Jun. 4th, 2006

oneirophrenia: (Swirly)
So. You think you're the shit because you an solve a Rubik's Cube, huh?

Try solving a 4-dimensional RUbik's Cube!

Or, better yet: A 5-DIMENSIONAL RUBIK'S CUBE!

Don't look at me, though: I suck beyond belief at any sort of puzzle involving spatial manipulations or combinatorial operations. That will be one of the first cognitive upgrades I go for when I upload. But for now, the images of the hypercube and the hyperhypercube are really, really fun to look at, and the games are a LOT of fun to play around with.
oneirophrenia: (r0b0t)
I've been on this massive Jonathan Coulton kick this weekend. Someone needs to bring this man to Pittsburgh. That someone might just have to be me.

Nonetheless, Jonathan Coulton's lyrics to "Better" sound like a warning to any woman crazy enough to ever consider dating me, because, girl, you WILL be in this guy's place:

Where did we go? When was the moment when we broke in two?
I think I know. In fact, I am sure I can blame it on you.
I remember the first big surprise:
The day you came home with your infrared eyes.
I looked inside them but all I could see
were tiny reflections of me.

But it's not me, it's you--
What you're turning into--
you're some kind of something that I never knew.
You used to be okay, and I liked you that way.
But I don't think that I like you better.
No, I don't think that I like you better.

It started out small.
Some gills and some wings and a few extra thumbs.
Now you're 13 feet tall.
Even when you're asleep your machinery hums.
And I'm tired of the evenings I spend
making smalltalk with your new robot friends,
with their stupid insistence on scanning my iris--
They know damn well who I am!

And you like a victim of a surgical crime:
A little Darth Vader, a little Optimus Prime.
You used to be okay, and I liked you that way.
But I don't think that I like you better.
No, I don't think that I like you better.

So that's how it goes.
Snap your mandibles once to say you understand,.
Now hold me close.
Wait, now that's too close--you're crushing my hand.
I can tell by that shrieking alarm
your weapons systems are active and armed.
Do me a favor and power them down
just so we don't have a scene.

And I wish it was different, but we're just not the same.
At least we've got someone that we know we can blame.
You used to be okay, and I liked you that way.
But I don't think that I like you better.
No, I don't think that I like you better.

(Wow, Johnny C's cover of "Famous Blue Raincoat" is incredibly depressing, too. I think I like it better than the Leonard Cohen original.)

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oneirophrenia

April 2007

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