Roman numerals , blah blah blah . Whatever .

"I'm convinced that time travel is impossible.

"If it were , then everything would be different ; better .

"... but maybe time travel would just screw things up more . Every time the traveler tried to fix something it , he would just screw something else up .

"Actually , i'm convinced that time travel is possible , and is actually going on ! "

Experimenting w/Roman Numerals Day EX-VEE-EYE

Update on Hadron Collider Calamity !



Breathing a temporary sigh of relief , it seems we are all still here in one piece at this moment in time , unless we are existing in an alternate universe as a joke or something . Still , the stock market seems to have taken a huge hit as rumours of our demise are overstated , yet still undetermined , and hackers are now in control of the collider because scientists had pirated 60,000 computers to evaluate the results of the atoms and protons and such colliding willy-nilly into each other and the on/off switch is seemingly stuck and no one can figure out which plug needs to be pulled to turn it off since there are a lot of plugs all strung out over the entire countryside into every house within a thousand kilometer radius . It is a mess .



Until the data is compiled and decoded and analyzed within a petabyte , we will not be sure if we still exist in or not ... considering the mountain of data still to be dissected , we will probably not know for certain for a week or a month ; until then live your life like it's your last day on Earth .



Toodles .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day XIV .

Do Over !

Tomorrow is the day that civilization has been working its way toward for a good many years .
I think the troglodytes may have supposed it , or dreamed it . Their dreams were probably what did them in ... once they figured out the uselessness of it all they all sat down around the fire and smoked funny plants until the neanderthals came in and stole all their stuff and that was that .
So what. Probably not the way it all went down ...

Back to tomorrow , in Switzerland , home of whom is arguably the greatest tennis player that ever lived . In several billion years the new universe will have no inkling of tennis or Switzerland or the greatest last latest super collider in the world , a world which no longer exists and in fact maybe never even did !

Hold onto your socks ! Oops , they no longer exist .

So here's the proof that we humans on the planet Earth in the Milky Way galaxy are the most advanced civilization in the universe or anywhere conceivable or for that matter inconceivable :
We have created the fantastic Super Collider .
Of course , we aren't the first .
This is a scenario that has been played out , maybe , several dozen times , perhaps even several million times , and God is just waiting for us to flip that switch ... again .

The Large Hadron Collider (LCR) outside of Geneva is , after decades and billions of dollars , ready to heat up and reveal all of the mysteries of the universe . Scientists believe that by bouncing protons into each other at the speed of light that they will recreate the big bang and find out what the stars are made of , what is dark matter , what is the meaning of life , how is Brittany Spears possible ? You know , all the really big questions .

Some people , important people , think that this experiment will actually create mini black holes that will swallow up Europe , oh well , and then everything else in the vicinity ; meaning you and me and even the entire Beatles' catalogue . All of our stuff ! Egad .

Other important people say 'Bumpkiss' . Apparently they are the more important people because the experiment is going to go off without a hitch . Are we doomed ? Most say 'no' .

Ha !

Here's how it will go down : When Peter Higgs throws the switch tomorrow the protons will in a split nano second or even maybe probably much much less then that squirt around the 27 km circular track buried under Switzerland and will in fact accurately recreate the big bang . It will be spectacular ... only God and his posse will witness it ... as every particle everywhere on Earth and the universe is sucked back into one tiny little speck of nothing that will hover like an irritable itch for an instant then in an impossibly magnificent spasm explode and create a whole new expanding universe .

And that is how it goes ; every time a civilization becomes advanced enough to create a really cool super collider , it decides to use it and doing so destroys itself by recreating itself . Weird .

We have basically created a big reset button .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day Xiii

The best bit of writing so far today ... author unknown :

... surgically repaired left big toe .

5 words strung magically to form a wonderfully scintillating sentence ! Enjoy the day .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day V+V+double I

The following is a review on the soon released movie from Flex-I-ped Pictures , Mister Pill .

Warren Warmong’s view on selfishness is complete in this , his masterpiece breakthrough movie , that no other construct on it is required . It is a done deal . The movie is Mister Pill and it is Warmong’s first full length directorial effort .

At first , it is hard for us to understand what is so bad about Mister Pill , played by newcomer Harmon Puiser ; but the fearful glances of his staff at the office start us to wondering . At his Spartan home, a dark empty place , the staff of one is seen sitting stiffly in a white kitchen -- the only room of the house with any light and any furnishings .

His all consuming selfishness is displayed in an extremely anal means when he puts out a birdfeeder and sits with a glass of wine to watch the birds flock in and feed . The trees on the property are set well away from the high walls and every season as the trees grow higher , the wall is stacked higher to stop the neighbors from enjoying their loveliness . Finished with his glass , Pill collects the remaining bird seed and hides it away . If he isn’t around to watch the pretty songbirds then they won’t be allowed to eat the seed that he provides .

When Pill holds on office party , a troupe of children from the neighborhood , held to bay outside of a tall block wall , are employed to bring couches and stuffed chairs out of a spacious dance hall . The same hall that is only ever used by the lord of the manor . He hires a girl just for the evening that the hall is empty of chairs and with a stool and a set of glasses and a pitcher of water -- brought in by the lone servant who is then dismissed for the night (presumably so she cannot have the opportunity to enjoy any of the opulent furnishings) -- the two spend a short evening dancing , sipping at water , and we never see if anything further happens . But we do see the woman leaving ; is it early morning before the sun is up or late evening with a backdrop of streetlamps thronged by gnats ? Flipping through a stack of bills , she doesn’t appear overjoyed by the amount of the payoff and turns to knock angrily at the front door , but thinks better of it and storms off . Her employer , pimp? , probably will learn of it .

We gradually begin to piece together the story of a selfish man who has driven every person that loved him -- he has loved no one -- away by his pettiness . His office staff is ever rotating , but he is fine with that because it keeps the payroll low . His longtime assistant is a pudgy little man who has no life and suffers through the long days for little pay . But the work is not demanding , his boss rarely speaks to him but leaves post-it notes almost everywhere . Murly , the assistant , picks up a lean envelope of twenties every Friday and spends his weekend at the bowling alley , where he leisurely bowls game after game and downs one mug of beer after another for hours at a time . He is friendly with everyone he crosses but never has a meaningful conversation . He eyes the other patrons , makes an effort with the snack bar girls , but always bowls solo and leaves the alley alone . We wonder if he saves enough money out of the envelope for rent or sustenance for the following week .

The director , Warmong , shoots the scenes in a very muted tone , almost black and white , and from a low position , especially when Mister Pill is the subject . The sets are nothing special . They are extreme boredom . Even when Pill allows his house to be comfortable it is not inviting . Pill is filmed from the angle of a chair sitter while the office staff lingering with glasses of champagne is filmed from behind a lofty staircase or a chandelier . The furnishing is deeply colored and stands out garishly to the blank walls and pale wooden trim of the grand staircase where Mister Pill spends much of his time sipping a glass of something he has poured for himself from a hidden reservoir .

The ending is fast and unforgiving , but we aren’t really surprised , just shaken by the violence and then saddened for the players that are left behind to live with their preordained actions . No court could find them innocent , even if justice was undoubtedly served .
Warmong has a style reminiscent of the old French masters , from the odd angles to the restless postures and lone performances . Very rarely are two actors seen on screen together -- everybody seems to be alone , especially in the presence of Pill . He seems to separate everyone from himself and the force emanates from his person and affects everything and everyone around him . Even at the dinner table everything seems to stand alone . Nothing ever touches . The dance scene may be the only exception (other than the ending ), and it is by contrast a stark visual moment ; almost glutinous .

If this is any indication of Warren Warmong’s movie prowess , then I am looking forward to his next effort , but hoping for a more lively and engaging story . While this movie is thoughtful and very well acted and filmed , it left me wanting for a ending just a bit less despairing . Walking out of the theatre into the bright afternoon was a contradiction that took a few moments to get my head around … immediately I ducked into a neighboring coffee shop and sought the darkest corner so I could slowly warm to the optimism that the day promised . Better to see this one as a matinee , folks , then to leave the theatre dark and cold and shivering in the car on the way home , even when the night is warm and muggy .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day XI

We join this review in progress….

…painting said to be brushed with eucalyptus leaves . If that is so , then it appears that the artist chewed the leaves along with a deep red Chianti , then vomited onto the canvas -- gobs of reddish pulp . It was a fine example of Glorp art . Cutting edge , maybe , but would you hang it on your wall ? The painting may be an original K’Narpol , but I don’t see the Louvre making a bid for it .
Remember , Jonas K’Narpol was the first of his age to render “Dogs Playing Poker” . The story goes , he actually envisioned common working servants relaxing in the kitchen and playing games with table scraps . Considering that a bit mundane he went with costumed dogs instead -- the dogs representing the working class , and later the upper crust -- by following generations of painters -- as the dogs became better dressed and smoked cigars and had their own servants : usually cats or a scantily clad beer wench .

Untitled , by K'Narpol .

Obviously , K’Narpol was an artist ahead of his time , even beating out Warhol by several hundred years when he painted Copernicus using a pixilated pattern of galaxy clusters surrounded by the depiction of uncorked absinth bottles . His smiling sister Lisa , an early work that hung over his mother’s headboard until her death , was eerily enigmatic , and a stranger picture of clouds melting onto a faceless man’s bowling hat also seemed to foreshadow later artists’ works .

Coincidence or plagiarism ? Most art historians say the former because , it seems , K’Narpol was never a popular artist and until this late date never formally discovered . While his works are now eagerly sought after , they until recently never left the artist’s studio or the walls of his mother’s home . More than 200 K’Narpols have since been catalogued and the majority have been compared favorably to the peers of his age, the familiar masters of the era : Rembrandt , Aardvark , XJS , LaTrek , Kirk and Dr. Spock .

Flower in Progression, #1

Mr. Man , Guy , that celebrity so-sayer , says of Jonas , “With a name like K’Narpol he ought to be awful ; you know , bad . But he’s good ! We particularly enjoy his fruit period .” Guy’s only complaint is a lack of decent framing , as many K’Narpols come without . “A great painting shows even greaterness by how it’s framed , and there is a certain lack of closure knowing that K’Narpol never considered this end , this punctuation .

The lack has saddened Mr. Man , it seems . * Flower in Progression, #2

Most critics disagree with Guy Man . One deduced that K’Narpol worked to a beat , with a full drum kit and a pierced head hunter .

Whatever the setting , Jonas K’Narpol left no noted or eyewitnesses ; he must have led a startling nondescript life . It is possible that his models never even realized they were being painted . Perhaps he arted by memory . That would make his pieces that much more amazing . They’re cool ; they’re neat ; they’re worth a look . Go see-um and look too .

*Ask Guy .
Guy Man , Mr. Man , is not in reality a man but a panel of sea creatures . Namely they are cuttlefish , plankton , and a sea anemone . The panel is learned and traveled and currently reside in a flat overlooking a loft occupied by a yeti who actually knows a wealthy woman with an apartment and a terrific view of Central Park . She prefers hairy men , not so much wetslimyinvertebrates . FlowerProgression, #3

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day X

according to the garden gurus , July is a good time to divide the iris's , and since it is now August , i guess it's probably too late .


But my irises are a bit overgrown , that is to say they are spreading out in ways i don't appreciate , which is to admit that to tell the truth , i don't really think much of my irises and i think "forget dividing the irises" ; maybe perhaps I'll just rip them out and be done with it .




Have you got any of these irises ? Ripping them out is not as easy as it sounds ... but it is easier then changing the air filter in a late model vehicle .


so here i went tonite ripping and digging and moving rocks out of the way and ripping and digging and etcetera with the ripping and such and i imagine i didn't get it all and I'll probably be seeing some more irises next year ... but that is OK .


next i looked over to the weeping mulberry and William Shakespeare's head peeped out at me and said "What ho !" I gotta tell you , that tree could hide a multitude of dead playwrights . It is a young tree , but really getting a head on its shoulders . No kidding , it's going to town !

I thought it might be nice if i could see its trunk and maybe some of plants over its roots ... so i started to give it a little haircut , and so the story unfolds :

'clip clip clip' , that's the pruner .

'hey , this is one long branch' : me .

'hi-O , Tom ; that's a ten four but not your buddy-fuddy-wuddy' : that was a little man that lives in my garden and he sings , mostly when it is raining , and he plants weeds in places that are hard to get at .

'oh , hi , little man , i haven't seen you at all this summer ., only your weeds ; what other mischief have you been up to ?'

'ha ha , you say that like it's a common misconception that i am from planet eleven , Willameena Rubby Rubby , caught your cold ! I put a weed behind that big bush !'

'You devil ! that bush in the corner ? Do you know how hard it will be to get back there and pick that weed ?'

'Emmee weenie ! One hot dog for my post bunny...funny . Fresh ! And it's a thistle , too , you whamalammathingammer ! Buddy buddy , who got ya muddy !???'

'Why a thistle ?' i hate thistle. 'You know I'm going to have to spray that ... those things are hell on wheels ... ' , of course they are spreading constantly from the neighbor's yards .

'looney , ka-floony , watch out my mama-wamma has a waffle and she's not afraid to use it , loose it : sick 'em fido -- hey , get a goat !'

'Thanks for the advice .' sure , all i need is a goat that will eat my garden , and probably leave the thistle .

then it started to sprinkle a little , which isn't all bad , because the lawn is turning brown . Of course , it wasn't good either , as the little man only knows one song and that's 'Tiny Bubbles' by Don Ho . http://www.blogger.com/www.youtube.com/watch?v=_MXgc8wzfC4&feature=related

Shakespeare tries to stuff mulberry leaves into his ears , but it's hard to do with no hands , and he says , "egads , methinks the imp doth protest too much !"