Last week, I once again issued the Memeday Challenge, and once again, the responses failed to disappoint.

TitanKT asks,

What is your favorite holiday treat that you only get during the holidays?
Because we import produce from the Southern Hemisphere, it seems like nothing ever goes out of season any more. But there are some treats that don’t go well with warmer weather. Nobody’s going to make egg nog in July, not even if an ice cream recipe goes off the rails. I do enjoy a nice egg nog with a splash of rum or brandy on the holidays, but I prefer a nice spiced hot apple cider, even though that’s not so much a holiday treat as is a Fall-Winter treat.
What is your best Christmas memory?
The Christmases I spent with my grandparents were quite special, what with the feeling of history, the presence also of aunts and uncles, and the enthusiasm for the holiday which their town expressed. But I’d actually have to say that my most fond memory of Christmas was of the year that my brother got the album, Thriller, for Christmas and proceeded to play it non-stop for the next few days. I got a crappy toy robot that blew smoke rings and said, "I am the amazing talking robot! Please give my best wishes to everyone!" Then its arm fell off, and my parents insisted on exchanging it for a Jeep whose sole gimmick was flashing lights and a foward-backward action vaguely similar to parallel parking. I guess you just had to be there.
Do you have plans for New Year’s Eve?
Yes, at one point that evening, I will pause upon hearing fireworks and gunshots and realize that the calendar year has incremented.

Matthew Thompson asks,

When matter converts to energy (such as matter/antimatter annihilation or thermonuclear reactions), what happens to the related gravitational field?
Well, consider that gravity is a curvature in the space-time continuum caused by mass. Some would have us imagine a bowling ball on a trampoline surrounded by rolling marbles. Now, consider what would happen when the bowling ball is removed. The trampoline not only returns to its low-energy state, but in doing so, it oscillates between a positive curvature and a negative curvature. Not to mention that the poor marbles go flying off into deep space.
Where do socks that disappear in the drier go?
They turn into lint. It’s a conspiracy on the part of the detergent industry.
What did you have for lunch on friday?
I ordered a tuna sandwich from the liquor store across the street. The tuna salad itself was okay, but the sandwich makers did the old "giant lump in the middle" trick. I asked they hold the onions, since this shop’s onions do nothing for the sandwich except to make the eater wonder whether he’s just located someone’s missing shoelaces. I should also have asked for the tomato to be held. Some people like big fat slices of tomato, but in my opinion they add nothing when balanced atop a giant lump of tuna salad like a ridiculous sombrero. The light and fluffy bread contoured itself perfectly to the lump and its hat, like a light and fluffy bath towel. And like a bath towel, it drew away the excess moisture and became soggy and damp. I should have just gone with the establishment’s specialty– the liquor.

I hope the answers proved to be an equal failure at disappointment. Should anyone wish to play again this week, feel free to submit three more questions (or tag me with an interesting and exotic meme.) Otherwise, I shall once again have no recourse but post a sour and misanthropic tirade about my lunch.

I just heard I was supposed to have played hookie yesterday. Oops. Sorry, I didn’t get the memo. I went to work and even went Christmas shopping afterward. I guess the economy really is in the dumpster. You’d think a place like Horton Plaza would be crawling with shoppers. Nope. It was practically deserted. So was Seaport Village. And I was hardly on a spree myself. I left with a total of three items, four counting the piece of fudge I bought to get my parking validated.

But if you think that’s scary, I was also trying to find a place called The Map Centre. I found it, all right. It had closed in September, a sheet of paper taped to the door blaming the economy.

On my way home, I couldn’t help but notice the vacant buildings in my neighborhood. Boarded up, for sale or for lease: a video store, a gas station, a grocery store and even… a church? Surely, times are hard when even nonprofits must close their doors. Someday, new tenants will come along and breathe life into these dark and cold shells. A hardware store, a coffee shop, a florist… and what? What does a community do with an abandoned church… what, that won’t offend anybody, that is. Meaning that a casino with blackjack and hookers is probably right out. As is demolition.

If it were up to me, I’d turn it into a library, a library with a planetarium. But I suppose that even that would offend certain people.

While not much of note happened today, I did go shopping for gifts, and while I didn’t actually buy much of anything, I did see a most peculiar mannequin.

I Shall Call Her Ralphene.

I’ve heard people say they are sick of the holidays, but this is ridiculous!

I was helping trim the company’s Christmas tree a few days ago, when it struck me how long it’s been since I’ve actually decorated my home for the holidays. Sure, I’ve put the occasional string of lights in the window or put out a rich red tablecloth, but nothing to any great extent. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a Christmas tree in my own living room. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever had one, other than the miniature tree a guest brought over one time. It’s not that I have anything against Christmas trees, it’s just that I’ve been away, or that there hasn’t been enough room, or that I’ve been too busy, etc.

If I were to have a tree of my own, what would I have it look like? Would it be a towering natural wonder, with a trunk as wide around as my leg, decorated with full-sized Christmas stockings, animatronic nutcrackers, and electric candles? Would it have Lionel trains steaming round and round on tracks beneath, or even better, spiraling through the branches? Or would it be a plastic impostor, flocked with fake snow, coated in tinsel and bedecked in fluffy plastic garland? Or maybe would it be a severe aluminum abstraction, with gleaming five pointed stars dangling from the tip of each serrated branch? Or would it be a minimal impression of a Christmas tree- nothing but a springlike spiral of illuminated rope ending in a softly pulsating frosted ball at the cone’s apex? Would it be something absurd, such as mannequin dressed in a Christmas tree costume? Or would it be something surreal and unexpected?

Maybe we’ll find out next year.


The history of every major Galactic Civilisation tends to pass through three distinct and recognisable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why and Where phases. For instance, the first phase is characterised by the question "How can we eat?" the second by the question "Why do we eat?" and the third by the question "Where shall we have lunch?"
Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy

Consider this situation. Let’s say that you decide to run a number of boring, tedious errands one weekend afternoon. Let’s say that you have a favorite companion to bring along on such expeditions for advice and entertainment. For the sake of simplification of the language during the remainder of this thought experiment, let’s call this person me. We set out on a fine Saturday or Sunday afternoon with the agreement that lunch will be had at some point during the pruning of the to-do list. So far, so good, right?

Let’s say that at some point you announce that, due to your overwhelming appetite, you believe that lunchtime has arrived. At this point, you then ask me where I’d like to eat. Usually, I reply with "wherever you like," since you’re the one with the ravenous appetite. One would think that you would then choose a suitable eatery and commence with the eating, is that not so?

There is one particular individual with whom I often repeat this situation. Almost without fail, my answer of "wherever you like" often seems to result in an hour of driving in circles before finally arriving at, say, a Taco Bell similar to but geographically distinct from the one near where the question was originally asked. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, the conversation during that hour goes less like this…

"Where should we eat?"
"Wherever you like."
"You are just saying that to be polite."
"Wherever you like."
"Are you sure?"
"Wherever you like."
"Okay, then." Fifty five minutes elapse in silence. "Taco bell!"

… and more like this

"Where should we eat?"
"Wherever you like. Look, there’s a Taco Bell."
"Eww, I eat Taco Bell every day."
"And up there is a Weinerschnitzel, a Subway, a Wendy’s…"
"Nah."
"Then there’s a pancake house, a Chinese buffet, a Mexican restaurant…"
"Meh."
"Well, here’s another Taco Bell." Fifty five minutes elapse of my reading signs at the side of the road. "And there’s another Taco Bell–"
"Fine!"

I’m at a bit of a loss as to how to avoid this situation other than forcing the conversation to occur before we ever depart for the day. Has anybody else out there ever had this experience? What did you do?

Now Reading: Star Trek Vanguard: Harbinger, by David Mack.

Just Finished: Star Trek: Cry of the Onlies, by Judy Klaas.

The thing about Star Trek novels is that sometimes they’re pretty good. Most of the time, they’re okay. Every once in a while, one comes along that’s extraordinarily bad. This one didn’t quite make it into the third category. That having been said, let me now say ack! This story had the potential to be interesting, but I feel the pacing was thrown off kilter when the author spent at least the first hundred pages (almost half the book) describing the conditions of Boaco Six. Only then did she return to the situation of the Onlies— the title characters— a group of children granted perpetual youth as a side effect of a deadly disease. At that point, Boaco Six was all but forgotten. But then, the formerly immortal human called Flint entered the story, and the Onlies were upstaged yet again. They finally returned the favor at the climax of the story. The idea behind this story— let’s introduce two formerly immortal characters from two separate episodes of the original series— was an interesting one and may have had some potential. Unfortunately, the disappointing way that the big introduction finally happened, and (again) the pacing, both conspired to make the story flat and belabored. Le sigh.

This is a Bookcrossing book, so I think I’ll take it up to my brother’s at Christmas and lose "release" it there.

Hello, Readers,

Some of you may have noticed that I have a little rule about memes. I do memes on Fridays, and only Fridays. Memes are contagious, you know, and it’s best to keep them isolated so that they don’t crossbreed and create some sort of mutant doomsday supermeme that infects the entire blogosphere and reduces everybody to mutually-tagging questionnaire-filling zombies.

Memes are also somewhat addictive as a crutch for creativity. With my Friday rule, I know that there’s at least one day a week in which I can phone it in, or at least have a bit of fun in mocking especially vacuous and insipid collections of questions. It’s sometimes not as easy as it sounds. Occasionally, there are dry spells in which memes fail to propagate from distant, poorly-connected regions of the blogosphere. Weekly prompt sites sometimes run out of steam. I’m almost ashamed to admit that I’ve sometimes found myself Googling for interesting memes to resuscitate, culture, and observe.

So last Tuesday, I tried an experiment, which I think I’ll repeat once more before I decide whether to make it a regular feature. The Memeday Challenge is once again issued to you readers. I invite each of you to submit three questions which I will try my best to answer next Memeday, by which I mean Friday. If no suitable questions are submitted, I will once again have no alternative but to write a testy and surly description of whatever I have for lunch that afternoon.

In the meantime, I’ll tag myself for the 6X6 Flickr Meme. Feel free to play along. You know you want to.

Q. What is the sixth picture on the sixth page of your Flickr account?

A: It’s called Your Socks Don’t Match.

Your Socks Don't Match

May your socks always match,

The Electronic Replicant

So, it appears that I’m in the market for a new trackball.

I bought my first trackball in something like 1999. I had this itty-bitty typing desk upon which I set my gigantic full-tower case, a CRT monitor, and keyboard. There was no space for a mouse. Or rather, there was if one didn’t mind not being able to move the pointer all the way across the screen without lifting the mouse. I did mind that. The trackball I finally bought was a Kensington Orbit. Most of the trackballs on the market at the time were pretty large devices, with buttons in strange positions that I could only hit by odd contortions. The first Orbit served me faithfully at home and then at work until a few months ago, when the left click button wore out.

I replaced the original Orbit with an abandoned Logitech Trackman Marble, which I still use today. I like the Trackman. It works well enough that I can use it without thinking about it, which means that it’s decently designed, although a bit odd looking.

I bought another Orbit about four years ago so that I could take my old one to work. This one was the optical version of the Orbit. Instead of being made of plain off-white plastic, this one was black rubber and space-age silver plastic. The silver was a bad choice as its coating wore away under my fingertips. That diminished its appearance, but not its functionality. Unfortunately, one of the plastic pellets holding the ball in place has now also worn away, rendering the pointer’s up and down movements jerky and irritating. I’ll use my notebook’s touchpad if I have to, but using that is only irritating in a different way.

So, I’m now in the market for another trackball. I could get another Orbit Optical, but I’d prefer a unit with a better contour and more durable finish. I could get another Trackman, but that would just remind me of work. What I’d really like is another original Orbit, but I probably won’t find one except for somewhere like eBay.

Do any of you out there use trackballs? If so, do you have any suggestions?

Do you know that I’ve never really understood why they’re called "colds" before now? Had you asked me on Monday, I would have said that the reason was that people believe the disease is caused by being caught in the rain or other cold weather. Then I would have laughed.

I still don’t know the real reason a cold is called a cold, but I now suspect that it’s due to one of the common cold’s symptoms, the chills. I wore my jacket all day, and now I’m wearing my big fluffy robe, which usually gets much too hot to wear. Right now it feels warm and cozy.

I also used to laugh at those who’d have suggested I’d be cured by eating some chicken soup. "Rubbish and folklore!" I would have sneered. "Give me that nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever so you can rest medicine!"

In fact, the soup has recently been proven to have beneficial effects for cold sufferers, including hydration, vitamins, salt replenishment, fats to soothe a raw throat, some anti-inflammatory agents, and also that lovely fragrant steam. Even those who’ve lost their appetites to the cold can usually manage to put away one cup.

And now, having finished my soup, I shall hereby call it a night— once I’ve taken a solid dose of the nighttime sniffly-snuffly stuff.

Now Reading: Star Trek: Cry of the Onlies, by Judy Klaas

Just Finished: My Big Fat Queer Life, by Michael Thomas Ford.

Humor is a funny thing. A lot of it depends on the mood of the audience. I found the first book I read of Mr. Ford’s to be quite amusing. The next book of his was less so, though it was meant to be a drama. This one was more amusing than the second but less than the first. Part of the reason could be that this is one of his later "best-of" collections, his fourth or fifth, I believe. Another part of the reason could be that I’ve been reading it at a time of day when I’m a bit of a tough crowd.

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