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:: Monday, October 28, 2002 ::
I'm halfway through eating a Gala apple when I bite too close to the center and tear one half of the core open, revealing four apple seeds. Pausing to regard the four tiny seeds nestled together, I think, Ah, that's right! I almost forgot the purpose of the apple is to make more apple trees. I admire how the apple's flesh dwarfs the tiny core in the middle, and wonder why the apple tree would expend so much effort, so much time, so much precious sugar and water, to make so many large fruits that are capable of encasing no more than eight seeds apiece.
When the solution for a problem or the answer to a burning question eludes me, I often turn to Nature for the answer, but occasionally Nature gives an answer for which we must find the question. So, why the apple?:: Bryan Travis :: 10/28/2002 @ 20:21 :: [link] ::
:: Monday, October 14, 2002 ::
After writing five tasteless sentences about the shape of windsocks blowing in the wind, I realized I was capable of better. Don't get me wrong - the Windsock Action Meter won't be dismantled, because after spending five hours from my copious pool of spare time designing it, the time investment has become too great for a write off. But... I will balance it with one of those introspective posts I almost never write anymore.
I need to bring the tropical plants inside when I go home, because tonight will bring the first freezing temperatures of the season. Frost is Nature's way of telling her children warm days are over and a new stage of life is beginning. Nature's words are not lost on her creations: oak and maple leaves seem to crispen overnight as their supple, lively green color begins surrendering to golden and ruddy hues. Gone are the mosquitoes and other flying insects as large flocks of birds take to the sky. They chase the sun on its slow trek as it gradually slides into southern skies... further and further it sails day by day.
It felt like the first frost last night when I realized half of October had gone by without a weblog post. It's not the first time without a post for two weeks, and I can't put my finger on the reason why. Is it because there's hardly time for posting between work, school, leisure, and sleep? Is it because funtongue scatterplot has served its purpose and I no longer have a need it can fulfill? The sensation is no less relaxing and enjoyable when I slip into a deep writing groove, but like warm days in October, it happens less over time. The well isn't dry, yet. There are still a few things worth writing about.
As for the Windsock Action Meter: why? Self-deprecating humor is one of the best forms of therapy I know of for being whiney. Here's a fact: there are few people I clique with easily. It bothers me, and I wish it didn't. I'm quite introverted and perceive the world in a different set of colors than most. I don't bemoan my unique perspective and enjoy spending time alone reflecting or relaxing, but the sense of isolation can be less than pleasant. There's a difference between loneliness and isolation: a lack of interaction leads to a feeling of loneliness; a sense of being different leads to a feeling of isolation. There's a locked door and I can talk to people on the other side in muffled tones, but can't find the key to open it. Isolation. There are all sorts of decorations, trinkets, and gadgets (collectively, stuff) I'd love to share, but no one seems interested to see them, much less understand what it's all about. And then there's the other problem - how interesting do I find the other person's cache of treasures?
Now, I've been told more than once by a casual observer that those signals of interest have been sent, but they're lost on me, that I'm blind if I couldn't see them... but you don't know what you don't know. Then there have been the times when it seemed all but unmistakable, and I've been wrong... well, not wrong, but suffice it to say, chalk it up to being confused, but not confused enough. And then there are the times when it works out.
I'm not sure what to make of that paragraph - it's casual observation without opinion, nothing more than narrative without reflection. Maybe that's part of the problem... I don't know what to make of it all, so I whittle my time away seeking solace in satire. Ehhh, it's a hobby.:: Bryan Travis :: 10/14/2002 @ 19:00 :: [link] ::
With an overwhelming sense of mischievous glee, I present the funtongue scatterplot Windsock Action Meter.
What is it? As the name implies, it's an annunciator equating the shape of a windsock to the amount of action I have recently or may soon experience. Thanks to a perverse sense of awareness, I noticed that by exposing windsocks to varying wind speeds, they become strikingly animated phallic symbols.Bryan Travis :: 10/14/2002 @ 02:01 :: [link] ::