In classic logic, modus ponens is as follows:
Premise 1 -- If P, then Q
Premise 2 -- P
Conclusion -- Therefore, Q
for example:
Premise1 -- Stream-of-consciousness blogs suck
Premise2 -- This is a stream-of-consciousness blog
Conclusion -- This blog sucks
People who reference their own blogs suck. No-one hangs on their every word or cares 1% as much as they do...and they don't really care that much, if they were honest. It's like if I listed some of the actual Search Keywords that Google shows on the Stats link for my blog. For example:
naked girl
maudite
christopher pike
margot kidder bipolar
santa's face
bow ball rowing
sean connery untouchables
naked girl
fat naked girl
oj gloves
adventures in rainbow country
picture of double decker bus
tiger vs cat
cat vs tiger
star tattoo on hand of swedish imagrent from the 1900
"john cleese" "silly walks"
cleanup on aisle 2 meaning
naked by a campfire
naked girl with toaster
don't like star trek
naked little girl
animals on boats
honey-soaked naked girls
pin-hole viewer sun
poo flinging monkey
sexy girls with no makeup
charlie brown throwing paper
Using a modicum of cleverity, cleverance, or fake words that should be words won't save a blog.
In dealing with phone solicitors:
Don't: just hang up.
Don't: hit whatever button they tell you to to get off their list - that just tells them that you're a live person. You'll be on tons of lists if you do.
Don't: threaten to blast a whistle into the phone, they'll just forward your number to someone in their office to see them get blasted.
Do: sign up for the "Do Not Call" list.
Do: waste their time. At the very least, for automated messages, leave the phone off the hook until they hang up. They either want a hit or a quick miss. If you don't make it a waste of their time to call you, then they'll continue to call you. And they'll sell their list to others.
They've now finished the 23 Ave overpass on the QE2. I miss the view of downtown from the top of it, so I might have to occasionally take that offramp. Also, I was impressed how little traffic disruption was caused by all that construction. Attaboy/girl construction people and Edmonton City.
This summer, I both jack-hammered part of my concrete basement floor for a sump pit, and went to a shooting range and shot handguns. I conclude that a 44 Magnum is essentially just a cordless jackhammer.
If you're a crow, then you just pick garbage and ruin crops.
If you're a raven, then you scavenge, are mysterious, Edgar Allan Poe writes a famous poem about you, and they name an NFL team after you (Baltimore Ravens).
Big Sugar's song "Heaven in Alberta" has the lyrics:
"I have lost my way
But I hear a tale
About a Heaven in Alberta
Where they've got all Hell for a basement"
That last line refers to Rudyard Kipling stating that Medicine Hat had "all Hell for a basement" because of their huge natural gas reserves.
You know what you don't hear anymore? People referring to something "hitting like a Mack truck." Now you're more likely to hear a generic semi reference, or a bit of obscure colour like Kenworth or even Peterbuilt. They still make Mack trucks. They have little bulldog dealies on the grill.
When I take my neighbours' dog Sophie for a walk, I sometimes end up going through a series of names for her. It starts with Sophie, then maybe Sophocles, then monocle, manacle, Manimal, etc. She doesn't seem to mind, although does look at me quizzically. Sometimes I call her Ranger, because it was Radar O'Reilly's dog's name. Sometimes when she pops out of her dog-door, it rhymes into Trogdor the Burninator. It's a character made up by Strong Bad in Homestar Runner. This homonymic explanation seems lost on her. I'm glad that her name isn't some purse-dog name like Lord Fontelroy, as I could never yell that when she's chasing a rabbit.
When I BBQ, which is near Sophie's doghouse, I have to promise to try to be sloppy with my food and give her anything that falls on the ground or through the grill. We accept the premise and terms, and enjoy competing for the nourishment. I had to explain to her about how onions are bad for dogs though, and thus are exempt from the challenge.
I like the story of the spammer who got huge quantities of actual junk mail sent to his house by a ticked-off spamee. He had some laughably ironic quote about being frustrated by not being able to find his real mail in with all the junk. There was also a spammer who killed himself after being outed about spamming. That's kind of a shame, because he was probably smart and driven enough if he applied himself to something useful, but I won't lose any sleep over it.
If I wrote a computer virus, I'd just make it insert small, random, occasional spelling errors. This would be insidious to anal-retentive people like me.
As a kid, I liked the smell of gasoline when the car was being filled on a warm day. I don't anymore - I wonder if it's because they took the lead out.
At my new job, word got out that I was pretty good with the spreadsheets. A guy eventually quietly sidled up to me like in the scene in the yard in The Shawshank Redemption. He said that he'd heard that I knew how to get things done. I'm kicking myself for not saying "I'm known to locate certain things in Excel from time to time."
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