Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Loved this so much, I had to make a map.
Based on an actual quiz given to British people, It’s Thanksgiving So We Asked Brits To Label The United States — We’re So Sorry, America.
I love how the Midwest is just one big interchangeable blob. No worries- Mid-westerners feel the same way.
(Click to expand)
Posted by McW at 7:43 AM
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
The infamous MOOOOO-chos Gracias cow. Skip had 5000 of these made for Teacher's Discovery in 2001, they say 'Mooo-chos gracias' in his voice. Its pretty much my favorite thing ever.
Posted by McW at 1:44 AM
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Feeling retrospective. Thinking about 'age brackets', and whether there is something radically strange and disjuncted about being in one's 30s and not deeply entrenched in breadwinning and child rearing.
Cultural literacy forces us to live a life of constant comparison. I have a romanticized vision of what 30-something life should be, based on the 80's television show of the same name. Mel Harris gently sways to the stereo with her nine-month old daughter in her arms, turning to Ken Olin who watches her from the doorway, a soft-focus, slow zoom, life-affirming Hallmark moment concluding 14 episodes of existential anxiety attacks. Despite long afternoons hiding out in the darkroom drinking beer and listening to the Phillies games, despite being the life of the party but lately finding fewer parties and less things funny, despite his marriage being under strain, despite being overwhelmed by feelings he's never had to deal with before, despite all of his doubts surrounding displacement and entrenchment and fatherhood and growing old, he finds perspective in that final scene, as she smiles back at him, and whispers, "I think she likes Van Morrison."
God. We ruthlessly mocked that show in High School, while our english teacher, a Volvo-driving, NPR quoting, Timothy Busfield lookalike said, "Its captures life at that age so perfectly...you'll see."
We rolled our eyes, not knowing it had implanted a fiction of what life is supposed to be. I wondered if I could ever be in a position to grapple with those "mature" issues -- as if HAVING the issues was somehow heroic. While distancing myself from the idealization of middle class well-adjusted 30somethingdom that television portrayed, I still saw the bittersweet significance of it all, all the triumphs and failures and post-20's minutia that go into fashioning a new sense of home. Not for the show itself, but the innate sense that this WAS a bridge I would have to cross eventually, that life after 30 was a pill that we would all have to swallow, and that it wasn't about silly yuppies and their angst-ridden melodramas, but simply about the fear of growing up, no matter how old you are, and knowing enough about life to be totally confused by it.
I remember a quote from one of the actors on Charlie Rose or one of those talk shows, in which he characterized the central theme as "owning up to certain realities, not necessarily the compromise of principles, but rather the recognition that many of our notions of the future were idealizations and can't be lived in the world."
Once that's in place, its all a bit easier. So much of our retrospection and uncertainty about who we were then and who we're supposed to be now is chimerical, based on such unrealistic archetypes. Growing into ourselves takes as long as it takes, and its hard enough without the added pressure of "hitting the marks" that society gives us. A friend going toe-to-toe with single motherhood once told me, "It is way more important to figure out how to be happy being you than to figure out how to be happy being your age. Fuck numbers. Sometimes I am pissed that I didn't get my perfect ""thirtysomething" life, but I got this one, and have to do what I can with it."
I do relate to feeling displaced and disjuncted. Most days I feel like I'm secretly still a teenager. But I also felt so much older than my age, when I was a teen. My birthdays have always involved me wondering what the heck the deal was about. In the longterm. And about the choices I've made, and will make. I sort of did things in reverse. And now, from this vantage, I know there's nothing inherently noble about all that stuff I saw on 80's television, or funny, or even particularly interesting, and that we weren't the first generation to face such endeavors, and ultimately its about people, not ages.
I'm perfectly content to feel lost in uncharted territory, even if its the territory we're supposed to know best. And if I was a thirty-something english teacher, earnestly advising my students that the sitcom of our lives is all about waiting for a feeling of well-adjustment that never comes, I'd probably expect them not to laugh.
Posted by McW at 9:50 PM
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The nanopaint thread:
Chromoluminarism or Divisionism, carries with it some interesting implications beyond the realm of "smart-paint."
The premise is that nano-pigments are operating along the lines of the strictest definitions of pointalism, in which small distinct points of primary colors create the impression of a wide selection of secondary and intermediate colors. However, as with Shrodinger's Cat and the necessity of an "observer" to collapse the waveform, the color "mixing" phenomena cannot take place without an observer to reconcile a given chromatic arrangement -- An example of graphic art as allegory to reality emerging from disparate points, macrocosm emerging from microcosm.
In this sense, the nanopigments would become avatars of a mathematical QM consciousness in order to operate effectively within this model, and we may see how untenable a universe invoking hypertopgraphy on quantum levels might quickly become -- to quantify the vast amount of information necessary to act in knowing accordance with the universe at large. Perhaps this is the bugaboo of modern physics, the grand unified theory that Einstein spent his final years pursuing. "As above, so below" may work in esoteric teachings, but break down on the chalkboards of Princeton. While certain theories of interconnectedness indicate a gossamer thread of possibility, we'll never know the answer.
At present, everything works fine when broken down to simple, isolated components. As with Divisionism in the context of this model, the technique involves breaking color into its basic elements, painting in very small and regular dots. Simple, replete. A blue dot, for instance, doesn't know its performing "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" -- Its simply doing "blue." Similarly, if all the electrons in our bodies knew they were enacting personhood, rather than simply going about their business, it would become quite a quantum argument. (Comparable in scale to lunch with Richard Dawkins and 10 trillion QM consciousness guys.)
So, if we live in a universe comprised of particles which presumably care not what tiny qualitative pigment of relevance they add to the bigger picture, the question arises: What if our constituent particles contained knowledge of the grand design, and worse yet, accountability for manifesting it? And what if something as stupid as "nanopaint" became a model for how it works?
If the premise is correct -- in this respect -- we can surmise the primary obstacle would be the "choreography," as Photoshop commands its army of pixels, for instance. No intercommunication required, just a higher-mind. (A benevolent dictatorship versus a cooperative collective?)
There's also the problem of the nano-revolution... when nanopaint reaches a critical mass of information about the universe they create by virtue of their own existence, and start demanding artistic freedom.
This could get messy.
Posted by McW at 11:16 PM