Walking

Walking is the most enjoyable of all human endeavors. One is able to enjoy the feeling of being in possession of their body (a curious feeling to lack, and yet one that I often find absent, due to comfy chairs and computers and whatnot), a slight rush of blood and strain, but without losing the faculty of imagination and observation. How much more enjoyable to walk through a landscape or cityscape than to look at it! As a child growing up in Chicago Seurat's masterpiece is something I take for granted- what else would you put up on an elementary school art room wall?, and so my discovery today of a perfectly ideal park, in size, in distance, in shape, in topology, and in plant and animal life (rose garden! forests! ducks!) in which to enjoy a Sunday afternoon is tinged with a curious element of nostalgia.

On the difference between generations

In a trivia contest two nights ago, my mom called me, asking if I knew the names of the winds in Greek mythology. I misidentified Aeolus (bebother the internal inconsistencies of a system that, as such, never existed, bebother them!) as one, and correctly named Zephyrus. This is beside the point. The interesting observation is that my mom, the following day, no one having correctly identified the winds, sent me an email saying that the contest was still open, and asked me if I had remembered any more. Which is to suggest that she is either ignorant of being able to use the internet to find information, or else is demonstrating notable integrity- either of which would contrast trivia contests for a person of my mother's generation to one of my own. I of course sent her to the pertinent Wikipedia page.

On another note entirely, I have developed a deep contempt for cardboard. Is there no other medium of packaging that we might be rid the scourge of dusty, smelly, icky cardboard filling my apartment? What about lots and lots of bubble wrap and tape? Is this not a better world, full of loud popping noises and jumping, and devoid of dust and paper-cuts and the horrid texture of sticky cardboard?

Imagine how the baby feels...

Today on the train there was a loudly crying baby. It was annoying, as such occurrences always are, but I also had an epiphany. How could the mild discomfort of any bystander ever match the momentary torment of a baby who is crying? We should be more tolerant of crying babies in public, I think. You're upset? Well, imagine how the baby feels.

Messy or Smart?

Lately I've taken to wearing the same clothes two or even three days in a row. There's no one with whom I socially interact on consecutive days so I feel like there's no one to call me on it. Plus, it means I rarely have to do laundry. Of course, on some days it's necessary to wear clean clothes in order to be especially presentable. I call those days "clean clothes days."

Another Observation:

• On my left: A recently assembled and used Eureka vacuum cleaner. Yellow and black. "The Boss SmartVac"
• On my right: Those weird white, evocative of the extraterrestrial desktop speakers, a soup mug with Princeton University written on it, and a pile of paper detritus.
• In front of me: My computer, from which I am removing nearly all of my programs and data in order to dogfood it.
• Behind me: Our dinner table, with Sam's Macbook, my bamboo placemats, a salt and pepper shaker, napkins, and a box.
• In the air: Boards of Canada - "1969"