Tuesday, August 29, 2006

First Day of School

fronds

Like a long-lost migratory bird, at summer's end I find myself back in school. (Good grief! I thought I had finished up with this formal education nonsense long ago. Well, apparently not.)

I'm taking two courses at Wesley Theological Seminary: Intro to New Testament: Gospels and Overview of Christian Theology. I had my first class, of the former, this morning at the very ungodly hour of 8:30 am. Thank heavens for the kitty-alarm, because despite carefully SETTING my alarm clock, I apparently forgot to actually turn it on. Nonetheless, a timely and vigorous nose-licking got me out of bed with sufficient lead-time to make it to class.

I've just spent a fortune on Amazon buying books for just the one course so far, but it's still cheaper than the campus bookstore. This is going to prove to be a costly endeavor. Still, I feel I need to give it a try.

Please wish me luck.

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Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Why Cats Have Hair

sphynx

Spotted in a consignment shop window on Connectictut Ave. At first, I thought it was a mechanical toy/sculpture. Then I thought perhaps it was a dog. But finally I got a good look at this baleful creature (click on the picture for the full, enlarged effect), and went hustling home to nuzzle the wonderfully soft and furry Ariel.

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Friday, August 11, 2006

New or Old?



New eyesore scratching post? Or old faithful paper bag?

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Sunday, August 06, 2006

Awwww

kitty

Yes, it's another picture of Ariel. Sue me.

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Saturday, August 05, 2006

What if it's magic?

OK, here's a wild thought for you all...

Watch the very best golfers. Yes, they practice night and day, and they are wonderfully skilled athletes. But let's face it, many times the fact that the ball actually goes in the hole (as they intended) is practically miraculous. Some people, the champions, can do it with an astonishing degree of success. Recently, at the British Open, Tiger Woods dropped the ball in the cup when he couldn't even see it. ("Did it go in?" he asked his caddy. "It went in," the caddy said.) If you do it consistently enough, it's not luck. But to ascribe this degree of success entirely to physical skill, no matter how rarified, also seems nuts.

What if the very best ball-players also possess some degree of psychokinetic ability?

Now let's consider poker. Again, the difference between the average good player and the top players is insane. Yes, they have countless years of experience, superior people-reading skills, terrific math ability, and sometimes even photographic memories. Is that enough to account for their success? Sometimes I wonder...

What if the very best poker players also possess some degree of telepathic or precognitive ability?

Sometimes I just KNOW that the next card will make my straight. I actually did an experiment where I logged my hunches before playing them ~ or not ~ and then charted the results. I played a hundred hands. (OK, clearly not a statistically significant sample, but it's a start.) In cases where the outcome was determinable, my hunches were 75% accurate. What if your hunches (comprised of whatever combo of experience, subconscious calculation, intuition and ESP) were, say, consistently 85% accurate, and you learned to trust them?

What then? Well, you would win ~ a lot.

I'd love to see the top poker players tested for these abilities in a lab. Of course not one of them in his or her right mind would agree to such a thing. How could it possibly be in their interest to have a positive result?

[A note: last night I came in second out of more than 900 in a free online tournament. To get there I had to have a couple of runs of very good luck. I also had that lovely "in the zone" feeling for the last third of the match. But that's only the third or fourth time ~ out of many dozens of attempts ~ that I've made it to the final table in a large tourney. Now consider that there are people who can achieve that a quarter to a third of the time. I ask you: mere skill?]

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Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Dad at 85

Dad

Dad's birthday dinner was very nice, except for the horrible bit where Lois got her purse stolen.

I also had a bizarre auto-trance moment where, against all odds, and basically after I'd given up looking, I suddenly got up, went to a drawer full of junk, and instantly laid my hands on the missing safety-deposit box key.

A much less difficult visit than I anticipated, and for that I'm grateful. Not to say it was entirely without stress: I did spend my last 45 minutes before leaving lying on a couch trying to doze off a migraine.

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