Woerndle Conjecture

Humans will never contact other intelligent life because every time a culture gets significantly advanced it winds up erasing itself by playing with particle physics. So it goes...

shoney's stomach

Inspired by a drunken FB status update I posted Saturday night while being driven home, I was thinking about "shoney's stomach." That disgusting feeling you get after you eat a ton of crap food at a shitty chain buffet restaurant. My friend, JB coined that gem along with: Speed - When you spill something on yourself and it looks like pee.

I just want to point out that neither one of those terms return any real results with a google search. That's +10,000 for JB's originality. However, I'm very much hoping the shoney's stomach doesn't return any results because they sick corporate ninjas on anyone who publishes that term. Interestingly, I tried to steal and upload a photo of the shoney's bear to this post, but it kept mysteriously disappearing.

If I disappear, you know why.

aaaaand... done

A day after I returned from SXSW someone asked if I'd go back. Exhausted, I distinctly remember saying I had a lot of fun but probably wouldn't go back unless I was playing. (Yes, I really said that... douchey, no?) Two weeks later I realized it was the best thing I've done in years and planned to go back every year. (not going this year. sad.)

I finished Infinite Jest late last night. It was as good as everyone says. It was as hard to stick to as everyone says. It was as much work (8 1/2 months for me) as everyone says. I'm exhausted and afraid what I say about the book today will sound horribly wrong to me next week. I need time to kind of figure it all out, develop.

I'm confident this will be my favorite passage forever, though:

That most Substance-addicted people are also addicted to thinking, meaning they have a compulsive and unhealthy relationship with their own thinking. That the cute Boston AA term for addictive-type thinking is: Analysis-Paralysis. That cats will in fact get violent diarrhea if you feed them milk, contrary to the popular image of cats and milk. That it is simply more pleasant to be happy than to be pissed off. That 99% of compulsive thinkers' thinking is about themselves; that 99% of this self-directed thinking consists of imagining and then getting ready for things that are going to happen to them; and then, weirdly, that if they stop to think about it, that 100% of the things they spend 99% of their time and energy imagining and trying to prepare for all the contingencies and consequences of are never good. Then that this connects interesting with the early-sobriety urge to pray for the literal loss of one's mind. In short that 99% of the head’s thinking activity consists of trying to scare the everliving shit out of itself.

some maths

The video for Lady Gaga's telephone was released on March 11 at 11:30pm ET.

When I watched it at 1:49am (ET) Sunday, March 14, youtube says it has been viewed 12,443,126 times.

9:32 play time = 9.53333 minutes

(12,443,126 * 9.5333333) / 60

Lady Gaga = 1,977,074.47 hours of attention in 3 days.

I'm not really sure what that means so I looked it up:

Habitat for Humanity's houses each take 1,600 man hours to build.

A Boeing 747 takes 2,160 man hours to build from scratch.

huh.

MyGraine

You're at the sink doing dishes or getting some water when you notice something doesn't look right. Look at the clock, it takes a while to read. It is 12:06. Look at the floor, look at your hands - something is definitely wrong with your optic chiasm or lateral geniculate nucleus (LGN) or visual cortex, in general. Driving suddenly sounds like an awful idea. Plans for errands, lunch at Bread Co and a quick run are out. You’re hungry - maybe that’s it. Throw together a quick ham sandwich and have a glass of water. Eat quickly to get some energy. You sit at your computer to pass some time, to digest and breathe (maybe you forgot to), but it’s impossible to read through what looks like a broken camera lens, shattered across the upper 90, blurry, with bright points of pastel running along the cracks - the whole right of your visual field distorted and nauseating.

You close your right eye, but nothing changes. It is some sort of error beyond the optic nerve. There’s nothing to do now but wait. Quickly, you put the ham and mayo back in the fridge, scoop up the dog and head to the bedroom, stopping on the way (experience) to lift the seat of the toilet. Your right shoulder bangs against the door frame. You’re clumsy now, be careful with the dog. Set the dog on the bed. Change into pajamas, awkwardly. Close blinds, pull the curtains, slam the doors. You lay, pillow over head, dog nuzzled in your side, with blankets. You Wait.

Within minutes a small point of pain develops in what feels like the lower, middle part of your brain. It is just left of center. A concentrated, shooting pain. As if your LGN is calling out to explain the problem with the right side of your visual field. A sequence of pain, numb, pain, and numb. Then it shrieks.

This isn’t the worst migraine. It isn’t one that consumes your entire head, but it is far from pleasant. You writhe. You wish for sleep. You try little tricks to soothe. You masticate (maybe the old TMJ triggered it?) you hum loudly, hoping to vibrate the small part of your brain that is screaming - Nothing. Different pitches – Nothing. Your dog wakes up, confused. You stop. It is time to lay still and wait with whatever will block out the most light over your head. Thank God it is quiet.

Thank God you’re at home.

You wait for the nausea. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time you won’t vomit. That ham sandwich was delicious. You didn’t eat White Castle for years after that One Time. It would be a shame for a pesky migraine and uncontrollable vomit to ruin future ham sandwiches.

You wait for what seems longer than usual. Maybe you won’t vomit (mental high five). The dog changes position which seems like a good enough idea so you, too, roll onto your side. The liquid in your stomach shifts. Instant mouth watering, denial. Pillow off head, denial. More saliva, blankets off. Acceptance. Four long strides to the bathroom...

(This paragraph left as an exercise for the reader)

Rinse. Wash face. Towel off. Back to bed.

(Repeat previous 2 paragraphs 4 times)

You sleep, finally. You wake up and feel, off. Not much pain, but there is an aura, almost. At the least it is Just Not Right. You imagine this is what it feels like right before a seizure. Should you call someone? No. Just try to sleep.

Sleep.

For the next few days you feel like a small part of your brain has a tremendous hangover while the rest of your brain is saying, “WTF?” You order a ham sandwich from the deli and it is delicious.

Whew.