MemeMachineGo!

In the latest Strange Horizons, John Aegard and Victoria Garcia interview Blöödhag:

SH: The Alfred Bester line about L. Ron Hubbard is really funny. "When Campbell fell under L. Ron's spell, Bester said, 'man, you can fucking go to hell."

Stratton: I try to have one funny line in there, at least funny to some nerd who's read everything about the guy, if no one else.

SH: Well, metal is like the nerdliest music.

Stratton: Yeah, most people who like metal are ugly loners.

McNulty: Rock-star metalhead guys don't like to think about it that way, but it's geeky as hell.

Stratton: I've said this before, but anybody who's particularly obsessed about any one thing is a nerd. It doesn't matter how cool you think that thing is, you're a nerd to somebody else. Like those hoity-toity record collectors out there. They're cool in their little world. Football nerds? Football players, they're nerds. That's all they can talk about.

McNulty: Baseball fans. Baseball is the geekiest sport of all.

Stratton: Even if it gets you girls, it's still nerdy.

Orgel: Not like Blöödhag really gets girls.

[...]Orgel: Portland, we always have great crowds. They're so well-read there. We have this standing thing where you bring a book report in, and we'll refund your door price.

McNulty: We've gotten a couple too. We got one in San Francisco. San Francisco's the best town, it's like the most well-read punk-rock town in the world.

I quote the latter bit just so I can mention that the book report they got in San Francisco was from my friend Cliff when we went to their show at Kimo's. One of my funnier recollections of this past Worldcon: I was wearing my Blöödhag T-shirt, which sports "From the Library of Blöödhag" on the front, and "The sooner you go deaf, the more time you'll have to read" in huge letters on the back. I saw Cliff at the convention center wearing his, so I walked up, put my hands on my hips and shouted "YOU BITCH!" He didn't get it at first and was giving me a "what the hell is your problem?" look, but my friend Janet, nearby, was cracking up.

Check out the Blöödhag website.

Carol Lay abandons her usual format in the latest Story Minute to quote Twain with illustrations by Bruegel the Elder, to great effect.

Wordplay is a screenwriting site with simply a huge amount of interesting stuff: columns on screenwriting, The 36 Dramatic Situations (being one enumeration of how many plots there are), and several complete screenplays, including one for a Sandman movie(!).

I went to the Dave Eggers reading last night. Seems like a nice enough guy. Despite all the hype about A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, I prefer his comic strip, Smarter Feller.

Who says blondes are endangered? Not WHO.

It's almost an irresistible story for journalists: the World Health Organization publishes a study predicting the gene responsible for natural blond hair will be extinct by the year 2202.

And a number of news organizations around the world took the bait late last week, including the extensive and respected BBC News Web site. There was just one problem. The WHO neither commissioned nor published any research on the future of the blond gene. Nor can the organization find a shred of proof that anyone else did last week either.

(Thanks, Geoff!)

Great fannish romances:

The old flame you don't see very often any more but whom you still really enjoy getting together with for a few drinks and maybe a pleasant nostalgic romp in the sheets: Babylon 5

The mysterious dark gothy one whom you used to sit up with talking until 3 a.m. at weird coffeehouses and with whom you were quite smitten until you realized he really was completely out of his mind and believed all that garbage he was spouting: The X-Files

The one you spent a whole weekend in bed with and who drank up all your liquor, and whom you'd still really like to see again although you're relieved he doesn't actually live in town: The Highlander

[...] The one who's slept with all your friends, and you keep looking at him and thinking Him? How the hell did he land all these cool babes?: Vampire: The Masquerade

[...] The new guy that you just can't stop talking about, even though everyone else is getting ready to beat you to death for your own good: Dungeons and Dragons 3rd edition

[...] The one you're ashamed of being seen with in public because he's so beyond your usual taste you're not even sure why you like him (except the sex is great): Dragonball Z

Wow. That's the geekiest thing I've seen in a while.

Neil Gaiman won his lawsuit against Todd McFarlane. The background is complicated, and so are the possible outcomes, but among the possibilities is one this fanboy would take great delight in: that we could someday see Gaiman's Miracleman: the Silver Age concluded.

An inspirational story:

A Belgian man is to marry a former primary school teacher he had a crush on 36 years ago. Minne Herv, 42, first fell in love with Daniella Waltens as she stood in front of the blackboard in 1966 when she was 18 and he was six.

It's amazing what becomes acceptable if you wait long enough.

(Via New World Disorder)

Math Film Festival in Berkeley:

Mathematicians are all the rage in the arts these days: Philip Glass's opera Galileo Galilei, David Auburn's play Proof, and the films Good Will Hunting, A Beautiful Mind, and Enigma have brought mathematicians and the process of making mathematics to a wide audience. Films in this series will be introduced by noted mathematicians, providing an in-depth view of how math has been presented in the movies as structure, metaphor, and story.

How I love this town.

(Via Boing Boing)

Hilarious Metafilter in-joke thread:

This is like one of those "best of" montages that they show in the last episode of a much loved series, where they bring back all the much loved departed characters and heartwarming moments.

Oh, fuck....they're going to cancel the internet aren't they? Dammit, why didn't you people watch...

I finally paid attention to when it was noon today, and registered for a Metafilter account. I'd've happily enough paid the $5, but the draw of competing with the masses for one of 15 free accounts per day was irresistible. I am now the proud owner of the hopelessly un1337 5-digit Metafilter Account 16552.

(First link via LinkMachineGo)

Not In Our Name is organizing events in cities across the nation this Sunday to protest Bush's intended war to protect his family's personal assets. I figure I'll be at San Francisco's. If you don't think this war is a good idea, consider attending one.

From their Pledge of Resistance:

We believe that as people living in the United States it is our responsibility to resist the injustices done by our government, in our names.

On the subject, check out yesterday's Boondocks.

I placed an online order yesterday, and, as is my habit, submitted with it a disposable Spamgourmet email address, an invaluable tool in the fight against spam, sign up for an account today, this has been an unremunerated endorsement for a free service.

I'm still chuckling over this petulant response:

We received your order and are not intent on selling or sharing your email address in any way. Your spamgourmet email address lets me know you think otherwise. Your order will ship within the next day or two. You could just ask us not to send you emails. For now, I will remove you from any future mailings from our company at this email unless you state otherwise.

Jordanian woman kicks ass:

Witnesses say a Jordanian woman ripped off her enveloping black cloak and veil — to reveal a traditional long dress that was nearly as enveloping — and punched and kicked into submission three young men who had been verbally harassing her.

The official Petra News Agency reported Sunday that shopkeepers and passers-by believe the unidentified woman must have had martial arts training. In Friday's incident on the main street in Zarqa 13 miles north Amman, the three men were too shocked to react at first and ended up knocked to the ground, screaming in pain. They then scrambled up and fled.

Not sure where I first saw that — I wasn't sufficiently inspired to post it here. Until it became necessary to contextualize August's comment:

my first title idea was "Why can't I ever meet girls who like removing their clothing and playing rough?" But that would have been wrong.

So this other blog stole the name meme machine, and, worse, stole it about two years prior to when I started MMG!. To no great surprise, its author and I seem to have some interests in common.

Also recently noticed that blo.gs offers a listing of blog relatives based on people's listed favorites. Hmmm. I actually hadn't heard of half my relatives, and most of them are British.

Addiction is...

Addiction is always knowing where my cigarettes are.

Addiction is a clove cigarette and a Pepsi for breakfast.

Addiction is showing up for a date high.

Addiction is missing my mother’s birthday because I was high.

Addiction is taking naps in the car in the company parking lot because I was so tired I couldn’t make it through the afternoon.

Addiction is claiming that smoking is a social activity, but smoking alone anyway when all my smoking buddies are busy.

Read the whole thing; an excerpt doesn't do it justice.

(Via Circadian Shift, slightly indirectly)

Dear Ann Landers:

I hope you can help me with an unusual problem. My teenage daughter was recently invited to a nude slumber party. She assured me there would be no boys present.

I called the mother of the girl and talked to her about this party. While the mother admitted the idea was strange, she said she would be present during the party to supervise. She also said her husband and teenage son would be away for the weekend, so there would be no males present in the house. She assured me that nude slumber parties are all the rage these days.

I have never heard of such a thing and cannot imagine why a bunch of 15- and 16-year-old girls would want to spend 12 hours together stark naked. Any ideas?

(Via Sensual Liberation Army)

"Are you going to apologize to the theater now?"
"I'm sorry, theater. I misjudged you."
— man and boy of about ten in the California Theatre before "The Tuxedo"

"Who's the big pimp daddy? Who's the big pimp daddy? Who's da big pimp dadder?"

— Young man to dog tied up on Telegraph

OK, so Eve probably isn't sweating over the competition.

This explains everything.

Great news! The good Dr. Menlo has invited yours truly to be one of the harbingers of the American Samizdat (where I join, not coincidentally, something like half my blogroll.)

Does this mean I have to become politically aware now?

=v= It seems to me that part of the whole point of jumping out of a plane is to have a direct experience of falling. As opposed to, say, a humdrum everyday experience of being isolated from the world by, say, sitting inside a car. And yet, somebody has combined the two in a pastime known as "skydriving".

Mind you, I think dropping cars from 13,000 feet isn't the worst trend we've seen, but shouldn't we be starting with SUVs instead of Honda Civics?

(Via Too Beautiful)

Asianguy.com's adventures in personal ads:

We took out a fake personal ad on Craigslist, a popular online bulletin board. The ad was for a single Asian female seeking Caucasian males. The goal? To see how many responses we would get in 24 hours and analyze trends.

[...] As shown in Table 1, Asian fetishism appears to be directly related to time of day.

Never mind kickboxing, ballet, and Pilates, the latest fitness class is cardio striptease.

Inspired by the exotic dancing of strippers and go-go boys, this 1-hour class will teach students to explore their sexual energy through movement. Each class involves building confidence through sexuality and building self-esteem through empowering, erotic, yet athletic exercises. Participants learn the art of lap dancing, making an entrance, turning, gyrating, body language, throwing attitude, flirting, posing, the use of props and of course, removing articles of clothing!

Hmmm. It is available in San Francisco. And God knows I've gotten used to being the only man in an aerobics class over the past 11 years.

(Via Boing Boing, and though I usually don't admit to link-envy, I can't tell you how it pains me that Cory beat me to this.)

Ravenlike is a new blog about writing which has already served up some interesting links to A Primer in SF Xenolinguistics and Typography for Writers.

The Liberty Theatre Company is putting on a production of Hair at the Julia Morgan Theatre here in Berkeley this Saturday, and at the Bandshell Concourse in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco at noon on October 27.

I saw their production in San Francisco last weekend. It's excellent. They basically omitted any semblance of a storyline or establishing characters, and left out a number of songs including "Manchester, England" and "Good Morning Starshine." They also re-ordered everything, and left out lots of intros and extros and bridges.

I have and love the Broadway soundtrack, so it was impossible for me to not make a running comparison. Of course, I'm happy for the re-invention they did. As in the soundtrack, they start on "Aquarius." When the music began, I was waiting, waiting for someone to belt out "When the moon is in the Seventh House, and Jupiter aligns with Mars..." and the melody went there and beyond, and still no vocals. It took me a moment to realize that the performer in center stage was signing the words. The singing began with the first chorus, and the first verse was sung following that.

"Going Down" was recast as being about a Catholic priest removed from his job, instead of a student being expelled, which worked perfectly with the existing lyrics, yet gave new meaning to:

Me and Lucifer
Lucifer and me
Just like the angel that fell
Banished forever to Hell
Today have I been expelled
From high school heaven

Elevator going down
Going down

This is my doom, my humiliation
October, not June
And it's summer vacation
Such a disgrace
How can i face the nation?

They included men singing "White Boys" and "Black Boys," which was fun, but hardly a surprising choice in modern San Francisco.

And, yes, they got nekkid at the end of Act I. I can only imagine the impact it had 35 years ago, when it was radical, shocking, implicitly and inescapably in-your-face, an effect impossible to achieve on stage with nudity now if you wanted. It's just a pedestrian possibility in mainstream theatre. Instead, today, it was only open, vulnerable, beautiful, an effect that was probably obscured 35 years ago.

I have only one complaint about the production. Not enough hair! I have longer hair than anyone in the cast. Sigh. I suppose that's simply the reality of casting it today, with long hair so out of fashion.

Today we're on the brink of a war that seems to me even stupider than Vietnam, even surer to confirm in the minds of the world that the U.S. is an imperial power gone mad, ready to attack anyone anywhere who doesn't implicitly and explicitly bow to our authority and toe the line we dictate. Just the message we need to be sending the Islam world today.

We need these songs again. From Walking in Space:

How dare they try to end this beauty?
How dare they try to end this beauty?

To keep us under foot
They bury us in soot
Pretending it's a chore
To ship us off to war

In this dive
We rediscover sensation
In this dive
We rediscover sensation

Walking in space
We find the purpose of peace
The beauty of life
You can no longer hide

Our eyes are open
Our eyes are open
Our eyes are open
Our eyes are open
Wide wide wide!

A thousand syllables for peace:

Only assumptions
are needed to launch a war,
according to Bush.

(Via Cheese Dip)

Le blog est mort, Vive le blog!:

Play. That simple: Play. In a system built on work and production and commercial/material 'contribution', to willfully play is just about the most radical thing one can do. If political protest — whether striking or a street march — is incorporated into the very system it intends to undermine, so in fact reinforcing it, the only alternative is to face something serious by refusing to be serious. To play. To value the production of the intangible — as Peter Burger put it in Theory of the Avant Garde, to make life like art rather than lifelike art. That, too, is where blogs can matter and be turned into anti-matter: we post about politics, we post about cheese; we post about radicalism, we tell a story about a dog. In short, life, all of life becomes the project — it is no longer possible to separate the consumer from the thinker, the subject from the object, production from consumption from rejection.

Sometimes I wonder if fiddling while Rome burns is actually the best we can do.

(Via wood s lot)

An interview with Charles Wright, Pulitzer Prize winning poet:

Rebecca Swain Vadnie: What does it mean to be a poet in contemporary American literature? [...]

Charles Wright: It means the same thing as being a poet in contemporary American life. It means to be left alone, in a solitary place, but with heat and running water. It means to be in the best location for any serious writer, no one knocking at the door, no one to make the phone ring.

RSV: Do you foresee poetry making a "comeback" in terms of popularity?

CW: I foresee no comeback for American poetry. It's not even in the race. Poetry is a great rider without a horse — terrific colors, no speed, but with remarkable staying power. You can see it back there at the far turn, always at the far turn, always threatening to break clear. But the race is already over.

(Via Moby Lives)

The Prabhupada Hare Krishna News Network:

Space images taken by NASA reveal a mysterious ancient bridge in the Palk Strait between India and Sri Lanka. The recently discovered bridge currently named as Adam's Bridge is made of chain of shoals, c.18 mi (30 km) long.

The bridge's unique curvature and composition by age reveals that it is man made. The legends as well as Archeological studies reveal that the first signs of human inhabitants in Sri Lanka date back to the a primitive age, about 1,750,000 years ago and the bridge's age is also almost equivalent.

This information is a crucial aspect for an insight into the mysterious legend called Ramayana, which was supposed to have taken place in treta yuga (more than 1,700,000 years ago).

In this epic, there is a mentioning about a bridge, which was built between Rameshwaram (India) and Srilankan coast under the supervision of a dynamic and invincible figure called Rama who is supposed to be the incarnation of the supreme.

Only people with a seeming vested interest in proving that Indian mythology is history are asserting that these images represent a man-made bridge, though, so far as my casual websearching reveals.

(Story but not exact link via Incublogula)

LA Weekly tackles the really tough issues. Like what will the fashionable be wearing in a world wracked by global warming?

The main fabric is made from recycled paper and recycled clothes, kind of like rayon, but much lighter and thinner, with a chemical sunscreen mixed in before it is woven. The vents and cooling screens are made from spider webs (industrially produced, of course); the garters and straps are recycled from old garments, held with safety pins or just tied together. Shoes: Tupperware and newspaper melted together, then shaped into pointed and elegant sandals.

(Via Eclectica)

It's my birthday. Keep those cards and letters coming.

My DSL router died on Sunday, and I've had no net connectivity at home. I don't update my blog from work as a policy decision I follow fairly strictly (but not quite so strictly that I'm not violating it right now.) Ordinarily I'd pursue remedying this with all the single-minded intent of a lab monkey clawing his way up from the floor of his cage to pull the lever that will trigger another shot of heroin, but, well, my toilet's been broken too, and you don't exactly have to be Abraham Maslow to see why that might trump even net connectivity.

So updates are liable to continue to be scarce till the weekend. Go read the fine websites in my sidebar.

=v= Zed's mentioned his recumbent bike a few times now, so I figure it's time to mention my own steed. While Zed can certainly get 'bent, my bike gets bent without the apostrophe: it's a folding bike.

The basic idea of a folding bike is to extend one's reach. At first I just wanted to get on BART during commute hours, but soon I found it useful for trips on planes, trains, and buses. I once met a guy with a folding kayak that he tows behind his folding bike, and of course he puts his folded bike into the kayak when he's on the water.

In 1999, I met several members of a New York City-based direct action environmental group named Time's Up! They were riding folding bikes, and so was I. I joined their group and called us "Folds Up!" The name stuck, and a few years later they started an annual folding bike ride with the same name.

The only problem with being a folding bike rider is that sooner or later you're going to hear a certain Kenny Rogers song, and it'll get stuck in your head. I have to respect the meme value of that, though, so I put it up there in the title. Please accept my profuse apologies.

=v= The writers of Funny Paper seem to be suffering from terminal snideness, but now and then they can really strike a chord:

"Sometimes I feel like I want to run away from everything," Classic Charlie Brown tells Classic Linus Wednesday. "I remember having that feeling once when I was at the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm," Classic Snoopy thinks. "I climbed over the fence but I was still in the world!" I climbed over the fence but I was still in the world! Every absinthe-swilling poet who ever lived wishes he could have put it that way.

Exactly.

=v= Peanuts creator Charles Schulz lived 50 miles north of here, where his Redwood Empire Ice Arena has long been a local fixture. It's also been a mecca for his fans, who'd go there just to dine at the Warm Puppy Café. I'm a Peanuts fanatic myself, but the prospect of munching on warm puppies did not lure me up to Santa Rosa. It took the new Charles M. Schulz Museum to do that.

American museums dedicated to comics and comic strips are few in number. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Words and Pictures museum closed its doors and went all-online, and the Cartoon Art Museum here in San Francisco has struggled a bit, but is doing well now (in no small part to the generosity of Schulz). I'm usually content to walk around and look at comic strip originals, which is admittedly not much different from perusing a good collection of comic strip books, but curators tend to put other things on display as well.

In addition to original Peanuts strips and sketches, the Schulz museum has a gallery of anniversary and get well strips drawn by hundreds of his peers, elaborate Peanuts-based sculptures by other artists, a tasteful display of old spinoff merchandise, covers of books translated into many languages, and a biographical timeline display. A wall is preserved from Schulz's 1950s home in Colorado Springs, where he'd painted a mural with very early versions of Snoopy and Charlie Brown (who's sporting a very short blond crewcut).

For me, though, the highlight of the museum was the room where they'd preserved Schulz's studio, with his bookshelves, chair, pens, and drawing table. The table still had an unfinished comic strip taped to it. The presence of genius was tangible, and I just stood there in awe. This made the visit for me.

=v= Some park rangers acted like the Taliban, as they stormed a Pagan wedding with shotguns and flak jackets. Holy theocratic police state!

(Via the Muted Horn)

Ah ha ha ha I kiss the sweet bitstream.

And, yes, my toilet's working, too.

East Bay Express article on Adrian Tomine, author/artist of (the highly recommended) Optic Nerve:

The artist depicts cartooning as a path only for anal-retentive and antisocial types who could enjoy sitting alone in a room all day. "I always feel a notch away from being Jack Nicholson in The Shining," he tells his fans. "There's something about drawing over and over again in little boxes that's damaging. Never trust a socially adept cartoonist. Their work probably isn't good."

From their FAQ on the subject:

Police are said to have found a “Death” card near the site of one of the attacks. What does this card mean?

No definitive “key” to the meaning of any Tarot card exists, because meanings assigned to Tarot cards vary from book to book and user to user. The Death card is no exception to this rule.

Generally, however, the Death card is not associated with physical death. Instead, the card is associated with:

The ending of one cycle and the beginning of the next
Conclusions
Completions
Change or transition
Transformation and renewal

Are you saying that this card indicates the person who left it is undergoing some kind of change or transition, or that it indicates the killings are over?

No. Our statement relates traditional or popular meanings assigned to this card, and they in no way are intended to provide insight into the mind of the person who left this card at the scene.

What does the fact that the Death card may have been found at the scene of one of the attacks indicate about the person who left it?

Because that person appears to share the popular misconception that the card is associated with physical death, that person likely knows very little about the Tarot, and is most likely not a Tarot reader.

OK, not very interesting other than that the American Tarot Association has an official position on the subject.

From an article on speculative fiction writers Pat Murphy, Lisa Goldstein and Michaela Roessner, the Brazen Hussies:

"I once took a poll of my friends," recalled Pat, "asking, 'Which would you rather be seen reading on Muni: a book with a rocket ship exploding on the cover? Or pornography? 'Boy, that's a hard one,' they'd reply.

Hmmm. Wouldn't surprise me if I have read a book with a rocket ship exploding on the cover on MUNI, but it's still a hard one: I'd be shameless about reading pornography, too; I just don't tend to read any.

A new blog implores us to read comics in public, something I often do at a cafe in downtown Berkeley after getting the week's fresh haul at Comic Relief.

Though I'm generally loath to explain myself, I'll note that this entry's title is inspired by Unamerican Activities' "Keep Music Evil" sticker.

The Monk Chronicles part I:

My own sense of concern about the environment and other issues blossomed only after I had begun to do a lot of meditation. The core value that characterizes all spiritual movements I know of is the interdependence of all things. The secular world tends to discriminate between things, and emphasize a worldview based on our individuality as separate selves. Spiritual movements, by contrast, tend to focus on the aspects of interconnectedness, thereby emphasizing a profound relationship with all things normally thought to be separate from ourselves. The Vietnamese zen master Thich Nhat Hahn has coined a wonderful word to describe this idea: interbeing. The secular view says that you and me are two separate persons; Nhat Hahn suggests that, while we are on some level separate, we also "interare." That is, we possess a profound commonality: we could not exist were it not for each other; we share the same essence; we share the same root identity; we are one. So zen teaches that we are both separate and not-separate. As the zen master Shunryu Suzuki Roshi once described the spirit of zen, "not two, and not one."

Once you apply the idea of interbeing to environmental issues, you find yourself very close to the heart of the deep ecology movement. I embraced environmentalism not because taking care of the environment is in the particular interest of my separate self, but because I can no more imagine raping a forest, for instance, than I can imagine my own body being raped. In other words, self-interest expands to include a concern for all beings. This is what happened in my zen practice.

Inspired by Gandhi, I began seeing the environmental movement more and more in spiritual terms, as a form of non-violence toward the earth. Like Gandhi, I began to feel that a real, long- term solution to the kind of greed that drives the environmental crisis must involve renunciation. I don't really buy the "you can have your cake and eat it too" message. If the north is truly consuming four or five times its share of resources, then it seems to me, if we ultimately strive to reduce suffering and eliminate the worst injustices, that we will have no choice but to renounce a large share of what we in the north now take for granted. From my perspective, there's no way around it: our concern for the future of the earth (and future generations of people) will be measured by how much we are willing to give up.

and part II. Among the "socially conscious" I often hear advanced the false dichotomy between improving the world and personal spiritual development. I think the socially engaged Buddhists are right on: these things are ultimately inseparable.

(Via Follow Me Here)

The Rocky Horror Picture Show and the Emergence of Recreational Evil:

Today, (if the reader will forgive a little hyperbole) we live in Frank-N-Furter's castle, in a society that turns sex, violence and forbidden fantasies into theatrical spectacles. Our cultural creations include ghoulishly violent video games and serial killer trading cards; slasher films and nature videos of animals killing their prey; writhing bodies on MTV and a Jeffrey Dahmer comic book. Our daytime talk shows are filled with one strange sexual situation after another, from the transvestite who tricks heterosexual men into having sex with him, to the male college student who attended class in the nude. As Freud might put it, sex and aggression, the two drives that are most commonly subjected to repression, have been set loose in popular culture, where they have been turned into mass entertainments.

There's a lot more interesting social criticism going on over at Transparency Now.

(Via rebecca's pocket, a blog so consistently great that I find I often avoid reading it because I don't have the time it'll take to follow all the fascinating links.)

While not about writers or writing, this has obvious application:

Thank you for your letter of March 16. After careful consideration, I regret to inform you that I am unable to accept your refusal to offer me an assistant professor position in your department.

This year I have been particularly fortunate in receiving an unusually large number of rejection letters. With such a varied and promising field of candidates it is impossible for me to accept all refusals.

Despite Whitson's outstanding qualifications and previous experience in rejecting applicants, I find that your rejection does not meet my needs at this time. Therefore, I will assume the position of assistant professor in your department this August. I look forward to seeing you then.

Best of luck in rejecting future applicants.

And an explanation of its origin:

...the version that's up at all these sites is from the original email that I sent to seven or eight close friends back when I was in grad school. I had no idea it had ever leaked out from this circle and become an anonymous meme that's still filling up four pages of Googlesearch seven or eight years after the fact.

I'm glad I didn't sign my own name to it before I fired it off to my slovenly friends and their quivering, amoral F-button fingers. Jesus. Talk about having my paranoid pseudonymizing instincts vindicated in spades.

(Via leuschke.org)

Redheads aren't temperamental, just oversensitive

People with red hair are more sensitive to pain and consequently need more anaesthetic during operations than other patients

You know what they say about men with big index fingers.

Big gloves. Oh, and big dicks.

According to Greek scientists, the length of a man's index finger can accurately predict the length of his penis.

My new million-dollar idea: lifelike index-finger-enlarging prostheses.

Man, the rationalizing animal:

What Libet did was to measure electrical changes in people's brains as they flicked their wrists. And what he found was that a subject's ''readiness potential'' — the brain signal that precedes voluntary actions — showed up about one-third of a second before the subject felt the conscious urge to act.

[...] Then the experimenters would use magnetic stimulation in certain parts of the brain just at the moment when the subject was prompted to make the choice. They found that the magnets, which influence electrical activity in the brain, had an enormous effect: On average, subjects whose brains were stimulated on their right-hand side started choosing their left hands 80 percent of the time.

And, in the spookiest aspect of the experiment, the subjects still felt as if they were choosing freely.

''What is clear is that our brain has the interpretive capacity to call free will things that weren't,'' he said.

No surprise to memeticists.

(Respectively via /., MeFi, the null device)

So proposed:

"That's Two down and the Universe to go."

"Yeah NASA, we've landed, but that "meters or feet" comment during our final approach was NOT funny!"

"We're gonna make a fortune selling these old Viking landers on eBay!"

(Thanks, Tom!)