The Foul Birdo has Been Defeated

So you've probably noticed a proliferation of news stories and not a whole lot of added content from me in the past few days sans the aquarium and gender issues posts. I'm very tired and busy. I have been thinking about things and my mind is wandering off towards semiotics at the moment, though it has been concentrating on a paper since I got home besides the nap and an episode of Star Trek. Trying to write a blog post on how you had to review improper integrals since you haven't seen them since Calc II is more shameful than entertaining, anyways. Especially since I have been using them but not in the format you're technically supposed to. Though some of you reading may like shame.

In which case, watch this commercial:


Do you know what is happening in this ad? Don't tell me if you do, I'm too busy playing with puppies and kittens. I believe there should be a free "hug an animal" center in every community.

Speaking of games, I beat Super Mario 2 in 48 minutes. And no, I'm not trying to do a speed run like this guy(and I can't do the Bird Level like that).


He also appears to be playing on an original Nintendo, which is a lot more user-friendly than the ROM and Logitech controller that I have here. I just attempted my own speed run, which lasted seventeen-ish minutes and got as far as level 6-3's birdo boss. I only used The Princess, who is in fact the only character I ever use. Maybe I should branch out more, but I play this game to relax and not to compete.

On one hand I am completely in favor of the retro-game trend. Most of these are free to download and fun to play, though I actually have not gotten into any indie/retro gaming besides Knytt Stories and the aforementioned Marios, both of which I barely ever play. Knytt Stories is a really wonderful game introduced to me by Alex. The music is wonderful, soothing, and the gameplay is simple yet subtly challenging. The "plots" are simple yet extremely creative.

On the other I feel as if this part of an 80's nostalgia wave which is coming too soon. My generation has barely reached adulthood and here a lot of us are, reminisceing over our childhood. Perhaps this is telling of the times.

Mom managed to stroke Clingy's back without him running away today. All of the kittens sleep on the rocker, hide under the shed from the heat, sleep on the bench under the bamboo, and play in their "cave". Gaiylee has been missing for over a week at this point. We don't know where she went, which is very upsetting and a sad reality for feral cats.

I was just thinking about how Livejournal is actually a much better site in general than blogspot, with photo galleries, communities, and far more customizablity, yet its popularity with a lot of teenagers ironically caused it to loose many members in the long run. I switched to Blogger because I wanted this journal to be taken more seriously(as seriously as you can take such a journal, of course) and because at the time I thought it had a better interface. Which it does not, and I should really switch to Wordpress. Maybe after Europe I will take the time to do so.

Note: I have reformatted some of my posts for aesthetic reasons.

Tales from the Pond (Aquarium)

Source


Horrible article everyone should read

Yesterday I changed the water in my aquarium and parted the mess of Hornworth which has invaded it while I have been busy. I can't bring myself to throw any out, especially since it has become apparent both filters have not been working for a while. The aquarium is now completely dependent on its plants, which also means that I'm not going to add any other animals to that particular tank. The java moss has also experienced a sudden growth spurt. The inhabitants actually seem to enjoy all of the growth, and the only other plants present are crypts, Windelov, and Anubias, which are doing fine. The nana petite and barterii have both grown plantlets and there are little windelovs and crypts in various places, too. The moss ball has exploded.

I saw my paler Dario Dario at the front, which strangely appeared to be decked out nearly in battle colors and was showing the dominant "eye stripe". I was confused as to what had happened. I finally managed to spot Dopey doping around at the bottom and then Trixie, who proceded to boink her head on one of the filters. Dopey is an H. curp. hybrid in the tradition of irresponsible Petsmart suppliers. Trixie and Little Frog are obviously at least strongly influenced by H. bog., the more succesful subspecies. Dopey reminds me of a little man, an adorable little man who does funny things all the time. They were so cute I had to give them food. Little frog came out, obviously excited. He was bought at Aquatic Warehouse after stowing away in one of their tanks for a while, where I spotted him and decided he would be the final ADF. I proceeded to watch Little Frog figure out where the food was and then miscalcuate and go towards the bottom again. Naturally, Trixie was the first to figure out where it is, and LF joined her again while Dopey spun around the bottom like a dope. Trixie accidentally bit LF a bunch of times. Meanwhile, by the moss ball I see proof that the paler Dario has won his/her fight as she half heartedly chases away the more dominant male, who has a bite in his tail. I love the extra blue ruff on the top of his fins. These guys are so much fun and tiny. They don't really care about the food, as they feed on the multitude of microoganisms in the now very established aquarium.

Last I saw Trixie and LF were feeding, while Dopey..will figure things out one day.


Videos from Jezebel commentor/Jezebel

Waking up the Girl

I MUST HAVE THESE. Black Panthers used to be my favorite animal and still hold a competitive place.

I also want to see this film.
"In the film, a man's blow-up sex doll comes to life one day (as Bae Doo-na, the Korean actress, whom genre film fans will recognize from The Host and Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance.) She steps out, discovers the world, gets a job, and starts dating a video store clerk."

Here is a cool article written by a stay at home dad.

"As we step, or are forced, into the new roles that are presented to us, perhaps we should not lament, or vainly grasp at the responsibilities we feel we should have, but instead sack up and embrace the ones that are right in front of us.

At least that’s what I try to remind myself before I clean the bathroom and change the diaper genie."

In last night's dream I was in a play which turned into "reality". At first I was accused of being Anti-American because I said something criticizing an action of the US government. I remember coming home from rehearsals and talking to my next-door neighbor about how uncomfortable a dog playground our downstairs neighbor had bought made me feel because my window was now easily accessible from the ground for anyone somewhat agile. My neighbor, with whom I am in real life and in the dream on good terms with, snapped back that she thought I was being extremely rude, and I resolved to speak with my downstairs neighbors myself. Anyways, the play involved being in some sort of military project. The officer in charge, who's rank was never stated, despised me even though I was instrumental in the efforts of the troop. What I remember involved my being targeted as the culprit in some acts of vandalism to a brick terrace among other places, but though the rest of the troop objected to my conviction I was resolved to be thrown into disciplinary action and then jail to meet some rebels for unclear reasons. The troop, meanwhile, was captured by some rebels, but then a twist took place which made the officer-in-charge the actual villain. The troop actually sort of reminds me of the infantry in "Starship Troopers", come to think of it.

The next dream I had included my mom, dad, and imaginary relatives, one of whom was a female cousin whom I was excited to see. We went scuba-diving in a huge aquarium which reminded me of Mandalay Bay's exhibit and included a huge mechanical puffer and sting ray. For some reason I kept changing clothes, and I had a really dirty frilly blue undershirt and long, brown peasant skirt on with a knitted blue sweater. One of the imaginary male cousins criticized me for reasons I can't remember, but had something to do with changing clothes. Then the dream switched to a portrayal of an Iron-man type scientist who interacts with an undefined blob and gains the ability to transform into a blob himself. His assistant and best friend fears for his sanity, and finally finds him when he causes some bacteria to photophloresce(not sure if that's a word). I remember doubting the scientific validity of this plot point in the dream. The scientist is known as a brilliant but childish. He could, however, still conquer the city. He eventually accepts his assistant's help, and I end up at UCSD somehow, where there are a lot of parties taking place.

Title is a pun on Garbage-"Breaking up the Girl". Nope, has nothing to do with this entry.

Early Afternoon Tea

I feel very good right now. A weight has been lifted from my shoulders and my mind is responding in accord. I'm not out of the woods, not yet, but the progress is extremely encouraging.

I've been thinking about literary theory. The subject is based on the material that came before it and is always changing. It is like science in a way, because careful study and experimentation must be done to determine the basics, although rules are much harder to determine because of the vast generative power of the mind. Different minds also do not follow the same rules and the same mind can follow different sets of rule, or at least that's how I like to think of it. The thought of an overriding generative algorithm scares me, so I admit I have a bias. Thank god for Godel's theorem. I prefer to think of the mind in some ways as a fractal. I wonder what work has been done along that line? I believe I will look it up.

I just found a baby stick bug on my ceiling. I'm going to go and contemplate the implications of that.

Suprise@

So in the same turn events that took Chris by surprise, my two dead adult stick insects have turned into many baby stick insects. I'm unsure what to do at this point, as there are obviously many both dead and alive inside. I fed them, but what do you do with an invasive species's offspring? Maybe I should look up a local dealer specializing in stick insects....

Attack of the Fish Nerd and Other Stories

This little guy is one of 200 new species discovered in Madagascar.

Today I actually attempted to brush up my French accent. I used to have a very good French accent at one point, but this interfered with my previous natural Spanish accent. Natural, of course, being what happens when people attempt to cram the language down your throat since infancy; I went to a preschool where they attempted to teach it to me. Anyways, the Spanish accent reinstated itself and made my French sound amusing to say the least, so I am trying to make both accents coexist with each other.

So Practical Fishkeeping's newest newsletter came out! Included in this issue: A man inserts a 50cm eel up his rectum with predictable results, nearly all cephalopods are venomous, a breakthrough in shoaling studies has occured, whale sharks are all related, and world's oldest brain studied.

I am really happy for Maidenhead Aquatic's success in breeding the stingrays! Oh, and Chris landed a small gold nugget pleco about a month ago.

I am too tired to read other news, such as what's actually going on in the world and killings and murder and genocide and NVIDIA unveils Tesla clusters. Discuss?

Musings and Roly-polys

"You are what you think. You are what you do."
-The Dhammapada

I think that people forget the first part of this quote too often in our society. To me, it's very important, and symbolizes something I strive for.

I helped my dad garden today. I caught a blue pill bug and was going to keep it but it expended so much effort getting out of the container I put it in that I let it go. I love pill bugs, in part because I believe they are the only crustaceans to live on land. There is something so cool about them and it's great that they are so common. One day I want an ant farm for pill bugs.
Dirt is good for the body, good for the soul. I sang "Sunshowers" in the shower after being covered in it. Feeding stray cats is good for their kittens. Roses are fractalian shapes that are present in a wide variety of natural objects. Maybe the soul is a fractal, an overarching pattern present in chaos. I should study more now.

Black Cats, Part 2

If anyone reads my former posts he or she will probably notice that I go back and edit them occasionally for spelling and grammar. I'm pretty sure that I'm just kidding myself with the whole "people going back and re-reading posts" thing, but oh well. Here is the conformation for the hypothetical person who does.


There were kittens born in a box on our patio, bloody and without fur. Once they were old enough that we could handle them my parents and I used to sneak them out of the nest when Mother was away and then give them back to her at night.
Then the kittens started dying. Out of a litter of four, we found one dead one, then another, and then another. The last one to die lived to open her beautiful blue eyes. We had been planning to keep her and had even named her after a mother cat in one of my favorite children's books. One day I noticed she was moving slowly and asked my mother to take her to the vet. To clarify, nothing was visibly wrong with the kitten, and kittens do simply die, as is the way of nature. Another day, we looked in her box and she was not moving at all. We rushed her to the vet, but it was too late for the poor thing. Apparently since the kittens had been born in December it was too cold for them to survive. I still remember how their heads rolled when they died, back and forth, unlike the way a living kitten would move.

Spring came, Mother was in heat again and the same scene repeated itself, sex and all. More newborn kittens, another litter of four, arrived in a box on the patio. There was a black and white one who's name I can't remember, a fluffy one named Cuddles, another fluffy black kitten who's name I can't remember, and the runt of the litter, Snuggles. The unnamed black kitten died. Nevertheless, we had a lot of fun with the other babies, putting them in shoe boxes, giving them baths and then watching Mother nurse them each night. Mr President sometimes came by to visit the kittens. I wanted to keep Cuddles because I was convinced he was going to grow up into an enormous, cottony kitty, but we ended up keeping Snuggles, the quietest of the bunch, because he developed an eye infection. My mom always said that Snuggles never gave her any trouble at bath time, but Cuddles would complain loudly. Either way, the decision turned out to be a very good idea.

Once the kittens were all adopted, Mother went into heat and had happy time with Mr. President again. But this time we didn't find any kittens after the appropriate amount of time. My dad said that he was glad that we could wash our hands of the matter, but my mom and I were not so satisfied.
Then, one day when I got up to go to school, I came down to find a tiny, short-haired black kitten sleeping in a shoe box. Apparently my parents had gotten up to find this little rascal with Mother and Blackie standing behind her, Snuggles, Muffy, and Fluffy, Muffy and Fluffy being our two elder cats, staring through the door, watching her bawling to get in through the glass. My parents happily obliged. Her name was Naughty Katy.

Mother transferred a couple other kittens into the yard, but we knew there were more. We finally figured out that they were in our next-door neighbor's backyard, then broke and entered to remove the rest of them. One of them, a kitten I would later name Blueders, scratched my hand in the process. This was a litter of seven, with a beautiful, longhair, loudmouthed calico in the mix. We creatively named her Calico.
Stay tuned for part 3, which won't be nearly as long!

This is Snuggles

Black Cats

Today I went to Petsmart and held an adorable, fuzzy black kitten. He purred the entire time I held him, looked at me lovingly, and when he was put into back into the window box attempted to run back to me. If I could have adopted him I would have done so without a second thought.

Like many people do, I grew up with some strange superstitions about black cats. Then, one summer, my family and I came back from Trinidad to find our backyard filled with an influx of strange kitties. These passed too and from our sight for a while until one day a family led by a small, short-haired black cat started to visit regularly. Against the wishes of my parents I left a cat treat out on the patio, and, as the cliched saying goes, the rest is history. The cats stayed with us in the backyard. I don't remember how long it took my parents to start feeding them themselves, but it was a very short span of time. We watched the kittens grow, wild and free, and leave the family one at a time until only two were left: a longhair chocolate-colored cat named Blackie*, and a short-haired black-and-white cat with "socks" named Frisky. Frisky was "my" kitten when he was growing up, but he also disappeared one day. Blackie stayed with us a long time, until after the third litter his mother(who was simply dubbed "Mother" by us) had, but he also left eventually. He had a favorite blue string which we sometimes used to lure him into the house where we would pet him while he collapsed into a fear-struck ball of fluff. One time he took the blue string and hid it. I don't remember how we go it back; I think it involved breaking into a neighbor's yard.

I was too young then to know that we should have brought all of these cats indoors and I still sometimes regret not doing so, especially Blackie, whom I adored. Having outdoor cats is difficult because if they one day disappear their owner has no idea what happened to them, whether it be they moved into a new territory or got run over by a car.

After most of the first litter had left Mother went into heat that spring. "Meow-wow-wow-wow-wowwww!" and all of the neighborhood cats lined up, quite literally! I particularly remember a gray cat and a striped orange cat that my family and I actually had names for. She tapped all of her suitors on the nose with her paw except for one cat whom we had dubbed Mr. President, and then proceeded to have sex with him on the patio. We though that Mr. President was a Burmese cat at the time, but I think he may have been a Ragdoll.
Then there were kittens born in a box on our patio.

*Blackie has no racial connotations. This was simply the name an elementary school girl gave to a huge, fluffy kitty.

I'm getting tired of writing, so I will continue this later.

Wombats

They must be hugged.
Happy two year and ten month anniversary, Chris!