Terror Alerts, Too

Things that Do Not Matter:

• Family, if they Control or Demean you
• Calories
• Wasted Time, if you choose to waste it
• Nouns, in the absence of verbs
• Haters

 

Blogs, Too

Things that Matter:

• People
• Friends, especially if they are Family
• Trying
• Coffee
• The People who you Run into after many years, for whom it seems like no Time has passed

 

Please End Smallville

Clark, Kara’s a lot of things…  Reckless, headstrong, possibly psychotic.  But she’s wrong about you.

-Chloe Sullivan, Smallville Season 7 Finale

It’s lines like this that make it 100% baffling that Smallville is headed for it’s eighth season.  “Superman in high school” has become “Superman is unemployed four years out of high school, whines a lot about how things would be better if he had never come to Earth, and spends way too much time running to Metropolis.”  The season finale raises a lot of questions about destiny and whether Kal El is here to save Earth or to destroy it, and it was actually a decent episode overall.  When they do these story lines, you know, the ones related to the actual premise of the show, I don’t mind watching Smallville.  I especially like episodes where they try to tie in Justice League or other D.C. themes.  What makes me dry heave a little here is that I can now plan on watching at least fifteen episodes about “meteor freaks” that basically rehash and recycle episodes from every previous season.

 

 

Green Day Might Be a Bad Idea

Informal Poll: Does the song you’re listening to while driving affect the speed and/or aggression with which you drive?

 

Harold and Kumar Poem

I’m not going to review Harold and Kumar, but I will say that it made me feel… conflicted. My favorite part was the poem that Kumar recited near the end, which is apparently a real poem by David Feinberg:

I’m sure that I will always be
A lonely number like root three

The three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath the vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine

For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic

I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality

When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three

As quietly co-waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
With the wave of magic wands

Our square root signs become unglued
Your love for me has been renewed

-David Feinberg

This is how I wish I applied my creativity more often. The lives of scientists are sad irrationalities.