Friday, March 31, 2006

More Friday snippets


- I took this picture Wednesday at 4pm. Next year, there will be towers of condos here. (At the empty lot at Thiemens and Cavendish for those of you who live here.)

- The more benefits your company offers, the harder you can be expected to work. (I teach at a company where the employees are treated to two massages per month at work. Sounds nice, eh? They are the most stressed out students I have.)

- The real trick to making a nuclear bomb is very similar to designing a can of beer that won't explode in the freezer. (I betcha didn't know that!)

- Since the mind stores dream memories in exactly the same way as "real" ones, how do we know our memories are "real"?

- If there were a food that smelled like diesel exhaust, I would eat it. I don't know why, but I adore that smell.

- I think if the word "them" didn't exist in our language (only "us"), we would view the world very differently.

- One of the things I appreciate most about new cars these days is the little symbol indicating which side the gas cap is on.

-I don't feel safe when bus drivers blab on their cellphone but I don't have the balls to confront them when they do it. I'm certain it's against regulations.

- I don't pay much attention to lyrics and (perhaps consequently) I listen to lots of music in different languages. Screw the poetry, I'm looking for genius in melody, rhythm and chord progression.

16 comments:

nongirlfriend said...

"I think if the word "them" didn't exist in our language (only "us"), we would view the world very differently."

Great point!

(I love the smell of diesel exhaust, too)

Snooze said...

Absolutely drivers can't talk on their cell phones. Phone it in to the transit authority (in Toronto you can do that - I don't know about Montreal) - from your cell, of course.

I'm the same way with music although I often do look up the lyrics after the fact.

St. Dickeybird said...

I love listening to music in a foreign language! You can focus more on the intonation and soul of the voice (and instruments).

Jason said...

I can't remember lyrics to a song to save my life. So, like you, I don't listen to them much.

GayProf said...

I have to pay attention to the lyrics when I understand the language (though I am also happy to listen to music in languages that I don’t understand (which is any other than English)).

I can understand the diesel thing. The smell of gasoline when filling up my car always attracts me. Then again, don’t people actually get high off of that? Wait – What?

Chunks said...

If you like diesel exhaust, you should move here! Every second vehicle on the road is a 3/4 ton diesel truck! Personally, it makes me gag...but that's a throwback from my pregnancy days.

I pay attention to lyrics, although sometimes I mis-hear the lyrics. I realized the other day that I have been singing the wrong words to Benny and the Jets for thirty years!

madamerouge said...

"If there were a food that smelled like diesel exhaust, I would eat it. I don't know why, but I adore that smell."

You must really like bio-diesel, the diesel made from vegetable oil.

_Psycho said...

The smoke is going out of your brain, must be something like that, it's getting clear there :)

Em said...

Since the mind stores dream memories in exactly the same way as "real" ones, how do we know our memories are "real"?

That's easy. It stretches the limits of credulity to think that I could actually be in love with both a man and a woman and that they could love me back and that the sex is amazing and that everyone is okay with that...

Oh wait.

Patricia said...

too bad about the beautiful field...
i believe dreams and our memories of them to be as real as the memory i'll have 2 minutes from now, of leaving this comment.
i like the smell of gasoline, but i've never differentiated between "regular" and diesel. however, i'm not fond of the rumbling noise a diesel engine makes.
my current car is a "rightie" in terms of the gas tank. people still give me dirty looks when i pull in the "wrong way" to get gas.
i'm a fan of your snippets.

Lyvvie said...

- Since the mind stores dream memories in exactly the same way as "real" ones, how do we know our memories are "real"?

I have, many times, had a conversation with someone who has no idea what I'm talking about because I had previous conversations with them in a dream. (see, "us" wouldn't work in that sentence)

I prefer the smell of gasoline over exhaust. It's divine.

Spider said...

Love the last "them"/"us" post - may we also add taking out "I" and using only "we"...

I was walking downtown last night as a city bus stopped on the same corner I was standing on - I too LOVE the smell of diesel exhaust... also love gas before it went unleaded - guess that explains a lot!

t said...

My brother once asked me when I reminded him of something long ago,
"Have you ever wondered if it's a real memory or just a memory of a memory?"

I love the smell of fresh latex paint.
Semi-gloss.

(Just kiddin'...it doesn't matter.)

I'm with you in regards to music and I know very few people that are like us! I seldom listen to lyrics either and found out years later that some songs I liked were about drugs or cannibalism (supposedly).

t said...

I see some here love the smell of gas.
Growing up I knew one guy who used to sniff cans of gasoline to try to get high. It was when he did it and smoked a cigarette at the same time that we really kept our distance.

CoffeeDog said...

RE : Gas tanks. I recently drove up to the gas pump in my own car, after driving a rentla car for two weeks. I pulled up on the wrong side, in MY OWN CAR. I needed one of those idiot lights to remind me.

RE : Bus driver. Call the transit folks and complain - get the drivers name. On the other hand if you tell them the day / time and the route, they'll probably know who the driver is.

Luciferus said...

I don't listen to lyrics either, at least not for a loooong time. Then I eventually do pay attention to them and end up loving the song even more. It's kind of a double payoff option. I don't know anyone else who does this.