mntd

-Critique of Pure Reason quote: "Thetic is the term applied to every collection of dogmatical propositions.", 263-

Lovely little nostalgic dream last night. I was at my grandparents' house, getting ready to go swimming, which I'm rather fond of but generally unable to do due to the lack of a pool nearby (sound of agents storming in to revoke my GDDoD citizenship). My grandparents have a community pool! When I was a wee munchkin, I would clamor to go EVERY day when my family visited. Well, anyway, in the dream there were some slight difficulties, as the water oddly cut off (with a sulfurous smell) partway through my shower, then we had to wait a long time to finally leave for the pool, and I read a children's book sitting on the ottoman (n.b. the leather ottoman which DOES NOT EXIST in my maternal grandparents' house, but in my ama and ankong's old house... in case you're wondering, those are the formal Chinese titles for grandparents -- I use them, handily, to distinguish between my maternal -- Caucasian -- and paternal -- Fujian Chinese -- relatives), which was talking about sandwiches. Apparently the main characters were Aristocat-like spoiled animals and their mother had to convince them that the food was ok to eat, even though she was a little leery of it as well. So.

Spring is a busy time. You would think that with all the progress humanity has made, what with lights and bulk agriculture and the like, that we wouldn't still be stuck to the circadian rhythms of PLANTS. But we are. I think it stems slightly from the school schedule, which IS still stuck on the circadian rhythms of plants

{Sidenote: educators, if you're reading this, please consider switching to year-round! It really does work better, as I know from my brief but good experience with it in elementary school...}

that it was set to back when we WERE all family farmers and did need a bloated summer break and a crammy spring quarter as everyone tries to hurry up and finish before the schoolyear does. Anyway, I speculate that this has created a weird ripple effect, and like some delicate differential equation (such as the one modelling weather), the ripple has blown up into a vast, illogical spring season of doomy-doom even for adults, or should I say, small motile fruit trees?

That being said, qa aad7t will be on hiatus for the month of April. See y'all in May!

Reality check. And yes, I really do mean that.

jft fjf

-John 8:34 quote: "Jesus replied, 'I tell you the truth, everyone who sins is a slave to sin.'"-

Whooo... another highly interesting night for dreams. My first recalled dream involved reverting to kindergarten, yet somehow being in piano level 8, which is pretty much only possible if one is born at level 3. The other was about getting an ENORMOUS tarantula as a pet (we're talking large toaster-sized here, bigger than any actual spider I know of!), feeding it yellow liquid, and trying to keep it from going down the drain. In case you're scratching your head at the moment, well, I originally tried to feed him in the sink, and he also shrunk to a small fraction of his "real" size when hungry, small enough to almost slip down the drain a couple times. The drain, by the way, kept opening because beetles would crawl up out of it and push it up, even when I closed it first. Ummmmmmm... no, I didn't become lucid. I marvel at my density.

The Tragedy of Hand Soap: essentially, it smells like, eh, well, the charming Mandarin euphemism for this is "long convenience". Hand soap smells like a "long convenience", which I suppose should be expected, since it lurks in the bathroom all day, absorbing the aerosolized flush aromas (to utterly gross yourself out, try this: fill the toilet bowl with blue dye, then hold a piece of paper several feet above it. Flush. Observe the blue specks now adhering to the paper. You'll never want to flush again).

The worst part is, no one really needs to use hand soap in their daily endeavors. Technically, no one has to even use water, actually, as sand and palm fronds can sterilize the hands just as well if rubbed against them vigorously. But I've literally gotten to the point of sensitivity that someone several feet away billows out a clearly detectable cloud of soapreek after a visit to the "comfort room" (another charming Asian euphemism, though this one's from the Philippines).

Guess I should be thankful we don't still use tallow soap.

Reality check. And please, easy on the clean.

aafs7

-Blogger quote: "Manage your blogs."-

Had a rather exciting dream last night, no trouble remembering it for sure! In fact, it's probably only the excitingness of it all that kept me from noticing: (1) familiar dream signs, such as the empty house with secret doorways, and (2) the fact that I had a remarkable knowledge of things I had not experienced, e.g. the fact that I went into a strange house (to use the restroom) and KNEW (because I was the one dictating the plot, of course) that I would be safe, even though I KNEW that a shooting had just occurred in the house. Furthermore, the whole "shooting" storyline came about after seeing police cruisers zooming around a corner, something I now recognize as suspiciously similar to a scene I saw in real life the afternoon before... though to be fair to my sleep-muddled mind, I very rarely have dreams that reference events of the previous day (which I gather is somewhat unusual).

And I had an idea of what to blog about this morning, but it was pushed out by a simple fun fact that I just had to share. Here goes.

A group of crows is not called a flock, but a "murder"!

I am still chuckling.

Reality check. And watch out for those murderous crows.

,,q

-MystCommunity quote: "The winds moan loudly over red-brown cliffs. Large chasms in the sea form endless layers of waterfalls. Clouds revolve and orbit overhead. Near the edge of the cliffs grow stubby trees which more closely resemble projections of rock than living wood. Beneath them labor small furry norlorngii in their communal hives. Innocently they labor, unsuspecting of the imminent danger approaching them. One of the plants they are working near emits a toxic mist when touched, and the workers have come close to touching it several times.", Great Tree Chain Mail-

Fairly well nothing as far as recalled dreams last night.

I was amused this morning to notice that my stomach was growling rhythmically as I sat up in bed. It made me wonder if, in some imaginary flipped-around universe, my bed was complaining just as much as I do that its mattress (i.e. me) is making strange regular creaks, and that it cannot sleep, because it sleeps during the day, the universe being flipped around as it is.

Reality check. If my bed begins to blog about ME, then that might be a good indication of unreality.

nq fjf

-Johnny Tremain quote: "We are the sons, yes we are the sons, the Sons of Liberteeee!", sung over and over again throughout the movie until the audience is SO sick of it that they begin to sing along... substituting the word "tyranny" for "liberty", because it rhymes and scans so perfectly-

No dreams of note last night.

Thought to ponder for the day. When you accidentally splew spit onto somebody while talking, how often do they notice it? Do you not notice anybody else splewing simply because they don't, and you (and I) are the only freak saliva-mutants on the face of the earth, or do you not notice because they do, but it is not noticeable? Further, do they not mention anything because they have been conditioned not to notice, or merely conditioned not to exclaim loudly (as they would have done when both you and they were in elementary school) "SAY it, don't SPRAY it!!!".

Are you dreaming? More importantly, are you splewing?

,,s

-World Book quote: "WORLD, HISTORY OF. The history of the world is the story of man--from the first civilization to the space age", my edition is ancient, to say the least... they barely include the moon landing-

My dreams last night were not quite as detailed upon recall as the previous two nights', though as far as I know they at least were not fixated on running away from imagined peril.

Yet another small despondency: rhythmic bed-creaks. Always occur in greatest frequency when one is worn out but has a whirring mind, and therefore is already having trouble falling asleep to begin with. You will be lying back in your comfortable bed, presumably not doing your BED any harm, for goodness' sakes, and suddenly there will be an alarming CRICK! like the mattress is contemplating caving in on the bed slats and dumping you very painfully into your own trestle. This protest would be bearable, if only it occurred singularly, much as hiccups are not all that bad one by one. Instead, your bed insists on repeating the performance, with mechanical precision, as if some parallel civilization is measuring time by the perfectly spaced tick-tock-cricks emanating from your bedroom.

And why, after all, DOES it repeat itself so regularly? It is not as if you are leaping up and down upon your docile bed, as your mother so strictly forbode in your formative years. No! You are lying perfectly still, barely even breathing (and you are certainly not breathing in time to the sounds), so how can the mattress possibly mroink down, then recock itself so it can mroink down again, all with such perfectly even spacing? It is this fact, this fruitless philosophical musing, that more than anything else makes the rhythmic bed-creak impossible to tune out.

Reality check. If you are fleeing a factory run by children with the founder of Craigslist, you may be in a dream.

as

-Blogger quote: "post-create.g?blogID=1927537434726608281"-

Busy computer yesterday. And busy dreams! Whoa! It really does help to get up right after having them. I dreamt yesterday night that I was faking my death (along with... Craig Newmark??) so that we could flee the factory that he owned that was run by children. And he had this crazy electric car that could morph into glider wings and a tent! Um, yeah. Then last night, I had a dream that I was fleeing (again!) from a castle this time, with the prince, on the back of a talking goose.

Ooooookay.

Given all that excitement, I am actually rather at a loss on what to blog about. So I will write about this keyboard in front of me (tremble at my creativity!). It is black. It has a spacebar in the front. On the right side is a grid of numbers with little arrows underneath them/cryptic PgUp, PgDn, Home, and End marks. There are also separate arrow keys to the left of the number pad, as well as End, Home, Page Down, and Page Up keys. Redundancy is a recurring theme in keyboards, as there are also number keys above the letter keys, as well as two Shift, Tab, Ctrl, Alt, and [windows] keys. There are function keys above the strip of number keys, which seem oddly vestigial considering that I've seen very few actual programs that USE these keys anymore.

In the top right-hand corner, the pleasantly green Num Lock light is on. It strikes me that the very hue it shines would make a very nice color for a dragon.

Reality check. Need I say more...

nd nmqtnmqt q

-Famous quote: "I am not a crook!", former U.S. President Nixon-

Oddly enough, the fact that I woke up blindingly early for a sunrise Easter service this morning actually helped me capture my dream in detail. It involved incidents that would require both too much backstory and personal information to explain. It was also one of those that had a purely coincidental correlation with what happened later in the day (somewhat like when I was a wee tyke and dreamed about teeth. Then woke up to find one of my loose teeth rolling around in my mouth. Brains are smart like that)

Happy Easter!

Reality check. Why is it that many dreams involve loose teeth?

jf7t nmqtnmqt7t

-Pinball Science quote: "Build wacky pinball games packed with science facts and learning fun!"-

Another morning of muddled dreams. All I remember with certainty is placing my old wire-framed glasses in their case on my nightstand. I think somehow they helped me remember... something... at any rate, there was some justification as to why I was handling them instead of my current glasses.

Strange how people (that includes me) tend to roll their eyes at new buzzwords. When one really stops to think, though, it would actually be better if we had more of them being invented. The English language, after all, is infuriatingly imprecise: the classic example here being the word "love". Now, I KNOW for a fact that many ancient languages (or even modern ones with ancient roots) had multiple words for all the ideas currently under the "love" umbrella. So why in the world did these terms get merged? I mean, it's one thing to imagine that a mostly physical/emotional crush is somehow connected to unconditional love, but it is quite another to foist this idea onto all succeeding generations! Or to imagine that an intense enjoyment of a subject like science, math, or literature somehow equates with either of those two!

And it doesn't work just to substitute in more precise words (like "enjoyment" or "attraction") because then people suddenly think that your feelings are not as passionate as you intend to convey... but yet, "love" is too intense of a word. Even though people know that you are referring to the milder form, doesn't it still demean the word, just a little, if it is used for such various different purposes? "What ifs" are rarely a good idea, but I do wonder sometimes if our current cultural confusion between loving someone truly unconditionally and loving someone (or something) because of certain qualities is due, at least partially, to this simple linguistic flaw.

Reality check. Wow, that was a heavier post than usual.

aq a

-Brother's project quote: "The cover should be visually appealing."-

Not much in the way of dreams last night either. I think I had it all together in my mind, but moved and lost it. Hmph.

Computers are funny things. They're supposed to be all virtual and advanced and whatever, but it's really quite charming when you stop to consider how many of their interfaces are lifted right off of physical "meatspace". I mean: buttons! Most tiny electronic devices nowadays try to minimize those simple little switches, but the screens computers are littered with "buttons" which still operate almost exactly like normal instrument-panel buttons. You merely press them with a deformed arrow-shaped object instead of your finger (and that could be debated, since ultimately you press the very real button on the mouse with your finger to do this).

Also: menus. Unfortunately, though these "menus" are much more solicitous than tangible menus -- popping up before you at the twitch of a finger -- they do have the disadvantage that you can rarely order food with them. Instead, you get a "window". Excuse me? Waiter? I would like the Creme de Plateglass, please...

It gets even weirder inside programs (note: how did computer programs get their name? From concert programs?? What does that have to do with commanding a computer to do something???). The top of the screen contains a "toolbar" which presumably in real life would hold hammers, screwdrivers, and the like, but instead holds "menus". Why then is it not called a "menu rack" or "that counter in the waiting area of a restaurant that patrons steal culinary literature from as they are waiting for the party of 50 before them to finish chit-chatting"? Further, the "program" often contains the ability to "copy" and "paste" (moving inexplicably now from the toolshed into the office), which I suppose is theoretically possible of a concert program as well, though probably frowned upon.

And then comes the pure romance when you have finished your work: you are given the opportunity to "save" the distressed, damsel-document. From WHAT is unclear, though the ominously whimsical "trash can" in the corner of the screen can be up to no good. Once the document is safely saved, she can then be retrieved at any time by selecting "open" (or more poetically "restore") from the "file" "menu", hinting, perhaps, that the mode of opening involves chains and/or prison bars which must be slowly and carefully weakened with a metal file so that the lady can be freed from the vile dungeon in which she hath most wofully been held.

But wait. I thought you just "saved" her, you good-for-nothing "hero" cad!!

Reality check. And by the way, why is it that in a computer, "open" has nothing to do with "close"?

mnq 7t q

-Toolbar quote: "File Edit View Favorites Tools Help"-

I had an excruciating "fluffy seed" moment as far as dreams go, this morning. I am POSITIVE something very interesting occurred, but I've completely lost it. I wish I had a mental drinking straw. ;-)

The U.S. government is awfully strange when you stop to think about it. I mean, we have this document that with a little squeezing could fit on ONE piece of paper, and yet it requires us to constantly have NINE Supreme Court judges to make a living out of interpreting it, as well as hordes and hordes of more local courts. Furthermore, there are laws, which are sort of second-class citizens as far as important documents -- we merely "elect" representatives that decide on these, and all these representatives invariably disagree on everything except subsidizing pig farmers. And "elections". When you stop to think about them, they seem truly bizarre.

When have you ever (in a business perhaps) had a friend in which you had so much confidence that you not only promoted their merits to everyone you met (in which case they fervently defended their own friends) but manufactured signs, bumper stickers, and promotional buttons to further their climb up the corporate ladder? Now, transfer these activities over to a TOTAL STRANGER that several people have gotten to perhaps shake the hand of but otherwise is just a mysterious "candidate". The desired TOTAL STRANGER is then selected by marking small circles on long sheets of paper, which are then counted, and the one with the most circles gets to represent the will of the people (except when he doesn't, since direct democracy=mob rule) or be the figurehead the country. The country in which you live. But never fear, it only lasts for 4-8 years, at which time the TOTAL STRANGER that has been working on matters and has just now started to get used to his job -- who is just now seeing policies come to fruition -- is booted out in favor of someone who has never held the office before in their life!

Ah, America. You're a very wacky country, but I'm glad you're mine.

Are you dreaming?

mn7t

-Magix manual quote: "You can move any object to any position in the arranger with the mouse, both horizontally on a track, but also vertically between tracks. Load a second audio file!", pp. 18-

I don't remember much coherent of my dreams last night. I think I was in a differential equations class at one point. Hm.

Seems like the best thing Wikipedia is good for is odd technical terms that sort of make you go "oh, so there's actually a WORD for that?" and smile. There's something vaguely egotistical about that feeling one gets, isn't there? That happiness when you find out that you've actually been thinking about something that's a major concept in philosophy or science or whatever, then to suddenly find out that what you've been thinking of (all on your own) is famous... and more importantly, has a name.

Just yesterday, I was originally researching something semi-boring on Wikipedia when I happened to get caught on a "WikiTangent!" and go off and browse interesting articles. One such was Philosophy (another fun thing to do on Wikipedia: search for a humorously broad topic, such as "Water" or "Life" or "Thought" or, well, "Philosophy" and see just how long the article spans), which led on to the Regress Problem. The Regress Problem basically states that there is nothing that can be definitively proved as true knowledge from a purely philosophical standpoint, since, to count as knowledge, it would have to be justified. Well, how do you justify it? The justificatory argument must be true, i.e. it has to be justified as well. But that means you need a third argument to justify THAT argument, and so on, without end.

There are two main workarounds to this.

1. Just decide that something is true without proof, than work from there (e.g. "I doubt, therefore I think; I think, therefore I am"). This is Foundationalism.
2. Coherentism: seek sets of arguments that are consistent, with the "end" argument justifying the "beginning" argument. This is considered reasonable if there are enough intervening arguments in between to make it unlikely for it to be consistent, yet false. If there are too few arguments in between, that's circular reasoning (badbadbad).

I personally think the first is a little inelegant, though the second carries some risk of arbitrariness as well, I suppose, if one doesn't pick sufficiently large sets.

Reality check. Philosophy sometimes does pop up in dreams, after all.

mqma mqma

-Telephone quote: "TUE 2:10P Handset #1"-

Well, I had a dream last night that involved my relatives singing about my family's Social Security Numbers. For those who live outside the States, trust me when I say: that's disquieting. Our SSN's are pretty much our legal identities over here, the kind of information you're supposed to keep so secret that many official forms allow you to opt out of supplying it. Imagine my consternation when I found out (in the dream) that the song had actually been published into a book! But yet, that's just the sort of silly, spontaneous things that my relatives would do...

I've discovered another Vast Conspiracy of the Parking Lot. This one is perhaps more benign, as it involves little risk of harm to one's physical person; however, its very sneakiness makes it all the more pernicious. I'm speaking, of course, of the herd mentality of cars.

It will go something like this. You will be toodling along in your car in a near-empty parking lot, reveling in the wealth of excellent parking spaces available and trying to decide which is the very best. You will make your choice, then park. Note that this will usually happen for trips that require only a swift in-out, such as grabbing that last grocery item you forgot yesterday, or dropping something off for your child at school.

[short interval while task is done]

Approximately five seconds later, you have finished what you came here to do. Whistling, perhaps, you stride across the desolate parking lot to reach your car. Yet despite having only left the automobile mere seconds earlier on a virtually empty parking lot, it will be nowhere in sight.

[longer interval of searching for the car]

The key in finding your car is to seek out the most concentrated clump of vehicles, and head there. Invariably, you see, by some strange gravitational-pheremonal force unknown to modern science, your car, which you parked as far as you possibly could from the five other cars in the parking lot, will have attracted every single one of those five cars into an impenetrable cluster around its person. You will thus be forced to wedge yourself between the autos, sideways, and delicately jiggle the door open the smallest fraction that it takes to fit you into the opening.

This phenomenon has no doubt led some to wonder why people would choose to park right next to another car when so many freer spaces are open. This is the wrong line of inquiry. The drivers of these cars have no more control over the parking preferences of their car than if they were instead perched on female wildebeests, in heat. Regrettably, your particular car will inevitably exhibit all the characteristics of the lone male.

Reality check. However, if your steering wheel suddenly begins moving on its own, don't panic. Blame the wildebeests.

aad7t fqaa

-Ruler quote: "FLEXI RULER^TM It's Academic"-

I had two dreams last night, but by far the more memorable one involved holding a baby only to have the ungrateful thing vomit onto my shoulder and the carpet.

As somewhat of a hobby, I write poetry. I've considered entering into one of those contests with monetary prizes, but some quick Googling revealed that almost all "poetry contests" are frauds. So every so often I'll share the poetry with you instead. Here's a haiku I call Catching Night Dreams:

Wisp-white eyelash seeds
Twirl away at touch or breath
Reach - and slowly cup...

Reality check.

nsqn7

-Mystcommunity quote: "Her pancakes were exceptional", 'Sirrus' as depicted in a fanfic-

No interesting dreams the night before last... I didn't post yesterday due to busyness of doom. Very interesting dream last night, but it wouldn't make sense unless you've read Julie E. Czerneda's Trade Pact Universe series. If you have, I was with a bunch of young children and one of them became a Chooser. Naturally, she was whisked away rather quickly.

The world we've been given is pretty neat, isn't it? Take fungi, for example. They look like little sad non-green plants on the outside. But underneath the stuff we can see is this whole huge network of branching hairs called "hyphae". These networks of hyphae (called mycelia) can grow to be so extensive that it's actually a fungus that holds the record of the largest living thing on the planet (Google "humongous fungus"). It's sort of the compensation for not being able to move (like animals) or make their own food by the sun (like plants). And their eating habits are really strange too. They are one of the few types of organisms that digest food outside their bodies, then slurp it up in a slurry.

Most fungi spend the majority of their time underground. A typical fungus will begin life as a spore that falls onto moist ground and germinates. Fungi produce thousands of spores because to grow, the spore has to land on a moist food source, so their options are limited. Given suitable ground, a hypha grows out of the spore and starts a new mycelium. This mycelium will not produce anything visible aboveground until one of the hyphae comes into contact with another fungi's hypha. Even then, there's a complicated mating process that goes on, since to mate, two fungi have to have compatible mating types. Some fungi have hundreds of different "genders", and only certain combinations are allowed to mate. The fungi release pheremones -- pheremones! -- to figure out if they're compatible, which is one of the things that makes them more like animals than plants. Another is their use of chitin in their cell walls -- the same material used in insect exoskeletons (knowledge which strangely makes mushrooms taste better when I eat them rather than just disgusting).

Once the two hyphae join, they grow as one organism, but their genetic material is still separate. It only joins for a brief moment in the fruiting body (such as a mushroom), then recombines and splits into spores, which can then be dispersed in the ground again.

Reality check. Yes, I totally did just give a random lecture about mushroom biology.

jjj j jjjj

-Myst 2: Riven quote: "I'm sorry, this is all a bit awkward", Gehn-

Odd dream last night but very detailed, including a snippet where Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker were having a conversation in a park. Okay, so it was actually the actors playing them who were having the conversation, but they were in costume, which one really has to see (or, um, dream?) to understand the comic effect.

And, since today is a holiday (of sorts), the post will be short.

Have a happy π Day! (03.14, which I realize only works in places that put the month first. Which is why it's National Pi Day, and not International Pi Day)

Reality check. And see how many digits of pi you can actually list.

,,

-Ezra 2:29: "of Nebo 52", the actual shortest verse in the Bible, beats John 11:35 by one letter-

Had a dream that I was taking pictures with, I guess one of those old cameras, because the flashbulb gave off quite a boom. Later, though, I did find out that the boom was actually real. Not a flashbulb, however.

Another regional oddity of the Great Domesticated Desert of Doom^TM. Many people probably know that the GDDoD is the birthplace of that method of speech known as "valley girl", wherein the language is liberally peppered with "like", "totally", "seriously", and "whatever". It is a lesser known fact that, actually, we all, like, totally talk that way; yes, even adult men do this! Furthermore, we do this even when we grow up well outside any of GDDoD's many valleys. Seriously.

It is only by heroic effort on my part that I can avoid continuing this accent into my blog. I guess we need some sort of linguistic flaw in return for otherwise speaking perfectly unaccented English (a distinction no doubt aided by our possession of Hollywood, and hence, many movie actors).

Reality check! And could we, like, seriously rename "valley girl" to, like, "valley person" or whatever? I mean, dude... ;-)

jf7t

-Tree(!) quote: "skushhhwoooo", it's getting windy-ish here-

My dream last night was not wholly mundane, but I only remembered the mundane part. Yet I know there was more going on... how very frustrating.

Well, turns out my preemptive griping about the dentist visit was completely unfulfilled. My jaw did not lock up, I did not get lectured about brushing, I didn't even taste the horrid pink toothpaste gook much. The only disagreeable bits were minor. Weird, but minor.

For instance: TV screen, good. It gives you something to focus on while the hygenist scrapes away in mostly awkward silence. Showing veneer/whitening/crown procedures -- with full-color, real-life pictures -- bad. Somehow the nauseous sight of close-up, overlipsticked mouths, not to mention cheery 3-D animations of the titanium screws for porcelain teeth being installed in a cut-open, simulated gum, do NOT encourage me to ask for any procedure. Even if the people shown might look marginally (sometimes I even had a hard time seeing the before-after difference, but anyway) better, no. Just no.

Also, had the classic tussle that I always have with the hygenist where she refuses to believe that the x-ray film will not fit in my mouth, and instead repeats that I need to bite down, over and over, as if that will make the thing magically fuse to my palate cells, because if it got wedged in any harder, it would. It took two hygenists to finally get all the pictures taken, and the poor first one was getting mighty frustrated. I feel depressed when I give hygenists a bad day. They don't deserve my small mouth.

But overall, the appointment was much more pleasant than I anticipated. I even had an interesting conversation with the dentist.

Are you dreaming?

7qas

-Dream Journal quote: "The kid's pretty energetic too, which makes the elevator difficult"-

Not much of a dream last night. We were preparing a young movie star for fame; stuffing (?) his window blinds so people (read: fangirls) wouldn't be peeking in all the time. Yeah.

I have an appointment with the dentist today. Fun. Especially considering that my jaw is usually good and healthy, save for when I'm leaned back in that chair. Then, it locks up and I can barely open my mouth enough, and I have TMJ problems for weeks. Plus, my teeth are going through a phase (at least I'm delusionally hoping it's a phase) where they schloop up plaque despite all my efforts at removing it... it's like fingernail gook, just seems to grow more the more you try to get rid of it. So my dentist will lecture me about flossing, brushing, etc. etc., and I will nod, since his hands will be halfway down my throat and talking will be difficult at best -- especially since I get this feeling that he doesn't believe me when I say I do brush well, I just have schloopy teeth that hate me.

The worst part is, my dentist is actually a really nice chap; he reminds me of all my fun uncles rolled into one, and has a voice that always makes me grin because it's dead-on like my Uncle David's voice. So I feel bad for hating my dentist visits.

And hey, why is it that I go to the dentist every six months, but haven't had a "yearly check-up" at the doctor's for several years? Ah, we Americans. I guess we care more about our TEETH than the rest of our bodies. This could explain the whole healthcare problem...

Reality check. If you are dreaming, come bash my teeth into submission with a blunt toothbrush, will you?

s,a, mntn7a

-MystCommunity quote: "my hermanito IS really a back - puñalada weasel", mangled translation of one of the lines in Achenar's journal (the one that's impossible to find)-

I had somewhat of a dream last night. It had to do with high school, which, bizarrely, was mapped onto my house layout (this happens a lot in my dreams). The strange thing was, it was supposedly a second-floor space, but it was geographically (if I can even refer to it as such...) matched to the bottom floor of my house.

If you should ever chance to travel to the Great Domesticated Desert of Doom^TM, I would advise a trip at the end of winter. The obvious reason for this is because the temperatures would be unbearably hot for non GDDoD dwellers otherwise, but the not-so-obvious reason is: Cuties. That's the trade name for small, delectable little bundles of citrusy joy that go pop in your mouth, are easy to peel, have few or no seeds, and are perfectly tart, sweet and juicy. Did I mention they taste really good? And this is coming from someone who used to enjoy oranges, but now cannot stand them because they taste pithy and bland in comparison. And by the by, please do not even think about Florida citrus. Trust me, I have tried it, and even throwing aside my loyalty to my state, their famed oranges are not remotely worthy of the title. If the GDDoD decided to export all the superior fruit it currently keeps for itself, Florida would be out of business, rapidly.

Not to say that I dislike the current status quo, of course. I'll keep the good fruit, thank you very much.

Anyway, these "cuties" come in great, flat cardboard crates (takes only a couple weeks to go through the whole crate), and have little stickers on them that say "e-z peel" or (groaningly) "kiss a cutie". Now, their name may make a good marketing ploy, but it can be annoying when you're trying to eat them -- which in late winter, is several times a day. See, the problem is, it feels slightly odd to say: "I think I will seize a cutie now", or "let me pop a cutie in my mouth", so instead, we poor, oppressed GDDoDers have to resort to terms such as "clementine" -- quickly abandoned due to length -- or even "fruit", which is strangely vague.

This is, no doubt, what originated the custom of hostesses placing a bowl of fruit out in the open, where guests can assess the options, and select their choice without mishap.

Reality check. And no, I'm not on the payroll of the Governator, in case you were wondering. Or Sun Pacific.

mntfs7 mntfs7

-Amusing Commercial quote: "I should have seen this coming at me like an atom bomb", sung; you can figure out the name of the company on your own time because I'm not about to give them extra free advertising-

I had a dream involving a girl with a very long, colorful hat, that looked like a Suessian Who, but acted kind of like the cat in Get Fuzzy. In other words, irritatingly, but I was (if I remember correctly) able to outsmart her or something.

Is there some rule in parking lots that the passage of a pedestrian in front of a car is the signal for the car to start? Or is everybody but me in on the game of alarming unsuspecting passerby?

Next time you're in a parking lot, see if I'm not right. You'll be walking along, minding your own bipedal business, certainly not doing anything to the cars, when suddenly that vroom-hum starts up, the lights blink on, and you have to hurry away like you are in some sadistic game of musical chairs, passing by the "chairless" area.

And this will alternately happen just infrequently enough so that your guard goes down in between each incident, or so frequently that there is not a safe place to turn, and you are hurtling furtively from side to side as cars seemingly swarm out of their parking spaces into convergence around you. You will additionally notice that no one else has this problem.

Reality check! And look both ways before crossing the street. Thank you.

,q

-Watch quote: "Sa 12:46 14"-

I had a very involved, convoluted dream that involved a pebble of immortality, China, and a miniature replica of the Titanic. Which we actually got to ride while it "sank". It had motorized oars, which didn't bother me in the dream but now seems a tad unusual. Considering it shouldn't have had oars of any sort.

Short post today. I will write a (short) passage in romanized Cooan, so that conlang geeks/bored people can try to decode it. It may be the beginning of a famous speech (haha, famous to me)...

jd fjfjtat ntmq ,q
nd fqaa //t 7t ,q
jd fqaa t //t 7t7t ,q

Some hints: ",q" means "the speaker" (or "me/I") and "j" can be used as a marker that acts sort of like a pronoun. But not really. In this case, the two "jd" instances are referring to the same moment of time (d="time")

Also, remember that Cooan's grammatical structure makes phrases a lot longer than in other languages. What most languages can lump into one sentence, Cooan has to move into separate lines so that they follow its strict (and bizarre) grammar rules.

Have fun.

Reality check. If people are speaking to you in Cooan, you may be dreaming.

s 7 q

-Squanto (movie) quote: "You have forgotten who you are!", displaying once again my sad (yet highly amusing to watch), B-movie repertoire-

Ah, definitely more satisfying dream last night. I think this is mostly due to the fact that I woke up early enough to fall back asleep again (if that made sense). Anyway, the wake-back-to-bed technique essentially makes you more alert during the dreams after you wake up, so you're more likely to remember it afterwards. Or, even better, realize that you're dreaming, which I did! Yay! Of course, that was swiftly followed by a "false awakening", which I thought was real, so again it was a very SHORT moment of lucidity, but it was there. It seems like the jump-flying thing is the most reliable lucidity tool, this is the third time it's made me realize I'm dreaming (since, regrettably, it is impossible in real life to jump while in midair from the previous jump).

And now for something completely different.

It strikes me that if someone were to write down everything said at a dinner table, the results might be somewhat... oblique. Perhaps if I give an example, loosely based on a conversation I had the other day:

Noona Funtellweist*: (looking at everyone at the table, but mainly at Tip) Oh, you missed the funniest Rabid Trebuchet episode last night! (laughs) (gets one last bite, then sets down fork, so as not to spear... or mop?.. anyone in her mirth) It was a really sunny day, so

Shora Hepzibah: (laughs) That always makes it hard!

Noona: Yeah. So they were building this thing, and

Gregor Lee: Could you? (wiggles hand vaguely)

Noona: Sure!

Tip Tringull: (downs his glass of water) I'm going to

Noona & Gregor: Okay.

Tip: (gets up, refills glass. Everyone else waits, but they don't resume eating. Tip returns)

(long pause)

Shora: (looks at Noona)

Noona: (eats)

Gregor: The? (holds out hands)

Noona: Oh. (hands him the vegetable dish)

Gregor: (spoons out a heap. Eating all around.)

Shora: (looks at Noona) They were building this thing, and..?

Noona: (speaking somewhat around food) Oh. He he. (covers mouth delicately as she finishes chewing) They were going to do it without wire, but Cassy didn't think that would work, so

Tip: May'be'xcused?

Everyone else: (nods)

Noona: Don't forget to (gestures)...


And on and on.

Reality check. If the conversation at the dinner table makes any amount of sense, that might be a clue that you're DREAMING.

*names/show fictional. I hope.

nts

-Gmail quote: "Gmail by Google BETA Settings Older version Help Sign out"-

I didn't remember much of a dream last night either (unless the memory of cleaning the bathroom was in fact a dream and not just thinking about this blog!). I was pretty busy in the evening though, so that probably explains it. And I'm forgetting to do reality checks.

*swivels head away from screen, then looks back to see if the text has changed*

Guess I'm awake.

But on to the series! This is Step 6: Floor.

The Floor of the bathroom may seem the most innocuous of the bunch. It has neither odiferous boils of caked-on muck, nor malignant VWS, nor even (readily apparent) abysses of Sisyphean doom. It is not intended to be Shiny (or at least shouldn't be... if you possess a Shiny Floor, you either need to step out of the '80's retro/modernbutactuallyjustold designer home, or out of the Corinthian-leather-apholstered space fighter, whichever applies), and at any rate, it doesn't get much sunlight anyhow, so Water Spots are rendered harmless.

The first tipoff that this idea is utterly naive and foolish should be your weapon of choice. If this Floor is so much simpler to conquer than the previous stages of battle, then why, pray tell, do you use a Cleaning Implement fully twice as long as even the Toilet Brush to attack it? This weapon, colloquially termed a Mop (or a Swiffer Mop, if you're a sissy like me), will bear a strong resemblance to the great Flint Spear of yore, with the only real difference being a lack of a sharp, disemboweling tip. As well as being of a bright color formerly avoided for its considerably conspicuous presence in a Jungle of yore.

Due to the risk of lawsuits, modern day Flint Spears have largely had their stabbing tip upgraded to a softer, more child-friendly material. To promote this safe, forward-thinking design, Flint Spear manufacturers collectively decided to change the name of their product into the gentler term, Mop. And so the Mop was born. Engineers working for the Mop companies insist that none of the previous functionality was lost in the upgrade; however, the current lack of extant woolly mammoths and/or saber-toothed cats precludes a controlled test of this claim.

Now, there are Floors. To tackle this foe, unfortunately, the Flint Spear seems still in need of modification, though happily, Floors lack the woolly mammoth's penchant for goring unsuccessful spearmen.

Begin by tromping your Spear (excuse me, Mop) out of the deep recesses of the coat closet where it is lurking. It is unknown why Mops are always stored here, unless perhaps their owners desire to relive the primeaval Jungle experience amidst their own dark forest of coats, shoes, and Hasselman Combination 2-in-1 Toaster-Ice Cream Makers. After successfully retrieving your Mop, proceed to the linen closet (which will be on the opposite side of the house) and take out an Electrostatic Something Something Dust Cloth. Oh yes! I forgot. I've only had experience with Swiffer Flint Spears, so if you use a traditional Wet Flint Spear, you will have to figure it out yourself (bwahahaha). Once you have affixed the Electrostatic Something Something Dust Cloth to your Spear (Mop!), losing several fingertips in the process, you are ready to begin Mopping. You will find that, though your Mop has nice, sharp corners (if it is indeed a Swiffer Spear) on its bottom pad, no amount of fruitless wedging will be able to dislodge the dust in the corners of the Bathroom. Also, after a certain (short) period of time, the Cloth will become clogged with unspeakable quantities of hair, rendering its Electrostatic Something Something properties, useless. You will be forced to tackle both these areas after you are finished with the rest of the Floor, by removing the Cloth and schlooming up the particles by hand. This task will be unpleasant, as generally the largest, most recognizable particles are the ones least affected by Electrostatic Something Something Forces.

Additionally, you will find that you loathe Shower Mats. By some quirk of constantly applied Electrostatic Something Something Forces, combined with its sheer Fluffiness, the Shower Mat retains an unmatched potential for attracting and hoarding hair. Its edges will be tangled and repulsive with stringy strands, but as it is larger than your pitiful Cloth, you cannot overcome its ESS F powers with mere Mopping. Indeed, even hand-schlooming/grovelling will produce little success against its superior Fluffy Attack.

It leads one to ponder... since Water Spots are invisible on the Floor, but hair is decidedly not, why do people even USE Shower Mats?

This is a question I doubt will be resolved until I move to a cooler climate.

Reality check! And you can stick your Electrostatic Something Something Dust Cloth in the laundry now, as this series is finally complete!

s, fjf

-High School Teacher quote: "Dot, dot, dot..."-

Not much recorded of my dreams last night. I'm worrying myself over too many things that are out of my control.

Now, for the long-unawaited Step 5: The Vile, Encrusted Toilet.

Please ensure that your Glass Cleaner is stowed and that you are in the locked and upright position. As the only alternatives to this position would entail a great deal of contact with the yet-uncleaned Floor, I cannot imagine how you would desire to do otherwise but to stand. However, there must be protocol.

You will now procure your Toilet Brush (never to be confused with the similar Tooth Brush). If you are lucky (or merely have an ounce of foresight), this singular item will be hanging conveniently from the nearest Toilet. If this is not the case, you will find the Toilet Brush either in the garage or in the bathroom farthest away from the one you are currently cleaning, precipitating a long trek to said room, followed by a long trek back to the current bathroom. This may not seem like an unendurable hardship at this time, but that is only because the Toilet Brush is currently dry. It is an unspoken law of nature that once you have finished business with the Brush, it will resist all attempts at shaking the moisture within into the Toilet Bowl, but, by some strange magnetic-gravitational-intermolecular force, will instantly release all this water several seconds later. Coincidentally, you will be carrying it over carpet when this occurs.

But I anticipate! Right now, the Toilet Brush (or TB, as it will interchangeably be referred to as) is not only dry, but, if it is like mine, is lacking a Head. This is, hopefully, intended. My TB, for instance, is one of those flushable sorts that is sold at 99¢ stores with great, hermitically sealed flats containing capsules of Brush Heads, which one uncovers, singly, when needed, and plunges the Headless TB into, in much the manner of a viper sucking a prairie dog out of its tunnel. It turns out that this metaphorical prairie dog is relatively stupid, and has thus sealed the end of its tunnel a very short distance in, making catching it, an easy task. It could be argued, however, that the metaphorical viper is stupid as well, considering that it now contains, in its metaphorical mouth, a very real, caustic blue tubular object that is about to be swirled about in a Toilet. But I digress.

Once you have the properly bedecked TB in hand, walk authoritatively toward the Vile, Encrusted Toilet. If your TB is the nondisposable kind, it may be employed immediately to the grime within, with a enough Bowl Cleaner added to scald the delicate posterior of whoever is unfortunate enough to use the Toilet directly following the cleaning. For the disposable camp, you have a very grave dilemma, due to the fact that the brush is utterly useless dry (bearing more resemblance to an ugly, blue, fringed rock than a soft brush), and will swiftly disappear once moistened in the Bowl. This is all well and good if your goal is to prevent the Toilet from flooding when the Brush Head is flushed, but this is not your goal. Your goal is to clean off all the scum that has affixed itself, barnacle-like, to the surface of the Bowl. Furthermore, it will inevitably not be your own scum. This results in a truly horrifying moment when the first tentative scrubs of the Brush are applied. Inexorably, almost so predictably you can see the wave coming and anticipate your doom, invisible particulates from the unnameable scum you are attacking will rise. This is the scum's primitive, yet effective, form of biochemical warfare. The torture in this process is doubled by the waiting, the sweating, the dreading, then BLAM!! Your nostrils tighten quickly, your head turns away, but there will be no escape, especially if you are using the disposable TB and have a limited window in which the thing exists. Instead, you must press forth, scrubbing vainly away at repulsive, scabby deposits of filth, even as they become harder and harder to see as the water gets darker and darker blue...

To be continued...(Step 6: Floor)

Reality check, everyone! And a bit of friendly advice? Never use a newly cleaned Toilet before you flush out the blue stuff. I speak from painful experience.

fjfjta

-Microprocessor314 quote: "I. am. here. Sirrus. You. can. eat. me. now.", 'Achenar', '3 Minutes of Myst Randomness'-

I had somewhat of a memorable dream last night. It involved going to visit my grandparents (which pops up in dreams a lot, since it was probably the most exciting thing I could have done when I was little) and also visiting a rather opulent museum.

Next part in the series: Step 4: The Faux Marble Countertop

Since you are now in close concord with the Countertop (or presumably so, since you just cleaned the Sink. However, it is altogether possible that you are nowhere near the Countertop, by virtue of becoming so Slough-of-Despaired with the combined effects of the Mirror and the Sink that you have disappeared into a nearby McDonald's to sulk over McNuggets. In that case, the Countertop in closest proximity to you would not be Faux Marble, but rather a Faux Sci-fi Power-crystal Amalgam Countertop Shipped in Translight from an Advanced Alien Civilization. You can clean that too, although be warned that it may have armed quad-cannons), it would only be logical to... stop now. We will, however, joyfully leave the sane readers by the wayside and forge ahead.

Be advised, first of all, that, as the FM Countertop is another surface intended to be Shiny, it should be regarded as Faux in every homophone of the word. You will thus need to begin with a clean weapon, and for this task, tear off a New Sheet of Paper Towel. The one that you used for the Sink and Drain will just not do, since, first of all, it is such a pulpy, saturated, chalky, smelly gob of servile goo by now that the rest of the Paper Towel Roll has voted to revoke its citizenship. Secondly, it happens to be resentful of this ruling, and is currently hiring advanced alien quad-cannons using a radio assembled from mouth detritus. Luckily for you, your trash can just so happens to be fitted with a radio disrupter (embedded covertly in a recently discarded McNuggets box), so if you throw the glop away right now, you just may be able to get the order to cancel. Even very advanced alien civilizations have not solved the problem of multiple-confirmation order forms, though they are working on it.

Once you have gotten a New Sheet of Paper Towel (and averted interstellar war), moisten the Sheet with the Cleaner of your choice. Alternately, you may switch back to Glass Cleaner Wet Wipes if you were using them before. However you get there, apply the Cleaner to the Faux Marble Countertop with gusto, remembering throughout that full cleanness is improbable. Since cleanness, in an FM Countertop, is defined as Shiny, and it is perhaps an even larger surface than the Mirror, you will once again encounter malignant VWS (not to be confused with Benignant/At Least Peaceful VW Vans). As it is futile to identify VWS by sight -- a turn of the light will cause them to emerge where none once were -- you might guess that the best approach is simply to sweep the FM Countertop with broad, unheeding strokes and hope for the best. I am here to tell you that there is a better, easier, more thorough way!

You say you would like to know this special method?

The best approach to cleaning the FM Countertop is as follows:

1. Visit your local hardware store.
2. Look at the beautiful Countertops there displayed for inspiration.
3. Purchase the necessary materials.
4. Have a handyman install your new Countertop.

And the most important step of all...

5. Do not wash your hands, brush your teeth, take a shower, or do any other behavior that creates water spots. Ever.

Foolproof!

To be continued...(Step 5: The Vile, Encrusted Toilet)

Reality check. Be especially wary if the Countertop in the Bathroom is, in fact, real Marble.

fjfs

-Me quote: "Tangled fan rushings/Windows see concrete, hills, sky/Early; lonely class"-



I couldn't retrieve much of a dream last night. Other than it involved a "something something something in a something somewhere". I paraphrase, of course.



Looks like it's time for the next in the series!



Step 3: The Toothpaste-entombed Sink



Now that the Sisyphean Faucet has been cleaned... or at least brought to as clean a state as it will ever be, given its Sisyphean nature... it is time to sally forth to the Sink itself! Unlike the previous objects tackled in the bathroom, the TP-entombed Sink is not meant to be Shiny (unless you possess one of those fancy designer stainless steel Sinks, in which case I regard you with pity and envy mixed), but rather an unassumingly matte shade of white. It is not, currently, white, at least in the strictest sense of the word.

But perhaps I should clarify myself -- "strict" is such a subjective adjective. When I here write "in the strictest sense of the word", what I really mean is "encompassing the entire range of the color spectrum, but with a strong bias toward encrusted dingy blue-grey patches interspersed with mysterious repulsive flecks of mouth detritus".

In the interests of saving you from the arduous, failed attempts I at first made at removing these spectral variations, I will tell you exactly what you must set to doing. Begin by selecting your most powerful, hand-peeling Glass Cleaner in a spray bottle. This is important; no matter how determined you are, applying Glass Cleaner Wet Wipes to a TP-entombed Sink will be approximately as effective as applying the U.S. Congress to farm subsidy reform. Once this bottle is in hand, proceed to ignore all that your mother ever told you about spraying onto a Paper Towel first, and brazenly squirt the fluid directly into the Sink. Experts differ on their recommendations about technique at this point, but as their preferred techniques generally involve expensive Crop Duster Aeroplanes, these methods are fairly universally out of reach for the humble homeowner. On the other hand, if you indeed can afford a localized crop-dusting Windex application

WHY ARE YOU CLEANING YOUR OWN BATHROOM TO BEGIN WITH?!!

But assuming that most of my readers are of the humble homeowner category, pump your Glass Cleaner until either (1) half the fluid is gone, or (2) your index finger dons leg warmers, tights, and big '80's hair and mysteriously appears with Jane Fonda on a new excercise video. Once the Sink is appropriately sluiced, tear off a new Square of Paper Towel and scrub away at the trouble spots. These will be easier to get rid of than the VWS on the Mirror, as the Sink is an opaque object, but you may have to switch Paper Towels when your first one starts to acquire a whitish, oddly foul-smelling encrustation of toothpaste+Windex=malevolent chalk???

And then there is the question of the Drain. No doubt its rim has that peculiar orange stuff that Dr. Seuss would call a "cat ring". The problem is, Dr. Seuss has been deceiving you all these years. Yes. Even though the cat ring in the famous tale requires countless transpositions and fully twenty-six creepy nesting cats-in-the-hats to remove, I am sorry to inform you that the reality is much more ominous. You may be tempted to close the Drain for smoother maneuvering. May I suggest checking to make sure it will open again, first? For, though there is nothing smoother, more seamless, more tidy than a closed Drain, its seamlessness poses a very grave difficulty if it should decide to shut and never open. There is no possible way to jam even a fingernail underneath (and you should not, under any circumstances, try... more on that later) an edge that does not exist. And you will quickly notice that a Sink without a Drain has limited capabilities.

Having avoided that peril, you are still faced with the task of cleaning around the Drain (especially complicated if you must be careful not to bump it for fear of irreversibly closing it). For its translucent look of benignity, that orange film collected around the Drain is of the sort that will test even the staunchest elbow grease. Furthermore, should you chance to slide one of your hapless fingers across the underside of the Drain Cover, o! Horrors!! A black, decomposing, mouldering, glistening glop of mire will become the permanent ornament of your quivering hand!

To be continued (next episode: Step 4: The Faux Marble Countertop)...

Reality check. And puzzle over how black muck can arise from blue toothpaste and clear water.

fjf qaf

-Biology textbook quote: "Cilia and flagella move when microtubules bend", section 4.18-

I had a dream last night that I was a diplomat. Or at least the spouse of one, but it seems I was doing diplomatic stuff on my own as well..? Dreams do have a way of involving me in the action, even if I was originally supposed to be a bystander. And as to the subject? Well, I did a report in high school that included a section about the Iran Hostage Crisis, and I had to use a primary source... so I picked Robert Ode's diary. Really absorbing (and long!), that diary sort of sparked a newfound interest in diplomatic crises and how they affect people.

As promised: Step Two: The Sisyphean Faucet.

Once you are in the proper depths of the Slough of Despair, it is permissable to throw up your hands and give up on the Mirror. You will notice that (unless you have thrown it away in disgust) you are presently holding in your hands a Still Moistened Cleaning Towelette (which bears little resemblance to the PreMoistened Cleaning Towelettes encased in small packages in chicken wing restaurants), begging to be used. You will look for something else that needs to be Shiny. Your eyes will probably light upon the Sisyphean Faucet first, which is unfortunate but strangely irresistable. The SF (again, referring to the Faucet and not, as may be expected, an eccentric bayside city) is, and perhaps will always remain, an enigma. When you first approach with your Still Moistened Cleaning Towelette, it will appear that grime fairly leaps off the SF in its eagerness to become one (synergistically!) with the Towelette. The SF will even, shockingly, assume an almost Shiny luster, evoking the fluid, molten metal from whence it was first forged, a poetry of silvern wonders! This makes up for all, all you suffered at the tyrannical foot of the Mirror!

How sublime, how sweet it tastes to finally throw away the Still Moistened (but now rather begrimed) Cleaning Towelette, and to bath your hands beneath such a work of art, washing away all traces of glass cleaner from your grateful digits!

And, how subsequently depressing to realize that to turn the water off, you must splash new water spots all over the Sisyphean Faucet.

Next episode: Step 3: The Toothpaste-entombed Sink

Now perform a reality check, kindly. Especially if you are in SF.

qaf

-Cooan idiom: "mntq/f jftqaf q/" [loosely translated: "like a mother that hates the way her own daughter looks"]-

Last night I experienced what is charmingly referred to in The Golden Compass as a "night-ghast". Of the two common categories I have (physical peril/family issues), it was relationship problems. I had a couple other dreams, but that was the only one I convinced myself to get up and record.

I present: How to Clean a Bathroom, or Perhaps Hiring Maids Is Not So Snooty As It Seems (a series)

Step one: To get in the proper state of mind (hereafter referred to as "the slough of despair", to be variously pronounced "slew", "slow", or "sloff" at the reader's discretion), you must begin with the Mirror. There is no other part of the bathroom (save, perhaps, the Vile Encrusted Toilet -- more on that to follow) that carries with it quite the tincture of futility so desirable to attaining the slough of despair. Start by procuring your cleaning equipment of choice. I personally think that Windex should be taken only in small doses (see: Toothpaste-entombed Sinks), so I use glass-cleaner wipes. These have the dubious advantage of smelling like isopropyl alcohol rather than, well, Windex, and being less wet and untidy overall. Also, they are touted as being quick-drying, so theoretically I do not have to employ a drying swipe of paper towel after their application, and streak-free, which every glass cleaner claims but universally does not deliver. I am unsure whether the quick-drying appellation refers to the Mirror or to my Hand, which generally has to be bathed in the Sink (ruining any cleaning that might have occurred on the Sisyphean Faucet) at the first opportunity to stop its shrivelling and falling off directly.

In any case, whichever cleaning equipment you decide upon, proceed to swipe it (rapidly, if it is the quick-drying sort, as it will soon be rendered useless by evaporation) in indiscriminate strokes across the vast expanse of the Mirror. By some sadistic conspiracy among architects, the size of your Mirror no doubt rivals that of an Olympic swimming pool, and indeed, given its reflectivity, could be mistaken as such if mounted horizontally. However, you gladly bought the house with the largest Mirror possible, due to the conspiracy previously mentioned, that blinds home buyers to the obvious disadvantages of such a surface. Also, it was Shiny (more on this when Sisyphean Faucets are discussed). You are currently aiming to restore it to something resembling its original Shiny state, but due to your marked lack of Servile Architectural Apprentices to clean it night and day, you will fail. In fact, not only will you fail, but you will actually INCREASE the soil level of your Mirror, due to your cleaning implement's distressing fondness for depositing profuse Paper Lint on the Mirror. Even supposing you bully your Paper Towel into lintless submission (the technique of which still eludes me), there is still the problem of Viral Water Spots. These Water Spots bear the name Viral due to their singular ability to elude elimination, and to multiply. You will find that, though the Mirror looks beautiful (even Shiny) from the angle at which you are presently looking, that the moment the Paper Towel is finally commited to the Trash Can, myriad VWS (meaning Viral Water Spots rather than Passats, of course) will spontaneously emerge from their petri dishes and subdue the Mirror. They will be visible, and clearly so, whenever the light chances to tickle your Mirror... no matter how clearly they had disappeared from your original Deceptive Line of Sight.

I am convinced that Mirrors worldwide are secretly planning a takeover, hence the eventual state you will be forced to: dancing back and forth, peering at reflected images to see if an odd speck appears that is not, in fact, on the original object, followed by a frenzied scrubbing on the corresponding location on your Mirror. Our Mirrors plan to enslave us, and to this end they have enlisted the help of symbiotic VWS.

Next episode: Step Two: The Sisyphean Faucet...

Reality check. Particularly if you are being stalked by VWS.