Rhinocrisy

There’s nothing to shrink the concerns of the world like a near-death experience. Nature red in tooth and claw, facing down the angry beasts of the wood, prevailing over mortality and renewing, however briefly, one’s time in this world. I have returned from Yosemite. The quotidian concerns of homo sapien urbanis seem tiny. For I have done battle with the sooty grouse, and I have lived to tell.
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Just a heads-up. I assume by now that all of you have heard of and perused Conservapedia, the product of a group of uneducated troglodytes home-schooled conservative students which attempts to counter the pervasive liberal bias evident in Wikipedia (cf. Colbert’s observation that this bias may be attributed directly to reality). It’s only good for a chortle at the moment, since they seem to have locked out account creation and anonymous page edits. But you might check out their page of Debate topics, or the star in their crown, the Theory of Evolution (link fixed).

The Washington Post notes:

In June, government agencies were asked to provide data about contractors working for them in Iraq, including their nationality, a description of their work and locations where they were working. The information was provided by more than a dozen entities within the Pentagon and a dozen outside agencies, including the departments of State and Interior.

Iraq is now part of the interior of the U.S.? Or is this one of those, “it depends on what the definition of is is” types of things?

Only slightly late^*, here are some pictures of me dressed as Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, from “Journey to the West”. In these photos the makeup is somewhat messed up, since I wore it to capoeira before taking them, where someone kicked me in the face and fouled it all up. I have to say I was somewhat disappointed with the full production… but there’s always next year. My current plan is to be Dr. Zoidberg. Woop woop woop woop!

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I’ve desperately been in need of a laugh, and this column by Jonathan Chait in the LA Times gave it to me! The article is titled “Bring Back Saddam Hussein”, with the tag: “Restoring the dictator to power may give Iraqis the jolt of authority they need. Have a better solution?”

I find this astoundingly funny. What can we do with it? Let’s try our best:

• “Euthanizing cancer patients may help reduce our bloated health-care budget. Have a better solution?”
• “Exterminating the Kulaks might allow me to get some sleep at night. Have a better solution?”
• “Keying my boss’s car may compensate in some small way for my years of useless busywork in this dead-end corporate job. Have a better solution?”
• “Punching that fucking rhinoceros in the jaw may make him stop charging our car. Have a better solution?”
• “Bubble gum might be just the thing to stop up the six-foot long tear in our silk hot-air balloon. Have a better solution?”
• “Stapling my car-keys directly to my wrist may prevent me from misplacing them so often. Have a better solution?”
• “Wearing these spandex shorts might get that girl to notice how big my johnson is. Have a better solution?”
• “Opening the pressurized door above the wing might allow some fresh air into this stuffy airplane cabin. Have a better solution?”

I could do this all day.

I got a haircut.

More proof that the Internet is awesome can be found on this site. Also I didn’t realize that Jesus looks like the lead singer for Celtic Frost.

You should all check out what Razib the AtheistYazd Ibn Hanaf has been up to over at his blog gnxp; apparently he’s given up his ridda and returned to a righteous path. Funny stuff.

Hooray.

The above “Shazam!” is deceptive, actually. I fully intend to mosey back into blooging at a reasonable pace. I apologize for my laxity. The only reason I haven’t been bulging is –

Hey! Look! Over there! What’s that?

[ Points to rear of audience. Runs away. ]

Err. I’m back. Anyway, in this brief hiatus, I accomplished the following:
I started doing capoeira seriously again. I’ve been taking it easy the past few months, but that’s really quite dumb. There’s so much to learn, and I am now in my twenty-eighth year, so I had best get cracking. Also, there’s really no point in wasting time, since that time is, err, wasted.

I also turned twenty-seven, as you may have guessed. I didn’t really celebrate; I never do. My birthday methodology consists of (a) not telling anyone, (b) hoping they’ll somehow figure it out anyway, and (c) waiting around increasingly despondently for someone to call me up and surprise me with a “Happy Birthday, Saurabh!”, thus providing me with enough validation to exist for another year. Thanks to all of you who did wish me; my lack of appreciation was only apparent and not actual.

I took this opportunity to get totally hammered. Four shots of gin, Hendrick’s, straight up, did it for me, since I weigh less than insouciance and had eaten precisely nothing that day. I did reasonably well, despite that – I think my gaze was only slightly unfocused when I said good night to the attractive female server on leaving the bar.

Ah – I started a diet to cure my insouciance weightlessness. It more or less involves me eating a shitload more. I’m skeptical of this working. (See above note about capoeira, for example – I can burn through calories like Sherman in Georgia.)

I went to New Jersey for my cousin’s wedding. It was a Christian ceremony, which I’ve never attended before. In fact, I think I’ve only been to Hindu weddings to date.^* Somewhat instructive. It was an Episcopalian (Anglican) church, which means it’s exactly like a Catholic church, complete with no Bibles in the pews and the rite of the Eucharist, plus silly-looking gowns for the priest deacon. Ah – the major difference being that the deacon was a woman. Her sermon was interestingly constructed, in that it was coherent and engaging almost exactly in the inverse of when she was talking about God.^†

The highlight of that particular excursion was, of course, the reception, where I was officially designated as “guy who must light up the dance floor”, everyone else apparently being either (a) white or (b) Indian uncles/aunties, and therefore unable to dance. This turned out to be not quite true – my sister-in-law loves to dance and can hold her own, and many people were at least committed, if not able. But I’m proud to say I definitely knocked that one out of the park, at least for songs that had desi beats to them, when I could trot out a pretty substantial battery of bhangra moves. I was more or less useless on the seventies disco-esque stuff and the like. How do you dance to that, anyway?

Well, there it stands. What have y’all been up to?

^† Plus Eddie Izzard has made it impossible to take any mention of the Holy Ghost seriously, per his bit:

GOD: What's the Holy Ghost doing these days?

JESUS: Oh, he's useless, Dad. Goes around with a sheet over his head.

HOLY GHOST: [ spookily ] Holy Ghost! Holy Ghooost!

GOD: Holy Ghost, this is not an episode of Scooby Doo.