Category Archives: broken stuff

On putting something away in a safe place (and losing it forever)

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Have you ever put something away in a safe place and lost it forever? I have lost track of the number of times this has happened to me. Now, I never put things away at all and use a top down stacking method of keeping track of stuff–I just pile it up in plain sight. Otherwise I am in danger of losing it forever. If I put something away in a safe place, I am dead certain it will be lost for at least six months, if not a year. I have lost things that I put in a safe place for good. They just disappeared and I never saw them again. I’ve lost letters, photos, bills, receipts, money, tie tacks, books, magazines, recipes, checks, keys, phones, passwords, pins, hats, socks, and a watch–in other words, just about anything that you can put away, I’ve lost it because I put it away. I one time lost a jacket that was later found hanging in a closet on a hanger–who does that, I ask? I have lost a pair of shoes for weeks only to find them sitting quietly in a front closet where I put them. I once put a set of keys in a safe place, and I’m still looking for those. I’ve lost the light bill because I put it in a safe place with the property tax bill–last I ever saw of either one. Put a library book in a safe place once, never saw it again, either–had to buy the library a new copy. I have lost thousands of pens and pencils because I put them away instead of leaving them out on the counter where they might be useful. I always left the floppy disks with my dissertation just laying about anywhere because I was afraid of losing them–never lost them. I am dead sure that the “safe place” is a mystical, imaginary place where inanimate objects go to escape reality, never to be seen or heard from again. I am also sure that the imaginary “safe place” is also fraught with danger and mystery, sucking unsuspecting objects into a mysterious vortex or fifth dimension outside of our normal time/space, vanishing them once and for all times.

On putting something away in a safe place (and losing it forever)

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Have you ever put something away in a safe place and lost it forever? I have lost track of the number of times this has happened to me. Now, I never put things away at all and use a top down stacking method of keeping track of stuff–I just pile it up in plain sight. Otherwise I am in danger of losing it forever. If I put something away in a safe place, I am dead certain it will be lost for at least six months, if not a year. I have lost things that I put in a safe place for good. They just disappeared and I never saw them again. I’ve lost letters, photos, bills, receipts, money, tie tacks, books, magazines, recipes, checks, keys, phones, passwords, pins, hats, socks, and a watch–in other words, just about anything that you can put away, I’ve lost it because I put it away. I one time lost a jacket that was later found hanging in a closet on a hanger–who does that, I ask? I have lost a pair of shoes for weeks only to find them sitting quietly in a front closet where I put them. I once put a set of keys in a safe place, and I’m still looking for those. I’ve lost the light bill because I put it in a safe place with the property tax bill–last I ever saw of either one. Put a library book in a safe place once, never saw it again, either–had to buy the library a new copy. I have lost thousands of pens and pencils because I put them away instead of leaving them out on the counter where they might be useful. I always left the floppy disks with my dissertation just laying about anywhere because I was afraid of losing them–never lost them. I am dead sure that the “safe place” is a mystical, imaginary place where inanimate objects go to escape reality, never to be seen or heard from again. I am also sure that the imaginary “safe place” is also fraught with danger and mystery, sucking unsuspecting objects into a mysterious vortex or fifth dimension outside of our normal time/space, vanishing them once and for all times.

On mystery

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Human beings are intrigued by the unknown and strive endlessly to know more, to clear up the mystery. Yet, we are also plagued by the unknown, the inexplicable, the mysterious. Modern manifestations of pop culture delve deeply in the mystery genre, and weird pop culture delves into cryptozoology and make-believe monsters, trading in ancient astronauts and Bermuda Triangles. Many mysteries are not mysteries at all when seen against the background of real science and rational empiricism. A person disappears, a bank is robbed, someone lies dead in their own living room, a painting is stolen, the power goes out, a window get broken, the car won’t start, your stomach hurts, and you don’t have an explanation for any of it. A letter is lost in the mail, the washing machine breaks, the roof leaks. We have a hundred mysteries around us all of the time: a strange noise in the night, a familiar looking face at the mall that you haven’t seen in twenty years, a ringing phone but no one answers. We are constantly trying to solve one mystery or another. One of the greatest fictional detectives of all times, Sherlock Holmes, is the modern model and poster boy for mystery solving and rational empiricism. Holmes’ success drove his creator, Conan Doyle, to distraction because he had no idea his detective would turn into one of the wildly successful characters of all time. The mystery genre publishes thousands of new titles every year–the reading public can’t get enough. Mysteries are probably popular because the mirror the chaos of daily life, and since we can’t bring order to real life, we live vicariously through the detectives that bring order to their fictional world. We feel better about our own chaos as order is restored when the detective lets us know that the butler did it.

On mystery

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Human beings are intrigued by the unknown and strive endlessly to know more, to clear up the mystery. Yet, we are also plagued by the unknown, the inexplicable, the mysterious. Modern manifestations of pop culture delve deeply in the mystery genre, and weird pop culture delves into cryptozoology and make-believe monsters, trading in ancient astronauts and Bermuda Triangles. Many mysteries are not mysteries at all when seen against the background of real science and rational empiricism. A person disappears, a bank is robbed, someone lies dead in their own living room, a painting is stolen, the power goes out, a window get broken, the car won’t start, your stomach hurts, and you don’t have an explanation for any of it. A letter is lost in the mail, the washing machine breaks, the roof leaks. We have a hundred mysteries around us all of the time: a strange noise in the night, a familiar looking face at the mall that you haven’t seen in twenty years, a ringing phone but no one answers. We are constantly trying to solve one mystery or another. One of the greatest fictional detectives of all times, Sherlock Holmes, is the modern model and poster boy for mystery solving and rational empiricism. Holmes’ success drove his creator, Conan Doyle, to distraction because he had no idea his detective would turn into one of the wildly successful characters of all time. The mystery genre publishes thousands of new titles every year–the reading public can’t get enough. Mysteries are probably popular because the mirror the chaos of daily life, and since we can’t bring order to real life, we live vicariously through the detectives that bring order to their fictional world. We feel better about our own chaos as order is restored when the detective lets us know that the butler did it.

On ties

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I have a passel of ties, but I hate wearing them–all that rigmarole with the fancy knot. Most guys don’t know how to tie the knot, so they do a simple slip-knot, and it always looks like hash. Crooked, I mean. Sort destroys the whole point of the tie if you can’t tie it properly. They are adjustable, you know, according to my friend, Sha. As far as a totally useless piece of clothing goes, the tie is the most useless. Except if you want to keep gravy off of your shirt, the tie has no known use or value. Some guys with fat necks use ties as a cover for not buttoning that top button, but all that means is that they need to buy bigger shirts or lose a little weight. Some might say that a tie adds elegance of color and design to a man’s suit, but that is just style and caprice, meaningless, in other words. So men collect ties, always looking for that perfect shade of red or that one odd shade of gray that will look good with their favorite shirt. Many ties are just flat out ugly. In fact, most ties are flat out ugly. Murphy’s Law of ties says that no matter how you place your napkin, you will stain your favorite tie with bacon grease no matter what. Polyester ties are the worst of the worst. Pink ties? I think paisley is coming back, so hang in there paisley lovers. Murphy’s second law is that you will forget your tie for that one important interview. Never run a drill press with a tie on. Men will never throw away a tie no matter how out of style it might be or how blood-stained it might be. One should never dab one’s mouth with your tie after slobbering on yourself.

On ties

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I have a passel of ties, but I hate wearing them–all that rigmarole with the fancy knot. Most guys don’t know how to tie the knot, so they do a simple slip-knot, and it always looks like hash. Crooked, I mean. Sort destroys the whole point of the tie if you can’t tie it properly. They are adjustable, you know, according to my friend, Sha. As far as a totally useless piece of clothing goes, the tie is the most useless. Except if you want to keep gravy off of your shirt, the tie has no known use or value. Some guys with fat necks use ties as a cover for not buttoning that top button, but all that means is that they need to buy bigger shirts or lose a little weight. Some might say that a tie adds elegance of color and design to a man’s suit, but that is just style and caprice, meaningless, in other words. So men collect ties, always looking for that perfect shade of red or that one odd shade of gray that will look good with their favorite shirt. Many ties are just flat out ugly. In fact, most ties are flat out ugly. Murphy’s Law of ties says that no matter how you place your napkin, you will stain your favorite tie with bacon grease no matter what. Polyester ties are the worst of the worst. Pink ties? I think paisley is coming back, so hang in there paisley lovers. Murphy’s second law is that you will forget your tie for that one important interview. Never run a drill press with a tie on. Men will never throw away a tie no matter how out of style it might be or how blood-stained it might be. One should never dab one’s mouth with your tie after slobbering on yourself.

On fractals

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Though they are complex to describe, you have seen them many times in snow flakes, branching river deltas, the branches of pine trees, ancient ferns, and the florettes of a cauliflower. Fractals, though difficult to define, seem to be repeating self-similar patterns that repeat until they are infinitesimly small, but always the same. Fractals, if you were to analyse them from a mathematical standpoint, are non-linear functions that form all sorts of beautiful loops, and swirls that go on and on into a vanishing point somewhere off of the graph paper. We see fractals that occur in nature all the time. They are so common that we would miss if they weren’t there, but we ignore them because they are ubiquitous. Fractals are imprinted in our subconscious to the point that a nautilous shell can only have one design–a spiral of ever increasing size. If the fractal weren’t there, it wouldn’t be a nautilous shell, or pine tree branch, frost on a window, branching lightening, or the Mississippi River delta. Ever look at the way medieval architects imprint a fractal design on the front of Gothic cathedrals? Fractals are pleasing to the eye and soothing for the soul. Part of the universes harmony is wrapped up in fractals, including the designs of galaxies. Now, in the Oscar winning song of the year, “Let it Go,” the word fractal is included in the lyrics, and the main character creates an ice palace out of macro-fractal snow flake. Fascinating.

On fractals

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Though they are complex to describe, you have seen them many times in snow flakes, branching river deltas, the branches of pine trees, ancient ferns, and the florettes of a cauliflower. Fractals, though difficult to define, seem to be repeating self-similar patterns that repeat until they are infinitesimly small, but always the same. Fractals, if you were to analyse them from a mathematical standpoint, are non-linear functions that form all sorts of beautiful loops, and swirls that go on and on into a vanishing point somewhere off of the graph paper. We see fractals that occur in nature all the time. They are so common that we would miss if they weren’t there, but we ignore them because they are ubiquitous. Fractals are imprinted in our subconscious to the point that a nautilous shell can only have one design–a spiral of ever increasing size. If the fractal weren’t there, it wouldn’t be a nautilous shell, or pine tree branch, frost on a window, branching lightening, or the Mississippi River delta. Ever look at the way medieval architects imprint a fractal design on the front of Gothic cathedrals? Fractals are pleasing to the eye and soothing for the soul. Part of the universes harmony is wrapped up in fractals, including the designs of galaxies. Now, in the Oscar winning song of the year, “Let it Go,” the word fractal is included in the lyrics, and the main character creates an ice palace out of macro-fractal snow flake. Fascinating.

On missing the end of the show (because I fell asleep)

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Have you ever woken up to find you had missed the end of the movie or show? Not that it happens often, but sometimes a long day can take its toll on my ability to focus and stay awake. You don’t even know it, really, until it happens: All of a sudden you are looking at and listening to other characters doing other things and you are wondering what happened to the show you were watching. Perhaps I’ve seen way too much television, perhaps I can predict almost any plot twist possible, perhaps I need my sleep more than I need to watch another police procedural show. Yet, it makes me mad to miss the end of the show–I want to find out who did it. It makes me mad that I couldn’t stay awake long enough to make it to the end of an hour show. By falling asleep I am reconfirming that most television is only sleep-worthy and that we are all wasting our time with most of what’s on the tube. By falling asleep, I am reconfirming that I don’t sleep enough at night, and I need to change my sleep habits. By missing the end of the show my subconscious is suggesting that most television is not worth watching and that my time would be better invested in sleeping. I fall asleep and miss the end of the show, waking up with a sore neck, a hazy sense of reality, and a lost hour or so. It takes a little while to get one’s bearings when coming up out of the black hole of sleep. So I miss the end of the show, no problem, it won’t be a rerun for me in three months when I see it again.