Tunnel vision is what I’ve got today. I’m wearing my glasses because my new contact lenses kept trying to fall out. Yes, I really think they were trying to fall out. Anyhooz, here I am, spending the day with glasses on my face. I actually don’t mind them nearly as much as any of my previous pairs of glasses, but still, glasses give me tunnel vision! I hate not really being able to see what’s going on around me. They just warp the world. And my world will be warped tomorrow, too, unless I figure out why today’s new contacts don’t fit the same as the ones I started two weeks ago. I mean, I think it’s the same prescription. I have this suspicion that the whole batch is defective. The first contact lens I pulled out this morning was stuck to itself. I couldn’t unstick it even after pulling and tugging! I think something very wrong happened at the contact lens plant. Like maybe the master contact lens maker was a tyrant and the disgruntled little contact lens maker helpers decided to rebel by introducing imperfections into each lens that were nearly undetectable to the naked eye (ah, but not to my naked eye) and thus be able to get by the scrutinous (and apparently naked) eye of the master contact lens maker tyrant but would surely garner enough consumer complaints to get him fired (that is, overthrown). Hrmm…
actually it’s 4:02:09 PM PDT on Sunday and I’m still on the plane
So aside from using lasers to de-arm (yes, that’s de-arm, not disarm) seat boundary offenders, I think they’d be very handy to have on the road. I’ve been mulling over the feasibility of mounting lasers on my car. The next time someone cuts me off I’ll zap ’em! That’s right, just take out their tire and watch ’em spin. Or I could turn up the juice and blow ’em off the road. Honestly, I think it would be a service to the world, since people would start driving more politely for fear of being zapped. Everyone except me, that is, since I’ll be the one doin’ the zapping!
actually it’s 3:49:40 PM PDT but that’s not really my time zone ’cause I’m on a plane flying cross-country
I hate it when the person in the seat next to mine on the plane takes up the entire armrest. The guy sitting next to me is doing just that, and then some. At least he’s not so fat that he has to put the armrest up and spill over into my seat. I really hate it when that happens.
D’oh. He just leaned over and talked to me. Now I can’t write anything bad about him. For some reason I just can’t be harsh or mean once a stranger humanizes himself.
And, yes, that’s himself or herself. I was trying to be grammatically correct, not sexist.
Anyway, back to this armrest thing. I truly believe that seat boundaries should be enforced. Perhaps the airlines should look into installing some sort of laser that zaps seat boundary violators. Wanna keep your arm? Then keep it on your side of the boundary! If it crosses over then you’re losing it and don’t ask me to give it back because I’m chucking it to the other end of the plane. Bye-bye, arm!
actually it’s 1:35:01 AM
So my dad was looking for a new golf glove today. We went to the Sports Authority. They have this huge golf section with a wall of golf gloves. Leather gloves, synthetic gloves, women’s gloves, youth gloves. You name it, they had it. Kind of. All they had were left-hand gloves. My dad needed a right-hand glove. What’s up with that? What do lefties do? Are they not expected to play golf? This reminds me of an editorial cartoon I saw yesterday in USA Today. It showed a guy lamenting the end of “another great golf tradition” yanking out a “No Carts” sign and throwing it in a pile of signs that included “No Jews” and “No Blacks”. I guess the “No Lefties” sign is still there. Huh.
And while I’m on the topic, let me rant about the Casey Martin court decision. If they let Casey use a cart, I think they should let all the other golfers use a cart too. Yes, Casey can’t walk the course, but that doesn’t mean the other golfers should have to walk while Casey rides and conserves his energy. Actually, I think allowing the cart at all is stupid. Walking is part of golf, dammit. Just like running is part of track and field. Why don’t they allow supercharged wheelchairs on the track for those who can’t run? I mean, there needs to be equal access, right? Geez, we’re talking about playing at the professional level. If you can’t do all the things the sport requires then you shouldn’t be playing as a professional. Sorry. Even if you can shoot a Tiger Woods score every time. If Tiger had to walk the course and you didn’t then there’s no comparison.
actually it’s 3:19:00 AM
Blogging on the bed…
Pillow at my head…
actually it’s 3:18:22 AM
Those last two entries are dedicated to my pet fish from 1992, a little black bubble-eyed bugger named Metalhead.
actually it’s 3:16:52 AM
So while I’m on the topic, the other recurring disturbing theoretical thought is that we might all be fish. Not really fish, but like fish. Household fish, the type you dump into a fishbowl and watch for amusement. Except that the bowl is the Earth. I keep thinking there’s some really big giant out there looking at the Earth grinning at us thinking “Ooh, look at the little fishies!” Keeping us just for amusement. You know, now that I think about it, we’d be more akin to sea monkeys than goldfish. What the hell are sea monkeys, anyway?
actually it’s 3:12:?? AM
Every time I start thinking about reality and what it really is I get caught up in the circularity of it all and my head starts spinning and I start looking like some character I can’t quite remember from a classically cheesy horror flick.
No, that’s not what I was trying to say. It’s late, forgive me. Whatever time my blog recorded, that ain’t it! I just don’t feel like waking up my fam to blog at 3 AM.
Anyhow, back to my fishy reality theory. I think that maybe I’m just a fish. A fish, not a person. This whole person thing is imagined. I’m a little fishie floating around somewhere, maybe in a pond, maybe in an ocean, maybe in a toilet bowl. And I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming that I’m a person. A person who plays and works and blogs senseless ramblings that may actually be the truth. And what about all the other peeplz? Peeplz like youz? You’re imagined, too. I, with my little fishie brain, imagined you. Eh?
But perhaps you imagined me? Perhaps you’re the little fish. You’re the little fish who imagined a person to blog the truth that you know back to you. Is it more palatable that way? Can you believe it now?
Or what if we’re both imagining? What if each “person” in the world is really a fish, and our society is the result of the collective imaginations of the fishie population? No, that’s far too complex. Sounds almost Matrix-like. Not for its complexity, but because there would surely be a major scientific flaw that would render such an idea impossible.
I ponder this theory on my really bad days. When things suck I try to find ways to convince myself that reality doesn’t really exist. That this is all a dream and I will wake up to my fish flakes or plankton or what not and just swim around and be happy. No deadlines, no cranky days, no worries about how the rest of my life is going to turn out.
Huh. It’d be highly ironic if I were really a fish, because I can’t swim.
What? Exactly! Why can’t Netscape (and maybe even <gasp> Opera??) be nice and just equate my equal signs with colons? Whatever. At least it finally looks the way it’s supposed to. Well, except that the links don’t change color when you hover the mouse cursor over them. Still, better than that lame-O white page with the black background and no formatting before the fix. Uhhhhh-gly!
When I first discovered online news (back in the stone ages) the section with all the weird stories was my favorite. Where are those sections in the regular newspapers? I feel bad for all the poor little peeplz without internet access. Having to read boring depressing articles day after day. Bombings and market crashes and power outages. Why not read something that makes you laugh instead? Like today, I read a blurb about a sex-crazed chocolate-fueled monkey attacking girls and flirting with neighborhood pets. I tried to picture it but being an urban dweller all I could really come up with was a mental image of Homer Simpson’s helper monkey Mojo.
Speaking of monkeys. All of youz with Palm OS devices should check out eruptor.com‘s PortaMonkey. The little dude eats and poops and screws innocent bunnies. You can zap him, too, and not worry about PETA chaining themselves to your doorknob. Just click on the “wireless” link when you get there.