Thursday, April 29, 2010

Impossible Answers: Chuq Settles the Universe’s Hash

It’s time to shake things (or “thangs") up a little bit.  It occurred to me, as I was lately answering a few questions for which there was NO ANSWER UNDER HEAVEN, that I am a god-damned genius.  And not even in the obvious ways that you are all so sick of hearing about, but in a very special and unusual way.  And not in the special and unusual way you’re thinking of now, although yes, I am a god-damned genius in that way too, but we’re not going there right now you randy devil.  The thing is, I know answers for questions that are literally unanswerable.  And if that’s not a gift that sets me apart from other men as an earwig among termites, then you have not hung out with enough termites.  So unless you want me to send you a whole crate full of termites and an earwig for comparative purposes, just agree with me already.  It’s easier for all of us.

The point is, I can answer questions for. which. there. is. no. answer.  YES.  I intend to provide such answers here at the Chucklehut, on an occasional basis.  And the first such occasion is: Now. 

But let’s take a moment first and recognize what this means.  I’m not talking about questions that don’t relate to anything specific enough to be answered, like “what’s that thing that does that stuff but isn’t so totally like you know what I mean?” This is not a question.  It’s a symptom of a mind that is struggling for coherence in the midst of stultifying cultural deadening.  It is not to be answered, but to be pitied.  With a baseball bat, if you can reach one.

Also not to be addressed in this forum are questions of such a personal nature that the answer will necessarily be different for every asker.  “Should I ask out that hot bathroom attendant?” “What’s wrong with my fuel injector?” “Why does my personal zone get so inflamed?” Although the bathroom attendant mentioned to me that you should stop staring at him/her while doing your business, it’s disconcerting.  And tends to be messy, too.  You’re not scoring any points that way, Mr./Ms Carstalling Swollenpubes. 

Finally, some questions are not unanswerable, you just don’t know the answer.  “How much wood would a woodchuck [etc]?” Get yourself a damn woodchuck and a cord of wood and find out, you lazy cove.  “What’s the fastest way up Everest?” ROCKETSKIS.  Jeez.  “Why are you so amazingly brilliant?” I know; you don’t; that’s how it’s gonna stay.  Really, you shouldn’t need me to spell these things out for you.

A truly unanswserable question is one that has a foundation in hard facts or science, and is by its nature a conundrum or contains a logical inconsistency that makes typical “thinkers” get all weeny and whiney.  “I can’t imagine a rock God can’t move.” “How can anything go faster than the fastest thing in the universe?” “Our brains aren’t built to visualize more than four dimensions at once.” Maybe your brain isn’t, you sorry piece of work, but mine is.  These questions are my stock in trade, and the trading floor is open.

Dear Chuq: What is the square root of -1?

Oh dear me (for indeed I wrote this to myself), what a challenging question - FOR OTHER PEOPLE.  When you are me, as I am more often than not, it’s really a simple matter of applying both rigorous analytic theory and the kind of transitive brilliance that got me to use hair conditioner as shaving lotion, or to make beautiful childrens toys out of worthless kruggerands.  Let’s take a moment and answer this question, which has, you’ll admit, stumped the math chumps for longer than they should admit without shame.  Shameful math chumps!  Look and learn, already!

Okay, the square root of negative one: that’s the number that, multiplied by itself, is equal to negative one.  And what is negative one?  It is the opposite of the loneliest number (T.D.Night, 1969; Nilsson, 1967).  So, what is the opposite of the loneliest number?  The best-accompanied number, obviously.  What is the best-accompanied number?  After forty-freaking-six years of incessant, ear-wrenching research, I’ve determined that the single best-accompanied number is the version of “Coconuts” where the Dirty Dozen Brass Band backs up Widespread Panic.  Dude, it totally rocks, in that crazy calypso-meets-nascar way that you love so good.  It’s like, Naslypso.  Or Calcar, but that sounds more like a floor cleaner or something you scrape off teeth, so let’s go with the first one.  But more importantly, let’s not get distracted.  The best-accompanied number is “Coconuts,” from Another Joyous Occasion, released in 2000.  Don’t act like you know better, you smug thug.  So, what’s the square root of a coconut?  A cubic tuber.  Tuber, because the roots are tube-y, and cubic, for the squareness.  This is simple musicobotany.  (up yours, spellcheck.) Some say that coconuts are cursed with a relatively small root ball, but if you say so around one you’ll just embarrass it.  Let’s leave such emasculating comparisons out of the picture for now.  A cubic tuber is the square root of negative one. 

Next question? 

Friday, April 23, 2010

Natal Recognition Day: Poetic Version

you know what time it is… it’s been a year since my last birthday poem, so it stands to reason that it’s time for another one.  and far be it from me to stand in the way of standing to reason, so I warmly invite you to look back into the archives around April 25 for the last seven years, get a crawful, and then sit back and be amazed that I have so enormously outdone myself this time:

Lordy, lordy, six-and-forty
I’m chock-full of used-up years
Too matured to be inured
to my reviving childhood fears
Long life’s lessons keep on messin’
With my equanimity
Can’t pretend I see the end
Can’t tell what will become of me
Perhaps it’s time to craft a rhyme
Of detente and conciliation
Get the flow back in my mojo
Repossess me some tarnation
Has the darkness lost its starkness?
Have I learned to tame the dogs?
Don’t I take the cosmic cupcake?
Have I not dispersed the fogs?
Lift my fate and separate
The futures chosen and rejected
It’s just a bust if you can’t trust
All errors are in time corrected
Clench my fist and take my Dristan
Hone the scythe that mows down death
I must embrace what can’t be faced
I’ll drown if I can’t hold my breath
I don’t deign, need not explain
I burst the bounds of words and notions
Profundities like raging seas
Immerse me under boiling oceans
Mountain-climb the paradigm
And claim it for myself alone
I’ll show the queen just what I mean
With droit seigneur across her throne
It seems the world is still unfurled
My likeness rampant on its banner
Commanding hordes with spears and swords
So don’t tell me to mind my manor
Carpe diem as I see’em
Notch the bolt and let it fly
Swelling strength in girth and length
Proclaiming what most men imply
I’ve been seasoned beyond reason
I’ve perfected all your tricks
Now it’s time to hit my prime
Today I’m 46.

He’s still got it, people!  Luckily most of you have been vaccinated against it so it’s unlikely to infect the populace at large.  However, please be (warned/advised/entertained) by this news nugget: I’ve just been elected president of my workplace union!  Yes, I’m both the man and his gadfly.  That makes me, what, a madfly?  Whatever.  I’m in charge now.  And here’s proof: phone photos from a life that took 46 years to get this good:

Last sunday at the Arboretum’s California wildflowers meadow:

Last week with Jesse at the Lobos Creek boardwalk:

Again at the Lobos Boardwalk: Coastal Oaks

At the Ferry Bldg a few weeks ago: zipline riders ahoy

Now be off with you.  I don’t want to hear another peep out of you unless it rhymes or has attractive visual blandishments!  Good day to you sir!  I SAID GOOD DAY! 

Yeah, a good day. 

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Essen, Essen: A Salad You Can Enjoy Without Feeling Too Healthy - Plus, Substance Abuse Schedule!

Let’s start with something useful: a return to the recipe corner, because who else is going to take care of your sorry butt?  I made a supper last night that deserves to be reiterated and enjoyed worldwide, but it looks like the best I’ll be able to do about that is to brag about it here.  SO: Assuming you have rice, lentils, pork tenderloin, a nice piece sausage, a tomato, an orange pepper, a potato(e), and a bit of the old cumin to spare, I URGE YOU THUSLY:

Fry about a cup and a half of white rice in olive oil on medium-high heat, till it gets golden and starts to feel a bit crunchy.  Remove from heat, add a cup of cooked lentils, mix well, and set aside.  Grab that chunk of pork tenderloin that was left over from dinner two nights ago (you’ll need to start this the day before yesterday, maybe I should have told you that first) and dice it into small cubes.  Do the same with a sausage, but fry the cubes on high heat till they’re a bit crusty.  (If you’re starting with raw sausage, or ‘rawsage’, cook it up first and then dice it.  Don’t just extrude the filling.  Life is too short already, to say nothing of being too extruded.) Add the meat to the rice and lentils.  Dice a tomato(e) and cut up half an orange pepper into slightly larger cubes than the meat; toss them in as well.  Finally, dice the potato(oe) into small cubes and fry it on high heat till crunchy and delightful (use a high-tolerance oil like grapeseed that doesn’t burn quickly); drain off the oil, let the taters cool, and crumble them over the other ingredients so the individual cubes are separate.  Season with salt, pepper, and about a teaspoon or so of cumin (to taste), toss thoroughly, serve cold, and scarf with abandon (see, eg, Isadora Duncan Surprise).  This stuff was great and really cleaned out our leftovers.  America: what a country.

Meantime, it’s now almost April 20, which is the calendrical analogue for 4:20, which is in turn the now-widely-recognized colloquialism for the ingestion of certain herbal products for which my golden state is renowned.  With regard to which, and in honor of 4/20, I offer the following NON-CANNABANOID SUBSTANCE ABUSE SCHEDULE:

6:00 (am) - PBR (dew-chilled cans)
7:20 (am, pm) - lactaid
10:45 (am, pm) - oxycodone
13:10 - blow
5:4 - ritalin
2:30 (pm) - nitrous
NOW - smack
now - methadone
Two dinks past the blerb - more mushrooms
1:11:11:11:11 - meth
2:15, 2:40, 3:10, 3:30, 3:40, 4:00, 4:15, and repeat - crack
8:15 pm - X
10:50 pm - viagra
stroke of midnight - roofies
8:45 am - Plan B

Now I guess we all know what we’re doing, and when.  Coming up later: more crap from dan.  Don’t miss it!