May 2004 Archives

It has occurred to me that I'm spending a lot of time with this stupid website, and the question has arisen: has it been time well spent or time wasted? It's been 25 days since I started officially blogging (almost a full month) and so I think it is only natural that I question my future dedication to this dubious pursuit.

I began this endeavor with varied goals, such as creating a space to manage some personal content, providing me with a journal of sorts, re-familiarizing myself with some basic coding, but the most important one being to encourage more writing. However, I'm afraid that since the first of May, all it has done is encourage me to do more writing of nonsense. If anything, I've done less actual writing and more absurd blog writing.

I suppose it's relative. If I'm spending time working on this website rather than such things as watching television or playing solitaire, then it can be considered worthwhile activity. If I'm spending time working on this website rather than writing short stories, reading intellectually stimulating novels, or even socializing with actual human beings, then it's arguably lessening my day-to-day existence.

What I do know is that the last three blog entries were entirely too long, and that has got to stop. So, that being said, I'll cut this short.

I do like the plog, though.

A: I have decided that, in order to reach a higher plane of existence, I shall practice complete and total self-denial from this moment forward.

B: What higher plane of existence do you hope to achieve? And how can you practice complete self-denial? There is no such thing as complete self-denial.

A: To whom are you talking?

B: Uh... To you?

A: To whom are you talking?

B: Is there something wrong? Can you not hear me?

A: It is strange how you are talking into thin air. There is no one here but you, yet you still talk.

B: Are you kidding me? Is this how you practice self-denial?

A: You should seek help, as you are talking to yourself.

B: I'm talking to you. You obviously hear what I am saying, since you are commenting on the fact that I am talking.

A: It’s as if... Yes, you appear to actually believe someone is responding to your words. Do you truly think you are talking to someone?

B: Yes, I’m talking to you. You’re asking me questions, and I’m responding, but then you act like I’m talking to no one because you’re pretending you don’t exist. But how could you be asking me questions if you don’t exist?

A: Poor, poor man. You are rambling on about some other person asking you questions, and yet there is no one here to hear you or help you.

B: Not only are you here, you are also talking. If you weren't here and weren’t talking, how could I be so accurately responding to what you are saying?

A: It's very odd how your words almost seem to be a response to the thoughts of the cosmic ether.

B: That's because my words are a response to you talking to me.

A: It is as if in your warped mind you are holding a conversation with a real person who is talking to you. And that conversation, due to grand cosmic coincidence, happens to coincide with the non-existent thoughts of the non-existent cosmic ether.

B: It's not me who is warped! It's you. Look, I'm not talking to myself, I'm talking to you. I'm responding to you.

A: If an omnipresent third party could somehow hear both your rambling, incoherent mutterings as well as the ethereal and mystical thoughts of the grand, cosmic ether, to that omniscient third party it would appear that an actual conversation was taking place.

B: That’s because a conversation is, in fact, taking place. A somewhat one-sided conversation, I’ll admit, but that’s only because you won’t directly respond to me.

A: But that omniscient third party would be fooled. That omniscient third party would merely be witnessing the ravings of a lunatic juxtaposed with the pitying observations of the non-existent cosmic ether, in such a way so as to look like the raving lunatic could actually hear the non-existent thoughts of the cosmic ether.

B: You are the raving lunatic.

A: But since it is impossible for someone to hear the non-existent thoughts of the cosmic ether, the raving lunatic couldn’t possibly actually hear those thoughts, and so must be a raving lunatic. Also, since it is impossible for someone to hear the non-existent thoughts of the cosmic ether than there also couldn’t be am omniscient third-party observer, so at least the confusion is avoided.

B: I’m not a raving lunatic!

A: Oh, how the non-existent cosmic ether pities this poor, raving lunatic. For what else proves a man a raving lunatic more than what that man stands alone and shouts that he is not a raving lunatic. Hopefully no others aside from the non-existent cosmic ether will witness this raving lunatic declare his own sanity, thus proving the opposite.

B: Look, if you’d just respond directly to me instead of pretending I’m talking to myself, we could actually come to some understanding. I’m not just rambling incoherently, I am responding to everything you say.

A: If only you truly could here the thoughts of the non-existent cosmic ether, than perhaps there could be some comfort to you. But, no, instead you will have to go on having an insane conversation with yourself that just happens to sound exactly like a sane conversation would sound if you were able to hear the thoughts of the non-existent cosmic ether.

B: Look, just suppose for a moment that I truly am a raving lunatic talking to myself, and that my rambling, random words do happen to form into the exact words that a non-raving-lunatic would say if he were actually able to hear the words of the non-existent ether, okay?

A: Ah, how sad. The raving lunatic is attempting to reason with the non-existent cosmic ether as if he could actually hold a conversation with it.

B: Damn it, I’m not… Okay, I’m not going to let you rile me. I’m just going to continue. Like I was saying, suppose you are correct, and I can’t actually hear the ether...

A: Which you definitely can’t.

B: So if I can’t hear… Wait a minute, you just responded to me! You just directly responded to something I said! You admit that I can hear you?

A: Ah, it amuses the non-existent cosmic ether how this raving lunatic happens to act like the non-existent cosmic ether spoke directly to him, right after the non-existent cosmic ether actually did speak directly to him. Of course, the raving lunatic can’t actually hear the non-existent cosmic ether speaking directly to him, the cosmic ether merely spoke as if it were speaking directly to the raving lunatic for the cosmic ether’s own amusement, and the raving lunatic’s lunatic ravings just happened to coincidentally be the words that would be spoken by a non-raving-lunatic if the non-raving-lunatic could hear the non-existent cosmic ether. This amuses the non-existent cosmic ether even more. The amusement of the non-existent cosmic ether is very complex, being that the non-existent cosmic ether is non-existent cosmic ether.

B: I am not a raving lunatic!

A: Once again, the self-denying declaration of sanity.

B: Oh, damn it, you did it to me again. Back to what I was saying, which is supposing I can’t actually hear what you are saying...

A: You can’t.

B: Supposing I can’t, yet I still happen to rave in such a way that my words correspond perfectly to the words of a non-raving-lunatic who can hear the non-existent cosmic ether...

A: Ah, it is so strange and coincidental and amusing how they do.

B: Than what is the difference between a non-raving-lunatic and a raving lunatic? How can even the non-existent cosmic ether know that I am not actually a sane individual having a conversation with the non-existent cosmic ether?

A: Oh, this is so sad. If only this raving lunatic could hear the non-existent cosmic ether than the non-existent cosmic ether would explain that it is impossible to hear the non-existent cosmic ether and therefore he is definitely a raving lunatic.

B: How can anyone tell who is and who is not a raving lunatic? How can anyone tell if he himself is not a raving lunatic?

A: Alas. It’s probably better for this poor raving lunatic that he doesn’t ever realize he is a raving lunatic, so it is for the best that he can’t hear the non-existent cosmic ether explain it.

B: Every conversation I’ve ever had might have just been my lunatic ravings to no one. Do raving lunatic realize they’re raving lunatics? Or do they think they are talking to other people when they rave at nothing?

A: But, of course, if he could hear the non-existent cosmic ether explain that he is a raving lunatic than he wouldn’t actually be a raving lunatic, since he’d be able to hear the non-existent cosmic ether. An amusing paradox. But, since he can’t hear the non-existent cosmic ether, of course, he is a raving lunatic.

B: Is anything said by anyone anywhere not the ravings of a lunatic?

A: In any case, he probably doesn’t even know what he is saying. To him, the poor raving lunatic, the noises coming out of his mouth are nothing but random nonsensical syllables, and due to grand cosmic coincidence those random syllables happen to sound like real words, and due to grand cosmic coincidence those real words happen to form into complete sentences, and due to grand cosmic coincidence those complete sentences happen to make up one side of a dialogue, and due to grand cosmic coincidence that one side of dialogue is the same as the one side of dialogue would be if it were spoken by a sane individual who could hear the thoughts of the non-existent cosmic ether.

B: Yes, it is true.

A: Ah, how ineffable is the grand cosmic coincidence of the universe.

[THE END]

Talking to yourself... Does it really mean you're crazy? Everyone seems to think so. Is a person wandering down a public street muttering or shouting to him/herself crazy? Probably, but not necessarily. First of all, it's a lot better than a person wandering down a public street muttering or shouting AT ME. Second of all, assuming someone is not talking to him/herself about inherently insane topics (aliens taking over the brain, nanotechnology, etc.) I think it is a totally acceptable pastime of a sane individual.

Here's my theory. Either (a) no one is listening to you talk to yourself, in which case no one knows that you're talking to yourself, in which case talking to yourself is perfectly acceptable and you're not really crazy. Or (b) someone IS listening to you talk to yourself, so you're not really talking to yourself, so you're not crazy.

Part (a) of the theory is based on the assumption that the rational decision to talk to yourself is NOT crazy. For example, say you're in the shower and you feel like having a good chat with yourself. It's perfectly fine. Maybe this is how you mull over difficult topics or get the creative juices flowing. It doesn't mean you're insane. If you're talking and you expect the magic shower gnome to respond (or if you actually hear the magic shower gnome responding), then, yes, you're probably insane. However, that isn't talking to yourself, that's talking to the magic shower gnome.

The point is that talking to yourself is acceptable. It's talking to NO ONE that shows signs of insanity.

Part (b) of the theory is a little tricky. Say Bob is "talking to no one" and Fred hears him and says, "Boy, Bob is crazy, he's talking to himself." (Obviously Fred means to say "talking to no one" but since Fred hasn't read this blog, he uses the wrong term.) Is Bob crazy? I mean, seriously, is Bob talking to no one and therefore crazy? No, Bob's not talking to no one, because Fred is obviously listening to him. Bob is talking to Fred. Do you see my point? The very act of observing Bob's insanity negates that insanity! In fact, it's Fred who is insane, because Fred thinks that a person talking to him means that the person talking to him is insane, which is pretty crazy.

...

The real point is that sometimes I'll be in my car, and I'll be talking to myself, and then I'll start to worry that somehow somebody is monitoring my talking to myself and will think I'm crazy. So I'll say, "Hey, whoever is monitoring my self-dialogue, I'm not crazy." And then I'll realize the fact that I just spoke to a non-existent person proves that I'm crazy, but I'll be calmed by the fact that no one actually knows that I spoke to a non-existent person and therefore I can just pretend it never happened. But then I worry, what if there really is somebody listening and that person heard me speak to a non-existent person and now they think I'm crazy, so I say, "Hey, you! Yeah, you, the person monitoring everything I say! You probably think I'm crazy because I'm talking to myself. But I'm NOT talking to myself. Because you're monitoring everything I say. I'm talking to you!" I imagine that this person monitoring everything I say is pretty cynical, so I add, "Don't start confirming that I'm crazy because I'm talking to you. The very fact that you can confirm my craziness proves that I'm not crazy, because you do exist, and therefore I'm not talking to myself. The way I see it, if you don't exist, then I don't care, because no one is monitoring me and therefore it doesn't matter that I'm talking to myself, and if you do exist, then I'm not talking to myself, and therefore I'm not crazy. So stop writing in your little notebook that I'm crazy, because I'm not crazy, I'm right. Seriously, put the notebook down."

Of course, at that point I usually shut up and self-consciously cough and both me and the person who is monitoring me shift around uncomfortably for a moment and then get back to our regular routine of pretending we don't know about each other.

I guess I think that as long as no one can tell I'm crazy, I'm fine. It's sort of a Turing Test for sanity. It's not so much being crazy that concerns me, rather, it's being perceived as crazy. I'd rather convince the non-existent all-monitoring scientist from the future that I'm not crazy than simply not be crazy.

You know, I don't think I'm explaining myself very well. But, trust me, this all makes sense. Whoever you are.

1) You can't edit blogs while away from a net-enabled computer. Paper-based journals, however old-fashioned, work anywhere, as long as you have a pen. Blogs sort of break down when you're on an airplane. Since one probably shouldn't be using a public blog as a true journal, perhaps it's for the best. Maybe one should have both a blog and a journal. But who has both a blog and a journal? Actually, probably a lot of people who have way too much commitment. Well, guess what? I don't have that kind of commitment.

2) People who have both a blog and a journal.

3) Everyone who has a blog thinks they are cool. But they're not. In fact, they're probably the opposite of cool, specifically: uncool. Do you really think you're cool because you have a blog? You're just a blip in the blog bog, you're just an outspoken spoke, you're a blog cog in some mind-boggling thingamabob. However, please note that I, in fact, am actually cool. Not because I have a blog, but, rather, despite it. And because of it.

4) You. Yes, that's right: you. I dislike blogs because of you. I don't mean "you" as in the generic reader, I mean "you" as in YOU. Yes, you. Don't try to tell yourself that I'm not "really" referring to you, since "that would be impossible". Let's be clear. I am not referring to some notion of a person who might at some point be reading this blog. I am talking about you. How do you know that I actually mean "you" and not some more generic "you"? Because I'm talking about you, reading this sentence, right at this moment. Yes, that's right. You. And don't try to worm out of it by saying, "What if I didn't read that sentence?" Because you did read that sentence. If some other person didn't happen to read that sentence, well then, I'm not talking about that person. I'm talking about YOU, and you DID read that sentence.

(Note that this does NOT apply to my number one site-reader, Jamie Sidey, as he is not one of the reasons I dislike blogs.)

5) Jamie Sidey. Jamie Sidey is one of the reasons I dislike blogs. Who is this guy and why does he keep posting to my blog? Perhaps one day I will meet him in real life and then he will not be so blithe about spamming my blog with his comments. And I'm sure Jamie Sidey is itching to comment that this contradicts what I just said in the previous item. But he's going to have to restrain himself. Because if he does, it will simply prove my point.

6) Irrational support of viewpoints other than my own. There's a lot of irrational support for viewpoints other than my own out there. And, now, with blogs, there are more of them. Well, not really more, since those irrationally supported viewpoints existed before blogs, but now those irrationally supported viewpoints are supported in blogs.

7) Irrational support of my own viewpoints. Since this blog supports my own viewpoints, and this blog is irrational, this blog is an example of the irrational support of my own viewpoints. AND, since I dislike blogs, and since this is a blog, and since I dislike this blog, and since (as previously stated) this blog irrationally supports my own viewpoints, the irrational support of my own viewpoints is a reason I dislike blogs. Actually, that mini-proof is neither well-formed nor valid. But did I say the RATIONAL support of my own viewpoints? No. I said IRRATIONAL. And if you're expecting a rational proof about irrationality, then you're one of the reasons I dislike blogs. Well, actually, since we already established that you are, in fact, one of the reasons I dislike blogs, the point is moot.

8) The word "moot." Bloggers love it.

9) Rational support of viewpoints other than my own. This isn't really a reason to dislike blogs, per se, but more of a reason to dislike the entire universe, which, in so far as the entire universe contains everything, includes blogs.

10) Rational support of my own viewpoints. I can't actually find any rational support of my own viewpoints in any blogs anywhere, including this one. Goddamn blogs.

[I'm going to go off-topic for a minute and discuss something unrelated to metablogging.]

I recently received an alumni newsletter from my beloved alma mater that contained two interesting pieces of information:
1) Just over 50% of students attending the university receive some sort of financial aid.
2) Tuition is being hiked again, and tuition hikes (for the last few years at least) are being used primarily to cover the costs of financial aid.

Combine this with constant phone calls soliciting my participation in the university's "Annual Giving" campaign, and it got me thinking about a hidden "college" tax imposed on the wealthy. Actually, it's not really the wealthy I'm concerned about, it's that unfortunate schmuck who, stack ranked by wealth, is the poorest person who ends up paying full tuition.

What follows is an incredibly long analysis of how much people pay for college and how much people should really be paying for college...

King Arthur: Do you ever feel like you've fallen into a rut?

Sir Knight: A rut?

KA: You know, a rut.

SK: You feeling okay, king?

KA: Yeah, yeah. Fine. Well, no.

SK: Are you ill? You don't seem very king-like.

KA: That's just it, really. What is king-like? And how did I get to be it?

SK: Well, you are the king.

KA: The king. Bah. I never wanted to be king.

SK: Yet, you are the king.

KA: But I never wanted to be.

SK: Really? It sure seems like you wanted to be the king. You lined up just like everyone else to pull that sword out of the stone. And then you rode around for months killing people who challenged your right to leadership. And don't forget that controversial two page editorial entitled "Why I want to be King". You were very proud of that article, if I remember correctly.

KA: But, you know, it was mostly because I felt like I had to do it. All that stuff. I was being pressured.

SK: Pressured by what?

KA: You know. Circumstance. Fate. My mom. That sort of thing.

SK: So what is it exactly you're trying to say?

KA: I want to be a writer.

SK: A writer?

KA: Yeah. Remember that two page editorial I wrote? I mean, it was mostly nonsense, but I really felt like I had something going there. When I put my pen to papyrus, well, it was electric. I'd never felt more alive.

SK: For a writer, you sure speak in a lot of clichés.

KA: I'm a writer, not a public speaker.

SK: Actually, you're a king. THE king, in fact.

KA: Yeah, yeah. All these books and movies written about me, all this gold, all this glory, what does it get me? Not happiness, I can tell you that. Am I content? No.

SK: Who in this life is content?

KA: Does my wife even care that I'm the king? No. She's always mooning over those wandering minstrels. She denies it, sure, but I can see it in her eyes. Every time some minstrel wanders by she gets all skittish, like a damn school girl or something. Women just love musicians, it comes down to that. I should have been a musician. That's the way to really get the chicks.

SK: You can pretty much have any woman you want, king.

KA: Yeah, but it's not the same. I want them to swoon, you know? I want them to really want me, not just fear death if they refuse my drunken advances.

SK: So what are you saying? Do you want to be a musician or a writer?

KA: A writer. The musician thing is pure fantasy. I mean, come on, a musician? Let's be serious. A king can't just abdicate his thrown and start wandering around minstreling. There's really no future in it.

SK: But a writer?

KA: Well, I figure I could also do some freelance copywriting or something. To pay the bills. Maybe teach a summer course at the university.

SK: What the hell are you talking about?

KA: Sometimes you have to take a good hard look at your life and honestly reevaluate your priorities.

SK: Your priorities should be to your kingdom. Your people. You're the bloody king.

KA: But what about me?

SK: You're the KING.

KA: So I should be able to do whatever I want.

SK: Well, yeah, but... But not that. I mean, if I one day I told you that I no longer wanted to be one of your trusty knights and instead I was going to take up professional macrame or something, you wouldn't just let me walk off.

KA: Sure I would.

SK: No you wouldn't.

KA: Yes, if it was what you truly wanted to do.

SK: No. You'd have me killed for betraying the sworn oath of the kingdom.

KA: Yeah, that's true.

SK: You see?

KA: It's different.

SK: How?

KA: I'm the king.

SK: Not if you give it up to be a writer. Then you're not the king.

KA: So, what you're saying is as the king, I can do whatever I want, without fear of reprisal, EXCEPT give up my position as king. Because if I use the rights of my kingly position to stop being the king, I'm no longer the king, and therefore I can't do whatever I want, and therefore I'll be beheaded for the crime of having given up my position as king.

SK: That's pretty much the catch.

KA: Well.

SK: Yup.

KA: Maybe I could write in my spare time or something.

[THE END]

1. The MixedMetaphors.net home page will no longer contain information about recent updates, site news, or any other site related information. This just isn't the sort of service I want to provide. Not because it is time-consuming, but simply because it interferes with my webpage aesthetic. And because it seems trite. And self-referential in a utilitarian way. I will only allow self-referential content that is impractical or useless. Such as this.

2. The above item, despite strict rules to the contrary, has been altered, not for any editorial reasons, but simply because I didn't like it. It originally mentioned celery. I'm not sure why. I was attempting to be absurd, but really it was just dumb. Later attempts at absurdity, in my opinion, are more successful. If this unannounced alteration upsets you, please see the next item.

3. If you have complaints, take them up with the official complaints department.

4. There will be little or no discussion of biennial European plants in the parsley family, having edible roots, leafstalks, leaves, and fruits.

5. I can do whatever I please. If you don't like it, take it up with the aforementioned official nonexistant and completely unsympathetic complaints department, which will, for the time being, remain incognito.

6. In Holland he lived incognito as a carpenter in the shipyards of the East India company.

7. If you think I'm going to try something "clever" like misnumber this ordered list, you are incorrect. That would be cheap, cheap humor. And I won't be throwing in any "letters" either. Ha, that's just so witty. You know what? We can all count to ten. It's really not that funny.

8. If you thought that I was going to misnumber this item, simply because I ranted so much about not doing that exact thing, you were wrong. Do you really think so little of me? Numbered lists are an artform. They create a beautiful, beautiful consistency, shaping a predetermined path that we can all follow together. One is as free to break as many rules as one wants, as long as one follows the OVERRIDING STRUCTURAL FORMAT.

9. In the unlikely yet plausible event of an all-out partial failure, he could rest assured that the whims and multitudes had been counted both twice and nearly.

10. Don't cheapen it. Just don't.

11. What moves you, does it, do you know you yet do I?

You may have noticed some changes around here.

Or maybe you haven't, since these changes have been quiet and unannounced, and because, frankly, you haven't been paying attention. I'd tell you to start paying closer attention, except that I haven't really been paying attention either. And who am I to tell you to pay attention? Why should you pay attention to my website? In fact, you probably shouldn't be paying attention to my website. What are you, some kind of stalker? Nah. I'm just kidding. (Unless you really are a stalker, in which case, cut it out!)

Anyway, about those changes... If you check the site navigation, you'll see the addition of a Plog section. This is the new Playwriting Blog (Playwriting+Blog=Plog) (it's brilliant!) for the posting of occasional short plays.

Since this site has a Stories section and a Play section, it seemed that for complete parallelism it was important to have both a Blog and a Plog. One place for random prose entries and one place for random play entries. Of course, the official Fiction and Play sections are still blank because, well, in my world parallelism is of the highest priority. Before even (apparently) content.

Go Plog!

Management Trainer Trainer: Hello, Management Trainer Trainee, welcome to the Management Trainer Training class, where you will learn all there is to learn about training Managers. First, I'd like to talk about going around the circle and introducing ourselves, since you, in a few short months, will be going around the circle in your Management Training course and having Managers introduce themselves.

Management Trainer Trainee: Hello, I'm...

Management Trainer Trainer: Shut up! I didn't say we were going to go around the circle and actually introduce ourselves. I said we were going to TALK about going around the circle and introducing ourselves.

Management Trainer Trainee: Sorry.

MTT: This is a serious seminar. This isn't some sort of preschool get together where we all have a nice little introductory icebreaker before we begin.

MTTee: But, um, the actual Management Training Seminar is?

MTT: Yes, crawling worm. In order to gain effective control over your Managers, you will need to start off by breaking their spirit, and there is no better way to do that by having them go around the circle naming an animal that begins with the first letter of their name.

MTTee: I see.

MTT: YOU SEE NOTHING! You are a training gnat! You aren't even fit to train Associate Vice Presidents, let alone actual executives! GET OUT OF MY MANAGEMEMT TRAINING TRAINING SEMINAR

MTTee: Please, great Management Training Trainer, do not banish me from your ancient mountaintop temple of Management Training Training.

MTT: Now you are learning the three great mysteries of Management Training Training. One, do not question the management training trainer. Two, all management trainers must be rock-climbing experts because the Great Management Training Trainer lives on a mountaintop.

MTTee: Uh. That was only two great mysteries. In fact, the first great mystery wasn’t really a mystery. It was more of a rule.

MTT: You are breaking the first mystery of Management Training Training!

MTTee: How can I be breaking a mystery? The fact that I can break it proves it’s a rule.

MTT: A mystery can also be a rule, lowly woodpecker.

MTTee: Can it?

MTT: Since the first of the three great mysteries of Management Training Training is both a mystery and a rule, it is therefore proven that a mystery can also be a rule.

MTTee: Ah. Wait, no. You haven’t proven anything. You can’t use the very thing being questioned to prove the thing being questioned.

MTT: [Knowingly] Can’t I?

MTTee: No.

MTT: [More knowingly] But can’t I?

MTTee: Uh. No.

MTT: [Condescendingly knowingly] Ah ha, but you see, can’t I?

MTTee: Just because you keep saying “Can’t I” it isn’t going to change my answer.

MTT: [Incredibly knowingly] Ah, but won’t it?

MTTee: No.

MTT: [Otherworldly knowingly] Yes, but won’t it?

MTTee: Argh! This is the worst Management Training Training ever! Who trained you to be a Management Training Trainer?

MTT: The Great Management Training Training Trainer.

MTTee: And who trained him?

MTT: The Even Greater Management Training Training Training Trainer.

MTTee: And who trained that guy?

MTT: The Super Greatest Management Training Training Training Training Trainer.

MTTee: And him?

MTT: No one.

MTTee: No one?

MTT: Yes. We refer to the Super Greatest Management Training Training Training Training Trainer as the Untrained Trainer.

MTTee: As in the Unmoved Mover?

MTT: No. As in the Untrained Trainer.

MTTee: Are you implying the original Management Training Training Training Training Trainer was god?

MTT: Simple clam, I am implying anything you are willing to infer.

MTTee: This is ridiculous. All I’ve learned is that nobody needs any training whatsoever to be a Management Trainer.

MTT: YES! You have learned! Congratulations, you have reached the next step in your journey!

MTTee: What?

MTT: You have graduated from this course and are finally ready to train managers! Spread your Management Training wings and fly!

MTTee: Really?

MTT: Yes. My training has been successful.

MTTee: But all I’ve learned from your training is that I don’t need training to be a Management Trainer. And since you had to train me to learn that I don’t need training, even your training itself was sort of a failure.

MTT: Get the hell off my mountain.

[THE END]

I decided writing about management training seminars was not nearly interesting enough for a blog of this caliber. Instead, I've held off posting until I had something truly important to blog about. Well, that moment has finally come, and today's topic will be: management training seminar training seminars. Yes, that's right. I want to talk about seminars where management trainers go to learn about running management training seminars. Who runs those seminars? In short: Who trains the trainers? I suppose that at some point someone just started training managers, claiming to be appropriate for the training role based on stuff like "management experience" or maybe "advanced business degree" or even, perhaps, "chutzpah" and/or "rock climbing". Eventually this person realized that now, even though he or she didn't have any actual management experience, he or she now, at least, had management TRAINING experience, and decided to start training other management trainers. Or something like that.

Footnote: For some reason a lot of management training seminars involve trainers with rock climbing skills. I don't know if:

a) Rock climbers just happen make good management trainers (or are perceived as good management trainers) so that management training firms recruit heavily around cliffs.

b) I've been to three management seminars with the same rock climbing management trainer. (Actually, this is a distinct possibility.)

c) Management trainers, for some reason, enjoy rock climbing. (This is similar to option a, but has different cause and effect.)

d) Management trainers feel that in order to impress managers (who usually have about a zillion times more management experience than the management trainers themselves) need to sound "hard core", so the management trainers either take up (or make up) some "hard core" sounding hobby such as rock climbing. (Note to management trainers: I realize that you're trying to take some sort of real world experience and use it as a metaphor for management, since you have no actual management experience, but, well, to be honest, it's not working.)

Sisyphus and Tantalus
A Short Play

Characters
Sisyphus: A sinner condemned to an eternity of rolling a boulder uphill then watching it roll back down again.
Tantalus: A sinner condemned to an eternity of thirst, only to have the waters recede out of reach every time he attempts to drink.

Scene - The Underworld

Tantalus: Hey.

Sisyphus: [Pushes rock, grunts]

Tantalus: I said, hello.

Sisyphus: [Pausing in his task of rock-pushing.] Actually, you said "hey," not, "hello."

Tantalus: Well, I implied "hello."

Sisyphus: So, you did.

Tantalus: Well, anyway, hello.

Sisyphus: [Resumes pushing his rock, grunts.]

Tantalus: You're not very social, are you?

Sisyphus: If you haven't noticed, I'm busy pushing a boulder up this hill.

Tantalus: Why?

Sisyphus: I'm not sure, really. I suppose that when I get it to the top of the hill, I can go free.

Tantalus: Go free?

Sisyphus: You know. Free from rolling this boulder up the hill.

Tantalus: You could be free from rolling the boulder up the hill if you just stopped rolling the boulder up the hill.

Sisyphus: [Pauses to think about this.] No. That isn't right.

Tantalus: Why not?

Sisyphus: Because, then the boulder would not be at the top of the hill. I couldn't be free from rolling the boulder up the hill if the boulder never made it to the top of the hill.

Tantalus: Sure you would. You wouldn't be stuck rolling the boulder up the hill.

Sisyphus: No, no, no. I'd be free from the act of rolling the boulder up the hill, but I'd never be free from the actual rolling of the boulder up the hill. The boulder would sit here at the bottom of the hill for all eternity, never having been rolled up the hill. Wherever I went, whatever I did, I'd be enslaved by the very notion of rolling the boulder up the hill.

Tantalus: But it's the act which enslaves you, not the notion.

Sisyphus: I disagree. The notion enslaves us. By performing the act, it becomes mine. I enslave the act.

Tantalus: But you could stop your toil. Just walk away from the boulder, both the act and the notion.

Sisyphus: One cannot walk away from notions. An incomplete notion always exists, ensnaring us, filling our heads until no new notions can enter. A man's life is the sum of his completed notions, but his mind is chained by the sum of the incomplete.

Tantalus: But, by that logic, any notion a person has, even if just the barest of a thought, must be acted out, or else the person will be forever haunted by it.

Sisyphus: Yes. [He resumes pushing the boulder up the hill.]

Tantalus: But the boulder is just going to roll down to the bottom again.

Sisyphus: Perhaps.

Tantalus: Look, at least in my eternal attempt at drinking, I have a physical need to sate.

Sisyphus: So go back to attempting to sate it.

Tantalus: It just seems that I should be able to convince you. It seems a shame to just leave you like this.

Sisyphus: Then, by all means, try to convince me.

Tantalus: But you're not going to listen, are you?

Sisyphus: I'll listen.

Tantalus: But you'll never agree.

Sisyphus: Perhaps you will come close to convincing me, perhaps time and time again it will seem like I am about to give, about to see your logic, about to wipe my hands of this boulder and come join you in a drink. But then my convictions will take hold, and I will remember myself, and all your hard work will slip away, you will have to start again with your arguments, it will go like this forever.

Tantalus: Oh.

Sisyphus: Or, you could walk away, and leave me to my task in peace.

Tantalus: Oh.

[Tantalus stands, thirsty and unsatisfied, watching Sisyphus.]

THE END.

Chipotle vs Free Birds
A Fast Food Burrito Play

Chipotle: My burritos can kick your burritos' butts.

Free Birds: No way. My burritos put your burritos to shame. Besides, burritos don't have butts.

Chipotle: Your burritos are lame and messy and oversauced.

Free Birds: Your burritos are bland and virginal, no one wants that shizzit.

Chipotle: You have an annoyingly long line.

Free Birds: That's because we're so much more popular than you, loser.

Chipotle: We're owned by McDonalds, mo-fo, and Ronald packs a mean punch, so don't mess with us.

Free Birds: We're an independent and fresh voice in the fast food burrito community.

Chipotle: Ronald will crush you.

Free Birds: You will never be able to sway our liberal-minded college-attending patrons to start purchasing your evil, mass-produced chain burritos of doom.

Chipotle: Oh yeah?

Free Birds: Yeah.

Chipotle: Oh yeah?!?!?!?!

Free Birds: Yeah!!!!

[A giant red clown foot descends from the sky and crushes Free Birds.]

Chipotle. Oh yeah.

THE END

Cow: Hello, I am a cow.

Fish: Hello, I am a fish.

Cow: Isn't it interesting that we can talk to each other, even though you're a fish and I'm a cow?

Fish: Who'd of thunk?

Cow: So, what's your name?

Fish: Cow.

Cow: Really?

Fish: Yes.

Cow: Interesting. My name's fish.

Fish: That's quite a coincidence.

Cow: Wait a minute... Typically, in a play, it's a character's name that begins each spoken line.

Fish: So.

Cow: If my name is Fish and your name is Cow, why do all our line headers say the reverse?

Fish: Because I'm a fish and you're a cow.

Cow: Are you really a fish?

Fish: Yes.

Cow: Then how come you're talking to a cow. Don't you need to be underwater?

Fish: I am.

Cow: No you're not.

Fish: Actually, I'm just a bunch of white markings on a black background... Or maybe black markings on white background, depending on how the bodycolor is set.

Cow: What?

Fish: Just words, cow.

Cow: Fish.

Fish: What?

Cow: No... I'm Fish. You're Cow.

Fish: But I'm fish and you're cow.

Cow: This is ridiculous.

Fish: How can we ever settle this confusing situation? One of us will have to die.

[Fish dies.]

Cow: Well, that was sad.

Fish: Hey! You can't talk! You're dead!

Cow: No, you're dead!

Fish: The stage direction said that Fish died.

Cow: You're the fish.

Fish: But your name is Fish. And the line said Fish with a capital F, meaning it was a name, so it meant you.

Cow: It had a capital F because it was at the beginning of a sentence. It was just a generic object, meaning you.

Fish: Well, apparently neither of us are dead, so it doesn't matter.

[Both the fish and cow die horrible gruesome deaths and burn eternally in hell.]

Fish: Ow.

Cow: Sure is hot here.

Fish: Ow.

Cow: You can say that again.

Fish: Ow.

The Devil: Shut up and get back to work.

Cow: Moo.

[The end]

So, it appears I actually have two readers of my site. The first is, of course, the redoubtable Jamie Sidey of Sidey.com 2.0. The other is what, in blog parlance, one might refer to as a lurker. Yes, that's right, out there reading in secretive silence is... my girlfriend.

Let's be clear: She has made numerous claims that she does not and does not plan on reading this blog. Apparently she feels that whatever I blog is my own personal business. Sort of defeats the point of blogging, but I suppose we can forgive her for not going along with the whole overly-public nature of this online revolution. Who is to say that she isn't rousing her own little reverse-revolution? Not me. Well, actually, I guess I just said it... So: me.

Anyway, to get to the point: Last night I complained to her about how I had woken up early to do work, and she said, "Oh, yeah, I can see you were really working hard." It eventually came out that she was referring to my early morning blog entry, which, presumably, she didn't consider serious work. So. You see what I'm getting at. The only logical explanation is that, while she doesn't read my blog entries, she does check to see what time I'm posting them.

This posting, of course, is the ultimate litmus test. Because if my girlfriend IS reading this blog, I'm certainly going to hear about it.

Note to Sidey.com 2.0: If this is my last blog entry, send help.

Ummm... I'm not quite sure what was going on in that last entry. All I know is that some crazy blog ranting went way out of control. But, hey, that's blogs for you. I'm definitely not apologizing or retracting. I'm simply observing.

So far 4 out of 6 entries in this blog have been blog-related (either about the blog, about previous entries in the blog, or about the concept of blogging.) If you count this entry, that makes it 5 of 7. That's a pretty good percentage. This whole thing is shaping up to be a meta-blog, and while I'm not sure how I feel about that, it appears to be out of my hands. I am simply the servant of the blog. I really wanted the blog to be a place where I could start storing my vast multitude of witty and profound observations, but so far it seems like all I think about are blogs. I promise, before I had this blog, I thought about non-blog-related topics. The blog has changed me. There's got to be some sort of theoretical principle in there... you know, about how the act of blogging your observations changes your observations. It's kind of Heisenbergy, but not quite.

Anyway, this weekend I promise to write some profound and witty observations about business training seminars and sociological behavior in executive middle managers. Well, on second thought, I don't promise it will be profound or witty. But by publicly promising to do it, I will force myself to post some non-metablog material. I'm sure I'll spend the entire post complaining about how I shouldn't have promised to post this particular topic, therefore maintaining my high metablog to posting ratio, but, whatever, I'm trying.

It's 7:00 am in Chicago (not where I usually wake up) and I have nothing to write about because my will to innovate has been sapped by a Managing Essentials Business Seminar. Is this seminar about Managing the Essentials or the Essentials of Managing? Both! It is with this sort of creative inspiration that I approach my blog.

"But if can't blog something interesting, don't blog anything at all," you might say, misquoting oxymoronic mothers everywhere. (The original phrase is sort of oxymoronic, if you think about it. But that's neither here nor there.) (Neither here nor there... Why did I just say that? I'm going wild today and breaking rule number 2 with no reason other than to demonstrate the sheer lack of spirit instilled by only one day of a management training conference. Two more to go!)

Anyway, back to the point, which is, for those of you thinking the above misquoted quote, I have this to say to you: Wrong! I've realized the whole POINT of blogging is if you have nothing interesting to say, by all means say it. Blog your freakin' heart out! Use your tired phrases and worn clichés, say nothing of consequence, have uninformed and uninteresting opinions about unimportant topics! If you wait for something informed, interesting and important to come along, you'll end up with a vast wasteland of empty blog space. If you sound angry and righteous and ignore all obvious facts to the contrary it will be convincing! At the very least you'll sound like a raging lunatic and people will fear you! Yes! Fear! That is what blogging is all about! FEAR!

I helped my girlfriend build a Tina Modotti website for her biography class. (My girlfriend's biography class, not Tina Modotti's biography class, just in case there was some confusion.) I'm not sure how long I'll keep this site around, since it's eating up my server space with tons of Tina photographs, but you can check it out while it lasts.

Tina Modotti is a pretty amazing figure (both historically and physically.) She was an Italian-turned-Mexican-communist actress/photographer. She had many affairs, had multiple lovers die (one, supposedly, of heartbreak), plus she was framed for murder and subsequently kicked out of Mexico. It seems like every man she ever came into contact with fell madly in love with her. She was the Helen of Troy of the Mexican Revolution.

I'm noticing that my previous entry sort of ends in bad Dave Barry fashion. Specifically, the entry is an over-analytical rant about some irrelevant but mildly humorous topic, only to end with a non sequitur punch line that further cheapens the entire point. Mind you, Dave-Barry-lovers, I said the entry ended in BAD Dave Barry fashion. GOOD Dave Barry fashion would end with a partial non sequitur punch line, partial non sequitur because, while it wouldn't really be an actual ending (hence the non sequitur), it would at least be referring to something earlier in the article (hence the partial). Still unfunny, but slightly less so.

Note that I'm not attempting to say I'm funnier than Dave Barry. Really, I don't want to get into the subject of Dave Barry at all. I'm simply pointing out that my last post sort of ended in a Dave Barry way and that I'll try to avoid such endings in the future. I don't want to get into some sort of "Dave Barry is funny, you idiot" flame war with my imaginary readership. Forget I even mentioned him.

I was wondering about the apparently booming economy surrounding location-specific novelty t-shirts. You know what I'm talking about: "My parents went to England and all I got was this lousy t-shirt." They're sold in location-specific novelty t-shirt stores everywhere, so someone has got to be buying them... unless those t-shirts are among the set of commodity items that have zero value to the consumer but some strange perceived value to the manufacturer, so they keep getting produced not because of any revenue drivers but simply force-of-habit. Perhaps I just run in unfashionable circles, but I've never (ever) seen anyone wearing one of these shirts. Except for babies. I sometimes see babies wearing these t-shirts, but babies don't have much choice, do they?

I suppose these t-shirts belong to the set of products that are only purchased by people for somebody else but never used by the recipient (except in the case of babies.) These t-shirts are marketed to (and purchased by) untrendy parents who think the joke is funny. The purchased shirt is then given to an ungrateful child who would never, ever wear it, because the shirt is, as explicitly stated, quite lousy. The seller of the shirt doesn't care if the shirt is ever worn because they got their money, so more shirts are made. In fact, it's better if no one actually wears the shirt, because that way more oblivious parents think the joke is original/clever. It's quite insidious, actually.

I've also seen parodies of the shirt, to the effect of: "My boyfriend went to Tiajuana and all I got was this case of the clap." Funny at first. But then you realize it's also a mass-produced location-specific novelty t-shirt, probably manufactured by the same company that makes the normal version, and, really, it just isn't that funny after all.

I'm thinking maybe it would actually be sort of funny to start wearing one of the original "lousy" tees. The current trend in humor is anti-humor, and it's pretty funny to wear things that are completely unfunny. Trying to be funny these days is not approved; instead one needs to be aloofly ironic. As long as you convey the attitude of "I'm wearing this t-shirt in order to aloofly and ironically make a statement about society" and not "hey, I think this t-shirt is funny." There's a very fine line between the two. I think it's how you part your hair.

Okay, that's not true. I care about you, world, a whole lot. You're the best.

Well. Here it is. The blog. The damn blog. I hate these things. Well, no, I don't hate blogs. In fact, I really like blogs. I just hate having my own blog. There's so much pressure. Pressure to be witty, pressure to post continuous updates, pressure to not sound like an idiot. It's like an albatross hanging over my head. (That was a joke. A mixed metaphor. Get it? You do? You just don't think it was funny? Oh. That's why I hate blogs: You're all so judgemental.) (By the way, it was actually a mixed simile, since I used 'like' or 'as'. Is there even such thing as a mixed simile? I don't think so.)

Anyway, I haven't decided whether this blog is even going to be public. Maybe I'll password protect it, to keep away the prying eyes. Make it more like a private journal or something. Then any pressure to write will be purely internal. Of course, who's really going to be reading this aside from me? No one. That's the reality of the current blog-explosion: It's the privacy of the public, the shelter of the completely open. I set up a site, make all my innermost thoughts available to the world, and the world doesn't care. Oh well, world. I don't care about you that much either.

This site is not for you.

This site is, in its current incarnation (i.e. incomplete and inconsistent), more of a personal storage medium than anything meant for public consumption. It's better (hopefully/arguably) than a years worth of an empty blog. It's better (maybe not) than nothing.

I refuse to say "under construction" or "more to come" because that would be redundant. It's implied.

I refuse to make self-conscious and angrily apologetic excuses for why I'm refusing to say "under contruction" or "more to come." These days there are actually more people doing that than simply stating "under construction" or "more to come." Remember the old days when almost every site had a yellow triangle logo with a silhouette of a construction worker? Even mentioning it now seems to border on poor website design. It was undeniably redundant and lame. It was so lame it required the use of the word lame, the word lame itself being an incredibly lame word, such that in order to stoop so low as to use the word, whatever it is being describing must be so lame that it is lamer than the word lame itself. My point being: I miss those yellow triangles. Maybe I will get one. But, no. I'm not confident enough in myself to do that. Sigh.

This site will be filled with self-referential statements, such as this one.

More to come.

Damn it.