I was born 51 years ago today. To mark the occasion, here’s a 51-pointed star. It’s made of {17/7} heptadecagrams repeated 3 times, and with their edges extended as lines, in three different colors. This works because 51 = (17)(3).
During my 4th period class today, I got asked one of my least favorite questions by one of my students: “Do you believe in God?”
It’s a science class, and I want us to stay on-topic. Discussing my views on the existence or non-existence of a deity isn’t going to help with that. I sighed, and said what I always say in this situation: “That’s a personal question, and I don’t answer personal questions.”
The students then remembered that I have a Bible on the bookshelf in my classroom, and concluded, on the basis of this single shred of evidence, that I am, indeed, a believer. (The Bible is there as one of many options for my students to read during their designated reading time, just before lunch.)
Since then, I’ve been to Amazon, and ordered an English translation of the Qur’an, which I will place on that same bookshelf — probably right next to the Bible. I wonder what my students will make of that?
I used to have serious ambitions to achieve immortality, first by having my brain transplanted into a cloned body, and then eventually having the information in my brain uploaded into a computer. Basically, I had a severe case of thanatophobia. The music of The Flaming Lips, and this song in particular, helped me to eventually accept the inevitability of my own death.
I’ve been asked this question at least a hundred times. The answer is that my favorite color is black.
Black has been my favorite color for decades. As a college freshman, I even kept a black posterboard up on the wall, in my room at the dorm. Also, I don’t think I have ever been afraid of the dark. I actually find darkness comforting.
I usually get a protest, as a response, when I give my simple answer to this question: “Black’s not a color!”
At that point, nearly every time, I can end debate with a single question to my inquisitor: “What color is your t-shirt?” Sometimes they even look down at their shirt when I say this, and here’s what they typically see:
I have no explanation for why the people who ask me to identify my favorite color are usually wearing black, but at least it quickly ends the conversation.
So I’m looking at Facebook, and all of a sudden Hexagon the Kitten is on the keyboard. Zap! Screenshot captured at feline speed — before I could grab the little rogue.
This is the first of four pages of information which Hexagon attempted to print this morning — a screenshot of the top of my Facebook timeline. She tricked me into losing the other three pages, which were simply more records of recent activity on Facebook.
She was also, as the image above shows, trying to print in black and white, which seemed interesting. I looked it up, and cats have far more rods than cones, compared to humans, so I guess Hexagon doesn’t see color as that important.
She also typed the following into the keyboard:
What is Hexagon’s goal with all of this computer activity? If I ever figure it out, I’ll post my findings here.
I just found a hilarious tale about my mother (in L. Lee Cowan’s Except for All the Snakes, I just Love It Out Here: The News from Stone County, Arkansas, Where One Life is Put Down Straight Up, p. 120). According to this published account, I was four years old when her battle to kill an armadillo entered family legend. As you can see below, Mom credits both my sister and myself with keeping the story alive over the years. A good family friend, Bruce, played a key role in bridging the gap between my mother and L. Lee Cowan, the author of the book in which this was published. It’s an amazing thing to have found.
If you like this excerpt (shown below), please buy the book, as I have done.
We have a new kitten. Her name is Hexagon.
The “Pure Michigan” ad campaign should wait until they’ve replaced ALL of the lead pipes in Flint. Until then, the whole thing is just an exercise in hypocrisy.
RobertLovesPi.net 