A bunch more pix of my robots are here.
Archive for November, 2004
If you can read the New York Times on line and give a rat’s ass about David Foster Wallace (who rocks) and Jose Luis Borges (who rocks) then go check out this.Â I’m hard pressed to figure out what would make this rock even harder, but having Jenna Jameson come over to my apartment and wash my dishes* while I re-read it springs to mind.
*No, “wash my dishes” is not a sexual euphemism. I’ve got a serious back-log of dishes to take care of. If she does a nice job on the dishes, maybe I’ll give her a lil’ somethin’ somethin’**
**No, “somethin’ somethin’” isn’t a sexual euphemism either. It’s code for a Smax-Attax Golden Bazoomba. I’ll explain what that is later.
If you can’t be bothered to read the whole thing (cuz you’re lame), at least dig some quotage:
The Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus reads like a calculator’s weblog about C-3PO’s honors thesis, or an instruction manual for meaning itself translated from the algebra by Data from Star Trek Voyager. The book’s skeleton is a septet of underwhelming statements: “The world is all that is the case;” “A thought is a proposition with a sense.” The intellectual savagery of this book lies in what spins out of these nodes, furious and brilliant. Each initial statement is broken out into sub-statements which are numbered according to Wittgenstein’s secret taxonomy. For example, paragraph 3.33 (”In logical syntax the meaning of a sign should never play a roleâ€¦”) is elaborated by paragraph 3.331 (”From this observation we turn to Russell’s ‘theory of types’. It can be seen that Russell must be wrong.” [Oh SNAP!!! How much did Bertrand Russell hate reading paragraph #3.331 in the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus?])
The Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus famously ends with proposition #7, the only proposition not followed by a decimal-pointed elaboration. Proposition #7 specifically forbids readers to use language to talk about the things that lie beyond language. (Wittgenstein’s analogy was, Why use a ladder to climb a house with no roof?) But here is the great paradox of it all: Wittgenstein had to use language to say that! Because we hadn’t developed emoticons yet. : )
According to the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, language’s only proper use is the description of states of affairs that can be verifiably true or false: those involving solids, liquids, or gases. Nothing else properly falls within language’s words. The traditional philosopher may object: WHAT ABOUT MY FAVORITE QUESTION, “WHAT IS THE GOOD?” The Good is not a solid, a liquid, or a gas, so we can’t use language to talk about it. Same with religion, ethics, metaphysics, and all the profound subjects traditional philosophers usually talk about. From now on those topics will be off-limits to language. You want to discuss the Good? Go play a guitar solo in your jam band about the Good. Just don’t mess up the alphabet trying to talk about it.
The artmeme keeps on an artmemin' and this time out sweet sweet SnizzlePants herself is rockin' the artmemeage. With words.
ColonelSmax's life long unrealised dream was to disobey the Geneva Convention. However, he suffered from Death Denial, an extremely rare psychological condition that normally only affected Hot Babes and their often mistaken-for offsiders, the evil dead. Consequently, he could not cause too much suffering in his prisoners because he did not believe in Death and if death did not exist, then any actions causing death were also non-existent. Eventually, he created a Weapon of Minor Consequence which was a small flake of rust that he brandished menacingly at female prisoners. He hoped that this would at least improve his chance of fucking hot chicks.
What I would like to know is:
I've just seen a Cadillac commercial during the Bears v. Cowboys game that is a pretty blatant ripoff of a scene from Matthew Barney's Cremaster III. So…does anyone reading this have the slightest idea of what I'm talking about?
Prove to me that you do, and you'll win a special prize. Emphasis on the word “prove.”
Smooches and smacks,
Boy obsessed with potted plant. Boy carries potted plant everywhere. Boy convinced he can communicate electrically with potted plant's vegetative soul. Boy has electrical clips connecting his earlobes to potted plant's leaves. Potted plant electrically delivers sage advice. Advice itself seems quite sane. In spite of the eccentricity of the constant presence of potted pal, boy achieves modicum of success in the world of business following plantâ€™s advice.
Despite his wealth, boy becomes increasingly dissatisfied with his life. Boy is lonely. Company of plant no longer suffices. Potted plant is hurt but seemingly capable of coping. Magnanimous plant. Potted plant advises boy that boy should take some time to meet a nice girl. A nice human girl. Potted plant advises boy in quite sane ways as to how to court and impress and eventually marry girl. Plan works.
After years of marital bliss potted plant talks boy into liquefying girl and pouring her into potted plantâ€™s soil. Potted plant's advice to boy apparently not so sane after all. Boy hauled off to jail. But not without first secreting away a clipping. Boy soothes his conscience with the thought that girl lives on somehow in clipping and that clipping will survive transplantation into prison environs. Boy mistaken. Not even boy survives transplantation into prison environs.
Copyright 2004 Pete Mandik
Thank you, , for illustrating my interest in Gut Wrenches
They make me feel all wrenchy. Yay!
Thanks to raygunn_revival for turning me on to Cabinet Magazine. Thanks to BoinBoing for turnging me on to it's web presence.
I love da lil' crabbies!