Freefall

Somewhere between the fear that I will
and the fear that I won't,
lies the fear that I will just forget about it altogether.
Or maybe it's no fear at all.
But either way,
deep down I know,
skydiving is just not a good idea.

Cats

My cat lives under the bed in my son's room. He hasn't always lived there, just since we got two more cats. We didn't plan to get two more cats. In fact, we had avoided even getting one more cat, especially after the nasty Josh's Cat incident. We were keeping a cat for Josh (therefore, Josh's cat) and Max was so nasty that first chance he got, Josh's cat was gone. I mean, we never saw him again, which was a helluva thing to have to expalin to Josh. So my son comes home one night with this cat. Solid black. Beautiful thing. It followed him. And after we checked the neighborhood I was inclined to believe him. So Eric wants to keep him. Even named him Mitsu -- or however it's spelled. And, of course, I'm thinking, "Good luck with that." What with Max and all. And, of course, Max is as nasty as ever, but Mitsu absolutely ignored him. It wasthe most amazing thing I've ever seen. It would've made Ghandi pround. And this goes on for, like, three months -- Max never getting any friendlier and Mitsu never caring one bit more. Then my daughter and her husband come through -- with their cat. They were taking Eli to a freind of theirs in Columbia who was going to watch him until they move. They really weren't intending to let Eli mix with our cats, but he did. Long story shorter, Mitsu and Eli hit it off. I mean, best buddies. Hey, whatcha doin'? Let's play! They hit it off so well that my daughter decided to leave him with us -- until March. Se we've got three cats. Unfortunately, Mitsue and Eli were just too much for Max. Now he just stays under the bed in my son's room. You can see his eyes from the stairs reflecting back. He only eats if you bring his food into the room. He'll sneak out from time to time, but never far. I have no idea what he's using for a litter box. He may not be going at all. Of course, in my son's room it would be hard to tell. The thing is, come March, Eli's gotta go. He's flying to Portland with a friend. They'll be on a plane. But we really like Eli. And he and Mitsu are really fun to watch. And Max never was much fun -- ever. He's just one of those cats... you know... psychotic. So, I'm thinking my daughter wouldn't know we've sent her Max until he gets there, and then it's too late.

It's All Perspective

I was walking down the hall here at OTC and I saw these neat picture projects that a class was doing. What they did, pretty much, was take a picture so that it bent everything. It was like looking throught a pane of glass that has a distortion in it so that it warps everything you see.

This led to a what if. What if everybody's eyes warp reality. We all see things bent, but since everybody does, nobody knows the difference. Reality, then, would be based almost solely on perspective. And if so, then what is real?

And what if someone from another planet came here. Would they think us all strange? And if so, would he, she, it... or whatever they have on that planet, be right?

Remember when you were in school and they taught you that your eyes turn everything upside down, and then your brain turns it back over? Half of that is right. The half that isn't is that your brain doesn't turn it back over. Everything is upside down. We just call it right side up. Up and down is all a byproduct of perspective. In this case, collective perspective. But then, if everything is upside down, why doesn't my coffee spill?

And along those same lines (more or less), if you had a time machine on the moon and went back in time on the moon, would the earth go back in time, too?

More Proof that I Need a Life

Platypus adolescents... do the guys go out on Friday nights looking for platypussy?

It Just Keeps Getting Weirder

I read where the Boston Red Sox are paying some Japanese pitcher 51.1 million dollars just to talk to him. That's right. Just to talk. They're hoping that once they get through the door, he'll sign with them, for probably in the neighborhood of 22 million a year. 51.1 million! I can play baseball. I used to be a fairly decent infielder. Well, neighborhood sandlot, but that's not the point. The point is, they wouldn't have to pay me anywhere near that to talk to me. Hell, someone who is willing to pay that kind of jack...their time must be really valuable. And I wouldn't want to waste it. Heck, I'd take a 100,000 not to waste their time. That's right. For $100,000 (a fraction of 51.1 million, I might add) I won't even show up. Consdier it, White Sox guys. My offer won't last forever. And if the Yankees offer me more, well, I won't show up for them, either.