As promissed in the URL, this is damn interesting. And work safe. Make sure you read the comments. One of the things I find interesting is the way they talk about using superconductors in the magnetic bearings... of course, if we had room-temperature superconductors, we wouldn't need to use flywheels to store energy, 'cause we'd have superconductive loops to do that....

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I met someone the other day named Goatse. It was all I could do to keep a straight face. (My mother and other people who don't understand the reference should not look it up -- you don't want to know).

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Had an incident at work yesterday that made me kind of uncomfortable. I walked into the office manager's office to talk to her, and saw one of the care providers standing outside her office. So I said, "Hey, Mrs. Que called, would like you to call her back when you have a chance." The provider snapped, "Don't nag!" and stalked off.

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Worked in the ER on Tuesday, for my clinical rotation. I like the ER, I like feeling like the things I'm doing make an immediate difference in the quality of people's lives. But the nurse I was assigned to really didn't want a student, and was gruff and abrasive to me all day.

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I feel discouraged.

If only he'd chosen smaller falsies.

In other news, I walked about six miles today. Whew, I'm beat.

My Chem lab TA barely speaks English.

She didn't find it amusing when I answered the question, "What should you do if you spill chemicals on yourself?" with, "Scream, fall down, twitch?"

Those of you who enjoyed the picture gen posted of the booby a while back, might enjoy having a gander at some nice tits.

I have nothing to say.

The beautiful and brilliant (not to mention mathalicious) conifur (who is my perfect, unobtainable idol of womanhood) sent me this link.. It's funny, it's apropos, and it's something I'd like all of my foreign friends to understand about the way the average American feels.

Su, I hed loonch veet brennabe. She-a ves teeseeng me-a thet, insteed ooff gueeng beck tu vurk effterverds, I'd be-a updeteeng my juoornel, und yuoo knoo... I hete-a tu deesepuint a ledy.

Ve-a velked up tu Bruuklyn Peezzeria, und hed sleeces. Telked ebuoot zee SCA, vhy I drupped oooot yeers egu, und vhy I meeght theenk ebuoot getteeng infulfed egeeen, et leest perreephrielly.

Meundered up und doon fuoort efenooe-a a leettle-a beet.

Telked ebuoot clueks. Telked ebuoot zee huleedeys.

I ves teeseeng her ebuoot gooys dueeng huleedey shuppeeng by peecking oooot un epprupreeete-a peur ooff sucks fur zeeur lufed oones.

Zeen she-a gut in her leettle-a greee cer und drufe-a evey, vheele-a I ceme-a beck in tu du vurk stooffff... und vreete-a thees. Bork Bork Bork!

So, to all you folks who are trudging through snow, ice and cold today, I'd just like to say that here in Sunny Tucson, Arizona, we're expecting a high of about 70F / 21C / 294K today.

So, as I think of all of you with your colds, and sleet seeping into your shoes; as I think of you trying to scrape frost off your windshields; as I think of you with your head down, trudging miserably through drifts of dirty snow...

I laugh, and I laugh, and I laugh.

Usually, I stop laughing before people start edging away nervously and talking about soothing drinks.

I don't normally read fanfics, but I was flipping through some web pages, trying to find a picture of Harry and the boys getting ready to go out to the Quidditch Pitch, so I could determine if those were cricket gloves they were wearing (any of my English readers want to answer that?) and I came across this.

It's off color, but not out and out obscene, and it made me laugh aloud a couple of times.

Hey, billiam gets "sausage," why not me?

( Bare Breasts Ahead! Turn Back Now! )

That's what I call dedication.

Every other day; every other day of the week is fine, yeah.
But whenever Monday comes; but whenever Monday comes, you'll find me cryin' yeah.
--Monday, Monday, the Mamas and the Papas

Yesterday wasn't too horrible. I wore the kilt to work, and got some odd looks from my coworker from Georgia. On my way to sundaygames I stopped at a QuickMart, and a guy asked me if it's true what we don't wear under the kilt.

"Now," I said, in my best Scots brogue, "If I was wearin' a wee pair of lacey thong panties, would ye be wantin' t' know that?"

"Uh... no."

"So why do you care about me bare, hairy arse?"

Went on to the game. It was okay, though not great. I think I did too much leading the party around, particularly at the beginning... but only one person was actually investigating the solid lead they had; everyone else was either ignoring the investigation or running over old ground again and finding nothing new.

Which probably says something about my lack of skill as a GM.

I sort of decided that I'm not really ready to add kilts to my wardrobe on a regular basis. Which means that I spent way too much money on this one. Ugh.

Paid rent today. Double ugh. Still need to pay utilities.

Need to do something about the faucet in my shower, too... it's leaking. Tripple ugh.

Which Personality Disorder Do You Have?
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I just found that amusing. It's actually probably true... how often have I said that I'd be perfectly fine, living by myself on the moon? Asteroid prospecting?

Though, as Tom points out, the way to get rich isn't actually to be an astroid prospector, but to be the guy who sells shovels and bacon to the prospectors.

Or run a brothel. Booze and Boobs Orbital.

Yeah, yeah, that's it. I c'n just see me as a Brothel Keeper, can't you?

Sometimes, rinoaheartilly amuses me.

I came home from doing laundry to find her walking out the door, all duded up in High Goth... black hair, black clothes, pale makeup with red, red lips, the whole enchilada.

"You look nice," I said. "Where'y'headed?"

"The Desert," she said, trying to sound mysterious.

I looked around, threw out my arms. "Here it is!"

Recent comments by blookum in lepetitemort's journal made me think... if Huck Finn could pray for fish hooks, why shouldn't I pray for boobies?

Ah'm ready, lawd! Ah'm ready! Show me da boobies!

I don't normally repost these links, because I figure by the time I've seen 'em, so has everyone else. But great_cthulhu posted this one, and it made me laugh (thanks, Bryan), so why not?

Viking Kittens (make sure your speakers are turned on for full effect). gaaneden, pay heed!

So, uh... we were talking about my day, right?

Well, uh...

The Hammer of the Gods has not driven my ship to new lands.

That's about all I care to say about that.

I went to school in Raleigh, North Carolina, for several years. Now, in case you had any doubts, let me assure you that North Carolina is, in fact, part of The South_TM.

One of the things that many folks in Raleigh dislike is Yankees. Now, you have to realize that most Southerners realize that the Civil war was over a long time ago, and they don't really want to be part of any country other than the USA. Your average Southerner is actually kind of sneakily, grudgingly proud of living in the same country as New York City.

So long as New York City stays up there in Damn Yankee Land.

The problem Southerners have is when Damn Yankees come to the South, and start telling them all about how what they're doing is wrong, dull, boring, and how they should change everything to be more like New York City.

One of my neighbors in Raleigh had a bumper-sticker I particularly enjoyed. It read, "Clean up the South... buy a Yankee a bus ticket home."

The message most Southerners would like to give most carpetbaggers (that would be people from New York City who have moved to the South) is this: If you don't like the way we live, don't complain about it... just go the hell home.

I'm not from The South_TM, but I'm familiar with the problem. You see, I am from Arizona, and claim Tucson as My Fair City. (Though I'll admit that I have lived in New York City, and even (gasp) enjoyed living there).

Tucson suffers from a breed of Yankees who mostly come from California. Our Yankees move to Tucson, forgetting that (HELLO!) they're living in a desert now! They bring their lawns, their mulberry trees, and all sorts of other water-guzzling things and practices with them.

They complain about how aweful Tucson is.

Clean up Tucson: Buy a Californian a bus ticket home.

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In other news, I keep wanting to write about weasels. Not the kind I was just writing about, now I'm writing about actual mustalids. In this case, ferrets.

I know that I have occasionally written about the fact that I share my life and my crappy trailer with three ferrets... Ebisneezer Scrooge (The Sneeze), David Copperferret (Copper), and Oliver Twistyweasel (Oliver). (Not that there's a theme going on there or anything).

My ferrets have very distinct personalities. In the morning, when I get out of bed, I open the cage for morning playtime. I then walk into the bathroom, and brush my teeth. The first thing the Sneeze does when he gets out of the cage is come to check on me. He comes and stands on my feet, and sniffs at my ankles, to make sure I'm not some imposter.

Copper pretty much ignores me most of the time. I'm just that hairy guy who brings the treats and the food. He's got his own life to live, has Copper, and I'm a detail.

Oliver likes the shower. My current shower is sort of a bathtub... if you can define a depression of about five inches as a tub. Anyway, he scrambles right over the edge as soon as I step in, and waits for me to make with the water. As I shower, Oliver will scurry in and out, under the shower curtain.

This makes for water all over the bathroom floor, and a certain smell of wet weasel, but that's okay... he's having fun, and that's all that really counts.

Living with weasels is a good thing.

Will Rogers, the jovial Oklahoma Cherokee cowboy who committed hyperbole when he said "I never met a man I didn't like," also committed wisdom when he commented, "People are getting smarter nowadays; they are letting lawyers, instead of their conscience, be their guide."

This morning, R, the jovial Arizona cowboy, took his change jars to the CoinStar machine at the local grocery store. I went, thinking that I might get five bucks, and that this would, hopefully, buy me enough gas to get me through the week.

As it turned out, my change jars (I keep two... one for copper, the other for silver) yielded me $25.35, which was enough to fill my gas tank, ease my mind, and provide for the doing of laundry tomorrow, which will ease the minds of my coworkers no end, I am sure.

I grabbed a small bag of Chee-tos brand cheese puffs (Dangerously cheesy, claims the bag) and a Mr. Pibb (put it in your head, instructs the bottle), in addition to my nine and a quarter gallons of 87-octane unleaded gasoline, and headed for work.

As I was driving to work, I listened to National Public Radio's (NPR) Morning Edition. I used to work for NPR, through the graces of local affliate station KUAZ, so I have something of a soft spot for their coverage.

Besides, I wouldn't throw that Cokie Roberts out of bed for eattin' crackers if-you-know-what-I-mean.

NPR's newsheads (though I suppose that term is somewhat misleading, when we're discussing radio) were talking about lawsuits. Specifically, they were talking about the guy who started the "let's sue Big Tabacco" movement a few years ago, which culminated in Big Tabacco takin' one for the Gipper, if-you-know-what-I-mean.

This guy is now proposing to sue Big Food. Why? Because they sell us fatty foods that are bad for us.

Excuse me? I thought, as I munched my Dangerously Cheesy cheese flavored snacks, the faux cheese powder staining the tips of my fingers orange. Okay, I don't eat particularly healthy. I had a salad last night, which included some brocolli, but I can't remember the last time I had brussels sprouts... which is interesting, because I kind of like brussels sprouts.

The point though, is that nobody makes me eat that way. No body was standing there at the counter of the gas station, threatening to reposess my kneecaps if I didn't buy the Chee-Tos. (Buy the cheesey-puffs, kid, and nobody gets hurt!)

To the best of my knowledge, Chee-Tos brand cheese flavored snacks are not addictive.

So what gives anyone the right to sue anyone else over a choice I made of my own free will?

No matter what their other contributions to society, I think that Lawyers are an often overlooked potential source of protein. Lawyers... the other white meat.

I'm Cowboy R... and you can quote me on that.

I took the "which Marauder are you" test, and aparently, I'm Remis Lupin. Rah for warewolves!

I was walking around campus yesterday before Art class, and saw a couple of t-shirts that amused me. A cute girl was wearing one which read, "Of course I love you; why else would I have an errection?"

A geeky looking guy was wearing one which read, "Don't assume I'm not into cheap, meaningless sex." Eh... okay, I won't.

Saw a bumpersticker that made me laugh because it was so completely geeky-funny. It was a bright red sticker, with white letters which read, "If this sticker is blue, you're closing too fast." I laughed and laughed, knowing that at least 75% of the people who see it on the street will have no idea what it's on about.

It's going to be another hot one in Tucson. The newsheads this morning were calling for 106 degrees Farhenheit. They also said that today is the 82nd day in a row with no precipitation in Tucson. Eight more days, and we'll beat the record set in 1905 for most consecutive days without.

There's another fire burning in Arizona, up near Show Low. Apparently, residents are being evacuated from town.

Of course, the way things have been going the last decade or so, this will all be followed by the most severe monsoon storms on record, and we'll have to turn around and deal with hundred-year floods.

Welcome to Arizona.