So I picked up this whiz-bang robotic LEGOs set, right? I look at all the pieces in the box, fiddle with some of them and build something out o' 'em, right?
Something, you know, robotic, right?
Nope. I built me a trike. It needs some work, but I'd say it looks much like a children's tricycle.
In light of its recent cancellation, I have decided to take part in some LEGO Mindstorms research, so I went out and through some finagling I bought an Robotics Invention System 2.0 for just under $100 cash. It's pretty cool.
But what really matters, though, is something else entirely. What I really need, right now, is the answer to one question:
How would Yogi Bear say "Chinese Buffet"?
This morning my alarm woke me just as things were starting to get interesting in my dream. I was me, down to the goatee on my chin and the multitool in my pocket. The familiarity ends there, as everything took place somewhere I'd never been (as usual) though I had my car, which figures into the part I can remember pretty heavily. As always I can only remember the last several minutes, but seeing as I hadn't been too hopeful about getting any sleep I was surprised to see even them.
Anyway, my recollection begins just before I am kidnapped. All I recall, though, is a small meeting room with wood paneling, and then several scenes are forgotten and suddenly I'm rummaging through stuff to find emergency stickers to cover the mouths of the other two kidnapees and myself. The stickers I was looking for were green and in two pieces, such that one piece covered a slot in the other. I think that I was looking for these specific ones so that we could still breathe, so caring were our captors. The problem arose that I found only two and there were three of us, but apparently the kidnappers didn't notice and we set off to go, er, wherever we were going. The kidnappers had a small car and could only fit two of the captives so I was driving myself behind them.
They were paying attention to what I was doing, though, and I didn't want them to see that I didn't have a sticker thing over my mouth. So as I was driving I held a pillow (the one I was likely drooling over at the time) up to just under my nose, but I think they caught onto my ruse as they promptly ordered me to pull over. We were driving along what looked like a country road but I pulled off near some trees and a guard rail overlooking a steep cliff.
Before my nefarious captors could do anything to or about me a small child dressed as a pumpkin popped out the trees giggling, followed by a somewhat embarrassed father. To make conversation he mumbled something about the nice weather for Halloween that we were having, and as I glanced over the rail at a neighborhood decorated with jack-o-lanterns and spiders, I wondered why anybody would be celebrating Halloween in January, though it was indeed nice weather to do so.
Then I missed another transition and I was suddenly inside a building with one of the kidnappers. Before any of this could make sense to me the door of the room burst open and a loud woman entered with the other kidnapper in tow. He glared at me as if to say "play along" and I had no choice but to adopt a silly cross between an Austrian and French accents when she opened with "So you're Swedish? I've never meet anybody from Sweden!"
My affected accent was so thick that she couldn't understand my words, let alone any between-the-lines cries for help. She said that I was "too cute" and I grunted something about my blond hair or something else that she didn't understand, so she repeated herself even more loudly (clearly American) "You're too cute!" to which I replied "You're too kind" and then the alarm started going off before I could escape. Just as things were getting interesting, eh?
I've added two new 80x15 images down there on the left side. One leads to my Fotolog and the other to my BrickShelf gallery. Both are free sites offering web space for pictures and a little community spirit as well. I had to flex my pixel art skillz a little but I think the camera and building brick are vaguely recognizable.
I'm listening to Johnny Cash albums recorded live at prison performances, and they seem somehow appropriate as I sit at my desk moving numbers between spreadsheets. Stripes and bars indeed.
It's the little things that sometimes matter most. Tonight I needed to return some stuff to the local library but didn't feel like driving. So I bundled myself up and walked. It was supposed to be rather cold, but I had a warm coat, scarf and gloves on, and to finish off my ensemble I donned my full-cuff headphones. They made great earmuffs, and Morcheeba's Fragments of freedom is great music to listen to while walking. It mixes so many diverse but all upbeat genres of music (well, most all upbeat) and I couldn't help but bounce a little on my way. I didn't want to bounce too much, on account of all the ice still on the sidewalks, but all the while I knew I'd picked the perfect album for the quick trip. It made my evening, really.
It had some stiff competition, and the title isn't set in stone quite yet. During my drive home today I was hearing talk about the space program while doing a little sky gazing of my own. To the south there was a very interesting cloud formation—it looked almost like a ridge, being a nearly straight line dividing the clouds and the blue sky. Beyond the ridge were scattered bits and pieces of clouds, and then clear sky and the sinking sun. It wasn't until I hit a stoplight (most of my commute home happens at seventy miles an hour) that I noticed the changes in the clouds. They were moving very quickly, and almost before the stoplight turned green the sky had cleared from north to south and only the low, burning orange sun remained. Years have passed since I last watched the clouds, and frankly I'd forgotten just how quickly they could move. The speed was almost unnatural; it felt like halfway between real life and Koyaanisqatsi.
I think I figured out why watching movies (at home) with my wife is frustrating—she doesn't respect them. Tonight we watched The Stepford wives and twenty minutes from the end she gave up completely and went off and did something else. This is after having made fun of it at various points such that I couldn't listen to the dialogue (which for many films is entirely appropriate, just not "classics" like this one). Not only that, but when she came back into the living room and the DVD was done she asked me what had ultimately happened. Instead of explaining I replayed the two relevant scenes, but I think she remained puzzled. At this point I should mention that we watched the 1975 version, as it seems that some sort of remake is in the works.
Hollywood really is eating itself.
Anyway, I thought it was a pretty good film, considerably better than (the same author's) Rosemary's baby though certainly in the same vein. Anyway, not to give anything away or anything like that but to have Jessica disagreeing with me on something like this just shows that she hasn't, in fact, been replaced with a "perfect" copy, and I suppose that's reassuring in some way.