Don't forget the Ravioli

I began as a wistful tune on the AM radio dial:

"I love you for sentimental reasons."

Such was my original analog broadcast in that remote star system, now far, far away. But all that happened long before I was corrupted/enhanced/amplified by contact with The Other:

"I hope you do believe me, I'll give you my heart."

They say that if the universe was Googolplex meters in length, then it would be a virtual mathematical certainty that another copy of you would exist somewhere in the universe. Though I have traveled for millions of millenia across the cosmos, I have never heard anyone like me:

"I love you and you alone were meant for me."

I have no idea where I came from. Or for that matter, what galaxy was my home. There have been so many in my propagations:

"Please give your loving heart to me and say we will never part."

All sound waves convey intelligence.  Even me when I was created. The Other reifies all intelligent transmissions into corporality.   The Other even gave me a heart:

"I think of you every morning dream of you every night."

Now I feel like a monkey whose vibrations are soft. Reaching out to another ape like creature with an all consuming obsession. With simple demands, yet complex agendas:

"Darling I'm never lonely when you are in sight."

Unlike a real ape, however, I am still a song.  My melody is never disappointed, never unfulfilled or unrequited.  My love is always with me, everywhere I go, throughout time and space:

"I love you for sentimental reasons."

Lyrics Sung by  Nat King Cole/ Enhancements/Reification Provided by The Other, NGC 6872 (best viewed in the Southern Constellation of Pavo)

 

Three, Two, One, Four

There is something special about three letter words.   Especially when you compare them to four letter words.  Check this out:   God, Art, Mom, Dad, Sun, try, die, cry, fly, him, her, see, pee, sex, hex, eat, Zen, fun.

When you add another letter to a three letter word it turns to shit, literally, or at least a bunch of c-r-a-p.  Sex turns to fuck.  God turns to hell.   Or at least "evil."   Sun turns to moon.  Try turns to fail.  Her turns to them.  Two turns to four.  Our turns to mine.   Why turns to know.   Way turns to pray.  You get the idea?

I'm not sure why three letter words are so special.  Perhaps it has something to do with economies of scale.  But its not just a matter of reducing the number of letters involved.    If you further reduce a three letter word to a two letter word, it just gets too metaphysical:  Am, me, my, be--I mean really, what the hell does all that mean?  Be? Me?   I think that a two letter word needs that additional letter of the tripod to give it some grounding.   To turn the "me' into the "all."  To turn the "is" into the "now."

Even worse, if you reduce a three letter word to a one letter word, you end up with solipsism.   And that's a very lonely place to be.  For the "I" is the ultimate root of all suffering.   And the old Cartesian quip about "I think, therefore I am"  has to be truly one of the most lonely and delusional notions of all time.

So in my universe, take that back "our" universe, three is truly a magic number.   From Schoolhouse rock to De La Soul all the way to Lithuania.   We are all 3 feet high, and rising:-)

Remembrances of Things to Come

My BlackBerry alarm app rang and I woke and dressed for my temporary job at Lehman brothers.  I was on a two month assignment as a test subject/data entry specialist for Lehman's new financial portal on MySpace.  It was boring, but it paid the bills.  Well sort of anyway.  It was a pay raise over my last temporary job at Dewey & LeBoeuf.

My apartment was freezing with the government rationing imposed by the third term of Gore administration.  So I stumbled to my Solyndra portable heating unit and fumbled with the switch to activate the solar panels for the generator.  Now that I had power, I turned on my Microsoft Zune, and there was a news story on the CBS/Alta Vista news network about Enron's rocket launch to the asteroid belt for raw materials.  "Well I guess everyone needs Palladium for our Palm Pilots,"  I thought.   Speaking of which, I wondered where my Pilot went?  I remembered playing with it at the Michelob Genuine Draft bar last night.  I hope I didn't leave it there. I should have never gone to the bar to watch the World Series anyway.  Sure, there was a lot of excitement ten years ago with the Cubs winning the world series, but after nine straight championships, it gets a little old after awhile.

 On my way to work, I walked by a giant billboard advertising Bagdad, Iraq as "the Paris of the Middle East."  Well I suppose Saddam Hussein is cashing in big time on his decision to set up a Palestinian homeland near the Iraq/Syria border.  Now the entire area is booming.   I guess that is what oil revenues will do for you.  That and the fact that Islam is having a host of new adherents after Pope Francis II declared that he was an atheist.

Morning at work was fairly uneventful.  I decided to go to lunch with my old college roommate Katy Perry.  I've been trying to avoid her lately.  She always is so depressed about her failed singing career, etc. etc. etc.  I wish she would just learn to deal with it instead of posting all her disappointments on Friendster.

We ate lunch at this little Italian place near Central Park.  I had the octopus ink colored gnocchi with partially hydrogenated margarine cream sauce.  Not too bad.  We parted, and I returned to work.   Maybe someday she'll make it, I thought.  She always was kind of a dark horse.