found_drama

posted way after the fact:

I knew something was horribly wrong because of all the rope. More specifically, it was the [tag]rapelling[/tag] and the rope. The part that was supposed to be training came in dream-like flashes within the dream. (Meta-dreaming? I don’t know.) [tag]Tom Ridge[/tag] featured all too prominently in those early flashing portions. Almost as if his face (pallid and puffy as it already is) began to morph into that of a certain oil tycoon VP with every heavy breath. Then back again. However, since he came only in flashes, he was not the crux. More rapelling was where the fluid part of the dream superceded the previous broken flashes. Like giddy teardrops down floss, myself and a few others — a crack(ed?) team of special agents — did drop, Army Ranger rapelling style, our targets found and us prepared(?) to strike. Fear was in my heart. Well, adrenaline was in my heart and my [tag]amygdala[/tag] was pinging *FEAR*FEAR*FEAR* away in my brain. (Fear being easily confused neurochemically w/ excitation — basically IS excitation but that’s another post altogether) Uzi(?) in hand did I seek my quarry. I seem to recall the urgent orders of my commanding officer and the grim feelings of apathy I was confronted with. Then confronted about. But this was not me somehow and even as I raced through the high-ceilinged room, Uzi(?) in hand and too much aware of the warehouse-esque atmosphere, I knew from some spot just above the kidneys and fanning outward that everything would be OK. Acutely aware was I of two things. First, the dream. Second, the mission. And so, since it was a dream I could complete my mission, even if (and perhaps because) I was not myself. And so I spotted my quarry. Front and center, weapon pointed (this was to be an assassination, wasn’t it?), I had him. And everything fell in according to the mission’s parameters. It was [tag]Alex Patterson[/tag] masquerading as [tag]Lonnie Fisher[/tag]. However, closer inspection revealed it was Lonnie Fisher masquerading as [tag]Paul Hartnoll[/tag]. I had to let him go.

currently playing: Underworld “Cups”

1. Updated the Modus Ponens URL…
2. Added thewrongtim to the blogroll - - what an oversight that omission was!

Via Smart Mobs - there’s a petition going around to get Google to stop posting ads for essay writing services.

The ethics of this are a touch complicated, no? On the one hand you have the argument that this undermines education. Sure, OK. I’ll buy that. But where’s the free market? Is this the same thing as cigarette ads on TV or billboards?

currently playing: Liz Phair “Shane”

Via Sampo…

Put your iPod on random and ask each question before advancing to the next one.

• What do you think of me, iPod? Front Line Assembly “Infra-Red Combat”
• Will I have a happy life? Slickmick “Lecture”
• What do my friends really think of me? Boards of Canada “1969″
• Do people secretly lust after me? Peter Gabriel “Gracie’s Rapture”
• How can I make myself happy? Gorillaz “Tomorrow Comes Today”
• What should I do with my life? Faith No More “Ricochet”
• Why must life be so full of pain? Starecase “Sunshine”
• Will I die happy? Marcel Schonbrann “Maleta”
• Can you give me some advice? Underworld “Cowgirl”
• What do you think happiness is? Leuroj “Stickman”
• What’s my favorite fetish? Cevin Fisher “Music Saved My Life”

There was an infinite row of sexless clones at spare computer terminals all entering commands into a mysql prompt. Except that it was always secure text entry, all the time. The screens looked like: **************** They all had shaved heads except me. I had my hair. This one guy leaned over to tell me that the row was so long it wrapped around the world and that the row actually continued around in front of us as well. When I turned to look at him though, he was gone. Replaced with an identical twin who didn’t know what I was taking about. ****************