Toward transparency.

For madbard, who's probably been sent this thing thirty-seven times.

(Worth it for the intramusical instructions such as "release the penguins" and "light explosives now....and.....now")

The deviant and matchmaker in me really found this one rather heartwarming. Only about 3 minutes long, probably NSFW.

For murdoch, for some reason. :-)

Oh look, it's Mother's Day.

Oh, look what song I'm hearing.





i miss you, mom.

...don't get much sadder than Viorar Vel Til Loftarasa by Sigur Ros.



I'll be impressed if you can get through this one dried-eyed.

Seeing the_xtina being languidly content in my presence is one of the greatest joys in my little universe.

Hey y'all!

Feeling overwhelmed by burdensome household chores?

Want a sparkling clean house by a sparky young lady?

Hire laughingstone to spiff up your abode for springtime.

She's reasonable, thorough, responsible, accommodating, and wields a Featherduster of Doom.

that the Guinness Book of World Records has a Gamer's Edition?

djdigit and I toasted to two wonderful years together over a divine French dinner at the friendly, affordable Le Petit Bistro in Mountain View last night.

We even walked there together, and stumbled back home after Cabernet Sauvignon and Kir Royales did us in.

And afterwards, surprisingly for the first time ever, our neighbors gently knocked on our bedroom wall so we'd keep it down at 10pm.

(I was playing my 12-string guitar for him in bed. We think both the neighbor's and our windows were open.)

Interesting article about the subversive UK graffiti artist, Banksy.

So much that I'm taking him to the airport in a few minutes, so he can fly to Oklahoma to see his family.

It's 4:51 a.m. PST. :-)

I'm used to green tea looking like this. It's never really excited me much, but can be refreshing on a cool winter day along with sushi.

But this weekend, I went to a real Japanese tea ceremony in San Francisco for the Cherry Blossom Festival, and was served real green tea--which looks more like this--by beautiful, mature ladies in springtime kimono, one of whom later performed a delicate fan dance to a lo-fi Nippon ballad.

Then, I ran out of a sushi restaurant after ordering my lunch to experience the exhilarating taiko drumming up the street, after which I ran back to have my last two raw oysters of the season, before the months without "r"'s fall in line.

The prior day, I was in the Urgent Care Center in Mountain View being treated for a terrifically painful pinched nerve that began Thursday morning, and is still very much there, turning my neck and shoulders into granite and my dearest friends into foot soldiers and loving couriers.

traumentwerfer brought me a fresh plum after I'd awaited treatment for two hours, keeping me sane among sterility.
patrissimo delivered a topical anti-inflammatory, depositing it in my mailbox as I carefully showered.
zunger delivered my muscle relaxant prescription.
zingkotori, with help from simbubba dropped ideas of creative ways to eat Chinese food while I was flat on my back.
shaix delivered shrimp korma and enveloping hugs.
arcanepackrat and nasu_dengaku deftly delivered deep-tissue massages, including during the sake tasting in Berkeley.
djdigit has taken over massage duty, and to boot, delivered my favorite gourmet ice cream in three flavors, and fired up David Lynch's Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me on the DVD player.

And to all, I return my deepest gratitude.

I'll take a page from Fraulein Maria's songbook. Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.




(In other news, I am allergic to opiates-- my first ever allergy. No more Vicodin or Percocet pretty much ever.)

In October 1999, Nicholas White stepped out of the McGraw-Hill Building in NYC for a cigarette break. When finished, he returned the elevator and pressed a button to his floor.

He couldn't get out of the elevator for 41 hours.

This film condenses his ordeal into three minutes, with a haunting soundtrack.


Every time you see him forcing the door open for a moment, in case it's unclear, he's looking at a grey brick wall.


I've only been stuck in a hotel elevator once, when I was a pre-teen, with one of my cousins. We were rescued in about 10 minutes. I was a little nervous, but she, a year younger, was terrified.

Over the last few months, I've become attracted to all things math and science. I just want to take it all in and have big fascinating conversations and go out and do math-oriented activities and projects, and give it all back to the world with my own little signature, and I want to delight in all others' signatures. Untapped brilliance abounds. It's already happened. It's also still coming.

But there's something wrong with me, though, because I'm still a little afraid to sit around doing math *problems*, much less pursue lofty things like proofs.

There's still the little voice in my head that says "You don't have a math brain, Christina. You have an artist brain, and artist brains are window dressing."

It's irrational, yes.  I'm getting better, stronger, more able to dismiss that voice. That voice is being drowned out by more and more knowledge and support, and my exponential queue of questions.

I don't know where to begin.

My brain can hold a lot.  Depth and breadth.  I can soak in logic and proofs, even just contextually, and it will filter back through my art, and even my routines in life, and it will add texture to the world.  I won't see surfaces, just.   I'll see components down to the atomic level, the historical level, in my imagination.  I won't see just the clock face, but the springs, wheels, gears, the works. The works.
The weldmarks.
The blueprints.
The schools.
The schoolbooks.
The book authors, the oral traditions, the errors, the follies, the measurements, the standardizations, the inventions, the arguments, the first words spoken and understood, the utterings, the crude carvings on cave walls, the Earth orbiting the Sun as it rises and falls with precision, circles, ovals, ellipses, axes...

Time.
The first time. The first second. Ever.

That first second occurred so unfathomably before the ticking of the first sundial.

Not just what an object brings, but how it came to be. Origins. You will never stop finding origins. It's endless.

And boy do I get turned on.

I'm even more turned on knowing that I can access these things, and that I'm capable of more wisdom and knowledge than I ever granted myself.

Reason.  Medicine.  Logic.  Physics.  Computers.  Artificial Intelligence.  Complex systems.  Philosophy.  Engineering.  Patterns.  Linguistics.  Shapes.  Chaos.  Mechanics.  Space.  Energy.  Memory.  Chemistry.  Industry.  Flight.  Efficiency.  Process.  Dirt.  Water.  Steel.

What can I show you?

Possibilities.

Intimacy.  Fearlessness.  Empowerment.  Communication.   Tolerance.  Confrontation.  Talent.  Assertiveness.  Harmony.  Ethics.  Balance.  Variety.  Progress.  Song.  Words.  Dynamics.  Expression.  Forgiveness.  Color.  Tenacity.  Change.  Nuance.  Community.  Growth.  Tone.  Relationships.  Interactions.  Reach.  Gratitude.  Grace.  Options.  Choices.  Risk.   Vision.  Culture.  Expansion.  Compassion.  Creativity.  Sanctuary.

Passion.

Wonder.

Decadence.

They matter. They matter too.

Above, I see I have my own native aptitudes that aren't just window dressing (screw you, little voice) and they counter well with the new things I'm discovering, and that my good friends are enthusiastically sharing.  Not teaching.  Sharing.   And I share insights with them, and I'm sometimes even thanked for it.  We exchange.  We engage, we are yin and yang, we nest.

I want to hold more tools in my hand and head.

I want to discover something new every day until I die.

I want to give something new every day until I die, and even after that, somehow. Maybe I should find a way to put off dying.

Ideas are immortal, properly archived and disseminated.

We grow the world with our minds.

We will grow new worlds someday.



Hell, we already do.

That is all.

EDIT: Wait, that's not all.

Allow me to pimp her services to you locals. (In fact it wouldn't surprise me to learn that she works with non-locals as well.)

For a flat $350 you get someone extremely knowledgeable (not to mention meticulous) with a great memory and libertarian leanings (which, trust me, you want in a tax preparer). With her, you save not only time, but possibly way more money than you spend for her to do your paperwork and recommend deductions. She also advises small business owners, contractors, and newlyweds on tax-saving strategies-- not just common sense ones, but really freaking obscure ones.

She is worth *considerably* more than what she charges. I want her to have more business.

This was my second year with her, and once again she proved herself to be a highly competant, good-with-followthrough badass. Both years I've used her, I've only had to meet with her once, to deliver paperwork and have a chat. Everything else is done in very efficient emails, phone calls, faxes.

And she's not even a CPA, but an EA (Enrolled Agent). (I just say CPA because no one knows what an EA is yet. But they are quite valuable allies!)

What is the differences between an Enrolled Agent and other tax professionals?


Only an Enrolled Agent is required to demonstrate to the Internal Revenue Service their competence in matters of taxation before they may represent a taxpayer before the IRS. Unlike attorneys and CPAs, who may or may not choose to specialize in taxes, all EAs specialize in taxation.

EAs are the only taxpayer representatives who receive their right to practice from the United States government. (CPAs and attorneys are licensed by the states).

Her name is Christina Carter. Auditors tremble in her presence.


http://www.ccartertax.com/