Some of us, though, are more skin and bones than others. I don’t mean this in the normal sense of the term: not in a skinny way; rather, it’s more like a quality of construction way. Most of us, our bones, our skin, our fat and muscle; it all synthesizes into a whole that is more than the sum of its parts. We look at them and we see a person, not mere skin and bone.

But then there are others that when you look at them, if you look closely, you can really see the skin hanging off the bone. You can see the shape of the skull, the face clinging on like a person clinging for dear life on the edge of a cliff. You can immediately see through them, dissecting without the need of a knife, neatly separating them into their component parts, in your mind.

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Now, to you Web developers, if you’re using a single header graphic spanning the entire page, here’s a tip: be careful what tool tip you use, or else you might create results like the one I inadvertantly found when my mouse traveled to the top of the contact page for United States Senator for Maine Olympia Snowe:

Now that’s one handsome woman!

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The moose is apparently being built not to commemorate a Swedish victory over some invading force. But when you think about it, what reason does there need to be to build the world’s largest moose? This should be a monument to celebrate mooseness, and there need be no other reason, for there can be no reason more appropriate than that anyway.

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The reason I am so distraught is that I have been harboring a fantasy, for nearly all my life, that one day I would see a dinosaur in real life. The aforementioned dino-flesh held the best possibility of DNA extraction, and then we’d be on our way to a real-life Jurassic Park.

This also means that the rest of my fantasy won’t come true. You know, the part where scientists vastly underestimate the intelligence and breeding frequency of said reconstituted dinosaurs, and then the dinosaurs overbreed and eventually break out of their containment facility.

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This being my second visit to Shanghai, I wasn’t as concerned with traipsing around gawking at touristy schlock as I was with things like drinking beer and eating food and pontificating with other beer-drinking food-eaters about the state of life in China, but I did reserve one touristy thing for my last day.

Upon arrival, I had a ride into town, so the opportunity wasn’t there, but I made my way back to Pudong Airport all by my lonesome, which meant I could feel free to go and do one of those nerdy things that often seems to entertain me more than the poor people who get stuck with me: I rode the Shanghai maglev train.

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I’m not sure what Mao wanted in exchange, but to me it certainly sounds like a proposition worth considering.

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The tradition works like this: twice every year we screw with everyone’s sleep schedule by tampering with the clocks. We move the time either an hour ahead or an hour behind, depending on the season, so as to maximize the light in the morning. Now that I live in a country that doesn’t do this, it makes me rather happy, because I always loathed this twice yearly inconvenience. Now it seems the time change’s downside exceeds mere annoyance: it’s killing people.

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And on the new Airbus 380, whose first class has semi-private suites, Singapore Airlines should definitely leave people alone. I mean, for whatever outrageous price once must pay for such a first class seat, I think travelers ought to be able to get their grooves on if they feel like it.

(BBC article)

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Normally, I am a pretty self-sufficient person. I don’t usually ask people for much, and I try to wriggle out of sticky situations on my own. Sometimes, it seems people are even a little put off by this, as if they would be happier if i asked them for more, but I see it as my way to just not be a burden to anyone. Recently, I moved to China, and this experience has made me more reliant on other people than at any other time in my life.

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Surfer Dreams Is Wet. Indeed.

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