Predominantly Erroneous (Exohedron nonsense blog)

Every once in a while I think to myself "here's a bunch of words in a particular order that nobody really wants to hear so I should memorize that bunch of words and thus be able to produce it at will to troll people".
Good example: green eggs and ham. Fun for the speaker, probably annoying for the listener. Also fun for children, which would probably make it even worse for any listening adults; if there's one thing I've learned from Glumshoe, it's that fun for kids often results in Not Fun for their parents.
Bad example: John Galt's speech from Atlas Shrugged. Nobody wants to hear that, and I certainly don't want to waste the time to say it or the brainspace to store it, or even the effort to read the thing in the first place.

 

But to be fair, my primary memory association of Cascada's Every Time We Touch is in fact it being played in someone else's room while I wandered the narrow, maze-like metal-and-concrete corridors of the basement of my college dorm at 3 in the morning trying to find the washing machines, because that was the first time I heard it.
So I suppose the "X played in another room while you're trapped in a dripping cave" meme and similar ilk are just mirroring such experiences.

 

When one of the characters is the singer for the theme song for the show, but the theme song also shows up diegetically in the show itself, except it's not the character singing the theme song, at least not live; it's a recording, with no indication that the character is in fact supposed to be the singer. And also it's not plot-relevant, it's just a minor bit of character- and world-building.

 

I need to stop going over speedbumps at an angle.

 

"The focus on morphisms as relationships that necessarily each have a single source and a single target is yet another instance of the heteronormativity that pervades mathematics. In this essay I will..."

 

Hah, fuck you and your hyperloop, Elon Musk

 

You know the punchline already but the delivery is stellar.

 

Every once in a while I remember the time I was in a friend-group "gingerbread" house making competition (you can judge the formality level by the fact that we were using graham crackers) and I quickly realized that I had no chance of making a decent house, so instead I made an octahedron.

 

I just found that there's some family friction that I was completely unaware of. Like, in retrospect it isn't so terribly surprising, but I was totally unaware, and now I don't know what to do with this information. I don't know how to deal with people who have emotions.

 

It's a good thing that we're discovering that so many dinosaurs had feathers, or else we'd have to extend the history of early man a lot farther back.

 

One of the problems with moving during the not-winter is that you keep the door open so that you can bring boxes through more easily, and then the bugs get in.

 

I really hope this new condo will eventually stop feeling like someone else's house.

 

For some reason my accent changed slightly when talking to the movers. Not sure why.

 

Every once in a while I accidentally slide across the line between metaphor and pun.
The particular instance that provoked this post: "handlebody".

 

This is not the best weather for moving a drum kit.

 

Eventually typing "a" into the address bar will not turn up "associahedron" as the first entry for me. Eventually.

 

I have a habit of smacking my sternum with the side of my fist. I don't know why. It's kind of like the gesture people use to indicate their heart sometimes, except I'm hitting myself in the center of my ribcage right underneath my clavicle.

It might be an evolution of the thought I've had for a while to install a recorder in my ribcage so that the finger holes would go down my sternum. I breathe and out pops all the fun of middle school music class.

 

I keep thinking "it's too bad that particular sub-sub-genre died in like the early 2000s", except it turns out it wasn't even really much of a genre, it was just a single guy who moved on to do other things.

 

Sometimes I think about trying to write down my thoughts on my personal gender identity, but then I decide "nope, not touching that one" and I can't quite tell if it's because I don't care, I don't want to care, or I'm just mildly traumatized by tumblr discourse. I mean, I think the answer is "by asking the question you've locked us into a paradigm that automatically excludes both the truth and the ability to approach the truth to any level of accuracy" but still.

 

I love that http error 200 is "OK". What a great error message.