This is really not off the top of my head...

A friend put the following philosophical question:

Assume an intelligent, perceptive individual who follows his or her own path. Occasionally that path will coincide with another person; love ensues, etc. Does the mutual challenging, prodding of each other then necessitate that the trajectories diverge too far from that point where the crossing - that deep understanding - occured?
"Trajectories" is such a nice word to describe out life paths - at least it's 3D, and implies time as well. I also like trajectories because I'm the geek who once wrote a numerical integrator in Excel to determine the path, and thus the muzzle velocity, of an air-cannon-launched pumpkin. On one hand, there's the spark that comes from crossing close paths in the poly-dimensional space of our lives. In an internal-cumbustion engine, the spark is what makes it all irreversible - makes the entropy accrete at a rate that can't be reversed. That entropy (crap, I'm mixing meta-metaphors) is what drives us, is it not? And as for whether, once crossed, the paths must necessarily diverge; they must, but this actually can be an advantage. When I'm performing my own intellectual repairs, so to speak, I've found that I get too self-absorbed unless i have a sounding board - someone to help me realize that I'm on the wrong path. Who better to make that objective determination than someone with whom you've gained rapport, inwhom you trust? If the paths diverge to the point that it "no longer works", i.e. either the advice is a bit too objective or there's no longer enough rapport to grant weight to the opinion, then the relationship is no longer useful in a utilitarian view; but i don't think that the paths must necessarily diverge so much. After all, (getting back to the metaphor) those trajectories *are* still with respect to the same ground, in the same atmosphere. I see my neighbors as an example. They're both social workers, over fifty, but she's an artist, and he's an artisan, if you get my meaning. Would that i may find something of that same sort of willing, not willful, love.

On dating...

I posted this to the Nerve personals. Wonder if it'll work:

My friends say I'm a jerk; at least, that's what they say when they've asked me for an opinion and I forget to sugarcoat. When a friend asked about his dying car, I responded, "they shoot horses, don't they?" When another griped about her beau, I told her to quit using him for rides (despite that I couldn't stand the guy). I install carwashes, teach math at the community college, and fix cars to make my bread, and all the rehabbing I've got planned for my house suffers for my lack of time. Musically, I listen to whatever I like, though I'd rather develop stomach cancer than listen to commercial radio (I lerve KDHX though). My favorite artists right now are Calexico, Marah, and Townes Van Zandt; the current crop of pasttimes in which I engage include learning to fingerpick my guitar, drinking beer, scenic photography while on road trips, riding my road bike, and spending too much time on the computer. I'll admit to having no fashion sense whatsoever (I'll wear boots with shorts and sneakers with jeans), and I own three vehicles, all of which run. Stacked sloppily on the shelf by my toilet are issues of at least five magazines, a book on MC Escher, Uncle John's Supremely Satisfying Bathroom Reader, and some catalogs for things I don't need.

My ideal match doesn't go to tanning salons and hates the Landing. She can remember lyrics better than I can and isn't afraid of a little grease, nor the mud, the blood, and the beer. She'll prod me to actualy get off my butt and do something about the mess this country's in. I want someone who can suggest a half-dozen philosophy books to read; out-drink, -cuss, and -smart me; and not mind that, although I make great attempts to be thoughful, I'm occasionally a complete lout.

If that ain't country...

It's been said that shallow people talk about others, good people talk about events, and great people talk about *ideas*. I'm gonna talk about the weather. It's 92 outside, and teh relative humitity is supposedly 46%. If that's only 46%, I'll kiss your ass. It was so uncomfortably warm out there that I had trouble keeping my brain working on anything better than the reptile level. My mind was a slipping clutch, so to speak.

Jobsite shitter chainsaw massacre

(pronounced [mass-a-cree'] a la' Arlo Guthrie)

So I was um, using the portajohn on the jobsite the other day (I install car washes). Johnny-on-the-spots are an interesting phenomenon, in that they're either surprisingly well maintained or so damned foul you need to have a completely non-functioning olfactory system to escape without wishing you could snort stale cigarettes to cleanse your palate. This particular rest-cubicle is pretty decent. Well, except when it tips over in the wind and left on the concrete is some blue stuff that will turn you off certain colors of Gatorade for a month or so. The graffiti is interesting (if only for the egregiously poor grammar and spelling), the door actually latches, and the seat is almost always piss-free.

It's been hot in St. Louis of late, and even when the dewpoint is something less than my grandfather's age, it's a mite bit uncomfortable in there - by the time you've unzipped, you're sweating. I guess that blue juice really adds to the old expression, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." At any rate, I'm dropping the kids off at the pool, and someone fires up a chainsaw. Right. Outside. The. Shitter. Door. Now, at the time, I didn't know he worked for taco bell; I just suddenly was absolutely DONE crapping. To say I was scared shitless is something of an understatement. I never gave it much thought, but now I know what went through the minds of the kids who were just done fucking when that hockey-mask fellow walked into camp.

I'm like, really nice...really!

Hello, my name is chris, and a personals-site-aholic. Occasionally I shop the competition, but jaysus it's sad reading the women's profiles. I'll click on a photo of a gal who is atrractive but not in that (cue loretta lynn) "I'm proud to be a frat boy's consort" way and the fun begins.

May I editorialize for a moment, ladies?

1)Please don't tell us what your friends say about you. "My friends say I'm..."--allow me to fill in the blank--dependent upon other people's opinion of yourself?
2)"I'm funny, honest, and really nice"...I'm sure you are, but seriously (oh, fuck, isn't that a Phil Collins album?), if someone were setting you up on a blind date and described said date thusly, wouldn't you feel underwhelmed?
3)*EVERY*FUCKING*AD* says, quote, "I'm looking for a guy with a sense of humor". Everyone has one, it's just that some people have a shitty wit. If you really mean, "I'd like a guy who can make me laugh, not make me feel stupid with esoteric references to the geek obsession of his choice, be playful enough to make me feel wanted, but not take practical jokes to the point that I'm in pain or embarrassed," say it! Say something different, fer chrissakes!

Welcome to three years ago...

...blogging has jumped the shark, so *now* I get in on the game.

These shall be the voyages of my misanthropic mind, wherein I shall bitch, rant, wallow in minutia, and occasionally post under the affluence of incohol.