Thursday, August 30, 2007

The Magnificient Midge

"Both male and female Chironomidae [nonbiting midges] have mouths but will never use them, for the adults live only to breed. They have stored enough food in their bodies from their larval days to fuel the furious beating of their wings."

The male midge's "rapid [wing] motion raises their body temperature and may make them more potent. Females, lurking nearby in the grass or bushes, dart into the swarm once the males have become irresistible to them."

"Marissa, I'm not going to be able to resist much longer -- look at Walter's wings!"

Marg the midge, perched atop a blade of grass, admired the rhythmic dance of the male midges in the adjacent field. Her friend, Marissa the midge, hovered lower, unconvinced by the dance.

"Every night you fixate on Walter. How many flaws must I point out? Look at his metathorax -- I tell you he still eats, even to this day! No midge is that fat!"

But Marg could not stop swooning. "Think about our kids. His powerful wings, my lithe hind legs, they'd be the most attractive larvae."

Marissa hovered, unconvinced. She spun and looked up. "Wait Marg, wait. Check out Andre."

Andre flew into view above them. His wingers weren't as fast as Walter's; nor his metathorax as large. But Marg could not deny that he was something special. Andre was not rotating horizontally on the fourth wing beat like every other midge -- instead, he rotated vertically, showing off his glistening spiracles. When Andre's head faced Marg and Marissa he winked and caressed his mesothorax with his forelegs. Marg wondered what Andre's forelegs would feel like on her mesothorax.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

should this be secret?

there's a joy to discovering something about someone, long after you've known them. another fold, a direction you didn't expect but appreciate. i remember reading in some old fart magazine an oldie complaining that the embrace of the online world had diminished this wonderful process -- now you can just read someone's blog, google them. as usual, the oldie is wrong. there's always something more than in the posting, the search results.

multiple people have been aghast that i've been revealing this yet-to-be-blog-revealed (but shortly) new fascination i have. they've said things like "i'm not sure i'd share that with anyone i know" or "don't you think people might think about you differently?" well, of course they will! that's what information can do.

so now.

you want to know.

well, first i think it would help if you watched the following video:

i am a huge fan of high school musical. sure, ostensibly it's for teens, but i think i know why i like it. i've always sort of liked indian movies -- i grew up with them playing around me from time to time, and even though i couldn't really connect with the culture evinced by those glittering bollywood gods, the tunes were catchy. they still are:

high school musical is like an indian movie for western kids. and adults who always wanted a better connection between indian movies and their lives. and why am i sharing? i think high school musical is a wonderful, just-plain-fun movie. with catchy tunes. the story isn't groundbreaking, the songs aren't either. but when those kids burst into song, and the scripted tension builds, yes, i'm a sucker. give it a chance, you will be too. high school musical 2: i will see you soon.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

feelin fake in sf?

neha has told me that sf feels so fake. i'm not sure what this means, and i don't think she knows either. but i do know that we were at a startup party last night, and man a lot of those people are drinking the funny punch. as one more sober individual put it: "we don't talk about the failures here." and yet so many fail!

amazingly, you can be a serial failure in startup land and still get funding, over and over. that's great because incubating the right ideas and executing effectively takes people with brains, experience, luck of course.. failure can be good. but then this got me feeling so disappointed about the art scene and its funding. artists, in a way, are entrepreneurs who just don't have access to the funding that tech startup people do. it's so sad! because virtually no one appreciates a failed startup but every piece of art, i think, has an audience. yes, every piece! you know where i'm going here so i'll stop now and go fund an artist.

oh ho ho it's magic

i love this song

Monday, August 06, 2007

ou est la bibliotheque?

ah flight of the conchords. what a ridiculous tv show. two friends move to nyc from new zealand, looking to find success for their quirky comedy band. the show follows their hopeless exploits with women and the band.

every show has two musical sets (at least). in the most recent episode there's a song done mostly in french -- it's great because it's literally grade 3 or grade 4 french, so anyone with a smidge of french can appreciate it. and even if you don't speak french, it's still pretty funny!

parlez-vous le francais?

another something written

one of the prompts last week was a page of onomatopoeia words (words like clang, hiss, boom, ...)

here's what i wrote. i'm working on the granny character:

there is a loud clang against the fence. everyone looks up from their activity: the women stop gossiping; the men lift mouths from their scotch; the kids cease rolling around in the grass; even the whole chicken roasting on the spit seems to do a double take and perk up towards the noise.

on the other side of the fence stands a formidable granny. in her right hand, a large shovel, rusted end -- almost red, as if she's used it to bludgeon, one too many times. in her left hand, a readers digest, large-print. she has everyone's attention. clang! clang! clang! she runs the shovel along the fence for good measure.

"good!" she shrieks, "now you're well interrupted, like you interrupted me!"

the women shuffle. some of the men mutter -- but immediately hush with one stare from the granny, who points the death shovel at them. the children are quiet. somehow, the fire has gone out under the chicken.

"mr and mrs neighbor, a word please."

the hosts of the bbq shuffle to the fence, their friends looking on as if a death sentence is about to be handed down. judge granny presides, and in her court all are guilty.

"why, mr and mrs neighbor, on sunday, god's day, do i hear a gaggle of geese in my yard?"

"uh, geese.. hmm?" mr neighbor replies.

"you buffoon you are the goose, this is your gaggle. do you know, mr neighbor, that i have killed geese with this very shovel?"

a yelp emanates from the children. "mommy, i'm scared. i peed my pants."

"deal with that child, mrs neighbor," granny spits.

mrs neighbor hustles to the child. granny turns, twirling the heavy shovel in one hand. clang! she bangs it against the fence. everyone jumps.

"mr neighbor, i will resume my reading now. if i hear your gaggle again, it will be you with a mess in your pants, be assured."