Vanity plates

Yesterday I saw a shiny new Jaguar; its license plate read 'THNKSJC', which I translated as "Thanks, Jesus."

I know that J.C. means Jesus because I went to a party where I was the only non-Evangelical, and the people there kept referring to some guy named J.C. They thanked him for the karaoke machine, the food, etc. At first I thought maybe he was the party planner. But then one woman's eyes rolled upwards everytime she thanked him.

It reminded me of when I first met my ex's sister: she kept talking about her "roommmate, Dougald." "Dougald didn't look at all well today." "Dougald is really smart." I thought Dougald was a person, until she said, "Dougald coughed up a hairball."

Anyhow, if I ever got a vanity plate, it'd be 'WASHME'. Then I could preempt whoever keeps writing that on my hood.

My cool car

I got out of my yellow Scion XB just as a man and his little boy got out of a really nice Mercedes. The little boy tugged his father's arm, pointing at my car: "Daddy, that's a nice car."

I felt so smug.

Hard-boiled consumer

I am not a cook, and I have the proof: a computerized egg boiler. My dad came home with it yesterday.

"It's a present for you."

"But boiling an egg is about the only thing I can do."

The purchase seemed to me extravagant -- and I'm the one who bought a telephone shaped like Darth Vader's head; it breathed lecherously whenever someone called (I think I bought it more for that effect than anything else).

"It also poaches eggs," my dad said.

"Oh, well...." I'd never tried poaching an egg. "Maybe it'll be worthwhile, then."

A couple hours later, I wandered back into the kitchen. My dad was standing over some black plastic pieces.

"I can't figure out how to put this together."

There were about six parts -- two weren't even depicted in the manual. I tried fitting them together. "You think this is how it goes?" Then the part that I had carefully balanced on another part toppled over.

"No, no, that can't be it." He assembled them in another way. When it toppled over again, I lost interest and wandered off.

This afternoon, I came home for lunch and saw the egg boiler, still disassembled.

"Have you tried using it, yet?"

"Yes, I used it to poach an egg. Now I have to wash it."

"How was it?"

"Well, it did a good job. But, I think I'll just poach my eggs the old way. It's less complicated."


--
Note: I am not a Star Wars fan. I liked the original ones, but I've not seen the newer ones and I never will.

Aaargh plop

From "Can cats spread avian flu?", Nature, Vol 440, 9 March 2006:

Peter Roeder, a consultant for the UN Food and Agriculture Organization, says (Indonesian) locals have an onomatopoeic name for bird flu "that sounds like 'plop', the sound of a chicken hitting the ground when it falls out of a tree. They also have a name for the cat form of avian flu -- 'aaargh plop' -- because cats make a screaming noise before they fall out of the tree."

Discount sale?

What would happen if we treated our individual rights as commodities? If we broke freedom and democracy down into their constituent elements (like the right to privacy, right to free speech, etc.), then how much would each one be worth to you? What would you trade it for? It would be interesting to see an online game, or an extension of EBay, where you could trade away rights that you think you'll never need. For example, if I don't ever think or say anything outrageous, maybe I'd like to sell my right to free speech for a trip to Europe...or some new home furnishings.

Now for something completely different: the link between prepositions and property rights

I am having another go at J.C. Holt's book on the Magna Carta...so far, I've only managed to read the first half twice. I am now once again at page 10, where I found this quote:

"The words 'no free man' were so altered that the Charter's formal terms became socially inclusive. In the earlier statutes of Edward III of 1331 and 1352 they became simply 'no man', but in 1354 in the statute which refers for the first time to 'due process of law', 'no free man' became 'no man of whatever estate or condition he may be.'"

Some sort of complaint about conflicting jurisdictions prompted Parliament to broaden their definition of the man -- it wasn't that they suddenly got all philosophical and the spirit of the future visited them. It's funny how noble deeds don't always spring from noble thoughts (and conversely, how noble thoughts so often lead to ignoble results).

But, what really interested me was the interplay between the specific and the abstract. It reminded me of something else I read...here's a quote from Adam Smith's chapter on the origin of words (pardon his 1750s English):

"It is this application of the name of an individual to a great multitude of objects, whose resemblance naturally recalls the idea of that individual, and of the name which expresses it, that seems originally to have given occasion to the formation of those classes and assortments, which, in the schools, are called genera and species, and of which the ingenius and eloquent M. Rousseau, of Geneva, finds himself so much at a loss to account for the origin."*

Likewise, my rights today as an unmarried female recall the rights a few wealthy men demanded of King John in the 1200s, and which they got because he was so bad with money. Freedom didn't start because a Greensleeves-singing musician or mediaeval human rights activist berated our ancestors into it -- it started with some rich guys haggling over their freedom as though it were a cow.

But, that's not my point, either. In both cases (words and individual rights), what started off as applying to a very few eventually applied to many -- and specific incidents (as opposed to theoretical musings) hastened this progress.

When our ancestors first wandered away from their cave and saw for the first time other caves, their sound for 'cave' could no longer mean 'our home' but rather, any hole in the wall (of a mountain).**

When some 14th century farmer got angry because his neighbor's goat kept wandering into his turnip patch, the resulting demarcation between his property and his neighbor's property also meant the definition of property rights in general.

I figure that somehow, the grammatical evolution from declensions (a word I keep forgetting) to prepositions is related to the path from servitude to freedom.

But, how this embryonic idea will help me, I have no idea.

*Note how Adam Smith casually presages Darwin while dabbling in linguistics. It's even more apparent when you read the whole chapter.

**I'm summarizing Adam Smith here.

References:
Holt, J.C. (1992). Magna Carta
Smith, Adam (1759). The Theory of Moral Sentiments

Trying out 24 Hour Fitness

I finagled a five-day free pass to the new 24 Hour Fitness gym in HB, so this morning, I went and tried it out. There were rows and rows of machines all facing the same direction. I managed to find an empty elliptical; my neighbors ignored me as I got on and started a controlled flailing. In front of me, a tattooed girl side-stepped up her stairmaster, staring off into space, while a middle-aged man marched next to her, staring at her bottom. Neither had any expression.

I felt like a foot soldier in the midst of all this purposeless activity. And I wondered what it'd be like if instead of work-out clothes, we wore North Korean army uniforms. It did seem like we'd make a good army -- there we were marching in formation without even the threat of a little dictator. And I felt sure that if my machine took me out, no one would notice...except maybe for whoever wanted to take my place.

Not quite a birthmark

My friend gave me a bathset for my birthday. She seemed to doubt my sincerity when I thanked her, so I took out one of the pieces that had a suction cup and stuck it to my forehead:

"I've always wanted one of these. Look how well it sticks."

Then I pulled it off, and it left a huge, circular bruise on my forehead. It was quite embarrassing, as I kept thinking, everyone will think I have AIDS. As a single woman, I didn't want to project that image. So when I went to some expensive shop on Montana Ave., I felt compelled to explain to the saleslady (without any prompting) that no, I didn't have AIDS, and that this mark was just because I had stuck a suction cup to my forehead. She didn't even attempt to nod sympathetically. Which was terrible, as you can pretty much say anything to a saleslady, and they'll cluck and say they understand perfectly. Well, she didn't seem to understand this. And I hadn't even bought the sweater, yet.

After about a week, my bruise faded away. Then, a year later, I was talking with my brother, and I told him this story. Instead of looking at me like the saleslady, he nodded sympathetically, like he really understood. Now, my brother never understands me. Ever. So, I asked, "You don't think that was weird of me?"

"No, I did it myself. When I was at CalTech, I put a suction cup on my forehead and pulled it off, and it left a huge bruise. The trick is to not pull it straight off, but to shift it a bit."