Body Modification of the Past

( Out by request is this minigallery of body modifications of the past. )

Work Day

Today's a busy day. I'll be doing homework, laundry, baking, kayaking, kung fu, and running the craft shop for a couple of hours. But first, let me clear out my browser tabs....

Olympic Sex: Muscles are sexy.

First Americans may have come from Australia: So much for First Nations, hmm?

India's first 'vanishing twin' born in Bengal hospital: "In a rare occurrence, a young mother here has given birth to what is medically termed as the 'vanishing twin', a freak delivery in which one of the twins appears to be painted on a translucent leaf-like sheath."

Camanche road sprouts Ronald McDonald dolls: This is just plain weird (thanks, wicked_wish).

Volkswagen Beetle by VRBANUS: Somehow, I don't think this quite qualifies as a ricer, does it?

Tomato Bob: If only I could grow tomatos on my balcony! Sigh (thanks, Neil Gaiman)....

Nose-controlled device may replace computer mouse: I want a nouse, too.

The Powerbook Prank: An oldie, but a goodie (thanks, Jack Frost)!

Infinite Cat: It's cats watching cats watching cats (thanks, resa).

Teaching a Stone to Discover Itself

The following is a homework assignment for a religious studies class I am auditing. It is probably absolutely meaningless to you, but read it if you like!

After reading Annie Dillard's essay Teaching a Stone to Talk, I must admit I have difficulties reconciling her voyage of self-discovery with my own. She goes from wanting to be a playful sea lion to wanting to be a much more sedate and watchful tree. Perhaps the lack of reconciliation on my part is because I'd much rather be the sea lion. I'm more content with being noticed than doing the noticing itself. I suppose this is because I'm both unobservant and rather self-absorbed. Perhaps when I'm too old to continue in my hyper-physical ways, I may want to slow down and become a tree.

I interpret the gist of "Teaching a Stone to Talk" as saying the purpose of existence is to notice and be noticed. This meshes with self-discovery in that self-discovery could be defined as the noticing of various elements about oneself. However, I'd be more inclined to say there is no actual purpose to existance. I believe we are simply because we are. Didn't the burning bush say something similar with its "I am that I am?"

This is not to say that there is anything wrong in creating your own purpose in existance. The premier example in the essay--the man who devotes his time to teaching a stone to talk--is analogous with meditation. By attempting to teach to stone to say one simple word, the man is using both that word and the stone as focii. It's really no different from staring at a flickering candle flame and droning "Om." In getting his son to take over the task when he dies, he is ensuring the meditative tradition is passed on.

But is he fulfilling the purpose of his existence in terms of Ms. Dillard's definition?

I don't think so.

I think he bears a kinship to the sea lions. His life is rather single-purposed. As the sea lions live to play, he lives to teach a stone to talk. He doesn't notice the other things in life, as do the white, lichen-encrusted trees.

Then again, he is being noticed.

Sock It To Me

Over the years, we have collected a huge pile of mateless socks. Whatever shall we do with them?

I had the insidious idea of going around to laundromats and sticking one in each drier, but f00 thinks that's too mean. What do you think could be done with them?

Uh Oh

I must have fought off the dread bubonic plague which gets spreads around whenever school starts. Despite being rather sore from last night's positively brutal kung fu workout, I managed a brisk 90-minute kayak trip with ease. And when I got home to get changed, I realized I was having a difficult time getting my pants on over my thighs. My muscles must be growing again.

In other news, I think there may be a correlation between chocolate and my intestinal cramps. I know lentils set me off, but I'd much rather live without lentils than without chocolate. Oh, the horror!