Via B^2, for P.: [tag]Voluptuous Panic[/tag]…
The [tag]Erotic[/tag] World of [tag]Weimar[/tag] Berlin [...] Voluptuous Panic’s expanded edition includes the new illustrated chapter “Sex Magic and the Occult,” documenting German pagan cults and their bizarre erotic rituals, including instructions for entering into the “Sexual Fourth Dimension.” The deluxe hardcover edition also includes sensational accounts of hypno-erotic cabaret acts, Berlin fetish prostitution, [...] descriptions and illustrations of Aleister Crowley’s Berlin OTO secret society, and sex crime (“The Curious Career and Untimely Death of Fritz Ulbrich”).
No, really. It’s not about Nazis.
Via 802 Online: You look familiar… MySpace!?
Normally this would be a relief because I hate people and don’t want to meet 99.9% them. But this is the second time I’ve seen someone from MySpace I actually wanted to meet but was baffled by what sort of etiquette might govern the situation and was nowhere near drunk enough to say “fuck etiquette”.
What I really latched onto was the “99.9%” part. I’m guilty of saying this too but for once I thought to myself: “Self, what does that mean?” So to put it into persepective…:
Population Size
(equivalent to) |
Your 0.1% is… |
2,000
(So… Your average high school or small college) |
2 people |
9,291
(a small-ish town… say: Barre, VT) |
9 people |
38,889
(a small city… say: Burlington, VT) |
39 people |
608,827
(a small state; i.e., Vermont) |
609 people |
295,734,134
(the United States) |
295,734 |
6,624,215,000
(Earth) |
6,624,215 |
So… I guess not knowing (or wanting to know) 99.9% of people in a given sample/population is healthy but it sort of depends on the scale. Only wanting to know 0.1% of your high school or college makes you a social outcast. But at the same time, that’s a reasonably healthy (if not busy!) social life in a town like Burlington. So (and this is me going on the record): I’m reasonably confident that I have no interest in meeting 99.9999% of all people.
Quite possibly the second funniest thing ever: the
[tag]Stats Rap[/tag].
(There’s a 99.9% probability you will laugh out loud (give or take a standard deviation of like 2%).)
A little pick-up game of two-on-two basketball. It’s me and a woman co-worker versus two of the adult contestants from the “What Do Kids Know?” game from Magnolia. (There are some remarks and gestures that make me think that our opponents think that she and I are together but there’s nothing lusty or unchaste about it. It’s just a pick-up game.) It’s a pretty basic blacktop court; the kind you’d find outside of just about any public school. (There’s even a playground off to one side.) Our opponents are sending a lot of trash talk my way. Mostly I’m just serving as a pick for my teammate. They keep directing comments at me though because I haven’t done much passing or shooting. When I do, they see why. Gravity (for me and me alone) is all wrong. The ball hangs too long in the air and doesn’t bounce with much force when I dribble it; my shots sail too high and too slowly. We have to wrap up the game on account of rain but it works out fine, I’m off to the dentist anyway. But he drugs me as soon as I get to the lobby; two pills shoved down my throat and an injection. So drowsy, so sluggish. Gravity making even less sense now than on the court. Above becomes below and the hygienist leans me way back into the chair and I fall right through it.
