It must be about time for another sock drawer post. This is where I do some housecleaning of all the odd ideas that are cluttering up the corners of my mind. Enjoy.
When I was a kid, there was a thing called "I.Q.", which measured one's intelligence. There was only one kind of intelligence, so everybody only got one number. These days there are a bunch of different kinds of intelligence. For example, there's emotional intelligence, spatial intelligence, musical intelligence, etc. Now I'm sure that this is a big step forward and all, but when is somebody going to get around to cataloging all of the varieties of stupidity? Because I count at least 38.
In a similar vein, someone recently told me that when you get your picture taken for your passport, they ask you not to smile. The rationale is that it's easier to identify someone who isn't smiling, because there are a lot of different ways to smile. I guess that makes sense, but I don't think the bureaucrats counted on the fact that I have 67 different ways of looking surly.
One of these days the ACLU is going to start a campaign to change the name of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Just watch.
I think that each religion should have its own email system, tailored to meet the needs of its adherents. For example, the Jewish email system would keep nagging you to email your mother, and the Agnostic email system would never tell you whether your emails actually got through to anyone. If you wanted to avoid getting viruses, you'd do well to convert to Buddhism: no attachments.
I have this little digital recorder that I keep in my car so that I can record these kinds of thoughts when they pop into my head on the way to work. A few weeks ago I had come up with an idea for Radioactive Liberty's
Sunday Retarded Argument, but couldn't remember what it was. Suddenly I remembered, so I grabbed the recorder and babbled just enough to remind myself later. And then I burst into laughter, because I was on a winding 2-lane road in the mountains and I had a sudden flash that if I died in a tragic car crash right then, my last words on this earth would have been "Greg Evigan."
I don't know why they call the lion the "king of the jungle." Lions don't even spend much time in the jungle. They live on the plains, and only venture into the jungle when they are desperate for food. Calling the lion the "king of the jungle" is like calling Hillary Clinton "the senator from New York."
We have a lot of gangs in California, and my wife likes to point out the gang signs that have been spraypainted on the walls of buildings (evidently being a fourth grade teacher requires one to be versed in gang communications). The other day she pointed to something that had been scrawled on the back of a stop sign. "That's the Norteño gang," she said. "That's the Roman numeral for 14, and N is the 14th letter of the alphabet." I couldn't help being impressed. Say what you want about the corrosive effect of gangs on society, but apparently they're teaching kids Roman numerals and cryptography, which is more than I can say for our public schools.
Humor-blogs.com is the king of the interwebs.
Labels: Sock Drawer