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So, I’ll be honest with you. It’s Wednesday, April 15th, 2009. And I’m writing this because I have nothing–absolutely nothing–else that I need to be doing. Sure, sure. I have things I could be doing. Projects, coming due in the next couple weeks. Books to be read. Movies to be watched. A new copy of The Economist to be read. Emails I could send. Mario Kart races to win. Etc.

But, instead, I’m sitting next to the fireplace, listening to Lucero (who is excellent, by the by–a little dramatic, but who perfectly suits my mood), and writing this … nonsense. This drivel. This transcription of ennui. This reminder to myself of what it feels like to have a moment to myself.

Christina is out of town for the weekend. The walk has been shoveled. My room’s a mess–just how I like it.

This is likely to be the first semester of my college career that I’ve completed every assignment on time–no extensions. Heck, I’ve already completed my CS 221 assignment, due next Tuesday.

And so, I have this moment for reflection and contemplation. Truth be told, I’m not sure if it should be embraced: it seems, as of late, the secret of my happiness is busy-ness.

Socrates famously said that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” But, of course, Nietzsche aptly points out that Socrates was rabble. And rabble always has its back up against a wall.

I say: the examined life is a luxury unfit for the 21st century. I say: suppose the unexamined life is, in fact, not worth living. Does that imply that the examined life is?

In statistics, if you fail to reject the null hypothesis at a given significance level, you’ve discovered only that the null and the alternative hypothesis are both probable–not that the null hypothesis is true.

H(0): the unexamined life is not worth living
H(1): the unexamined life is worth living

And, of course, if you’re performing a hypothesis test, you’re likely using some bell-curve distribution–which Nicholas Taleb characterizes simply as “the great intellectual fraud.” The GIF. The bell curve doesn’t account for The Black Swan. And, all too often, it’s the Black Swan that determines the world we live in.

Where does that leave us?

It leaves us with the gravel-soaked, melancholy lyrics of Lucero.

There are words, sure. I don’t know what they are. It’s not the words that are important, it’s the feeling.

And on this Wednesday night, it feels just right.

Observe this Robbin:

He’s confused. Really confused. It’s April 15th. Three days ago, it was 65 degrees. I rode my motorbike. Wearing flip-flops.

Three days ago, this would have been fine! The lifts were still open, and snow was always still welcome.

But no. Three days ago, it was warm and sunny. The snow was nice and puffy, like cream cheese. Must say–it was the first time I’d seen someone (and not just one!) skiing in a bikini top. The picture, in my mind’s eye, still seems slightly incongrous.

But that was Monday. Now, it’s Wednesday.

To snow like this the day after the lifts close … it’s damned snarky of Mother Nature, I’ll tell you what!

Bovard’s friend Matt, who works at a hospital, had this to say:

You know what the productive difference is between when the lifts are open, and when they’re not? When the lifts are open, people do productive things in the snow, like go ski. When the lifts are closed, people just do stupid things. Like try to see how fast they can drive their car through the snow.

Matt works at the hospital. …

I guess I should enjoy it while it lasts, though–in other news, I’ve been lucky enough to be offered an internship with my brother-in-law’s clinic (Arizona Pain Specialists). Which I’m quite excited about–I’ll be helping with, among other things, their new Electronic Medical Record (EMR) system. But it’s also in Scottsdale (see: Phoenix), AZ. Which should be wonderful–but I should enjoy the cold while it lasts.

…

Friedrich Nietzsche once said,

“The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently.”

I like it.

I will now accept my honorary degree in Electrical Engineering.

(By the by, if you are a potential employer reading this post … please consider my other talents and abilities. For examples, I can play the guitar solo for “Man In A Box” behind my back. In Rock Band 2, that is. Consider what an asset I would be for your company!)

Meet my dryer.

It doesn’t have the name, but it certainly deserves one: it’s been a champ. An absolute warrior.

Ken and I picked this baby up at a garage sale, for a tidy sum of $50. We immediately realized a $0.76 return on investment (ROI), from the change we shook out of it while finagling it down to the basement of our old house.

Well, recently, the old sport lost it’s dragon’s breath.

That is, it stopped heating my clothes, while spinning and bouncing them in endless circles.

Moog–excellent Electrical Engineer that he is–diagnosed a failed thermal fuse.

So, we ordered a replacement thermal fuse online.

In the mean time, though, we had wet clothes.

No worries, though–I’m quite qualified to deal with these … challenges. I was trained from an early age in the nuances of short-circuiting a fuse. Christmas lights blow out? Wrap the fuse in tin-foil. Fireplace give out? Short it with a paper-clip.

240 volt electric dryer stop drying? Short it with a paper clip!

So that’s exactly what I did. And, boy, did those clothes get dry.

Not until the replacement fuse arrived did I discover … this:

and, this …

In retrospect, I suppose that 240v is a lot of current. And, in retrospect, I realize that the paperclip I used to short the dryer was about as thick as the wire used for its heating coils.

Boy, don’t I feel clever now!

Good news is: the house is still standing (near as I can tell, there aren’t even any scorch marks on the wall).

Bad news is: the replacement thermal fuse (which burns out at 325 degrees Fahrenheit) burned out right quick, soon as it was replaced.

Guess I should have left the paperclip!

So here’s something interesting: a house needs to be well-ventilated, or it will grow mold like that’s its dirty business.

Last November, the three of us were concerned with our heating bills, so we went out and bought plastic for our windows, new door sweeps, etc. to seal up our house.

Sealing the house definitely helped: it was noticeably warmer, and our energy bills were much lower than the previous occupants.

But since then, it’s been a constant battle against mold.

This wasn’t a problem at the old house, but here’s the difference: the last house had forced-air, gas heating. Which means that furnace brought in fresh air from outside (which, until just now, seemed terribly inefficient), heated it, and pushed it throughout the house.

The current house has electric base-board heaters. Moog rigged the fireplace with a thermostat, so the fireplace provides most of our heating–but it heats air from inside the house.

So it’s a kinda funny, and under recognized Catch-22. A house needs fresh air. But if your house isn’t sealed tight in the winter, your heating bills are going to be astronomical. But if you’re not getting fresh air in, like through a forced-air system, you’re going to subject yourself to the ill health effects of living in a moldy environment.

What’s the solution? It’s hard to say. But here’s my best guess: insist on living in a house with forced-air heating. And, baring that, plan on regularly airing out your house. Baring that, stock up on the antibiotics–‘cuz you’re going to need them!

Yup. So … Spring Break was fun. Didn’t do a blessed thing for nine days straight–at least, nothing school related.

Actually I did quite a lot! Let’s see… floated 58 miles in five nights and five days. Hiked through canyons and up trails. Got a sun tan. Got a sun burn. Read some Ed. (Abbey, of course.) Waged war against sobriety. Won some battles. Lost the war. Crushing defeat. Rowed a red boat. Decided to become a geologist. Rowed a blue boat. Sang some songs. Debated the ethical implications of touching rock art (“Sight is the only sense that creates physical space between viewer and object. Touch closes this gap, creates a connection with the art and artist…”). Ruined more than one perfectly delightful conversation with economic reductionism (“the free market SOLVES! for EVERYTHING!”). Decided not to become a geologist. Contemplated the stars. Gathered driftwood. Roasted one single marshmallow. Avoided introspection. Dug holes in the sand. Filled them in…

Oh. And I took some pictures. Check ’em out!

From Spring Break 2009 – San Juan River

I hope everyone else had an equally marvelous and sun-drenched spring break!

Yaar! Off to the San Juan River! Huzzah! Out of contact till Saturday, the … 21st. Pics and details when I return! If you need anything … smoke signals! Carrier pigeons! ESP! Those are your options!

Consider the plight, if you will, of Gary, the out-house mouse…

From 2009.02.24 Garnet Lookout 2009

Bovard, Christina and I made good use of our weekend, hiking in to the Garnet Lookout Cabin.

Click on the above photo to see the album.

Definitely one of those routine trips where a combination of poor planning (see: leaving Bozeman about six hours late …) and bad luck (see: losing the trail, in the dark) and hubris (see: “What-ev! We don’t need no trail. We’ll make our OWN trail!”) makes the unremarkable into an epic.

Here’s Bovard, rippin’ gnar like Narnia on his sick tube…

Good times!

So, like 30 seconds ago, I was using a napkin to wipe the dried beer stains off the top of my laptop (how did THOSE get there?) and I was listing to the Mountain Goats, and I thought to myself, “man, I should really post this on my blog. Using lots of … passive verbs. Was. Is.”

So there I am … using a wet napkin to wipe stale beer stains off my laptop, listening to The Mountain Goats. There’s something cooking on the stove, and something burning, too. What’s burning is the chunks of last night’s dinner that spilled on to and under the burner. What’s cooking is … Chicken Ramen Noodles. Yup. That’s right.

So … Chris calls me a “faketarian.” I don’t think that’s quite fair … but I can’t deny that, right now, I’m sipping on a steaming bowl of steaming Ramen. Mmm. It tastes extra good because … I’m pretty sure it’s Bovard’s Ramen.

Here’s a riddle: What tastes better than MSG?

…

Answer: Stolen MSG!

*tissh!*-*dun*-*dup!*

Did you know? If you spill the “Chicken Flavor” spice package from a package of Ramen, it sparks and looks really cool? I definitely recommend trying this at home.

But I really don’t feel that eating a bowl of Ramen makes me a faketarian. Especially because my premise isn’t so much that “meat is murder” so much as … the meat industry produces more greenhouse gasses than all the transportation industries combined (Cars! Planes! Trains! Automobiles! … Tanks! … Rickshaws! … …).

And, moreover … the Chicken Flavor packet doesn’t actually have any meat in it. “Chicken Powder” isn’t meat, is it? No more than … snow is water? Besides … Chicken Powder is ingredient number five in the list. What’s number two? … Yup! That’s right: monosodium glutamate.

…

Suddenly, I don’t feel so well.

…

So … I went to the dentist this morning. Arriving home afterwards, half my face is numb (intentionally, mind you. I swear … my dentist seemed mighty disappointed when he didn’t find oil … all that drilling and all …).

Weird things: 1) When I splashed water on my face in the shower, only half of my face got wet. 2) When I drank from a cold bottle, the bottle and liquid on one side was actually warm. 3) The texture of pickle skin against my teeth still bothered me.

…

Last thing, before I go to class (drat! I haven’t done any of the reading! I’ve been to busy … blogging?)

So, I’m sitting in computer science class yesterday (yup … you read that right. CS class.) and this girl opens the set of doors at the front of the lecture hall, looks in, clearly sees that there’s a class going on. THEN, she casually walks straight across the front of the room–between the Prof and the 50 people in the lecture hall–up the side aisle, and out the back door. During the middle of lecture. For no reason at all!

Needless to say, I’m still flabbergasted.

And now I’m nearly late to class. !!

At long last, I’ve finally gotten into the action on InTrade. This “predictions market” put the “efficient markets hypothesis” (the theory that, at any given time, the price of a stock or commodity reflects all available information) to the test.

Like the stock market, InTrade essentially provides its users with a platform for betting on a predicted outcome. After an initial public offering, “stocks” of an outcome trade up or down, based on public demand.

Every share sells for its market-determined value (which, historically, tends to be a darn good proxy for its actual probably outcome). After the event, the value of a share goes to $10 if the expected event (ex: Barack Obama becomes the 44th President of the United States) is fulfilled, or $0 if it is not.

Yesterday, I bought 100 shares of Milk to win the 2009 Academy Award for Best Picture.” I set a market limit order at 49 cents, which was quickly filled. If Milk loses to Slumdog Millionaire (as it likely will), I’m out $50. If Milk wins, I’m up $950.

Here’s my case for Milk winning, in the form of a numbered list:

1. Milk is a better movie than Slumdog Millionaire.
2. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences likes Gus Van Sant better than Danny Boyle. I can’t prove this one, but: Van Sant is a long-standing and visible member of the Hollywood establishment; Danny Boyle’s is some young punk kid whose last big film was 28 Days Later. (Don’t get me wrong–I like Danny Boyle better than Gus Van Sant, but…)
3. Milk is about gay rights–in a year when gay rights is in the front of everyone’s minds (with the success of Prop-8, that is. The Academy would probably give the award to Milk, just to spite the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Homophobic Saints).
4. The children actors in Slumdog Millionaire, though picked from the slums, were grossly underpaid and quickly returned to the slums from whence they came, when the filming was over. (See: this article.)
5. The Academy has long succumbed to the inherent pleasure and persuasiveness of numbered lists!

So. Maybe Milk will win. At 20:1, I feel like it’s a solid bet. And, after all, my portfolio could use a little luck, after my ill-advised bet on Citigroup (NYSE: C) eight weeks ago.

May the best film (that conforms to the political agenda of the Academy) win!

In a previous post, I alluded to reasons about logging in when you visit my blog.

In this post, I expound.

I think that part of the value of a blog is the ability to “write things you wouldn’t say.” I write unsavory, profane and inappropriate things on my blog as a matter of habit–to relieve some stress, or to amuse my friends. But–if you want to READ my obscenities–you’d better believe you need to be logged in with an account that I’ve verified.

Unfortunately, especially for bloggers who got started when these things were still “web logs” (see: before Google) … I think there was a sense of anonymity that may have been appropriate then, but certainly isn’t now. Nowadays, this sort of post has become a platitude–and new generations of bloggers know better than to divulge damaging details about themselves. But when 1) only four people in the world had blogs, and, 2) the only way to find those blogs is if you knew their URLs, I think a sense of anonymity was appropriate and justified.

—

Me being called by the Ferraro’s guy (assuming that he found my phone number from my blog–which is the most likely scenario) is a great case-in-point, in re: 1) your mom’s on Facebook (I know, because my Mom is Facebook-friends with your mom), and, 2) the intarwebs is serious business!

In other words, the internet is no longer an anonymous haven for your unspoken thoughts–you’re accountable.

(Though, for an interesting counterpoint, read this article: Scene Stealer: The aXXo Files. I found the article particularly interesting because, yes, [by reading this, you certify that you are not an agent or employee of the MPAA] I’ve downloaded aXXo movies–for the exact reasons the article suggests: because aXXo is a brand-name associated with high quality products.)

[To be read aloud in a “historical narrator voice”]
When I started this blog, six long years ago, I recognized the need to separate content for my friends from content for my parents [/end narrator voice]. Take profane language, for example. Lord knows, I’m fond of it. And, lord knows, when I go home, I try awful hard not to be (you do it too!). That’s just the way of things. I just like to keep my image up with the ‘rents, ya know?

But the internet is also now a lifelong indexed, archived and searchable repository of my 22 young years of life. And yours, dear reader, too. Pardon my restatement of the obvious, but … your future employers will Google you. Your future boy/girlfriend will Facebook you. Your future political opponents will use pictures from your website to convince a nation that your youngest son, Trig, is actually your daughter’s. Serious business, no?

So I have this user account system, whereby I assign every registered user an appropriate access level. And you should like it, too. I’ve never posted a picture of a friend smoking marijuana–but supposing that I had, it would remain hidden. You never know when something like that might come back and bite a guy, right?

—

“If the Ferraro’s guy can find my cell phone number,” I found myself thinking yesterday, “I wonder if I should be careful what I post, with respect to my Worker’s Comp claim manager.” Not that I’m doing anything wrong–I’m far from recovered, but that’s a topic for another night (ah HA! I’ve done it again! How can I just leave you HANGING like that? You’ll have to COME BACK! HA!). “It just might be unnecessarily complicating,” I reasoned, “for my claim manager to read my blog and discover that I’m skiing on the weekends.”

Well… what should arrive in the mail today, other than a letter from my WC claim manager! Addressed to my orthopedist, it stated, simply, that he’d received word that I’d been skiing at Bridger Bowl–and that he’d like my doctor to explain how this is medically possible. (It is, mind you!)

Now, I know you’re thinking that he must have read it on my blog! OMG! But … I’ve set you up! You’re WRONG! Instead, his letter indicated that he received word through the Montana Conservation Corps–which is easily explained: Donna was my crew-leader last season; Donna now works at Bridger and scans my ski pass every Saturday; Donna also just started working with MCC again.

But, on the other hand, I don’t think it will be too long before worker’s comp claim managers are checking Facebook, subscribing to Twitter feeds, and reading blogs–to check up on their cases.

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This post will now self-destruct.