Don't let the bastards get you down.

More importantly, don't turn into someone else's bastard.

technologia en absentia

I'm pretty sure that makes exactly zero sense.  That's okay, because I'm pretty sure you've figured out what it means.

It's the reality of our era. We are saturated by technology, but we utterly fail to make that technology work for us. Where I look to hear about a new generation of freely-educated students who spent their time learning for the love of it, I see a generation of twitch-happy gamers barely capable of participating in an activity that doesn't involve virtual reality.

If you use technology, always make sure it is for a purpose. Otherwise, it's just noise.

Things that don't make sense to me (yet)

1) Trigonometric functions

2) Automobile dependence

3) My bike's bottom bracket

4) Black holes

5) Beans

Marijuana Olympics

We have the technology...
We have the time....
We have the talent...

Let's get this boat rollin'

Things that make sense to me

1) Atomic emission spectra

2) My bike wheels

3) Calvin and Hobbes

4) Guitar strings

5) Rust

Dear Google

You are eating my entire personal life. I use your services to stay up on classes, communicate professionally and personally, and to manage information. You are a giant creepy monster of a company.

I find every cargo van that stays in one place for more than 10 minutes slightly creepy, though. So...

Oh well.

I fucking hate lawnmowers

You know that sound. You're drifting on a boat made of a banana peels with Spongebob, when he turns around and yanks the ripcord, starting the loudest banana-peel-boat outboard you've ever seen. The boat gets going so fast that the waves start knocking banana peels off. You try to warn Spongebob, but he can't hear you over the motor, and laughs at your funny dance. As the peels disappear and the holes grow, the odd ship dips lower and lower until it, Spongebob and everything below your neck is submerged. Then, the ship disappears beneath the sheets, and you're left in a sea of blankets with the still-deafening sound of its motor.

Blankets?

And now you're awake, you realize, because your neighbor has decided that his quarter acre of over watered grass is worth 7AM on Sunday.

Seriously. American lawns are like American children.