Interesting Facts About Google

• Letters of the alphabet get different Google hits depending on whether or not they are capitalized.

• No letter of the alphabet has less than one billion hits on Google.

• The most is "a" with 19.3 billion hits. The least is "q" with 1.89 billion hits.

42

Do you do jokes in base 13?

Meanderings. Donuts. Random words that comes to mind.

Infinite human experience.

Life. To be perfectly honest, would humans want to know the meaning of life? On the surface, it sure looks nice. Find out what we are supposed to do with ourselves for 80 some-odd years.

I don't want to know the meaning of life. That would make it all pointless. What if the meaning of life was to ask about the meaning of life. Isn't that how humans have achieved every thing they've ever done, good or bad? We create war, science, religion, as a way to explain everything. If we learned the Answer, wouldn't that all be pointless. Would there be no wars, because there would be no conflict of opinion? What if the meaning of life was something we didn't want. Suppose it is direct animosity to our happiness. Some think it is. Some think the meaning of life is to be as unhappy as possible because they think a floating man will save them. Some see that as happiness.

Suppose it's just to laugh a little. Suppose it's to ask questions, try to get knowledge about the world and interpret it. Would all thought stop if we found the answer. No more questions, no more thought. No more thought, no more anything.

Would it be accepted. Would there be some who refuse to accept our purpose? Some do today. Suppose humanity rejected it's fate. They knew it to be our real purpose, but didn't accept it. Why? For the sake of anarchy? So there will be SOME though left, some war, some pain, some laughter, some emotion.

42. Such a simple answer. Maybe the real answer is as simple as that.

Birthday

I celebrated a close family member's birthday today. It wasn't huge. We had cake and some fast food. We all wished her a happy birthday and went on our way. Spent some time.

The thing is, we spend time over there as it is. Not that I don't enjoy it, it's just shouldn't that be special. I hate special treatment on my birthday. When I complete a project I've been working on or a goal I've been working towards, then pat me on the back. Hell, I'll take some cake too.

But the day I was born? Seriously? I get cake and stuff just because my mother managed to stretch her cervix to the breaking point or go through a procedure that gets an enormous scar? Then give her the damn cake.

Yet I love recognizing other's birthdays. Is it the same for everyone? We hate our own, and don't want any attention on ours but feel a compulsive need to give the other person what we know we don't have? Maybe it's an inferiority complex. I don't feel as if I've given that person enough, why should they give me an arbitrary gift? Because of tradition?

Why do we love to give. It's not the tax write-off, because this doesn't have one. I despise getting things, people spending money on me, and giving me things, when a simple "Hey, you were born today. Hope your mother didn't hurt too much". That's what it should be. Guilt day. "You stretched your mother's vagina beyond all comprehension. Don't you feel great" The cake would be a giant hole with a head sticking out. If you are female, you should have a football shoved through your vagina. (You don't want to know what happens to the males)

Are humans naturally giving? Do we naturally want to give things to people for nothing? Does society make us into Scrooges or Republicans? So if any one's birthday is today, have a cookie, unless you'd rather I'd forget about it and give it to someone else. Maybe it's that I have a lot of guilt from when I was a child and yelling at my mother to get me a sandwich on her birthday.

Did I ruin my entire birthday happiness because of a PB&J?

What would surprise you?

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Protection of the innocent, the guilty, and that creepy guy at the mall.

This post was inspired by a comment by The Angel and Demon Within. I hope she doesn't mind the shout out, for it may attract the bandwidth-breaking traffic of the person who reads this blog.

Pseudonyms. There are many. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, more commonly known as Lewis Carroll. Often today suspected of being a pedophile. Is that why he called himself Lewis Carroll? Because when he had it, his relationship with the real Alice in Wonderland was considered perfectly normal.

Eric Arthur Blair. Political writer. More commonly known as George Orwell. Did he hide his identity because he didn't want Russia to kill him?

I wonder vaguely if others tried to use pseudonyms, but couldn't, because their name sounded so damn charismatic.

DO they use it to hide? Some do. Many anonymous bloggers use pseudonyms, myself included, because certain details could be, shall we say incriminating in later years. Some may use it to disassociate themselves with it, in their own mind. Perhaps David Berkowitz used the moniker "Son of Sam" to make himself believe he wasn't responsible for it..... Although with him, I think it was more so he wouldn't get arrested and executed for murder.

Yet that begs the question. They say serial killers like BTK are megalomaniacs of the highest degree, so why use a different name? Sure it's something to say the police can't find BTK, but another thing entirely to say they can't find Dennis Rader, who lives at this exact address.

Englebert Humperdinck.

Aw fuck, I'm not even going to try that one.

Is it the mystery? Is it more mysterious to say that "Opalia Darkknight" wrote a book than Jane Smithson?

Snicket does it to make the story seem interesting. Kal Penn does it to get more jobs. Voltaire did it because no one wants to think that the man who wrote Candide was 5 feet tall.

But if that's the case, why did Napoleon stick to it.

For all purposes, I shall remain nameless. I picked "Greg" because it's generic.

And to be perfectly clear, if anyone wouldn't tell the difference, I'd change it to....Phil. Or maybe Dick.

Remember that cheese I told you about....

Well I am refusing to talk about it. It knows what it did...

Anyway, I have elected to continue writing for at least another 3 minutes.

Granted, it may happen in one sentence pieces that will annoy the hell out of you.

My blog, my rules.

Because there's nothing to talk about. There's some rubber cement on my desk. A friend of mine blacked out today. I'm going out of town tomorrow.

Well, I guess I can talk about something. Movies or books.

What about the Dark Knight? No, already been done too much.

Nineteen Eighty-Four? Awesome book, but no.

Why don't I do a restaurant review. What about not.

The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism? Makes a good message about the flaws of a functioning society and how to maintain the upper class in a position of absolute power while the bourgeois are kept in a point of eternal war with no end, thus paralyzing the distribution of goods while still maintaining the functioning economic growth needed for the gears of society to keep going and at the same time keeping them in a state of ignorance while the lowest class struggles to survive and could only possibly empower themselves via revolution of utmost proportions but will never do so because of the admitted goal of the upper class to have power as it's own end rather than change involves the complete and utter destruction of free and independent thought, but no.

I suppose I could make a complete post out of possible things to do, but I really don't feel like it.

So I'll just leave you hanging for a while. Or forever.

Or just for the weekend.