4nX4xFvr9Nv7wOuKNvRl9BRPzM7ako_zmD5HqQ20BqB85atN8hc_VbDznva8IsEcxCHjpGiIzp5Nbp5fW4isboX5_68Ztczb3qM9m" width="320" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thumbs-up! Not to convey approval. This is part of my action schema for using my mandet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEX6PmWX24PoZ-7FpG0km6WWifOo8VVk6tK98YQQrajzGJO21QSJKqdqSXSECFpTkqtofp7RQNCoxLmvcqefnbehrV3_PnepXaE_XRe1_8dhra6vTpXQzcv2cXNHogYtvp5lmi2UpqK2msh76RJezMIQFMvPWJkloRfRyG6RNIWU58pkh1HH3kTEUV" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="513" data-original-width="970" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEX6PmWX24PoZ-7FpG0km6WWifOo8VVk6tK98YQQrajzGJO21QSJKqdqSXSECFpTkqtofp7RQNCoxLmvcqefnbehrV3_PnepXaE_XRe1_8dhra6vTpXQzcv2cXNHogYtvp5lmi2UpqK2msh76RJezMIQFMvPWJkloRfRyG6RNIWU58pkh1HH3kTEUV" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yes. Moss.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Moss.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Both preceding images from:</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>https://www.samodrahome.com/collections/mens-bidet</i><br /><br /></div></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div><span><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></div></blockquote><div><span><br /></span></div>Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-42779031776695798692023-01-27T06:52:00.006-08:002023-01-27T12:02:42.433-08:00The Design of Everyday Sinks<div style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span>I shared the last post about the "mandet" with a few friends. </span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Highly educated grown-ups may discuss the silliest topics with overblown erudition while quoting the true innovators. Richard Feynman. Don Norman. </span><span>Ralph Lauren. </span><span>Thomas Crapper. It keeps us humble; we mock ourselves as well as the topic. Cargo cult science, UX, and bathroom design/invention were all relevant and funny. </span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Go team!</span></div><h2 style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><b>THIS WAS DEFINITELY MEANT AS A SINK.</b></span></span></h2><div style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Continuing the reasons it's a sink from the last post:</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5) Bidets are about as common
in Mexican bathrooms as American ones. </span></span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6) Have you seen, heard of,
or even thought of a man-bidet until now? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">7) I don't think man-bidets would be widely used. At least not for self-cleaning. We would certainly mock
them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">8) Man-bidets would often be misused by very drunk men. They could become water fountains, face washers, foot baths, urinals, vomit sinks (Speibecken), reservoirs, or worse. Would give a new meaning to the term "reservoir tip." Good. That term with condoms always made me feel inadequate. Other men must have a much, much greater storage capacity. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">9) If man-bidets were popular, they would only be in bathrooms that also had
standard bidets. Would you want to manage a hotel that only has bidets for men?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">10) What if an innocent pet dog drank from a mandet? </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ewww! </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Next thing you know, a dog somewhere might drink from a toilet. Very unsanitary. The CDC has extensively simulated this remote possibility and concluded that these poor dogs would suffer thirst reduction. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSkEAEGwwGdaiJuifTPN7Ljs4BmA0Eq2ZkerJqvPiia2IbKhnfgO7oqO0gKQNnSP7wr2ihEilKtmJg_5yizoaxxZSCcjhPG1Zeb4EUE9lEsRqMtXjQJVlkOuWiH5PToxRsw53YvRh_Baqda5djcmXdaPf7OxYLFeZOVJ9ENeb_DDwVBR_LeZqzvU5s" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSkEAEGwwGdaiJuifTPN7Ljs4BmA0Eq2ZkerJqvPiia2IbKhnfgO7oqO0gKQNnSP7wr2ihEilKtmJg_5yizoaxxZSCcjhPG1Zeb4EUE9lEsRqMtXjQJVlkOuWiH5PToxRsw53YvRh_Baqda5djcmXdaPf7OxYLFeZOVJ9ENeb_DDwVBR_LeZqzvU5s" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">11) Here's a picture from the hotel's website. The sink is bracketed by a shower on the left and a toilet on the left.</span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">12) This screenshot (for that room) shows a sink, but nothing like a bidet. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgS55aaylBV26C7S8zjEqiP0f0UNfJkKfi1GmvTffnrAwth75o5PipfkZbCIVDsmlcdL_ZqedGZu6Ywbd74vUSFwqfdiHjcGb_4uApnleTDziR6m1_YZRm6uiyTd3oEpxWUrqg0OlbUc7D-m_-tpsH7PEJYMbH7CDdAlp5Fq4qT0jbAtWC99gdWE7Q0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="474" height="503" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgS55aaylBV26C7S8zjEqiP0f0UNfJkKfi1GmvTffnrAwth75o5PipfkZbCIVDsmlcdL_ZqedGZu6Ywbd74vUSFwqfdiHjcGb_4uApnleTDziR6m1_YZRm6uiyTd3oEpxWUrqg0OlbUc7D-m_-tpsH7PEJYMbH7CDdAlp5Fq4qT0jbAtWC99gdWE7Q0=w421-h503" width="421" /></a></div><br /> Soooo... it's a sink. <br /><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">This sink reminded me of this book cover:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhtG_Q3LOhXgQaiOBdaA2n-g2X_SEtl3Xb-Ss1tKKGLJunJzQV8OLxFqhJImdevyYSvMP4QAs5Lxp62km-hVNMdbHz3wr2ARun5wG3CD4jnKrphrzJ1C0yBMmy-ToGbrIZ6OButFnLzBBMrPz9ryFbLMeKSQaH-I5A6354PMY51dIR3flnwE18f0o5a" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhtG_Q3LOhXgQaiOBdaA2n-g2X_SEtl3Xb-Ss1tKKGLJunJzQV8OLxFqhJImdevyYSvMP4QAs5Lxp62km-hVNMdbHz3wr2ARun5wG3CD4jnKrphrzJ1C0yBMmy-ToGbrIZ6OButFnLzBBMrPz9ryFbLMeKSQaH-I5A6354PMY51dIR3flnwE18f0o5a" width="160" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">This book was required reading for us at UCSD Cog Sci.
It's now read much more broadly, but still not enough. Its caption for Figure 1.1 calls it a coffeepot for masochists. You could sell that sadistic sink to masochists. Other target buyers: men who want to become "smaller" and also prefer cold water instead of surgery. <i>Invest today! Operators are standing by!</i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This tea kettle, like
the horizontal sink, would deliver water to an unwanted part of the body. The kettle could be practical, clever, even beautiful, iff you ignore or reframe its intended function. You know, like the sink or that body part. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: medium; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If the kettle were used as a planter, then the spout wouldn't be used as a spout. The putative spout could be used for a second type of herb, different color flower, or incense holder. What you idiots thought was a misplaced handle is actually trellising so you can plant Virginia Creeper. The so-called lid is the next fashion breakthrough. I admit I was the only one who wore one to that Bar Mitzvah.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p></div>Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-24535513621085118562023-01-25T08:52:00.009-08:002023-01-27T11:52:23.528-08:00Mandet<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I just asked The Internet to define “mandet”. It wasn't a word
in modern English. It is now. A mandet is a bidet for men.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">My dad and his brother have been licensed contractors for
decades. Their work has been in Architectural Digest repeatedly. They’ve built
for billionaires and still do. So I saw a lot of fancy bathrooms and faucets.
But nothing this crafty! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Faucets normally aim down, so unused water goes into a basin
with a drain instead of on the user and floor. I was among the first to
experience firsthand the next Kuhnian Paradigm Shift of shifting strong shooting snow-streams toward my shaft. Not down, or even up/adjustable like some bidets – straight out. Almost horizontal. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw4mNTCvzM-7pGMPOw8inebjCFpNM3nSSwAbvHfpmquDNFb-wXtZHofeQTzayzW5yg68gvJChOCrLmraA-2Hw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had just taken a shower. I saw this... abomination. How naïve I was!! I thought it was a sink because:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">1) Most restrooms have a sink somewhere.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">2) It looked like a sink.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">3) It was right where a sink would normally be.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">(4) It was obviously a sink.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">So I turned it on, launching high pressure freezing water several inches below my navel. If you think it doesn't seem like sufficient water pressure to bruise, you've never been male. Lefty's one of those sensitive types.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had just washed appropriately during my shower. As usual. I
mean, I *am* a filthy American, but at least I’m not a Hun or Duke of York. I didn’t realize I... it… they… needed to be pressure-washed,
tetherballed, flash-frozen, and shrink-wrapped. <span face="Calibri, sans-serif">I
was a sopranino niño.</span> Imagine the foreheads of 2 Mastiffs or Shar Peis. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Or don’t. Too late? You only had to ponder it
briefly. I’m still too numb to tell whether they’re descending or unraveling.<br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">UPDATE: This post elicited such fun discussion that I just added 2 follow-ups. Thanks to my old buddy David Leland for making me laugh so hard that I couldn't use face recognition for over 30 seconds. <br /></span><br /><p></p>Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-68213552723776245652022-03-13T11:00:00.001-07:002023-01-28T22:15:15.346-08:00PresBUMtion<p>I realized today that the Brendan's Urban Mendicant (BUM) Index relies on the presumption that I can correctly identify beggars across language barriers. Several people have hit me up for money here in Romania, all of them in Romanian, which I don't speak. All such requests have been in the "passive" category (which I defined in the Tan Jeer blog post), and the BUMI is fairly high here overall. (High = bad.) But how do I know they are actually begging? That would be a serious flaw in my methods section.</p><p><br /></p><p>What if it's the opposite of begging? Why should I presume begging just because a bedraggled stranger approached me out of nowhere, looked pathetic, maybe held out a hand, and started speaking? Haven't we all heard these phrases from such people before?</p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Hey buddy, c</o:p>an I spare a dollar?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You need a few bucks for bus fare?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Can I help a guy down on his luck?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Help from a guy up on his luck?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Since my dorm room (yes, I am in a student dorm) is cruelly close to a gym, I had another opportunity to presume what people say in Romanian. When they're spotting each other, I think they're saying more or less the same thing that English-speakers do while coaching someone lifting weights or giving birth.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Come on!<o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Push!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Push!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Harder!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">You can do it!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Almost there!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Just a little more!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">PUSH!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Yeah!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">You did it!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal">OK, now just one more….<o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-74270807534404298642022-03-03T20:05:00.000-08:002022-03-03T20:05:06.148-08:00Vlad the Ukrainer<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Charles the Simple. Aethelred the
Unready. Ivan the Terrible. Archibald the Loser. Alfonso the Sloberrer. Sviatopolk
the Accursed. Catherine the Great (Horsefucker). Not the finest monikers. I
would not wish to be known as Brendan the (any of those things). Nor would you –
especially because you’re probably not named Brendan.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">None of them come anywhere close
to Vlad the Impaler. “Impaler” is much more specific and evocative. Vlad the Impaler
might be less well-known today than Vlad the Ukraine-invader, and Putin has
earned himself many nasty appellations, but nothing will be as memorable as “the
impaler.” Besides, Putin needs no sobriquet in Romania; here, "Putyin" means "small."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’m well within a one-day train
ride of Vlad’s castle. I’m also a one-day train ride from neo-Vlad’s invasion
of Ukraine. Hmm. Which would you choose to explore next?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I will also visit there to hang out
with the Trans community. Unless I’m missing something, people who were born in
Transylvania, and grew up there and vote there, are Trannies with a capital T
– regardless of transgenderism. They might be offended at transexuals for
co-opting their name, just like the roughly 114,000 citizens of Lesbos. On what
basis would “true” Trannies or Lesbians be denied special treatment offered to
those groups? Could some smartass rename a small town “Bisexua” and apply for
funding or other benefits meant for bisexuals? If you mixed the resulting MSNBC
and Fox News coverage of that story, would the resulting annihilation destroy
earth?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And now for some photos worth discussion.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Why are ribs so often promoted as the world's finest prepared food? My hosts took me out for dinner. The waiter, unprompted, said I should get the ribs because they are "the best in the world." Ever heard a waiter promote the best fruit salad in the world? Remember that one place that advertised the world's finest ketchup? How many chefs vie for best oatmeal? Breadsticks? Eggplant parmesan? Mashed potatoes? Chicken strips? Corn, peas, or even a vegetable medley? Every restaurant in Austria (and many hardware stores) sold half-cranberry-juice-half-water drinks, but none claimed superiority. wrt their menu. Of course. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">No, it wasn't a rib joint. The menu included several pages of other items. I was really having fun with my plan to choose something I couldn't identify and probably never had before. Ribs don't qualify.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I was thus pleased with the humble self-promotion shown below:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqJ4aeXjRuoRVtwYtgDkO4qKWcNXfE_pspA1zquxO8Xh8hIfAa4uZ-E1MzGFt1bVglIOq4xB8xIC1NlPtmBjrgS10dyMsR3mU4Anxyz-ixNMoHouI_nUUg5hJ4PkFJq1bcwACgzU-HtAZJRO6Whhq6GHb2Nn-LRJtWJNixDiuuqstoPEUZ-36louSP=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqJ4aeXjRuoRVtwYtgDkO4qKWcNXfE_pspA1zquxO8Xh8hIfAa4uZ-E1MzGFt1bVglIOq4xB8xIC1NlPtmBjrgS10dyMsR3mU4Anxyz-ixNMoHouI_nUUg5hJ4PkFJq1bcwACgzU-HtAZJRO6Whhq6GHb2Nn-LRJtWJNixDiuuqstoPEUZ-36louSP=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I find the following business a little scary. I keep wanting to go quietly flip the "open" sign. If they're really blind, how would they know? I might save future customers' eyes from blind barbers' scissors. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">From a quick online search, they provide a free drink with each haircut. Yeah. Might dull the pain. I am tempted to go there for a haircut, but I first have to learn how the Romanian version of the old joke ending with "...I lost this arm in a sawmill."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3Yi6iXdeZivHDKA_plJKZ1811Xp73klHQP0A8PtYiNeHIe8q4Vme2a104OXCgfP4lgZ8RLF3k7RYPWm3iwjQnk7SsqI1YWpXgnclWoa_RyoeHhUEIr9HP_Hu4BsTZuXQFcxp0IOjM0x3TGR-nDWuPDnwvIvAA-kzy--uWYxC99RN7NcDdIMM2F41n=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3Yi6iXdeZivHDKA_plJKZ1811Xp73klHQP0A8PtYiNeHIe8q4Vme2a104OXCgfP4lgZ8RLF3k7RYPWm3iwjQnk7SsqI1YWpXgnclWoa_RyoeHhUEIr9HP_Hu4BsTZuXQFcxp0IOjM0x3TGR-nDWuPDnwvIvAA-kzy--uWYxC99RN7NcDdIMM2F41n=s320" width="320" /></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And what have we here? These look like two well-known brands in the US without the branding. Like the preceding picture, there is an explanation that is more correct and less funny, but then you're missing the point of this blog. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFSFgau548rWJGbV-4aTSWcBj8r0I7YCwtQYcSnVvY9QIf3Uhx4M2w0hsQWg2MVRy4_DhTx1WZm-60Gfo_M2mpPiRLKLyFXpx5A1vFmTADUrzc_BmWfQ3OQ3UU9Db3SqTyEJnJXl7HxRT0eF8aAO3BqxEH2QjEGQpiLH3suE4IsMtvT6modGCCLg5h=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFSFgau548rWJGbV-4aTSWcBj8r0I7YCwtQYcSnVvY9QIf3Uhx4M2w0hsQWg2MVRy4_DhTx1WZm-60Gfo_M2mpPiRLKLyFXpx5A1vFmTADUrzc_BmWfQ3OQ3UU9Db3SqTyEJnJXl7HxRT0eF8aAO3BqxEH2QjEGQpiLH3suE4IsMtvT6modGCCLg5h=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiStiblLNH9u49m--FOKGCZGEe9mappG-MxfBZWfb5Y1CmGQmwys6wGdXupugzIkwhGHu7JmXb_iStan0-ZbEeqtfrTb8u13RlMhH64C0hGLPeIc-PbGPPx99CmOJ2-L2NCEBp9msohNhA-2UgUPZykxNCzSj3LJX258p559tpnf0waF8HQ-NOmpQ9w=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiStiblLNH9u49m--FOKGCZGEe9mappG-MxfBZWfb5Y1CmGQmwys6wGdXupugzIkwhGHu7JmXb_iStan0-ZbEeqtfrTb8u13RlMhH64C0hGLPeIc-PbGPPx99CmOJ2-L2NCEBp9msohNhA-2UgUPZykxNCzSj3LJX258p559tpnf0waF8HQ-NOmpQ9w=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-53558829763524200202018-03-27T02:13:00.002-07:002018-03-27T02:13:43.988-07:00Star-stuck<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Munich airport is now branding itself as a five-star
airport. This is brilliant! It seems an entity called Skytrax emerged to provide airport ratings. What makes a five-star airport?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Urinal art: A quick search on my blog will reveal my
enthusiasm for urinal flies. After all these years, I still never managed to
dislodge one. My life is incomplete. Hard to believe their little
foot-suction-cups can withstand the full might of a fully operational Death
Star. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, they've advanced to little candles. The flame is right on the aiming point, but try as I might, it won't budge. Must have napalm or something in there. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why not LEDs? You're German. You're good engineers. You don't pee standing up, but you can imagine. Put a color-changing LED that responds to pressure or hydration. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Drinks: They used to have machines all over with free
coffee and tea. Unsurprisingly, the urinal flies conspired against such a boon,
and now it costs 2 euros. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Free newspapers: Yes, the international terminals still have a decent variety of free newspapers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I’m guessing Beijing will declare itself a seven-star airport just to two-up the Americans, like they did with their hotel for the Olympics. I'm eager to see how they justify a seven-star airport, as they inevitably will. Personal servants in the restrooms?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hereby define an infinity star airport, hotel, or anything else as one that requires me. The seven-star hotels provide a personal servant for each room. I bet the servant can cook and clean for you better than I can, especially because I am allowed to tell customers to go fuck themselves if they ask me. In fact, I want two personal servants. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Can the personal servant put a BCI on your head? Probably not. Provide interesting and intellectual conversation? Maybe. But it doesn't matter. Besides, I don't commit to any of these things, or to even be in the same country. It's just my name. You must hire me, or someone I designate, or you can't call it an infinity star anything. </div>
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I am now an infinity-star BCI expert. I am the only one, now and forever. Gerv can be infinity minus one if he asks nicely. </div>
Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-4272146238405032392018-03-22T01:07:00.000-07:002018-03-22T01:07:27.064-07:00Zoo-faux-piaI logged over 200 travel days in 2016, most of them in a hotel sandwiched uglily between two 12+ hour days and another overworked guy, since we were required to travel with two guys in inexpensive rooms - in US culture, this is totally common and acceptable for high school students and prisoners. Saving the company trivial amounts of money was such a high priority that I innovated a much better way to totally eliminate my employee travel costs. Live and learn.<br />
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And so the threshold for re-blogging was rather high. No new posts in over a year, despite plenty of 2017 travel and other fun stuff in my ongoing quest to un-burn-out. Is chilling out the opposite of burning out? It sounds better than burning in, at least. </div>
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The zoo is artistically and zoologically unique. Most zoos have pens or cages or other areas devoted to specific animals. And not other, more common animals. But the locals are too cool for that. Why not just let the animals roam around? Who cares about signs? For example, here we are at the capybara pen.</div>
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I am not a zoologist. I didn't conduct DNA testing. Frankly, I didn't even ask anyone. But I believe that one of the two animals in this capybara pen is more capybaresque than the other. (Expert's tip: it's the one that doesn't look like a peacock.) What a cool peacock! He just cruises around the zoo, unafraid of animals or (worse) humans from around the world, unafraid even of blogmockery. Wow. </div>
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I didn't get a picture of the housecat in the tiger exhibit. Housecats are fast. You'll just have to believe it was funny. </div>
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Here's one of a California sea lion. These are quite common in La Jolla, where they've been fighting against children for the hearts and minds of the locals for decades, and often winning. No, really. Look it up. </div>
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It didn't matter anyway, as little Ali was mainly interested in horses or any animals from Zootopia. </div>
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Finally, we noticed that the local park designers seem to have a thing with dragons. The lower picture (which I didn't take) even explicitly mentions three dragons. Perhaps they helped in the conquest over the Moors, Arabs, or Lannisters. I don't know.</div>
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But I can explain the horses. These mythical horses created the Catalan language by stomping the vowels off the ends of all Spanish words. They also trample foreigners who make fun of their language. I would be scared, but I can always run to the zoo and safely hide in the lion pen. </div>
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<img alt="Resultado de imagen de parc dragons" src="https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/05/37/ea/6e/parc-de-la-ciutadella.jpg" /></div>
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<br />Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-86675630505182129462016-12-23T19:46:00.001-08:002016-12-23T19:46:24.066-08:00Tan JeerI had 2 international flights today, 2 days before Christmas. The second, from Madrid to Tangier, was scheduled for 80 minutes. I disembarked 12 minutes early. I cleared passport and customs, got my luggage, and was in the shuttle to my hotel by the scheduled arrival time. I don't think this will ever happen again.<br />
<br />
I got tasty tajine. That will happen again.<br />
<br />
The beaches are like those in La Jolla, except the camel-toes are on real camels.<br />
<br />
Recent experience, compounding one with my brother in Marrakesh, reminds me to update the categories of the BUM Index. Brendan's Urban Mendicant Index refers to the number of city blocks you walk divided by the number of beggars. San Francisco and Atlanta score the worst among American cities, and even rival Tijuana. However, three categories are relevant:<br />
<br />
1) Passive: Beggars do not interrupt or accost you, but just sit there, often with a cup or hat. They may try to look pathetic. I ran in to such a guy 2 weeks ago begging in Sporgasse in Graz, who has been there for years. He has a magnificently pathetic beggar face, which he probably doesn't use while cackling home in his Mercedes.<br />
<br />
2) Active: The beggars do interrupt you. This may be as simple as asking for change. It may also include a tale that scores far higher on pity-elicitation than honesty. I use the same strategy in grant proposals, although I do say this is a hypothetical case scenario. Atlanta stands out for the tactic of offering you directions, ignoring your reply (such as the then-truthful "I live here"), and then asking for money on Good Samaritan grounds. This often devolves into the next category.<br />
<br />
3) Pursuing: The beggars follow you, relentlessly yammering away. Physical contact is much more likely, which (especially in Barcelona) means guard your pockets. The fucker in Marrakesh followed my brother and me for over ten minutes. The guy who accosted me just now limped after me, pleading in several languages that his leg was hurt and he was hungry. Having learned from my Marrakesh experience, I simply accelerated, and that guy sure did keep up well for someone with an injured leg. Nothing like a brisk jog, emerging into a full sprint, after tajine and couscous.<br />
<br />
I thus introduce the weighted BUMI. Actives are multiplied by 3, and Pursuings by 10 per minute. Further research is needed. Why, here's a hypothetical case scenario for the grant proposal:<br />
<br />
Nigel is a professional mendicant in Graz seeking to expand his revenue generation portfolio. He has relied primarily on casual active begging, but feels that his tax-free income of only about 300 euros per day could be improved. But how? Fortunately, he learns of the Tourist Annoy and Sway Characterization Heuristics for Extended Nuisancing to Derive Improved Euros for Beggars (TASCHEN-DIEB) proposal through a local "Lange Nacht Der Forschung" event. This FFG-funded project teaches him that Pursuing is ultimately more profitable than other categories, especially if you don't quit after being given money. Nigel convenes with other Harvard MBAs, revamps his approach, and reaps even further profits from tourists who are generally much poorer than him.<br />
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<br />Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-44684487686121504522016-08-07T05:55:00.000-07:002016-08-07T05:55:33.029-07:00The Austrian painter<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Schwarzenegger
Hall<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
J. Paul Getty
Center<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Los Angeles,
California<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Modern Day<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Adolf
Disney Hitler was getting annoyed at some of the questions. He was told he was
invited here for a gala lecture to present the loan of several paintings from
his grandfather’s Third Period. Most of the packed audience seemed to be art
students and experts, with intelligent questions and appropriate respect. The
last question had a subversive element, asked far too casually. Perhaps
southern Californians were just less formal than Germans? He wondered how his
grandfather, the great Minister of Propaganda, would respond, and crafted a
plan to retaliate. “Thank you for your question, sir. Did everyone hear that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">He
knew they wouldn’t, in a room with over 500 people, and a sea of shaking heads
confirmed it. “Very well, I will repeat the question. The – ahem, distinguished
gentleman in the tie-dye shirt has asked -” he put on his deadpan face, then
repeated the question verbatim, with his best impersonation of the accent –
“Dude, wasn’t Adolf Hitler like totally pissed off at the whole world before
even the Second Period?” The titters from the audience were worth almost as
much as his victim’s glare. “This is not a new question. Many of you Americans
resent losing the war and they try to present Adolf Hitler as a man of hate,
from the beginning. But my grandfather’s life and work has been studied by many
historians and psychoanalysts. There is strong agreement that, although work
from his First Period shows angst over German security and anger toward the
Treaty of Versailles, it is generally dominated by love for Germany and his new
British wife. Evelyn Brown was his friend, lover, art teacher, mother of his
two children and a devoted wife until the – incident with the rabbi. Two
paintings show this best. May I see slide 24, please?” He kept speaking while
an invisible kid in the back scrambled for the slide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Remember
the man was a newlywed also<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> at
this time, in 1910 – why would he be angry? Evelyn loved and inspired him. He
had been rejected from the Vienna Art Academy twice, in 1907 and 1908<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>,
then met her and showed such remarkable improvement that he was accepted in
1909. Ah, here is the slide. <i>The Beauty
of Bavaria</i> is a classic painting from his First Period. The foreground of
this painting shows a young couple, in love, enjoying a dinner of Bubenspitzle.
Note the relaxed outdoor setting and pleasant weather, rife with bursting
flowers, that captured the spring perfectly. The colorful empty beer steins and
rosy cheeks further support the warm colors that match the deeper reds of the blooming
roses behind them. The lighting, soft perspectives, gentle tones, light
composition and happy expressions in the foreground clearly show – yes?” He
paused to answer a young woman waving her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Professor,
doesn’t the name of that dish translate as baby penis?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Yes.
It is a traditional dish in southwest Germany. Bavaria, Schwabia, Baden – very
popular<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>.
Please, let me finish. Yes, it is true that the background has some elements
that may be foreboding, even angry. We see a man in a high castle overlooking
the lovers. Frankly, Frankish resentment toward France is obvious, as the man
faces west. This shows the need for security to protect love and traditional
German ways, forcing worry on a happy and peaceful society. Note that the
waiter to the left wears a yarmulke, and is portrayed like other waiters,
without the artistic characterizations of Jews that my grandfather began to
develop in his Second Period. This is typical of work throughout his first
period, all the way through 1914, when he volunteered to serve in the Bavarian
Army. May I see slide 38, please?” He paused again, not bothering to scan the
audience this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“And
here is, of course, one of his most dramatic and dynamic works, <i>Betrayal</i>. This is his most direct
depiction of the fateful day that changed him forever. Can you imagine? To
return home, from a war, after four years, to find your wife in your bed with
the local rabbi? Filthy whore!” He spat on the ground, and viciously stared
away a young American staffer who moved in with a towel. “Everyone agrees that
his portrayal of his British wife and the rabbi shows great distress. That was
the source of his newfound inspiration and emotion. It was nothing earlier.” He
paused. “<i>Betrayal</i> is one of over 60
paintings he made during his time in Landsberg prison for manslaughter<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
from 1918-1920, which he collectively called <i>Mein Kampf</i>. It was the anti-Semitic and pro-German themes in this
Second Period - not earlier - that first drew attention from his future
colleagues like Hess, Ludendorff and Goering.” He paused again. “The influence
of these men, and the experience of working with the National Socialist Workers
Party, inspired new artistic direction that truly captured our peoples’
oppression and abuse and helped the party win election in 1933. It was only
after the - incident with the rabbi that Hitler began portraying Jews more
figuratively, with claws, fangs, bulging eyes, and artistic abstractions also where
the phallus should be, like a bar of gold, mushroom or Churchill’s face. Yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“But
he was in Spain a lot during the 20s, right? I mean, the Spanish influences are
clear by the middle of the Second Period.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Right.
He met Franco while presenting his work at El Prado. His resulting years in
Spain not only improved his painting in many ways, but showed also his power to
reach the masses in other countries. His artistic influence through <i>Manuel Azana Schweinehund<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[5]</span></b></span><!--[endif]--></span></a></i>
and <i>Llop Catalunya<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[6]</span></b></span><!--[endif]--></span></a></i>
inspired the Madrid riots of 1935 and helped the fascists win quickly. Of
course, by then he was Minister of Propaganda, and his 1936 painting <i>Victory at Guernica</i> was his first work
as the Fuehrer. You can see the influence of Spanish artists like Picasso there,
with - yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“And
Spanish art and dance also influenced his granddaughter, right? Your cousin?
And her husband?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Yes.
Her art shows also strong Spanish influences, as does her husband’s. But not
until later. Her mother, Adolf Hitler’s daughter, was estranged from the family
after the – incident with the rabbi and fled beyond our homeland near Bavaria,
to the southeasternmost part of Austria, called Styria. She befriended a local
Nazi police chief, Gustav Schwarzenegger, and her daughter later married his
son Arnold. Of course Arnold’s initial efforts with nature painting did not go
well, and he only attained fame after training as a flamenco dancer. After his
Broadway debut in the musical <i>Hercules
the</i> <i>Aryan Hero,</i> he-” Dammit,
another hand was waving. Would these Americans let him finish anything? “Yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“And
this is what brought your grandfather to America?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Yes.
He came to see the musical, which he strongly disliked, but met many
influential filmmakers. I heard that it is now well known that my grandfather’s
painting career ended with Parkinson’s Disease. So he turned to film. He knew already
many American filmmakers, and found Walt Disney sympathetic. My grandfather and
later my father, who married one of Disney’s daughters<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[7]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>,
produced numerous films like M<i>ary Poppins
the Flying British Witch, Snow White and the Seven Jews, Commies in Congress, Jewtopia,
The Lady and the Jew, Der Fuehrer’s Face<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[8]</span></b></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>,
Victory through Aryan Power<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[9]</span></b></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>,
Triumph of the Shill, Greedy Jew Pirates of the Caribbean, The Darkies in the
Jungle Book,</i> and the most controversial: <i>Hansel, Gretel, the Warty-Faced Jew and Her Deserved Fate.</i> And of
course he contributed to many Johannes Blondi<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[10]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
movies like <i>Dr. Stein</i>, <i>Live and Let Commies Die,</i> <i>Phooey on Her Majesty’s Secret Service</i>, <i>The Jew with the Golden Gun</i>, <i>the</i> <i>Goldfingered
Jew, The World is not Enough for Deutschland</i> and <i>License to Kill Her Majesty’s Secret Service</i>. I see another
question. The gentleman in the back, with the – uhm – torn short trousers and
T-shirt and – excuse me – beach shoes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“What
if Hitler had been a worse painter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Excuse
me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Well,
dude, you know, it’s a common alternate history question. I mean-“<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Hitler
waved him off. “Yes, yes. This is absurd, of course. How else could an unknown
man, with no money or talent or education or connections, gain the fame to
become Fuehrer? Who would listen to a man with only anger, without his gift for
expression? There are many such questions from alternate history. What if Spain
never joined the Axis powers? What if my grandfather never met the traitor
Evelyn Brown, and had less anger toward England? Maybe he would not have demolished
the British Expeditionary Force at Dunkirk to the last man, or moved almost all
of the Luftwaffe from Africa and the Mediterranean Sea to win the Battle of
Britain in 1940. Maybe we wouldn’t have won that war, or maybe we would have won
the next one. Or maybe even you Americans.” He smiled, then shook his head.
“Fine speculation for old men, but I see no point in it. If you change one
thing in history, other things change too. Perhaps, as they say, we’d all be
speaking English today.” Hitler saw the captain of the Chinese Loong<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[11]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>-troopers
motion to his rifle and knew painfully well what that meant. His last comment
went too far. He was hoping to spend his long flight home to Landsberg prison
right side up, at least a millimeter from any bamboo, but he’d have to accept
the usual. “I see my visit here is ending. I thank the Imperial Chinese
Dictatorship and Cultural Ministry for allowing me this brief respite from
confinement. Please direct any further questions to the Imperial Administrator
of Landsberg prison. Shia Shia<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">[12]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>.” </span></div>
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<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Advice to Germans: never put “already” or “also” wherever you think they belong
in an English sentence. </div>
</div>
<div id="ftn2">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
This is true. He was never accepted, but continued painting his whole life,
even while Fuehrer.</div>
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<div id="ftn3">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Also true. They serve it with fried onions, cheese, brown onion sauce, and/or
other stuff. Delicious. </div>
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<div id="ftn4">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Hitler was sentenced to that prison for five years in 1924 for the Beer Hall
Putsch. He was released later in 1924. </div>
</div>
<div id="ftn5">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[5]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> Azana
was the leader of the democratically elected Republicans, who lost the Spanish
Civil War, from 1936-1939.</div>
</div>
<div id="ftn6">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref6" name="_ftn6" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[6]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a> I
think this means Catalan Wolf. Hitler liked wolves. </div>
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<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref7" name="_ftn7" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[7]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Disney’s racism against blacks and Jews is not my creation, nor his involvement
with the Red Scare in the 50s. Disney had 2 daughters; Hitler had no known
children.</div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref8" name="_ftn8" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[8]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
This is a real Disney film in 1943. It is in fact anti-Hitler propaganda.</div>
</div>
<div id="ftn9">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref9" name="_ftn9" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[9]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Mocks “Victory through Air Power,” another 1943 Disney film. </div>
</div>
<div id="ftn10">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref10" name="_ftn10" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[10]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Hitler owned a German shepherd named Blondi. Hitler used Blondi to test cyanide
capsules in 1945.</div>
</div>
<div id="ftn11">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref11" name="_ftn11" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[11]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
This means dragon, in poor Mandarin</div>
</div>
<div id="ftn12">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="file:///C:/Users/Brendan/Desktop/Misc/Stories/Hitler%20the%20painter.docx#_ftnref12" name="_ftn12" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[12]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></a>
Thank you, in Mandarin</div>
</div>
</div>
Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-15158562207100776412016-08-07T05:53:00.000-07:002016-08-07T05:53:15.007-07:00The Emperor's Newer Clothes<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The bearded man suddenly sat up
with remarkable vigor for his age. “Sirrah!! Wherefore art-“ He stopped as he
gagged on his own moldy yellow moustache, and then began brushing long grey hair
from his face. After clearing his eyebrows, his fiery blue eyes fixated on the
older of the two men kneeling on the hard dirt next to him. “You. You are a
learned Physik?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Sir, I’m an EMT, I’m not-“ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Blasphemy!” The old man reached
for the EMT’s throat, trying to stand, then collapsed heavily, grabbing his
left hip. “Address me as Sire, Majesty, or Emperor!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The EMT jumped back and eyed the
old man, then his young driver. “I so deeply apologize, majesty. I most humbly
beg your apology.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The old man’s blue eyes twinkled,
then softened. “Thee hath practised thy art well, young Physik. I am awake. Thy
tongue is odd; might thee hail from France?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“No, majesty. I’m a local. Virigina
native. My name is, um, Robert, majesty.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Ah! ‘Tis my middle name. Very
well. Hast thee followed the instructions of my learned Master Physik, who brought
me to this fine rest? His broth leaves me groggy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I am sorry, your Majesty, I do
not understand. A couple hikers found you, and they called the ranger station,
and they called us. Um… can you tell me the name of this Master Physik?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Of course. None would dare lay
hands on his Majesty but the esteemed van Winkle himself!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Majesty, you – asked a Physik
named van Winkle to give you something to make you sleep for a very long time?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I did, sirrah. And his mastery
is evidently yet unmatched. Is van Winkle still alive?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“No, majesty. He’s RIP.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And yet thee hath revived me,
and brought me to health. And I have awakened in a new era, in a new land, when
all have forgotten my shame!” He smiled, then looked curiously at the syringe
in Robert’s hand. “I have not seen such a staff. Is it of glass?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Majesty, I am only preparing
something to help you relax. Majesty, we must bring you to a place with more
learned Physiks. My master has a new way to heal your other maladies. If I may
just approach-”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Get away! Poke me not with thy cursed
staff!” He flailed viciously and both other men backed away. “I too was a
Master Physik, and Tinkerer, and Mystic. My inventions were used far and wide!
The wisest men sought my counsel! I was welcome at the finest universities! I
served the king himself…. And then…. Those weavers! Scalawags! And suddenly I
was the laughingstock, far and wide, my name and tale tied with trusting
foolishness and… arrogance….” His voice trailed off and he slowly relaxed. The
driver whispered something into the EMT’s ear, and the old man perked up.
“Indeed, young sirrah! I did not hear all of that, but the word ‘fruitcake’ did
catch mine ear. I am most famished.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Majesty,” the EMT replied,
taking a slow step forward, “My Master Physik has the finest repast! Sweetmeats,
fresh bread and Italian pasta, butter, exotic cheeses, with a glorious blend of
ice, cream, and fruits for dessert! If I may please-”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The old man waved him off. “Stop
thy prattle, young Physik, and tell me but one thing. Art thou also learned in
legend, literature, lore?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Well, yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The old man suddenly leaned
forward, grabbed the Robert’s shirt, and stared through him with piercing,
pleading eyes. “Hast thou ever heard of any legend, any tale, story, called
‘The Emperor’s New Clothes?’ Please, I prithee, tell me true.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“No. I have never heard any such
tale, most glorious Majesty.” The old man sighed deeply as the EMT moved his
right arm and injected him with something. The EMT and the driver jumped back
as the old man tried again to stand, then collapsed. “Executioner!! Guards!” He
looked around wildly, then settled back and smiled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Majesty, please just try to
relax, we-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Fear not, young Physik, thy
concoction is most palliative.” His head fell lazily to the left and a fishing
line of drool graced the whiskered mud around his noble cheek. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Five hours later</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The EMT entered the conference
room and addressed Doctor Rossen-Williams, who was seated at the head of a
mahogany conference table. “May I sit down, doctor?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The doctor motioned to a chair.
The EMT sat down, placed his backpack on the floor, and nodded to the two
others in the room, the Head Nurse and one of the lab techs. “Good, we’re all
here,” the doctor said. “Sheila, can you please repeat what you just told me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, doctor. John Doe was
brought to room 19 at 1440 hours. We placed him in bed and applied arm and leg
restraints, based on the report from Bob.” She motioned to the EMT, who nodded
in agreement. “He awakened briefly and we spoke for about a minute before he
lost consciousness again. He – well, doctor, he believes that he is an emperor,
has a weird accent like some high school Shakespeare play, and made violent
threats if I did not remove the restraints. I obtained bloodwork, which I sent
on to Jing here, then examined him further.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And you recommend immediate
remand to the ward?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Definitely, doc-“ began Robert,
but he was waved off by the doctor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The Head Nurse spoke up. She
said, “Leave this one alone.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“She can tell right away that
he’s mad for the throne,” agreed Robert, but he was waved off again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And when you examined him,
then….”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Doctor, I first checked his
teeth. I’ve never seen anything that bad.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You did say he was British.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Of course, doctor, but… he’s
never had any dental care except his wisdom teeth look like they were yanked
out by pliers. Scarring is horrible. Just simple braces would have helped
what’s left of his incisors. He needs major surgery and dentures. He has gum
infections that probably just need penicillin. I also checked, he seems to have
survived a burst appendix, don’t know why nobody noticed it. He’s lucky he survived.
He has some other pustules that could be some bacterial infection-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Jing spoke for the first time. “Gonorrhea.
He has gonorrhea. And mumps.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Doctor Rossen-Williams looked at
the lab tech. “Are you sure?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, ma’am. Had to go online to
confirm it. Also, no vaccinations for anything. Ever.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“What else?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“He has Type I diabetes, no trace
of any insulin injections. I’ve never seen such high LDL. Guy must eat like a
king every day. He has odd levels of uric and ketonic acid in his bloodstream.
The only explanation is that he drinks urine. I did a swab around his tongue,
traces of goat urine. Lots of lactic acid, seems to have been sedentary for a
long time. Also some weird plant-based alkaline barbiturate, never seen it
before, but seems to be a strong sedative.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Keep working on that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Will do, doctor. I also checked
neurotransmitters and byproducts, as you requested. Weird levels of 5-HIAA, choline,
COMT, typical of extended sleep. Otherwise seems to have a balanced diet. No
hint of any aluminum plaques, or actually any trace of aluminum. Something odd
with his monoamine levels, may be consistent with agitation or mental disorder.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Porphyria.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I’m sorry, doctor?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Porphyria. Was called the king’s
madness. It was a disease that affected many British noblemen. That could
account for the erratic behavior.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Doctor, are you joking?” asked
the Head Nurse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You reported a bluish color on the
urine sample?” the doctor replied quietly, looking at the table.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, I sent it off for testing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And in your 34 years as a Head
Nurse, have you ever seen that?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
There was a long pause until the
Head Nurse spoke again. “But, doctor-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The doctor turned to glare at
her, and she fell silent. “I also swabbed his cheek and sent it to the lab.
Still working on it, but it confirms porphyria, which hasn’t been seen in over
100 years.” She looked around the room for any comments, then addressed Robert.
“Did you bring the papers you found with him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, ma’am.” He unzipped his
backpack, pulled out several crackling scrolls, carefully walked over to the
doctor and placed them in front of her, then sat down. She examined one,
scratched at the red wax seal for several seconds until it broke, then slowly
unscrolled the long parchment. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
After ten seconds of unbearable
tension, the Head Nurse finally spoke. “Doctor, this is completely ab-”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Thank you, Nurse,” the doctor
replied, emphasizing the last word. “Return to your duties immediately.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The room was silent as the Head
Nurse stood up and left, then the doctor quietly spoke. “Robert and Jing,
please lock the door, then each open one of these documents, very carefully,
and read it.” She then continued unscrolling and reading while the two followed
her instructions. After about a minute, she turned to Jing. “Well?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“The paper looks like a contract.
It’s very beautiful. Great calligraphy. He agrees to pay two Master Weavers a
lot of amethysts, tea, spices, and indigo for some clothing that only wise
people can see. It’s supposed to be invisible to anyone else.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Right!” said Robert, and then
looked at the doctor, who nodded. “He was saying that he traveled to a new
land, I guess here, and slept for a long time, cause he was so embarrassed
about that. People were making fun of him, and he couldn’t handle it, so he
wanted to get away from people associating his name with, he said, trusting
foolishness and arrogance.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And you lied and told him you
never heard of the Emperor’s New Clothes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Right, doctor. It was just a
judgment call, I was trying not to agitate him-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“It’s OK. Good decision. Never
mention that around him. Let me tell you about this one. Also looks like an old
legal document. He is also supposed to pay a bunch of arcane stuff to a Master
Physik named Rip Van Winkle. It’s to administer a potion to make him sleep for
as long as possible. Also, Doc Winkle is supposed to then transport him and his
so-called carriage to America and arrange for him to be buried. Well, no
surprises there. Robert, how about yours?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Ma’am, it has his name, title,
and his appointment as personal physician to King Geroge IV. It seems to be
signed by King George. His name is Mark Robert Patsy. It says-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“What was the name again?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Mark Robert Patsy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“He went through all this trouble
because he didn’t want his name associated with people who were fools? And he’s
named mark, and patsy?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“That’s what it says, ma’am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“OK. Well, at least there’s
nothing wrong with his middle name. Sure you can agree there.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, ma’am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Go on.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He read further for a few
seconds. “Hm. Seems that they had to include his nickname for legal reasons.
Was a contraction of his middle name. He was called Rube.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Jesus Christ!” Both of the
others were startled, and Robert continued after a pause.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Ma’am, it-“ Robert paused.
“Ma’am, his appointment is as the First Earl of Condom.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“This poor man!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, ma’am. It says he is
supposed to develop ‘overcoats’ made of linen to prevent the transmission of gonorrhea.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She frowned. “Linen condoms
wouldn’t prevent STDs.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Jing chimed in, “He does have gonorrhea,
ma’am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, thank you, Jing.” The
doctor stood. “And that’s one opportunity to do our jobs and help this poor man.
Jing, you get back to the lab, do what you can to help. Robert, want some
overtime?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, ma’am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Get him a splint for his left
hip, and the following list of medications.” She pulled out a pen and began
writing across several pads while she continued speaking. “Bring all that to
his room. Arrange meal service for him, and yourself if you want. I’ll meet you
there in half an hour and revive him. He’s been asleep too long for an old malnourished
man with an unknown barbiturate. If he wakes up earlier, don’t take his
restraints off, no matter what. I’m calling some colleagues in Dentistry and
Endocrinology, so don’t be surprised if other people show up. And-” she paused,
and smiled, “I’m going to learn how to treat porphyria. Let’s go, people.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3>
55 minutes later</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Robert startled awake when the
door opened, mildly surprised that the first doctor who arrived within a half
hour of the scheduled time. The doctor first looked at the sleeping patient,
then turned to the recently-roused EMT. “You’re Robert, right? The EMT who’s
helping us?” Robert nodded. “Good. I’m Dr. Toericht from Neurology. Think we
met before. What is that device on his head?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Sir, I didn’t put it there.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“That’s not what I asked.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Sir, I didn’t examine it. I
assumed it was placed there by one of the doctors.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Good guess, cause putting shit
on patients’ heads is my job. Find out how he got this item and –”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Twas a gift, kind Physik.” Both
men turned to the old man, whose Newmanesque blue eyes were as intense as ever.
“One of the fair wenches was here when I awakened briefly. She did provide me
with this marvelous viewing device as well, on my request.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Good to see you are awake,” said
Dr. Toericht. “What viewing device?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I think he means-” Robert began,
but was shushed by the doctor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“The color-curtain.” He gestured
to a monitor. “I have learned so much of this new world, Master Physik. I
learned of the mystic, Jon Edwards, who can speak with the dead. I learned of
new medicines to help men lose weight and grow the phallus. I learned of ways
to become wealthy through the postal services. I saw …” his voice trailed off.
“Good Physiks, one of the few joys of being an old fool is that I am most
familiar with the expression that now clouds thy countenances. Mayhaps
chicanery is afoot again?” He smiled, but failed to conceal deep concern.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The other two men looked at each
other, and then Robert spoke. “Majesty, I am sorry. All of these are false. I
am afraid that scalawags are still pretty common today.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Dr. Toericht added, “What about
that thing on your head?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“’Tis a Brain-Computer
Interface!!” The old man beamed at his mastery of a new term. “The Necopupi cat
ears. The ears bristle, like a cat’s ears, when I become alert. Pray, observe,
for I have been practicing.” The old man strained forward as much as possible
with his restraints, yet the cat ears didn’t move for several seconds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Majesty, those ears haven’t
moved since we arrived, when you were unconscious.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I beg thy pardon, sirrah?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Majesty, you went from
unconscious to quite alert. If that thing senses alertness, why didn’t the ears
move?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Mayhaps I was not wise enough.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Robert began to speak again, but
was again shushed by the doctor. “It could also mean it’s all bullshit. Looks
like a one channel system, with a low-quality electrode over the forehead, that
supposedly relies only on brain activity? I don’t buy it. It’s gotta be using
EMG, EOG, no way they can filter out ambient noise like-” Dr. Toericht paused,
finally noticing the confusion he’d created. “I mean, it’s a scam. The whole
thing relies on nobody having the balls to risk looking stupid by calling them
on it. It’s the same basic premise as ‘The Emperor’s New-‘” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Excuse me, doctor, may I speak
to you outside for a moment?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“No. Don’t interrupt me when I’m
talking to a patient.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Doctor, I-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“OK, you get half of what you
want. Go outside, and talk to yourself all you like.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Doctor, this-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Leave the room. Now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Robert hesitated, then left. He
watched through the door as Dr. Toericht spoke to the patient for another
minute before the patient began shouting. “Lies!! Thy Physik hath lied to me!!!
My shame is not unknown here!” Dr. Toericht jabbed him with a needle, but the
patient continued raving. “Avast ye, arrogant whoreson! One mistake! One, in a
career of insight and genius, and I am forever cast as….” He collapsed again.
Dr. Toericht checked his pulse, then left. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Don’t say it, Robert. Just
follow me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Robert obediently followed the
doctor down the hall, where they bumped in to Dr. Rossen-Williams. “Was just on
my way-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Dr. Toericht interrupted her.
“Why didn’t you remand this guy to Psych?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“He needs treatment first. Pretty
sure they don’t know how to treat porphyria.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Fuck him. He’s a quack.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And we’re doctors.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Whatever. I’m signing off on
this guy. He’s out cold now, I just administered 10 ccs of chloral hydrate
after he became hysterical.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Dr. Rossen-Williams frowned. “You
sedated an elderly patient, in poor health, with an unidentified barbiturate in
his system?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I told you, he became
hysterical.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“What did you say to him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Well, he was all excited about
some headband that he thought could read his mind. You know, one of those
bullshit systems that people sell to kids and morons, and every goddamn news
clip I see has some wide-eyed journalist fawning over how well it works.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yeah, I know.” Dr.
Rossen-Williams sighed. “I got friends helped an ALS patient with a real
brain-computer interface. Believe me, the cheap scam systems annoy them more
than us. And I’m guessing Robert here tried to stop you, and you blew him off?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“He’s just an EMT.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“He was following my explicit instruction
not to mention that to him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“How was I supposed to know?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Doesn’t matter. You said you
would sign off on him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Gladly. He’s all yours.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Let’s keep it that way.” The two
doctors glared at each other before Dr. Toericht walked away. Robert finally
spoke up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I’m sorry, doctor, I tried-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I’m sure you did. My fault for
assigning him. Shoulda known. Follow me, please.” They walked in silence to the
room. “Robert, I’m going to write a name on a piece of paper.” She did so,
folded it in half, and handed it to Robert. She then went inside and examined
him, then administered several injections. “Stay with this poor man until he
wakes up and ask him if he ever met anyone by that name. Hard to say when.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Speakest thou of mine eminence,
good Nubian Physik?” Robert and Dr. Rossen-Williams both looked at him. “I fear
my faculties hath escaped me. I was speaking to another Physik – an arrogant
fool, as I once was, and then- I regret that I forgot what we said.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Dr. Rossen-Williams sat on the
bed and patted his shoulder. “Your Majesty, thine apologies are unwarranted.
Please, let’s focus on what you remember. My friend tells me that you were a
learned Physik?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Indeed, I was headmaster of the
Imperial Academy of Science. The title of ‘Emperor’ is some exaggeration, I
admit, but I was most taken by titular pride.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And you mentioned a scandal of
some kind?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Aye. Two scalawags convinced me
that they could make the finest raiment, clothing that only the wisest men
could see. They fitted me with gowns of air and I trotted about the palace, my
manhood flapping about like my jaws, and none of my councilors dared admit they
were unwise, so each plied me with tales of the magnificence of my new attire.
A humbler man might have noticed that they all described a different garment,
but I was not such a man. I organized a parade before the entire town, and it
was only a child who had the courage to note that I was quite nude. What could
I do but continue the parade, with thousands of peasants laughing at me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I’m so sorry to hear it, Your
Majesty.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He nodded. “I ordered the child
whipped. Yet, before the sentence was executed, I realized the failure was all
mine. I instead met with him and told him my tale.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And I’m guessing this was
sometime in the late 1820s, in the year of our Lord?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Thou art a most wise, learned,
and charming Physik. Twas.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And might you recall his name?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Dr. Rossen-Williams glanced
briefly at Robert, who opened the piece of paper with the name. His eyes
widened as the patient replied. “Indeed, he was a most clever lad. Hans
Christian Andersen.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Uh-huh. And then you decided to
sleep for almost 200 years until everyone forgot?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Majesty, I- um. Hm. Perhaps
another topic would be in order. Have you been treated well here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Very much. I have been well fed,
and greatly enjoy this contraption from the master haberdasher.” He pointed to
the headset that he still wore. “I am told that it can read thoughts like a
scholar can read ancient tongues.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Majesty, we do have the
knowledge to do that in a very general sense, not like you think. It requires
much more expensive equipment. You may have noticed-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Aye, it doesn’t work. I realize
that now. The toy changed many times as we spoke, though I have done nothing
different. Yet its appearance is pleasing, and I am grateful for newer clothes
of any sort.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You’re not – upset?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Learned Physik, I have lost too
much of my life in regret. One can only learn and move forward. Mayhaps I shall
laugh about it someday. I was also taken by an expert crier on that contraption.”
He gestured to the TV.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I’m sorry, Majesty, what is a
crier?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“A newsreader. One who reports on
events. One who is responsible for exposing scalawags. Somewhat like I am. Or
was.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“My apologies, Majesty. Criers
are called ‘journalists’ today.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He nodded. “She had the same
silly haberdashery on her head. She said it had a chip from BlueSky, though I
saw no potato products of any kind. And a man in a most exotic suit told her
that it could tell when she relaxed. I watched her contort her face most
comically, close her eyes, glare, yet nothing happened. I could see myself in
her eyes. She dared not suggest that her mind was weak. And so, when it did
finally move – quite at random, while she did nothing new – she said ‘There it
goes’ and left an audience of trusting fools convinced of its efficacy.” He
laughed again. “With all the learning since my era, nobody thought to question
it. They need merely put the system on ten of their colleagues – fellow
journalists, as you say – and it would be obvious. Yet none dare play the
fool.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Perhaps that’s long overdue.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Learning from books comes easier
than learning from the heart. I have much to ponder.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Dr. Rossen-Williams looked at him
for a long time. “Majesty, if I remove your restraints, do you promise to cause
no harm?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Learned Nubian, thou art as kind
as thou art wise and beautiful. I give my word.” Dr. Rossen-Williams removed
the restraints and then silently left the room, motioning Robert to follow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You WHAT?!” The Head Nurse
looked around the conference room for support, but got none. “Lemme get this
straight, you unstrapped him 2 days ago, based only on his word that he would
cause no harm.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Right. And he didn’t.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Then you treated his – whatever
– and got him free dental surgery, even though he has no insurance.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Right.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And instead of remanding him to
Psych, you- you…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Discharged him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“He’s free?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Your command of the obvious is
dazzling one of us.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“But-“ The Head Nurse sputtered.
“Where will he stay? What will he do?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Not your problem any more.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“What if he’s wandering around
the street, freaking out at-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“He’s not. He’s fine.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“And you know this because….”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Not your problem either. Finding
a new job is. I’ve had enough of your insolence.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Fuck you, doctor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Sheila-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I’m already leaving.”</div>
<h2>
<o:p> </o:p></h2>
<h2>
Three months later</h2>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The journalist beamed. “Doctor
Rossen-Williams, I think this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! I mean,
I’ve heard of this kind of thing, but a mood ring that really works?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes. See, most mood rings are
just scams. They sense temperature, which can change with all kinds of things.
But I invented a new chip that can actually read brain activity from the ring
finger. See, I’ll prove it.” She put a ring on the journalist’s finger. “It can
even sense subtle changes in your subconscious mind. Even emotional changes you
might not even sense. See, it just changed color. Now, what were you thinking?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I- I’m not sure, doctor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Let me guess. You were
experiencing the emotion of awe, with some suspicion. And you didn’t want to look
foolish because you didn’t know what to say.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“That’s- yes, that’s exactly it!”
The audience applauded. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You can even try it on a random
volunteer. How about we let the audience prove it? You choose someone there,
someone who seems wise and trustworthy.” The audience chattered excitedly for
several seconds as the camera panned over them, then a tall man emerged from
the crowd. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The journalist stood and put her
microphone under his carefully trimmed beard. “You, sir, what’s your name?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I am Sir Harold, good lady.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“Ah, an Englishman! Well,
everyone knows your reputation. And you’re nobility?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“So I’ll put this ring on him,
and we’ll see how it works.” She put the ring on his finger, and the audience
was silent while it changed color a few times. “What were you thinking?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“I am- awestruck, good lady. I
thought of my homeland, then my wife, then an old foe of mine in primary school.
Every time, it changed color. Amazing!” The applause reverberated throughout
the large room as the journalist nodded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You saw it here first, everyone!
On my program! Hard to believe it’s only 229 bucks!! I know what I’m asking my
hubby for Christmas! Thank you so much for being on my show, doctor. And you,
sir, thanks for volunteering. That concludes our best show ever. We’ll see you
all next week!” The applause eventually died, as did the camera and stage
lighting. Dr. Rossen-Williams walked out the stage exit, went to her car, and
beamed at the man in the passenger seat. “Never too late to learn, eh?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He laughed as he looked at his
cell phone. “We just sold over 2000. Never thought a ring could have so much
power.” His wife just looked at her new wedding ring, then kissed him. </div>
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Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-47730035210771629082015-05-16T09:38:00.000-07:002015-05-16T09:38:56.758-07:00Tsipras, Varoufakis claim agreement with St. Peter imminentAlexis Tsipras and Yanis Varofakis, both recently deceased, insist they are "very close" to an agreement with St. Peter regarding their eternal souls. "The other side seems to expect that we will give in on our 'red lines' about following commandments, such as honoring the Lord our God. Of course we are sovereign and we don't need outside input on these decisions. We also expect reparations for their extensive history of genocide. We will rally the people of Europe against the injustices of the other side."<br />
<br />
St. Peter was not available for comment. <br />
<br />
http://www.startribune.com/greece-s-tsipras-says-very-close-to-deal-with-lenders/303930431/<br />
<br />
Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-73917122704539856182015-04-18T13:15:00.002-07:002015-04-18T13:15:57.800-07:00Greece sues Russia for war reparations, demands free pipeline<br />
Greece filed a lawsuit against Russia today, claiming that Russia should
provide a free pipeline through Greece and five billion euros as
reparations for the Cold War. "This was one of the longest wars in
modern history. The Greek economy was shattered for decades by
diminished trade opportunities, increased border patrols with the
Balkans, and being forced to contribute to NATO, just as we are
currently being forced to contribute to the austerity measures. These
reparations will finally bring healing and closure, although we do not
necessarily rule out further reparation requests. We must take all measures to keep the euro together."<br />
<br />
This announcement was accompanied by numerous other reparation demands. As of press time, Athens has issued orders demanding reparations from the Trojans, Cypriots, Olympians, Persians, Egyptians, Afghans, Indians, Spartans, Jerusalemites, Gauls, Sicilians, Macedonians, Carthaginians, Goths, Byzantines, Moors, and overlapping
cases against Turkey.<br />
<br />
Replies to these demands have been mixed. The Gauls (France) surrendered. Sparta, located in modern Greece, stated that payment would be available after an upcoming bailout, and that the euro can't survive without Greece. The Egyptian government replied that they would pay no reparations, and that "Alexandria" had been renamed "FuckAlexandertheHeathen" in English.<br />
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<br />Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-24438774785725607352014-03-15T09:56:00.001-07:002014-03-15T09:56:16.151-07:00Urine Atlanta!<div class="MsoNormal">
Actually, I just flew out of Atlanta, and you very probably
aren’t there. (I’m guessing you are in Albany, Ouray, or Graz, beloved reader.)
I had a great time visiting old and new friends at the GT BrainLab and FIDO
team. A special shout-out to Sky the border collie, one of the coolest dogs
ever. Sky is the beginning of a new generation of assistance dogs for disabled
people, more helpful and flexible than ever before.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8u551lO-dtIEfwIjDdynVOTL6KPrR7KosUP878y1c7SeXyDsXvwbHBPHpYl9r_iCSp7ZiWJ9mHyYDTzSgFxCpJ2BkETr2iq02e_CWyoH0Sh9xqkU7iqNfEiNKF6dWjbYvZ7MdymaG74/s1600/Sky+the+GT+dog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8u551lO-dtIEfwIjDdynVOTL6KPrR7KosUP878y1c7SeXyDsXvwbHBPHpYl9r_iCSp7ZiWJ9mHyYDTzSgFxCpJ2BkETr2iq02e_CWyoH0Sh9xqkU7iqNfEiNKF6dWjbYvZ7MdymaG74/s1600/Sky+the+GT+dog.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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But I’ll write aplenty about the work related stuff elsewhere (already have, in fact) and so my blog allows an escape to silliness. Here we have an ad for a culinary school that was on the MARTA car. Now, I’m not a culinary expert. I’ve never been to cooking school. My little brother is a far better cook than I ever could be. But, I do have a lot of experience eating. And I’m not sure I’d be dazzled by a gourmet feast centered on potatoes, topped with potato chips, with some sauce. Oh! I see! The potatoes have little green things. And the potato chips are nicely placed on top, with classy-looking squirts of sauce and even a sleeve with a white coat. Wait! Is that a wedge of some yellow fruit, and some twin green veggie blobs? Wow!!! That pittance wouldn’t stuff an anorexic midget baby gnat with a stapled stomach.<br />
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<o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOZN1mZDy1o4aDlDVKp_1bfz921maRnVZ6tn6zki2en94whp0pBifd7cdheHUxgIR7P7z0KuHz5mhW8jpdx0ACoT6KWzSLXjUyNi6snuljsZklmpyy2PoCHuhz9Lhxf6gHoUB2pyPjDg/s1600/Culinary+school.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOZN1mZDy1o4aDlDVKp_1bfz921maRnVZ6tn6zki2en94whp0pBifd7cdheHUxgIR7P7z0KuHz5mhW8jpdx0ACoT6KWzSLXjUyNi6snuljsZklmpyy2PoCHuhz9Lhxf6gHoUB2pyPjDg/s1600/Culinary+school.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></o:p></div>
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American kids sometimes tell each other about a chemical
placed in pools that changes color when you pee. Good trick to get them to
behave, except that it’s very easy to disprove and then the kid gets the wild
notion that adults sometimes lie. Atlanta has taken this to a new level. For
the first time in my life, I saw a sign on warning of urine detection devices,
or UDDs:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtNQLgynsiSeC53LLDbGyMjfNAEBrLAj3kxPuDOqkyF29ty62eS4upSoIHy-tp8_EihIxEwI_Ci3CTxaH3uRghS7vGxQ6W4Wgk9s4u0CX6KDUmpSl9fkgLVlmVwSM7iD9ZlUuTk3KqsM/s1600/MARTA+urine+detector.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtNQLgynsiSeC53LLDbGyMjfNAEBrLAj3kxPuDOqkyF29ty62eS4upSoIHy-tp8_EihIxEwI_Ci3CTxaH3uRghS7vGxQ6W4Wgk9s4u0CX6KDUmpSl9fkgLVlmVwSM7iD9ZlUuTk3KqsM/s1600/MARTA+urine+detector.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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These signs were in and around the N3 MARTA elevator
in Midtown Atlanta. Upon entering the elevator, two of my five senses immediately
informed me that the UDD system was not discouraging elevator peeers at all.
Hoo-wee! Either the sensors don’t work, or (more likely) do not lead to any
arrests. How could they? There’s a camera in there. Great; you get a guy’s back
and then he leaves. Unless he *really* had to go bad, the cops have maybe 20
seconds to respond before the doors open and the peeer (but not his golden gift)
is long gone. So, just like the threat that the pool will turn red if you pee
in it, this is meaningless. What we need is not just a UDD, but a system that
takes action accordingly. </div>
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I propose the Public Indecency Sensor and System for
Offenders (PISSOFF). PISSOFF does rank somewhere on my list of clever
inventions that I have freely given to an unresponsive and ungrateful society through
this blog, like the Urban Hop Maneuver, my extended German grammar, Sound of
Music lyrics for hunters, and cat helicopter. Wait, the cat helicopter is
private. Anyway. </div>
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I hereby offer these novel suggestions to the Atlanta City
Council. Politicians should recognize that there probably will not be many voters
who enthusiastically defend peeers, or encourage peeers to rally with their peeing
peers. It’s a safe way to be tough on crime without offending anyone important.
Even the ACLU wouldn’t take this case. Editorials that begin with “I peed in a
public elevator, and was mistreated” wouldn’t elicit much sympathy. I doubt
meetings for a new group called “Mothers Of Public peeERS” would ever run out
of chairs. If they tried a civil disobedience campaign, getting peacefully arrested for violating an unjust law, most Atlantans would *not* think them on par with Martin Luther King. The Facebook group “Peeers in Elevators and Escalators” would not
have escalating membership. So crack down on 'em!</div>
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If the UDD detects urine….</div>
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<ol>
<li>Automatic door locks: Lock the
doors until cops arrive.</li>
<li>Automatic community service: Also
drop wet towels from an overhead bin. The violator may not leave until thoroughly
cleaning the elevator.</li>
<li>Camsharing: The peeer’s face is
immediately displayed on video screens all over town, including monitors all
over the M3 midtown MARTA station. Buy billboard space too. Add text reading:
“This man is now urinating in the M3 Midtown MARTA elevator!!” Expert’s tip: if
you put the system in other elevators, then adapt the text so it’s easier to
catch them. </li>
<li>Shock grid: The UDD electrifies
the bottom of the elevator. For my non-engineer readers, electricity will
travel along a stream of salty water far better than shoes, socks, plastic
elevator walls, etc. This means that any innocent people in the elevator would
be safe, and probably terribly amused. For my non-male readers, you probably
guessed that shocking the source of urine would really hurt. Yes. I’m wincing
at the thought. Actually, at very low voltage, fence-tinkling leads to a
pleasant tingling sensation. I think the statute of limitations is over so I
can talk about this now, although I’m still banned from Fred’s Low-Voltage Electric
Fence shop.</li>
<li>Urine recycling: The UDD activates
a small pump leading to an overhead cistern, which sprays the violator with the
preceding violator’s urine. Cruel or unusual? Not much different from what he’s
doing to hundreds of future elevator riders. Just a difference in height. </li>
<li>Yellow badge of shame: The
elevator also sprays the violator with a fluorescent yellow stinky sulfur
compound that lingers for weeks. If the cops don’t bust him, his crack dealer
will.</li>
<li>Flies: release the urinal flies
that have been collected from German airports. (See prior posts.) I have
scientifically proven that these flies can cling to the insides of urinals
despite great pressure, almost like they’re painted there. So they’d just stick
on the violator forever. I’ll be in a German airport soon, so I’ll keep an eye
(and something else) out for them sticky urinal flies.</li>
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I’m also intrigued by the sensor engineering. The UDD is probably
not urine specific, just a cheap system to detect liquids. So you might get false
positives from hemophiliacs, snails, wet surfers, janitors, or NFL head coaches
dripping Gatorade after winning a Superbowl. Or people who vomit, spill drinks,
spit, melt, have ebola, drop a full fishtank, enjoy walking in the rain, happen
to be moving a leaky waterbed or broken air conditioner, are sweating profusely
on a hot and humid Atlanta day, or are crying really really a lot. Or have pets
who urinate. Hm. The last one kills it. I don’t think public urination is
illegal for dogs, because they have great lawyers. Damn. It would have been a
good idea otherwise. I’ll move on.</div>
Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-29709831649796303482014-01-30T16:31:00.000-08:002014-01-30T17:18:56.428-08:00The HobbbbbbitIn a hole in a ground there is Professor Jonathan Ronald Reuel Tolkein. 'Tis a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell: it is a grave-hole, and that means comfort is of little concern.<br />
<br />
<br />
In the dawn of the third millenium of the Second Age of Only Men, many wizened scholars decried the differences between the movie adaptation of "The Hobbit" and Tolkein's original vision. Amidst other extensions, some sages noted that the role of the Necromancer seems expanded well beyond the original tomes. Indeed, a letter in Tolkein's own hand explained that the Necromancer was "hardly more than to provide a reason for Gandalf going away and leaving Bilbo and the dwarves to fend for themselves, which was necessary for the tale" (source: J.R.R. Tolkien. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien and Humphrey Carpenter. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1981, pg. 346).<br />
<br />
<br />
Why have no Men seen fit to simply ask Professor Tolkein what he intended, or his views of the movie adaptations? Well, I'm a Professor and a professional researcher, just like he was. And, just like his kid, Chris Tolkein, I devoted my life to studying my father's writings. Since Dad was the Necromancer, I dug up some of his musty old books, learned a few basic necromancer spells, and got ol' Johnny Ronnie talking again. In this interview, he fleshed out his decaying vision with great rigour.<br />
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"Professor, what did you think of the films based on your work?"<br />
<i>Edith? Edith, is that you? How I miss you, my love-</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"No, this is Morgul Winyamo, son of Morgul Tinuviel, son of Bob."<br />
<i>Bollix!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"So you remember my dad?"<br />
<i>Regrettably. Terribly pompous man, an amateur writer lacking discretion, taste, or audience. He was most petulant in his insistence that his skill was comparable to mine, much like CS Lewis. </i><br />
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"Was it true that you intended the Necromancer to play quite a minor role?"<br />
<i>Indeed not. My original vision actually featured an entire trilogy with him and Radagast, with more rabbit sleighs and bird droppings. You see, the Hobbit was intended as a tale for my children, and hence adaptations alluring to that age group are most fitting. Thorin's rejection of Bilbo, leading to the subsequent reconciliation and hug, was deemed trite and highly uncharacteristic of dwarf and hobbit alike, but only by viewers over twelve. </i><br />
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"This leads to another common criticism. How did you feel about the use of CGI in The Hobbit?"<br />
<i>Most regrettably, my access to IMAX theaters is decidedly limited down here. Indeed, might you be so kind as to help me find my way out of here?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"If you answer more questions."<br />
<i>Very well. I must say the CGI is splendid, very close to what I had hoped. When I wrote my books, my primary concern was that the pixellation technology at the time would render any adaptation rather weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"Ah, you're quoting the great bard!"<br />
<i>No, that was Hamlet. Bard was a grim and ineloquent man. Anyway, I particularly enjoyed the CGI in the end of the second Hobbit film. Most prescient of Peter Jackson to recognize that, although the half-hour of special effects was not quite so thoroughly detailed in my book, it is indeed what I hoped would ensue. </i><br />
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"And the adaptation of the party meeting Beorn?"</div>
<i>Well, the original scene in my book, like so many others that were modified, was meant largely to develop characters and background. As mentioned, I always considered these ends far less important than visual effects, extended action scenes, and dialogue that children would consider original. And hence I shall again praise this adaptation. Say, my good man, would you at least send down some pipe-weed?</i><br />
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"Sorry, but since you're breathing again, you only have so much oxygen."</div>
<i>Then, mayhaps, you could ask the eagles to rescue me? They provided a fine escape in my books.</i><br />
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"They're endangered now."</div>
<i>Might you contact the cemetery owner, then? I should have ample funds after the films.</i><br />
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"You didn't get any money from them."</div>
<i>Bloody hell. Those greedy chaps are worse than the Sackville-Bagginses. Might we enter into a literary collaboration? A new Tolkein book might fill both our coffers.</i><br />
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"That would be plagiarism. You don't control your own work any more." </div>
<i>Perhaps I might ghostwrite, if you'd pardon the pun? I could finish my unfinished tales and extend the Silllllllmarillllllllllion with more CGI. Were Disney to purchase my new works, we would most surely have wondrously profitable films, blending my genre with Star Wars. Imagine the visual effects of a lightsaber battle between Luke and Azog, or Smaug vs. X-Wings. Might you speculate as to whether George Lucas would be willing to claim that added CGI constitutes a meaningful retelling of his original vision?</i><br />
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<br />Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-12354482759693014082014-01-28T02:50:00.003-08:002014-01-28T11:55:23.806-08:00Ring in the New Year<br />
Recent years have seen a dramatic rise in sales of "promise rings," also
called "pre-engagement rings". These rings, based loosely on the Irish
Claddagh ring, reflect a couple's commitment to become engaged at some
point. Engagement still means that the couple intends to get married.<br />
<br />
Backtracking, how would couples convey their interest in a possible future promise ring? Hence, Zales has recently introduced the "pre-promise ring". This ring reflects that couples are considering committing to a promise ring, but are not yet ready for the big step of saying that they commit to later commit to later get married.<br />
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Extensive research has indicated various romantic stages that may build up to the pre-promise ring. Howard Jewelers and Hallmark have introduced the "Hoo-woo-oo-oo" ring, based on Eddie Murphy's observation that a critical relationship development is eliciting that sound from your woman.<br />
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSXRp-JvyGM<br />
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Kay Jewelers, capitalizing on their "Every Kiss begins with Kay" slogan, has introduced the "First Kiss" ring. This ring shall be expected by any respectable lady before she first kisses any gentleman. This provides a preliminary indicator of his value and willingness to sacrifice for her. As usual, the two months' salary guide is recommended when pondering the ring's value.<br />
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Jared Diamond has countered with their new slogan, "Every Job begins with J". This conveys a successful hand or blow job. This ring would presumably occur after the K ring, at least in dignified couples. Particularly hopeful gentlemen may wish to consider bringing a K ring and J ring on the first date; however, the J ring should be kept hidden at first.<br />
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Tiffany has introduced the "Tiff ring". This ring conveys that the burgeoning couple has survived their first tiff. The timing of this ring, relative to the three preceding rings, says everything.<br />
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What of the well-established "Purity ring", reflecting that a woman commits to remain pure until marriage? This is still required, and should be placed on a baby at birth. New rings must be purchased as needed as the child grows. All such rings include a thin membrane that is designed to be savagely punctured by the Hoo-woo-oo-oo ring.<br />
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New genetic engineering research has inspired titllating adumbrations of the "F-ring". Contrary to vulgar assumptions, this refers to the "Finger ring". Contrary to vulgar assumptions, this has nothing to do with the verb form of "finger", but reflects a man's commitment to pay for his wife to get additional fingers to host more rings.<br />
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Sales have been poor for the "Divorce promise ring". This ring is meant to convey that the couple commits to get divorced sometime. The poor Zales have been blamed on legal ramifications, and the husband's unwillingness to spend two months' salary on such a ring.<br />
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Sales have been even worse for the Mosaica Masturbation ring. This ring, often confused with the Purity ring, conveys the owner's decision to remain solo for an unspecified time. Market analysts have concluded that, like the Divorce promise ring, a critical concern is buyers' low motivation. Emerging efforts have focused on encouraging people to buy these rings for themselves, reflecting eagerness to get an alternate ring, with sales much higher among women.<br />
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An unfortunate number of people continue to rely on the notorious "I-ring", or Invisible Ring. This ring generates no revenue and reflects that a couple is sufficiently comfortable with their communication and commitment that extensive rings or other baubles are unnecessary. Strong efforts to vilify such ringbearers by the diamond and card industries have been largely successful, but have not caught on with certain demographics, such as amputees, low-maintenance women, prisoners, the homeless, and the hopeless. Further market research will hopefully identify opportunities to eliminate such subversive elements and their possible threat to capitalist society.<br />
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<br />Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-60698547663927888712013-09-16T01:12:00.003-07:002013-09-16T01:15:57.760-07:00PupstagedThe weekend Aufsteierer festival just ended here in Graz. They do this every year. They shut down the city center and have a weekend celebration of their Styrian-ness. The locals wear lederhosen and dirndls and erect several dozen huts selling local food, wine, beer, hats, and other craft. Oh, and Sturm. They sell a lot of Sturm. aka "Youngwine" or "inadequately fermented proto-wine" that is dangerously easy to drink. They love warning tourists not to drink it too fast. Thanks, I said; I lived here for over 2 years.<br />
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Capitalizing on recent events, I made a protest sign urging Obama not to bomb Styria. I spent at least ten hours yesterday (Sunday) walking around the city center with my protest sign. I figured that the more observant and intelligent locals would be amused, and stupid curmudgeons wouldn't get the joke and be offended. Worked perfectly. I was even accosted in public by an old woman who bitched at me for "don't make politic here" because "this is our festival". Learning from other snotty people, I pretended I spoke no German and forced her into wonderfully catachretic convolutions to explain why it was morally wrong. I asked her if she knew the difference between Syria and Styria. Yes, she said. I switched to German and asked if she was sure: Bist du sicher? Note that using the informal tense on an older person is highly insulting. She began explaining this to me and I simply pointed to the sign, repeating again that it has nothing to do with politics. This amused me greatly. It didn't amuse her, but nothing would.<br />
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During my third hour of meandering with a protest sign in one hand and Sturm in the other, I ran in to some buddies of mine who work at the Steak Boutique. Like many locals, they were walking around with their dog. Their dog is named Kirby, short for kuerbis, or pumpkin. Good name, although not nearly as good as Flash Marvin. Unlike other locals, they dressed their dog in lederhosen. I was thoroughly upstaged. Nobody noticed my protest sign any more, instead losing themselves in utter shock and fascination at the "Hund mit Lederhosen." Everyone stopped and pointed. Everyone wanted a picture. Ah ha ha ha! Ho ho ho! Ji ji ji! (This is how they laugh here.) Ein Hund mit Lederhosen!<br />
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JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!!!!!! You guys have been wearing lederhosen for hundreds of years. You're amazingly dog-friendly. You are great engineers and craftsmen. WTF is so novel and kreativ about a dog with pants?! Rich old bats in Santa Monica walk dogs with pants routinely. You can find dog-pants for sale all over the internet. None of you locals ever thought of this before? Have you ever heard of doghouses, dog chew-toys, dog collars, or dog shit? I became much less jealous after realizing that the li'l pumpkin was one hell of a chick magnet. I also felt increasingly sorry for Kirby, who obviously disliked his pants despite the attention they got him. They weren't even capitalizing on the opportunity. Kirby's pants had little pockets that were just the right size for business cards. If you're gonna be silly, why not be tacky too? I mean, look at the asshole in the blue shirt.<br />
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<br />Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-83107935864429222782013-09-14T15:09:00.000-07:002013-09-14T15:09:10.011-07:00Obama: Bomb Styria!!It looks like the US is not going to bomb Styria. Mr. President, I am in Styria, risking my life to explore some of your faulty intelligence. Yes, I remember, you have to pretend you didn't personally ask me to come scout here, but we both know.<div>
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Here is what I learned:</div>
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1) I confirmed their chemical weapons stockpiles. They are truly horrific. I just got back from a public plaza called "Hauptplatz" where well over 1400 people were afflicted with some wicked concoction that dramatically affects the central nervous system, causing motor deficits, confusion, vomiting, headache, and the illusion of wit. They call it schilcher Sturm. The unleashed it on innocent civilians, many as young as 16 (or so their fake IDs say).</div>
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2) They do too have oil!!! They deny it. But it's called kuerbiskernoil. They seem to have it on the scale of trillions of barrels, and consume it casually. This alone justifies bombing them.</div>
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3) The media says the Turks will support an attack. I think your geography is a bit off, Mr. President; there are a few countries between here and Turkei. But they have established many bases here called "Doener kebab stands." Many Turks speak the local language and are resentful of perceived racism. They have already begun distributing their low-grade chemical weapons to the civilians. These weapons, called "Iskender Kebabs," cause lethargy, high cholesterol, and severe gastrointestinal distress. </div>
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4) They are racist against black people!! Their streetcars have signs that warn that Schwartzfahren, or "black travelling," is illegal. I asked if the rule applies to people who are half-black, thinking of course of you, sir, my president. Nobody knows. To be safe, if you ride any streetcars here, you should maybe put your legs and an arm out the window, ensuring that at most half of you is inside the streetcar at any time. </div>
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5) They are meddling in our internal affairs. They established a museum to some local guy who became the governor of California. His last name translates as "black plowman." I guess he is not allowed to ride the local streetcars either. Actually, he doesn't look very black. Liar!</div>
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6) I saw no evidence of any serious air defenses. Besides, we have Tomahawks and they don't. </div>
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7) We would get them by surprise. I am pretty sure they are not expecting an attack from the US. They seem totally unprepared for any naval attack and don't even worry about their navy. This might have something to do with the size of their coastline. And if they say it is not nice to sneak attack people, remind them that about 75 years ago, they [CENSORED]</div>
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8) I'm not a legal expert but I think that Styria cannot invoke article 5 of NATO since Styria is not technically a country in NATO. </div>
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9) Some citizens are eager to rebel. The whole region of Styria (which they call Steiermark) used to be owned by Steyr, which is about 2 hours north of here (or five by train). They are all marked men.</div>
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10) It would really distract people from that whole NSA - Prism thing. </div>
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In summary, Mr. President, most of your intelligence about Styria is wrong. It is almost like you are thinking of a totally different part of the world. Please Kerry on with your war hawkery. Better yet, the locals seem to be in the middle of an election. Maybe you could sneak in some of our boys and take Styria without bloodshed. I think the ex-governor of California is available and he speaks the local language (with a very bad accent). I don't think he would win, but maybe you send him to terminate some other candidates, or just disguise him as a small old woman with glasses. </div>
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I want a medal for this, Mr. President. </div>
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Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-84840320501841416112012-12-31T13:17:00.000-08:002012-12-31T13:18:05.380-08:00Markt man<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a good gallivant around Austria. I returned to Graz
and caught up with some old friends named gluehwein and feuerzangenbowle. No
longer sure the latter is my friend, but I’ll warm up after another few days.
Oh, I also saw many human friends, who I do miss. Then Steyr, and then Baden,
near Vienna. Even the little villages have their Christkindlmarkt, or baby
Jesus market. Yet, as I mentioned last time, not even Vienna had a market for baby Krampus, even though
the Austrians believe in Krampus about as fervently as Jesus. I proposed
Krampuskindlmarkt on Facebook and then, after the enthusiastic reaction of at
least one very drunk person (who probably misunderstood me), I tried to
encourage the locals to actually implement it. I mean, it would take less
effort than a booth in Christkindlmarkt, since you don’t have to worry about
quality. It would be a great way to unload badly made gluehwein, rotten bread,
poorly crafted (ideally dangerous) wooden toys, old clothing, badwill, stress,
and every Austrian’s latent desire to terrify children. Why Krampus, if they
don’t like scaring kids? <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYew7xbmxTGbVOA5SPEEdMy41JZ2A0riYsSL1ktgquq3B1X4xB0GvU26bQhxORLEpekqtAqmcneI7ync4TfrX_h2sMcVKrueKobETXa6UuVLQKY4aDE1HK_qssV0arVFMZ5-NsVTKwKmA/s1600/Wien+Christkindlmarkt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYew7xbmxTGbVOA5SPEEdMy41JZ2A0riYsSL1ktgquq3B1X4xB0GvU26bQhxORLEpekqtAqmcneI7ync4TfrX_h2sMcVKrueKobETXa6UuVLQKY4aDE1HK_qssV0arVFMZ5-NsVTKwKmA/s320/Wien+Christkindlmarkt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Christmas market in Vienna.<br />
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Santa Claus is typically fat and jolly. So Krampus must be even bigger so he can intimidate and overwhelm Santa. We need a really scary Krampus with the muscle, temerity, personality, and language skills to not just beat up Santa but ensure that fat fuck never puts on a suit again. Ideally, someone who once played football for the Graz Giants and gloats about bench pressing on FB. And if he smells bad and has poor fashion sense and terrifies children just being himself, why, all the better. Yeah. You know who. No, Clemens. Not you.</div>
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Austrians also have bowling. Sort of. Actually, a weird 9 pin variant with smaller bowling balls. You only get one try to knock down pins, and they are connected with strings to facilitate resetting. Otherwise, pretty similar to western bowling. I went out with the g.tec team in Steyr and our team won. I had declared that the winning team gets a hug from Christoph Guger, but he refused, so I transferred it to Gerv instead. </div>
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Austrian bowling near Schiedelberg.<br />
<br />
I made Mexican food for the gtec office in Schiedelberg. I didn't really bring any enchilada sauce, or any Mexican ingredients, so had to make do with whatever I could buy at the local Inter-Spar. I put out a decent buffet, with tortillas, taco shells, fresh guac, sour cream, taco sauce, 2 kinds of shredded cheese, lettuce, ground beef, and chicken. And nothing spicy. They seemed happy. I'll have to remember the enchilada sauce next time.<br />
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Mexikanisch essen.</div>
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Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-78983140605513719352012-12-17T07:05:00.002-08:002012-12-17T07:08:43.469-08:00Flies of fancyMarble columns. String quartets. Black graduation gowns. Flies. Urinals. Some things convey class more than others. I was recently back in Graz, a charming city as always, and went to a graduation ceremony to see my homey Teo get elevated to doctordom. Their ceremony was in a pretty nice room, with all the fancy accoutrements noted before. I'm a little annoyed. I got a PhD too. I got none of the fanciness at my ceremony. And this was before the era of budget cuts. I guess modern UCSD graduates get flies and urine, and have to like it.<br />
<br />
Of course, since I flew through Munich for the first time in 8 months, you know why I was thinking of flies and urinals. I couldn't wait to see if my old friends were still hanging out in the Munich airport urinals, right at the aiming point, just taunting me to piss them off. I was ready. And I thought they might be extra tired, too, since the fucking inefficient Germans cut off the corridor between the H and G concourses, forcing all of us international travelers to exit and then go through the security checkpoint again. This tired me out too, but it was presumably worse for the urinal flies, since we all know they have triple the hassle removing their shoes. Yet the tenacious little buggers held on tight, through a full assault of processed coffee and wine, without even batting one of their very many eyes. They should consider guarding Buckingham Palace.<br />
<br />
Germanic regality is also somewhat offset by their signs in bathrooms. You can leave a room with marble columns and string quartets and black robes, walk down the hall, and there's a bathroom with a taped paper picture of a guy brushing his teeth with a toilet brush. Perhaps he is confused by the lack of spaces in the title. Yes, that really is one long word.<br />
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This sign is very common in Austria, which makes me wonder if it really is a problem for them. I mean, they do drink quite a lot. Perhaps, if they sobered up, they would realize that designing toilets like smart people would greatly reduce the need for toilet brushes. Their toilets make you poop onto a plain porcelain plateau rather than water, which I once noted is more like dumping the kids on the diving board than dropping them off at the pool.<br />
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Another problem with such a high porcelain shelf is the greater risk of urine splatter. Hence another common toilet sign....<br />
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Dude. No. Men pee standing up. This sign is in an office with 15 engineers. This means almost all men. Yet you walk in and the toilet seat is down. Dude. Dude? Dude!!<br />
<br />
Lest I come off as overly nationalist, I shall supercilicize my own country. During the workshop tour through the Great Plains, I noticed a lot of shops along the freeway for fireworks, Mexican food, and porn. All of these are associated with the underside of society, and lead to explosions in their own way. It is sort of understandable given the appropriateness of "Great Plains." They are great. They are plain. On and on. There seemed to be a disproportionate number of nasty smells, too, little stretches with eau de skunk, sewage, or smoke. I brought a nutmeg with me, which I would scrape whenever we hit a noisome streak. it worked, but now I associate nutmeg with all that is foul instead of Christmasy.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Christmas, it is that time here in Austria too. Had my gluehwein and saw a few different Christmas markets. They call some Christkindlmarkt, which means "Baby Jesus Market." I doubt I am the first to wonder if they sell Jesuses, but I bet I am the first to propose Krampuskindlmarkt, or "Baby Krampus Market." It could be like a foul, fucked up version of Christkindlmarkt, with rotten gluehwein and rude staff dressed up like Krampus and burnt pastries and nasty-scented incense and poorly made crafts that break on you.<br />
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Yes, Austria, I missed you too.<br />
<br />Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-11057474119507609652012-11-27T14:25:00.001-08:002012-12-17T04:56:19.472-08:00BCI Flaneur<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's hard entertaining people all day during a science lecture and demo.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dr. Guger could not be here today, but he kindly provided
this picture of his daughter playing with several of his amplifiers. This shows
that the systems are durable and flexible. They are not just useful for
recording EEG, but also for toys for children and, as I will show later, for
supermodels as well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a map showing the location of Austria. Austrians
often like to joke that Americans are uneducated and don’t know geography, and
that Austria does not have kangaroos. This is not true, though. I have a
picture of me in the Vienna zoo next to a kangaroo.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Austrias are very proud of Mozart, who did a lot of
composing in Salzburg. If you ever want to have fun with the locals, tell them
that you went to Salzburg to see their greatest musical work, which is the
Sound of Music by Rogers and Hammerstein. They will spit on you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a picture of a model wearing an electrode cap. I
have been living in Germany and Austria, and can tell you that these things are
all the rage. Models at the London and Paris fashion shows wear them routinely,
and I used to wear them in bars to meet people. Be warned that, if you choose
to wear an electrode cap during the demo., people will stammer around you and
try to buy you drinks. This is because wearing an electrode cap makes you look
like a supermodel. You see that this person in the image is, in fact, me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We used to try demonstrate this SOCI system with World of
Warcraft during the workshops. But I would be up here, yapping away, and see
poor Nick in the back trying to get it working. At UCSD, Nick discovered that
the system didn’t work because the UCSD network blocked the ports for World of
Warcraft. Then we found this again at UCLA, UCSF, and other universities, as if
so many students ruined their academic careers playing WoW that they had to
block the ports or it would be the end of the world. Of Warcraft. So we don’t
try this demo at universities any more. We did try the demo at Blizzard
Entertainment, and their network did not block the ports. One of their staff
wore the cap and used it pretty well. However, everyone in the audience, most
of whom worked on WoW, kept yelling advice. Cast this spell! Go left! Kill the
ostrich! When he finally killed the ostrich, a cheer went up, as if he actually
accomplished something by ridding the world of one more virtual ostrich. They
also cheered when we told them that the universities blocked their ports, as if
they were proud of destroying so many students’ lives. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Actually, ECoG systems are not typically implanted for
research purposes. We could really make some advancements if we could implant
them in humans for research, but there are ethical issues there, as well as the
cost. Neurosurgeons do these implantations for much more serious reasons, such
as on a dare or because they are very drunk. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please don’t hesitate to take extra food, since we have some
left over. Grad students get priority, since we know you are all underpaid,
underfed, and underappreciated. It’s not much better as a postdoc, trust me.
Besides, if we have any food left over, we have to send it back to Austria for
legal reasons. Then it will get all moldy, and Christoph will get sick.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please note that this syringe is not very sharp. It has no
needle and will not penetrate the skin. So, it is OK to wiggle it around a
little inside each of the electrode holes ot move hair out of the way and get a
good contact with the scalp. We did this workshop at UCLA and some bastard
stole our syringe. So I have to emphasize these are not good for injecting
through the skin. If you want a syringe to shoot up heroin, steal it from
someone else. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you mount the cap, you also have to clip on the right
earlobe electrode. Now, I know that some of you are not from medical
backgrounds, but does anyone want to guess where on the body the right earlobe
electrode goes?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that the cap is mounted, you might want to take a
picture of the volunteer. But, you might also want to wait until we start
applying gel. People widely agree that feeling electrode gel in your hair is
the most wonderful experience they have ever had, so you want to get their
faces when this happens.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, the BCI does not work for some people. This does
not mean that you are stupid, or have a weak brain, or anything. Maybe you are
stupid, but we can’t tell with a BCI. Seriously, if you can’t use a BCI, it is
not your fault, but the system designer’s fault. So if it doesn’t work, it is
not your fault; it is Christoph Guger’s fault.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, people like to test our system by not complying with the instructions. I can understand if you are suspicious. We enter the word WATER. Then, we have a lot of flashes, and it spits back WATER. Maybe you are not impressed. But in fact, being a good scientist means not just being skeptical, but strategically skeptical, I promise you wil have a chance to test the system later, when we switch from copy spelling mode to free spelling mode. But for now, please play along. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that we’re doing the feedback run, you might have a
strong reaction if the BCI does not work. Sometimes, if it spells the wrong
letter, people will yell, curse, or hit the table. Indeed, we’ve learned some
great curses in foreign languages during these workshops. We don't know what they mean, but we trust they are great curses. ut please try to
remain still, or you will just produce EMG noise and make it even less likely
you will get the next letter right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For our last run with the intendiX speller, we have a
competition. The winner of the competition will get to take some extra leftover
food, and (if you ask nicely) I will even squirt extra electrode gel in your
hair. Best of all, you will earn a hug from Christoph Guger. You know that
Germanic people are very informal, warm, and affectionate and love to hug
people. In fact, even casual male friends will routinely kiss each other on
each cheek when they greet each other. Really, I swear, that part is true. So
hugging must be trivial to them. So when you see Christoph at a conference,
don’t say hi or give any warning, just walk up and give him a big bear hug. And
tell him it is from me. No, tell him it is from Gerwin Schalk. He is a very
strong man.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the end of the BCI demos, but we need help with the
two most exciting demos of all. I know you may not trust me anymore, and you
would be wise. But really, these are the two greatest demos, called the cap
washing demo and putting everything away demo. Please help us, because we
actually prefer to just use the same caps every time without washing them.</div>
Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-27999926272749461062012-09-15T09:32:00.003-07:002012-09-15T09:32:46.884-07:00The Magik of MozartkügelnJust finished the West Coast workshop tour, sharing the shock and awe of BCIs with hundreds of eager students, doctors, professors, and the occasional freeloader. Perhaps shock isn't the best word choice with a technology that only passively reads brain activity, but fatigue is even more permissive than alcohol, and a more socially acceptable excuse.<br />
<br />
We had to stay in hotels in San Diego, LA, San Diego again, Irvine, San Fran, Portland, Vancouver, and Seattle. Astute readers who know American geography, like my Austrian homeys, will note this is not quite a straight shot up the west coast, but we have to accomodate the hosts' schedules. The hotels were typically four star hotels, some new, some not. Dr. Nick Anderson, who was on the tour with me, noted that our only problems were with the older hotels. I admit that words like "historic" and "quaint" did sound appealing. Yes, the antique (-looking) marble columns Austrian crystal chandeliers in the Historic Hotel Whitcomb did dazzle, thought their little museum to their own history was too pretentious even for me. The moldy smell and stained carpets were enough to drive Nick and Elizabeth away. I tolerated it, and other signs of unrenovated fading glory, but agreed with Nick's decision to stick with newer hotels in the future. Despite over five years of traveling flaneur, I still have much to learn. And share. Old = warning flag.<br />
<br />
And here's another helpful lesson. Mozartkügeln aren't just handy for charming mothers (and, periodically, daughters). In all of the hotels, I tried a new trick when checking in. Go for the female staffer, if possible, and mention that you have Austrian chocolate if they give you a free room upgrade. It sounded absurd to me too until it worked at every hotel except one. I'm in a suite now, and got a King's Suite at the Palomar on Wilshire Blvd. Said suite was so snotty that they had a room service menu for dogs:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH1iqRYns4dxx0I4YG-Ewrz2G6S9YiBvXjMMaoJcSkHPvqq_qhNRp_H6GbVBEJBDe1e4KdINthXccNjPGqOh7qr0XWXPKXcvhHEXYa0H4SB-i1oynp9rqZ7kO1TORLwFen4KS6FhcaQ8/s1600/Dog+menu.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH1iqRYns4dxx0I4YG-Ewrz2G6S9YiBvXjMMaoJcSkHPvqq_qhNRp_H6GbVBEJBDe1e4KdINthXccNjPGqOh7qr0XWXPKXcvhHEXYa0H4SB-i1oynp9rqZ7kO1TORLwFen4KS6FhcaQ8/s1600/Dog+menu.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
It has four items. They include a veggie plate and "fruit delight" with blackberries, blueberries, and sliced apples. Mmmmmm. Sounds delicious. I could go for one right now. I think that dogs, even near Beverly Hills, prefer meat. They probably prefer the turtle I put above the menu, which they might deem more edible even though it is made of towels. Yes, the whirlpool tub was graced with a turtle made of towels, meaning that the maid was paid to assemble cloth origami every day. Great room overall. Not a bad upgrade for a piece of chocolate that cost me less than a dollar. <br />
<br />
The keys seem to be that Austrian chocolate is both unexpected and foreign. Austrians are not typically known as chocolatiers. I doubt a bribe of American chocolate would have worked in the states, even good chocolate. I bribed the Vancouver hotel with California fudge, and that got me a big room with a great view. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hTW3G_yksXfUbQHCcE0Pn6QTEz6TH3Fg-FG8w1_y7HqScBpfODcY-FYPyzz1tX0YiTWbZ-u4_sqVmcMg3qo8sOms5GkvWdGs3qifUQAfuDYHP3yl7aB_aqJaKXdQ76V1BGxcQLNhyphenhyphenfg/s1600/Blizzard+cuddles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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Of course, there's always the null hypothesis - chocolate and charm are irrelevant. Maybe I got the room upgrade just because I asked, and because we typically arrived late and usually stayed for only one night and they had the room available. But this would imply that I wasted a bunch of chocolate and a blog post for nothing, so fuck you. The upcoming east coast tour will also be graced with a little night music called Mozartkügeln. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEE-XiwCWUrJ-nFBuYbV5w1tShyJ13J-9EeMLrUih3WLWRl-uHM0Dgxz07rBG4ZHZ3PvlFhYJEgAGykCvDQqifKTBmS-V639_INvImh2KN7Xxn9eSYWyOfdBHsFpi_XZXruXNIsjnEG_k/s1600/Blizzard+in+front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEE-XiwCWUrJ-nFBuYbV5w1tShyJ13J-9EeMLrUih3WLWRl-uHM0Dgxz07rBG4ZHZ3PvlFhYJEgAGykCvDQqifKTBmS-V639_INvImh2KN7Xxn9eSYWyOfdBHsFpi_XZXruXNIsjnEG_k/s1600/Blizzard+in+front.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gmoW1W3Mjv0nGrWMSWi0YHNdjrbaTz1hQ1PcWs6E6jlAkoNFyc5p6Qgvea-tun0D7KFAAwh8zF-u-fgDUqp0W-v1QTfsDCYHv4iKNiHZC2Xq-w4BOau4XOaw-9HMdDULr2xdcKD4m-g/s1600/Blizzard+together.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3gmoW1W3Mjv0nGrWMSWi0YHNdjrbaTz1hQ1PcWs6E6jlAkoNFyc5p6Qgvea-tun0D7KFAAwh8zF-u-fgDUqp0W-v1QTfsDCYHv4iKNiHZC2Xq-w4BOau4XOaw-9HMdDULr2xdcKD4m-g/s1600/Blizzard+together.jpg" height="320" width="202" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hTW3G_yksXfUbQHCcE0Pn6QTEz6TH3Fg-FG8w1_y7HqScBpfODcY-FYPyzz1tX0YiTWbZ-u4_sqVmcMg3qo8sOms5GkvWdGs3qifUQAfuDYHP3yl7aB_aqJaKXdQ76V1BGxcQLNhyphenhyphenfg/s1600/Blizzard+cuddles.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hTW3G_yksXfUbQHCcE0Pn6QTEz6TH3Fg-FG8w1_y7HqScBpfODcY-FYPyzz1tX0YiTWbZ-u4_sqVmcMg3qo8sOms5GkvWdGs3qifUQAfuDYHP3yl7aB_aqJaKXdQ76V1BGxcQLNhyphenhyphenfg/s1600/Blizzard+cuddles.jpg" height="320" width="179" /> </a><br />
<br />
Three pictures in front of the warg rider statue in front of Blizzard Entertainment, last week. One picture is with Nick Anderson.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddNjuBUWVqon50W4kZD_yMkfOeYJjBTKEWXWOBqTPmKrzhtfXYV3uNnadyDDDldpGQ-oFm1PF1pCnNzI808CNBDRLW_QWS91Ymrc7CAZfbRotoVr9gCrLNUi71hM06bCX7ffjMOYxBNk/s1600/BZA+with+Mozartkuegeln+by+dwarf+gunner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgddNjuBUWVqon50W4kZD_yMkfOeYJjBTKEWXWOBqTPmKrzhtfXYV3uNnadyDDDldpGQ-oFm1PF1pCnNzI808CNBDRLW_QWS91Ymrc7CAZfbRotoVr9gCrLNUi71hM06bCX7ffjMOYxBNk/s1600/BZA+with+Mozartkuegeln+by+dwarf+gunner.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirv0Xfjl35znrGnMWyoJw_pYOHkQ8sfBr3Y5eIIpe1HN8YQ0YryL7F-6McSuDd4nUQqIvgWRmflZ9IU310mIGfJuuyJBDIH5jFTxwmbw-agLn_FJO9R5PVv3agW388s577KsCg7p65ZFA/s1600/BZA+and+Anton+with+Mozartkuegeln+by+dwarf+gunner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirv0Xfjl35znrGnMWyoJw_pYOHkQ8sfBr3Y5eIIpe1HN8YQ0YryL7F-6McSuDd4nUQqIvgWRmflZ9IU310mIGfJuuyJBDIH5jFTxwmbw-agLn_FJO9R5PVv3agW388s577KsCg7p65ZFA/s1600/BZA+and+Anton+with+Mozartkuegeln+by+dwarf+gunner.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHp18s3ZrQDr5Kn2jHMRG1Qo_Eb185213SKgu4tL3uRgAqJ26dhyphenhyphen-6VB94vX2vQli9mqWVLwGnCDzaMcpM51Xmo-4UzGd51ps7ROMV-xjji3FccqaqGHBVFBPlsk9KQNCpSA_HyPOJ_w/s1600/BZA,+Anton,+Guenter+by+statue+at+Blizzard+HQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHp18s3ZrQDr5Kn2jHMRG1Qo_Eb185213SKgu4tL3uRgAqJ26dhyphenhyphen-6VB94vX2vQli9mqWVLwGnCDzaMcpM51Xmo-4UzGd51ps7ROMV-xjji3FccqaqGHBVFBPlsk9KQNCpSA_HyPOJ_w/s1600/BZA,+Anton,+Guenter+by+statue+at+Blizzard+HQ.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Three pictures from 2009, with Anton Nijholt and Guenter Edlinger. Note the (cheaper) Mozartkügeln I'm holding. Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-50479970782160807472012-05-23T12:37:00.002-07:002012-05-23T12:55:44.174-07:00g. Force<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I started this blog about five years ago, figuring my move to Europe would inspire some good writing. It did, amidst a fair amount of drek, but evidently not enough to drive you away. So I'll try again.<br />
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BZA Flaneur has been quiet recently, due largely to my move back to the US. Over the last couple weeks, I was on a workshop tour with g.tec, and visited Georgia Tech in Atlanta, ETSU in Johnson City (East Tennessee), Duke in Raleigh, Old Dominion University in Norfolk, and Uni Cincinnati. I forgot how much of my home country was worth visiting, especially after five years away.<br />
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Saw some old friends in Atlanta, which was characteristically humid enough to quell any regret for being away since 2005. I did get to introduce sweet tea (the table wine of the South) to Christoph Guger. His facial expression was priceless, and quite different from giving Europeans pop rocks. Our workshop was in the J S Coon Psychology Building, so I had to explain to him why this is an ironic name in Atlanta. He waited until I was off guard and then asked "What does coon mean?" rather loudly in a crowded hotel. Crowded with people who might well have been offended, and not vicariously. I said before that Germanspeakers do have a sense of humor. Somewhere.<br />
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I avenged myself by teaching him two driving maneuvers: the California stop and California sweep. The former is a term I didn't just make up to fuck with him, so you can find it online. The latter refers to lane changing from the leftmost lane, through ongoing traffic, to make an exit on the right. He innovated the Austrian sweep, which is doing so and then heading back to the far left. Yeah. Germanspeaker humor.<br />
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We had an extra day in Tennessee, which Christoph decided would be best spent waking up at 5.30 and hiking with some of our BCI buddies. I dubbed him "Crazy Christoph" for his general penchant for doing everything in a more extreme way with less sleep. Somehow, though quiet and seemingly demure, Dr. Guger forced us all to join him through pure g.force of will. We made it to the top of Mt. Mitchell, which they claim is the highest peak east of the Mississippi. I am suspicious, because I think Austria has higher mountains, let alone the Himalayas. <br />
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Duke was a whirlwind; we arrived after midnight (having hiked all day, then driven from TN) and then immediately went to Norfolk. There, we had an extra day for some hiking and hanging at the beach, where I thoroughly mocked the waves, though less than they deserved. Did see a new kind of lizard.<br />
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We then drove to Cincinnati, stopping for a half day to go kayaking on the James River. Yes, I am wet. Yes, the river does seem quite calm. Yes, it is a beginner kayak. Yes, I did capsize. But I did it on purpose. Just to fuck with Crazy Christoph. It did give me a sudden advantage in our ongoing paddle-splashing fight. The safety video told us to avoid horseplay, and being mature PhD professionals in our 30s, we didn't. I am still worried he's going to sneak attack me somehow. Germanspeaker humor. And sneak attacks. Dangerous combo.<br />
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And, finally, the workshop in Cincinnati, where a photographer got me in action leading the hands-on workshop where people with no training or experience all spelled perfectly with their brainwaves:<br />
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Now I am in San Jose, ostensibly to relax, but in fact am stealthily trying to apply my BCI-workshop-leading skills to help a patient. More on that later.<br />
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The flight to Cincinnati was long, and covered a lot of America. It is
still great, perhaps all the more poignant after five years. (Not
Cincinnati.) The Great Plains and then the Grand Canyon yawned beneath, on and on, for almost an hour of flight time, surrounded by mostly unexploited natural beauty. Enjoy it while you can, for more people, improved fracking, or at least faster planes are inevitable.Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1727401777966421760.post-83337992775969129222012-03-30T23:44:00.014-07:002012-03-31T00:00:14.981-07:00SameokeI just arrived in Budapest, and am killing time before my old friend Victor Wang arrives. Both are relatively new. Never been to Budapest, and haven’t hung out with King Victorious in over ten years. Then, he was a lab tech and I was a PhD student. Now, he’s an MD/PhD starting a neurology residency, and I am a senior postdoc. At least until tomorrow. Ah, change. <p class="MsoNormal">Can anyone suggest a new title for me? I am, technically, soon to become a Visiting Scientist at UCSD. It is a fine title. But a more accurate one would be freelance consultant, or writer. The problem is that both of these are well-known euphemisms for “unemployed and bullshitting about it”, and if I really am a writer, I should be able to think of something better. “Neuronaut” requires explanation. So does “mad scientist”, and it also scares the humorless. And they don’t laugh when I say I was kidding. Cause they’re humorless. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Since I have no new pictures for this blog post, I’ll explain some ones from my last Barcelona trip. Believe it or not, I didn’t go there planning to photograph protestors wearing California shirts. My plans included some lounging in the hotel and using various spa facilities. Sadly, the hotel had British tourists there, further reaffirming why so many Europeans hate them. All day, they were drunk, loud, and thoroughly unconcerned with anyone else. Most of the day, ten of them sat in a Jacuzzi, which should be a health violation or at least the start of a joke. (What do you call ten limeys in a jacuzzi? Heisse Zitrone! Well, Germanspeaking readers think it’s funny. Or would, were they not humorless by definition.) </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Or how ‘bout this one? How many British people does it take to fill a jacuzzi? Ten!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">(Pause for laughter.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZveWIix38eOUhuZRUI2YEuo-DJfaSfYJn57X3KVKR7dVPZcoqMuvTCEwkqaZ2PM-TZBsoYrQpB3ZvYf5vzA3S-q-KXkfDyvWH4_4gGcGfEcYFQCASsgx1lc43w0drmxdoC39eYtWgME/s1600/10+Brits+in+a+tub.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZveWIix38eOUhuZRUI2YEuo-DJfaSfYJn57X3KVKR7dVPZcoqMuvTCEwkqaZ2PM-TZBsoYrQpB3ZvYf5vzA3S-q-KXkfDyvWH4_4gGcGfEcYFQCASsgx1lc43w0drmxdoC39eYtWgME/s400/10+Brits+in+a+tub.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725949042810873858" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But the main goal was not anything specific to Barcelona, a magnificent city I’d already seen aplenty, but to hang out with Sam, an even older friend than Vic. It was an epic trip, including the most expensive meal I’ve ever eaten, at Gorria, a restaurant whose wine menu covers are made of cork. Too cool.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FxNPkqZ4ur4CB64vdm7k25vG9H7x9SGXO3OjL7D6xPQdQi3VCg4gTRfNxROqnWh0FcQCU6CMy6N2Pr9TgOCVn5LCeTcfb4S8dBB0ldFGjO9OaoeulyQMWR-kLHkCtKxhzfdkdlAARcA/s1600/BZA+Sam+Gorria+BCN.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FxNPkqZ4ur4CB64vdm7k25vG9H7x9SGXO3OjL7D6xPQdQi3VCg4gTRfNxROqnWh0FcQCU6CMy6N2Pr9TgOCVn5LCeTcfb4S8dBB0ldFGjO9OaoeulyQMWR-kLHkCtKxhzfdkdlAARcA/s400/BZA+Sam+Gorria+BCN.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725948692685036898" border="0" /></a>We got in to the VIP party for the World Congress at the Museum of Rock. There, I saw the next evolution of karaoke, called jameoke. This differs in that the band is live. No other difference. Still, people from the audience come up to sing. Still, they’re usually drunk and amusing. Another difference became apparent when a drunk audience member asked to grab the bass guitar. They let him. So audience members have the freedom to not just sing badly, but also play instruments badly. With not one but two bad performers, the jameoke session was on the verge of collapse. The drummer and guitarist, both obviously professional, tried to keep up. Egad. Then someone from the crowd emerged and took the guitar. I saw audience members wince, as I would have had I not known that Sam was a master guitarist. It was fun watching the audience figure this out, slowly, drunkenly, joyfully. I managed to contribute by grabbing the mike just after the lyrical part of “Hotel California” ended, which is the perfect time for me to sing.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3abp7540pjaieZI0TybDnwf-R-fqTtXi5DUdHqO_6gHDxFHDHKTEcncq7PF75A6anDxe16EeOZ4JpnqQ9_BoNaOc3ZzyFvixyYoR9JutJ0wSjDDbDDolpXPbph12kwrNTwn-Ih15Suw/s1600/Sameoke+II.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3abp7540pjaieZI0TybDnwf-R-fqTtXi5DUdHqO_6gHDxFHDHKTEcncq7PF75A6anDxe16EeOZ4JpnqQ9_BoNaOc3ZzyFvixyYoR9JutJ0wSjDDbDDolpXPbph12kwrNTwn-Ih15Suw/s400/Sameoke+II.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725949512348447490" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5PWX5bYXoH21iXHQ2M9eyHxhiFqPGdBzBqIqBV2ixEe6SV3aP8men4OyGvQCb87zFKeVqx48Kd8yE-UTXwcOEx8_T_jbECu3UxZ1YC9Xh3-ZLw5ldpEbjGhP3ZFxG2387BHJMW3X5EA/s1600/Sameoke.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5PWX5bYXoH21iXHQ2M9eyHxhiFqPGdBzBqIqBV2ixEe6SV3aP8men4OyGvQCb87zFKeVqx48Kd8yE-UTXwcOEx8_T_jbECu3UxZ1YC9Xh3-ZLw5ldpEbjGhP3ZFxG2387BHJMW3X5EA/s400/Sameoke.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725949433610993090" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDwpaD3Vx7Zz29s7Tb6_n0UIhhLGMoHrJHf_31vvlzik7gEG_0e9y9sIU1DQRBWpgZIsRn4eL3iNtu05JQIPzB9SYiDFOfi1oJbYjeHNfJ_J3j5GOHQ5ZrYgO_loivfd4-IwpgzfQSLQ/s1600/Sameoke+solo.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDwpaD3Vx7Zz29s7Tb6_n0UIhhLGMoHrJHf_31vvlzik7gEG_0e9y9sIU1DQRBWpgZIsRn4eL3iNtu05JQIPzB9SYiDFOfi1oJbYjeHNfJ_J3j5GOHQ5ZrYgO_loivfd4-IwpgzfQSLQ/s400/Sameoke+solo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725949269593335730" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIjBFXF7DzsuUDud8q_RwEjoPwqVjYuGOjLwJyMYLdLHKBr4ZyCuTIc89KxH7bIecTXlSc5ywJCTd2nZ0wmky6BZPNn_9hM2VvEH6FHCMd6_AqOs7tSaLra78EIZNbVp3VrdPT4EDRLnM/s1600/BZA+and+Sameoke.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIjBFXF7DzsuUDud8q_RwEjoPwqVjYuGOjLwJyMYLdLHKBr4ZyCuTIc89KxH7bIecTXlSc5ywJCTd2nZ0wmky6BZPNn_9hM2VvEH6FHCMd6_AqOs7tSaLra78EIZNbVp3VrdPT4EDRLnM/s400/BZA+and+Sameoke.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725949802012603314" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We also had a fitting amount of Guell tourism, as Americans must.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctqUKp0MHcVF08gAw8YR5EGwTi9dKE8ZGfYOHuYL2ItoCJLRVlM6k43qdxPVjqmvFs0xahFMpx_Z5xbDOEweTp6Dw3c5_y5RekNZTKc_j8Tglv_SLlWV3RslUJEXb0eFxXj-qlyY6PwY/s1600/BZA+Guell+lizard.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctqUKp0MHcVF08gAw8YR5EGwTi9dKE8ZGfYOHuYL2ItoCJLRVlM6k43qdxPVjqmvFs0xahFMpx_Z5xbDOEweTp6Dw3c5_y5RekNZTKc_j8Tglv_SLlWV3RslUJEXb0eFxXj-qlyY6PwY/s400/BZA+Guell+lizard.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725950014678513986" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjncji8chV4c6rIjyrkzoktYc1dhGyYx5I_MZK0c_YkYPX01dCviFnUQjO5G_LRDxvskFUcC-LVEh8918m_1VopZb4HXAbZunuT0AWHM95WbH_n-cSPbyMG9RREG_QY5YjuFheMpWllf1I/s1600/Sam+at+Guell.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjncji8chV4c6rIjyrkzoktYc1dhGyYx5I_MZK0c_YkYPX01dCviFnUQjO5G_LRDxvskFUcC-LVEh8918m_1VopZb4HXAbZunuT0AWHM95WbH_n-cSPbyMG9RREG_QY5YjuFheMpWllf1I/s400/Sam+at+Guell.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725950489628473010" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5v71UnN3HfloVFGj3a0vNMuhX_k-xg-6rLiqrd9nRet_fxI2mteN6c1I1UFEC_cAzGfbMfADnrUE3-HY1GaB2MraZ6Ewau2KXpNv-w_2-jvSRUWLGZHBwFAjIZ-KSAyPFLuOn0YqY4Q/s1600/BZA+Sagrada+evening.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5v71UnN3HfloVFGj3a0vNMuhX_k-xg-6rLiqrd9nRet_fxI2mteN6c1I1UFEC_cAzGfbMfADnrUE3-HY1GaB2MraZ6Ewau2KXpNv-w_2-jvSRUWLGZHBwFAjIZ-KSAyPFLuOn0YqY4Q/s400/BZA+Sagrada+evening.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725950806259893970" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">My last day in BCN, I walked along the beach pretty much all day. Odd to get sentimental over missing a city I never saw until 2009, but then, I saw it quite a lot since then. Surfers tried comically to surf tiny waves, and I hung out with some Mexicans on the beach. That's about it. Some things never change. Not so different from SoCal in many ways, except for the waves.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHJQGe1PikE77e4KPH6304PRbhjiqVWxC9uwy_gYevMjQMDeUGhK__XQiW-KhfvlOc8tu3djlDvKyjPcOkF7axj6SZwLYbrKzJvMgepEPqQRBiWUnkxPe1ujkB8EIFw3xAbxaxZ0ms5iM/s1600/BCN+surfer+fail.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHJQGe1PikE77e4KPH6304PRbhjiqVWxC9uwy_gYevMjQMDeUGhK__XQiW-KhfvlOc8tu3djlDvKyjPcOkF7axj6SZwLYbrKzJvMgepEPqQRBiWUnkxPe1ujkB8EIFw3xAbxaxZ0ms5iM/s400/BCN+surfer+fail.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725951097654591490" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gh_pU-0V5D-qmmIe67t9w2bvpfG_xQjQxAT5UwObUlLorWkfXkb4pqGCBAwehua8TVJ3cB26-lZbGvDvpFYLw-hoQDylkLeCcC6lqF8-CI2hXduC6tostQEMDjAU25SmIT2flh9UnFE/s1600/BCN+Mexicans.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gh_pU-0V5D-qmmIe67t9w2bvpfG_xQjQxAT5UwObUlLorWkfXkb4pqGCBAwehua8TVJ3cB26-lZbGvDvpFYLw-hoQDylkLeCcC6lqF8-CI2hXduC6tostQEMDjAU25SmIT2flh9UnFE/s400/BCN+Mexicans.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725951215461694050" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDwpaD3Vx7Zz29s7Tb6_n0UIhhLGMoHrJHf_31vvlzik7gEG_0e9y9sIU1DQRBWpgZIsRn4eL3iNtu05JQIPzB9SYiDFOfi1oJbYjeHNfJ_J3j5GOHQ5ZrYgO_loivfd4-IwpgzfQSLQ/s1600/Sameoke+solo.JPG"></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Brendanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04366892860533617598noreply@blogger.com0