inspiration strikes - a break from the monotony

Friday, March 14, 2003

SPECIAL RELATIVITY

In honor of Albert Einstein's birthday, here's a theory of relativity as it pertains to time, alcohol and sleep:

Tw = (T x Nd) / Ns

The apparent amount of time it takes for the work-day to end (Tw) increases in direct proportion to the number of drinks consumed the previous evening (Nd), and in inverse proportion to number of hours of sleep (Ns). TGIF.
.

mattchun 3/14/2003 04:01:00 PM [+] ::
...

...AND THEY'RE ALWAYS GLAD YOU CAME

There's a wide world of places; some of them are mine. Do you have a place where you're recognized? A coffeeshop, bookstore or bar where you're a regular? I frequent an establishment called Cornwall's. It's a pleasant British pub in Kenmore Square with decent food, a good selection of beers and an assortment of board games. Best of all, it's a stone's throw from my apartment.

Last night, I sauntered into Cornwall's with my friend Bryan and nonchalantly hung my coat on a brass hook by the chair rail. We were whiling away the time with a game of Cricket (darts, not wickets) and a few pints when one of the servers strolled over, two fresh ales in hand.

"Newcastle, right?" he said. "On the house, courtesy of the owner*."

I spied the drink-bearer quizzically, but never one to turn down a free drink, I polished off the glass in my hand. As I took hold of the reinforcements, the proprietor entered from the kitchen.

I raised my glass in thanks and inquired, "to what do I owe this lovely gift?"

The owner, a grandfatherly fellow, smiled and warmly replied, "Well, you used the coathooks. I just put them in this week and you're the first to use them!"

It's nice to be recognized for one's patronage.

The moral of the story: Find a place to call your own. And use the coathooks.

*Note: Bryan ended up paying for the beer anyway; apparently the word from the owner didn't make it to the register, but it's the thought that counts.
.

mattchun 3/14/2003 10:35:00 AM [+] ::
...

DESCRIPTION OF A GIRL

She stood unevenly, a straightened paperclip, her joints still hinting at the bends and twists of her natural state of repose. Approaching, her gait was unsteady; the tilting, meandering trot of a newborn colt, though lacking its jocularity. She was speaking, her wan, slight lips parted, but I could scarcely hear her voice, which like her stride was halting and uncertain. As she passed by I looked up and her timid, crooked gaze flitted in angles around my eyes before awkwardly falling to the floor.
.

mattchun 3/13/2003 06:01:00 PM [+] ::
...

THE MOTHER OF ALL BLOGS

Did you hear about the incendiary device tested in Florida the other day? It's called the MOAB (Massive Ordnance Air Blast) though it's often referred to as the Mother of All Bombs. Apparently, it's the largest conventional (i.e. non-nucular, I mean non-nuclear) weapon at the U.S. military's disposal.

Marking the detonation of this frighteningly destructive device here are a few acronyms courtesy of MOAB (Matt's Occasionally Accessed Blog):

Monkeys On A Bus

My Overalls Are Buoyant

Men Ogle Ample Bosoms

Give it a shot. It's fun; please Make One (AnyBody).
.

mattchun 3/13/2003 02:21:00 PM [+] ::
...

"CLEAN UP YOU PLATE! DON'T YOU KNOW THERE ARE STARVING CHILDREN IN CHINA?"

It's the rationale that mothers used for years to prod their finnicky children into finishing their vegetables. Well, after reading this article on the growing epidemic of obesity in Asia, that line of reasoning just isn't going to fly anymore. The irony is that even though much of the urban Chinese population now has food to spare there are still myriad nations within spitting distance that have serious problems with malnutrition.

And don't worry mom, I'll finish my broccoli.
.

mattchun 3/13/2003 01:42:00 PM [+] ::
...

TRIUMPHANT FILMMAKING: A CRITICAL REVIEW OF OLD SCHOOL

A captivating cinematic opus by Todd Phillips, which chronicles the trials, tribulations and triumphs of three friends, as they deal with aging and their own mortality.

A BOMBASTIC REVIEW: Old School focuses on the conflicted existence of Mitch (stirringly portrayed by Luke Wilson, in a moving performance), whose life is rent by the betrayal of his lover (played with exquisite sensitivity by Juliette Lewis). Crushed by wanton indiscretion, Mitch begins the arduous process of reassembling his life with the aid of his compatriots, Frank and Beanie (Will Ferrell and Vince Vaughn, clearly exercising their acting chops by playing against type).

Frank and Beanie refuse to allow Mitch to wallow in despair, even as they confront their own demons: trials with work, family, and the film's antagonist, Dean Pritchard (Jeremy Piven, in a delightfully dastardly turn). The pain of forgotten youth is assuaged by assembling a troupe of like-minded brethren, with whom the heroes foster genuine bonds of affection and comaraderie. It is through this kinship that Mitch, Frank and Beanie are able to regain their lost vitality.

With a clear nod to Kubrick's use of music to frame and define the action (e.g. the Blue Danube in 2001, A Space Odyssey), Phillips crystallizes his narrative with similar lyrical passages (Snoop Dogg). Much of Old School calls to mind the cinematography of Coppola and Kurosawa.

THE CONCISE TRUTH: It was moderately funny. I liked the boobies.
.

mattchun 3/12/2003 05:11:00 PM [+] ::
...

BIBLIOGRAPHY

I've decided to compile a running list of all of the books I've read. I have a number of different reasons for setting about this particular task:

I'm curious as to how many books I've read

It will give me a sense of accomplishment

I happened upon this blog and I was inspired by the author's well-organized list

My life really is that boring

I haven't decided how far back I'm going to go (should I really include those choose-your-own adventure books?) and I'm discovering that my recollection of the books from my childhood is a bit hazy. Today, I remembered a few favorites from my youth: Pippi Longstocking (Astrid Lindgren), Soup and Me (Robert Newton Peck), and Charlotte's Web (E.B. White). When I have a moment free to scour the dusty bookshelves of my brain, recalling all the stories is quite like a pleasant stroll down memory lane.
.

mattchun 3/12/2003 02:46:00 PM [+] ::
...

BLUE MEN

Not the Smurfs, mind you. Have you ever seen Blue Man Group? The troupe puts on a performing arts spectacle that is like no other. The group feature a trio of blue bald men who dazzle the audience with music and whimsy; you'd have to see it to understand.

I recently discovered that three people from my tiny hamlet are Blue Men. Makes this whole management consulting thing slightly less exciting. Oh, we have our fun here too, like that time when the market research came back and we weren't sure if the sample size would be large enough for the take rate analysis. Boy, was that a hoot.
.

mattchun 3/12/2003 09:25:00 AM [+] ::
...

THE DEAN MACHINE

As a native Vermonter, I'm captivated by news from my home state. Arguably, the biggest Green Mountain news of recent note relates to Howard Dean's campaign for the presidency. I've admired Dean throughout his tenure as Vermont governor, and though I don't know enough about him to say whether or not he'd make a good president, I'm eager to learn more.

Can you name the two former U.S. presidents who were born in the great state of Vermont?
(the answer is found in the comment box)
.

mattchun 3/11/2003 03:37:00 PM [+] ::
...

THE BEST LAID PLANS OF MICE AND MEN GO OFT ASTRAY

Robert Burns must have had my ill-fated Idaho ski trip in mind when he coined that timeless phrase. My travel plans did battle with a late winter storm (just vicious enough and perfectly - or rather imperfectly - timed to shut down Logan), which descended upon southern New England last Thursday. Mother Nature was the victor. As a result, my westbound flight was cancelled along with several alternatives. The next available flight would have put me in Idaho a day late and the adjusted itinerary would have caused undue consternation to everyone involved. Consequently, the four of us from Boston - who had dreamed of carving the powder at Schweitzer - decided to abort (sadly, and to the chagrin of our three friends whose travel plans were unencumbered by inclement weather).

Luckily, all was not lost. My family home in Vermont is a short drive from several ski areas so we decided to trek up to the Green Mountain State for a weekend of skiing at Killington. It wasn't Idaho, but the weather was beautiful, the snow conditions were above average and I got to spend some quality time with my mother. When life gives you lemons, drive to Vermont and thrash the lemonade out of the mountain.

...

My skiing prowess lies somewhere between intermediate and expert; I often test my abilities on blacks and the occasional double black diamond trail. I push myself to the limit of my athletic ability, subscribing to a philosophy of skiing that preaches, conquer the mountain or it will conquer you. In the past, this has led to some unfortunate incidents involving trees and some of my unmentionable nether-regions, but as of yet I'm too (stubborn? foolish? brain-damaged?) to temper my aggressiveness on the slopes.

There's something animalistic about skiing with near-reckless abandon. Racing down the mountain, I feel like a dog with its head jutting out the window of a cruising car. I'm all squinting, glimmering eyes, lolling tongue and panting breath, my mittened paws clamoring and head craning forward to soak in every pixel of the streaking, speeding view. But it's even better than the exhilaration of man's best friend: I'm in control. I drive where I want to drive, I fly where I want to fly. Untethered and unleashed, swooshing and turning, muscles taut and poles planting, pistons pumping and edges digging, and then relaxing and slowly sliding at the bottom of the slope. In the queue and in the lift I ride patiently until I return to the top of the peak, and my window rolls down again.
.

mattchun 3/10/2003 08:42:00 PM [+] ::
...