Neurons randomly connecting. Shorting. Grounding out (but not to third).
I haven’t been able to listen to the whole thing to discover just how it all comes out (I can only listen to just so much–about 30 seconds at a time–of the the over-produced, derivative crap that is contemporary “country” music), but Eric Lee Beddingfield may be onto something here. (Hint: click on the “Listen” link on song number 6.)
The joys of google: I was looking for something else, but this link looked interesting. I’m awarding the author my own PhDBS.* He deserves it more than I. The degree’s in the mail, bub.
If you want to explore a pop/contemporary genre of music, Pandora might be your cuppa tea. It’s an interesting, but extremely limited, idea. It seems to think “music” means only things written/performed in the last few years. “Classic” jazz, to it, is something about 5 years old (or less). Still, if you want to set up an internet radio station to play a wide selection of a limited number of genres with songs from recent years, it might just suit you.
Richard Dooling’s post, “Moot Court Hearing On The Petition of a Conscious Computer,” points to a piece at Ray Kurzweil’s site (with… exactly the same title–*heh*). And people used to have me convinced I was weird… I think Ray Kurzweil’s got a lock on creative weirdness, now.
Oh, Dooling’s “Randon Quote” ain’t half bad, either:
Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.—W.C. Fields
More goodies at his site.
Sharp Left Turn: My definition of bad coffee used to revolve around a high school band trip to Mexico. Some of us roomed overnight at one stop at a convent school (it was during a school break for the girls, so keep you imaginations in your pants, guys). Breakfast was… interesting. The coffe at least tasted fresh ground. I swear they’d just dug it up outa the graveyard next door. But recently, I had to revise my definition of bad coffee. I had the “opportunity” to taste a sippa coffee from the break room at my wife’s work the other day. The words “Wolverine piss” sprang readily to mind as I spat the stuff out… (Sippin’ some good stuff, now.) I’d sooner have some day old brewed by me than get within spittin’ distance of any more of that stuff from Wonder Woman’s workplace.
Let’s put this essay on the next National Adult Literacy Survey for all those subliterate pseudo-adults who can’t read a bus schedule…
There is an old conundrum in queueing theory that goes like this. A passenger arrives at a bus-stop at some arbitrary point in time. Buses arrive according to a Poisson process (i.e., completely randomly) at the bus-stop on average every 30 minutes. How long can a passenger expect to wait for the next bus?
Go figure.
And last (at last!)
An idea whose time has come… and gone. (Go here for more of this sort… )
Trackposted at The Random Yak’s UN-certain Observances (and Midweek OTP), of course.
*PhDBS=doctorate in bovine scatology. I’ve mostly closed my practice in the field, so I no longer need the sheepskin, anyway.