Categories
internet poetic school socialweb

Battle of the Megictionaries

Whatever their shortcomings, neither encyclopedia appears to be as error-prone as one might have inferred from Nature, and if Britannica has an edge in accuracy, Wikipedia seems bound to catch up.

Continued here…

In other Wiki news, have you heard about Wikiversity?

The main goal of Wikiversity is not just to impart knowledge but to facilitate learning. The collaborative model of the wiki will be applied to an e-learning framework. This differs significantly from a classic university model, although it does acknowledge the growing acceptance of a social theory of learning in pedagogical and academic practice.

Wikiversity will not prohibit research, though it need not necessarily be a part of every course. In the technical training aspects of its work, its goal is not to discover new things, but to teach things which are already known to new people. At a higher level of education, there will probably have to be some scope for students to do their own research, whether a survey of the literature or of primary research, though this will have to be monitored carefully, and will be dependent on the type of course offered.

Wikiversity does not yet certify student’s mastery. We currently have no way of assuring who is doing the work for a course. We have no way ensuring that every course that would be required for a degree has enough teachers to even attempt it. We attempt to teach the same material many accredited schools do, and to teach the material as well (or better!). But we are not yet an accredited university. There is no guarantee that we will attempt to gain accreditation in the future. It is an open question with diverse opinions within the current community of participants whether accreditation and the ability to award recognized credentials will be useful or effective in the performance of our mission to facilitate free learning. It is already clear that Wikiversity will be a radically different kind of learning platform/environment/resource and its identity and scope will be continually shaped by its students and its practitioners.

Our goal, therefore, is to teach the material to whomever wants to learn it, to the best of our ability and theirs. We set out the materials needed to learn, and set up a framework for collaborative learning and teaching. It is the task of the self selected participants to work towards actual mastery of desired skills sufficient and necessary to pursue personal goals.

And since I don’t remember if I posted this before, it’s a great wiki resource for librarians.

You guessed it, it’s Wiki Wednesday!

Before I said that, I didn’t even know it was an actual phenom.

Categories
humor poetic

Tumble Dry Low-ku

We tumbling vestments,
warm and content, if dizzy;
you cannot bleach our souls.

12.14.2005 Ahniwa Ferrari

Categories
humor poetic

An ode to tumble dry.

Oh me, oh my,
I’m getting dry;
a flock of socks has
just passed by,
their long necks out
and wrapped about
each other.
They’re indecent like that,
socks.

12.14.2005 Ahniwa Ferrari

Categories
humor poetic

If your boss is blind, this might be NSFW …

Playboy. In Braille.

This would be a terrible gift for the visually impaired, because you don’t give the visually impaired one quarter of a decade-old Playboy as a gift.

But for you? Put it out on the coffee table like I did. Owning Playboy in Braille is like having a Day-Glo orange monkey that can curse in Farsi. It gets attention. People talk.

Categories
photo poetic

Hermes and the sunset.

The wind bites at the heels of clouds as they gracefully crest the distant rolling green. Behind the trees the sky blushes, turning the clouds to fire.


I think of the snow this morning, large, white, damp flakes that coated the world so briefly before melting. Inside and warm, Hermes and I dance to the steady beat of wordplay.

Categories
humor poetic

From the mind that brought you the Edunatrix…

I’ve officially dubbed today “Typography Monday”. What does this mean? A couple things. For one, it means I named the theme of the day before Theo, and that’s a first. Second, it means that Theo is much zanier than I, but I outgeek him at a ratio of 3.7 to 1. So, yeah … typography.

It all started when Theo mentioned that I should get a printing press. Since I have a small apartment, I would have to keep it in the kitchen, which would mean no more eating. Ever. I countered with a cunning business plan, which I have named:

Font-Face Sandwiches. Open-Font Sandwiches?

Who knows, the point is, it’s totally brilliant. Just think, an “amper-sandwich” with cheddar, mustard and tomato. Ellepsis eats for the hunger that never … really … ends ….

Ampersandwich! Hahahahahah!!!

And not just sandwiches, either. How about:

Garamond Gazpacho

Lucida Lentils

Spaghetti Sans Serif

I could go on, and on, and on. Really, you’d be amazed and worried about just how ongoing I could go.

Hamburger Helvetica

Courier Croissants

Arial Angel Hair al Dente

Okay, that one is just dumb. But you get the picture. I’m taking a half day today. Think I’ll go have lunch … like an ampersandwich! The only food that practically asks you to add a side-dish!

Categories
art poetic

Typo Graphics

wtfIf you read Kottke, and you should, you saw this link already. I’m a burgeoning typography geek (or at least I’d like to be), and thought this was absolutely fantastic.

You can check out the forum I stole this from, here.

Categories
poetic

Things you feel like maybe everyone else already knew…

Looking at templates, I came across a whole lot of what looked like Latin, starting with the text “Lorem Ipsum…”. Very brief research led me here, which offers an awesome explanation, as well as a Lorem Ipsum generator.

Neat!

Categories
personal poetic school webcomics

Et tu, McGill?

Running a webcomic in a serious fashion dominates your life. It’s like crack, giant ramakins full of crack with dollops of “hilarious” and “ARGH!” thrown in as seasoning, simmered for 80 hours, and shoved down your gullet without so much as a bon appetit. Honestly, it’s a lot of fun, but time-consuming much? Yes. Of course, I’m the slacker that doesn’t have to draw the damn thing, so I got shit to complain about. Ask Theo about his social life lately … oh wait, you won’t be able to find him since he’s holed up drawing all the time.

That’s not entirely true. We hit the town, play pool, and cat about. It’s a toss, let me tell ya.

So this month is a big month. This month, I should learn if I get accepted to McGill for next Fall. Yes, Montreal is still on the plate, and in some ways it’s looking more savory than ever. I love the Northwest, but I dunno if I need to settle down in one area quite yet, and if I don’t explore the world when the opportunity presents in my youth, what are the chances that I’ll do so as I grow older?

In this, I have been fickle so far. Well, not entirely, considering I wasn’t accepted and therefore not offered the opportunity to be fickle (and I bet I would have gone, too, though I don’t regret staying here for another year). I’ll leave it at the fact that I’ve made my plays, and put things in motion, and at this point I don’t mind being a leaf in the wind, watching what unfolds.

My French skills fucking suck right now, though. I explete because this irritates me, and I’d like to parler fucking bien. When no one can hear me, I recite Apollinaire to myself, and always stop at the third stanza, dismayed that I’ve forgotten. Could I look it up? But then what would I complain about? I’ll leave you with the first two stanzas, from memory:

Vous y dansiez petite fille.
Y danzerez-vous mere-grande.
C’est la maclotte qui sautille,
toutes les cloches sonneront.
Quand donc reviendrez-vous, Marie?

Les masques sont silencieux,
et la musique est si lointaine,
qu’elle semble venir des cieux,
oui je veux vous aimer mais vous aimer a peine
et mon mal est delicieux.

That’s a memory from a long time ago, indeed.

Categories
poetic

Brief Flights

What brief flights are these that men have made,
assailing dreams and stars with their effusions,
unconscious that beneath their hopes are laid
their fears, their doubts, and all of their confusions.

10.29.2005 Ahniwa Ferrari

Categories
poetic work

for the M. L. E.

It’s a daytime stress case,
dialing for rebates,
trying to find the line between the bars
and in the suitcase.
A workplace gossip mop-up,
clean the shit out and let’s stop it,
talk up the values they deny you,
because only you supply you,
and they should watch it if they try you:
you’ve got the HADOKEN like Ryu.

Take it away, take it away.
We never had it anyway.

There’s no time to lose,
you’ve paid your dues,
they’ve taken their toll and now you’ve got to choose;
’cause life’s not a balance of the good and bad,
and if you let them sell you then you’ve been had,
if you can’t get even, then just get glad,
’cause life’s too short to just stay mad.

Take it away, take it away.
We never had it anyway.

It’s not a story with a happy ending,
because nothing ends while we’re still sending;
so take this bit of advice I’m lending,
you’ll never stand straight if you keep on bending.
So stand up straight and stand up right,
and rage against the dying light;
you know you got skills straight out of sight,
why keep them caged until the night?

Take it away, take it away.
We never had it anyway.

Take it away, take it away.
We didn’t want it anyway.

Categories
personal poetic

For sale: baby shoes, never used.

Confused dreams about eyelashes left me too addled to effectively manage my alarm this morning. Hitting “snooze” every nine minutes became a riddle I continuously failed for minutes at a time. Eventually, my fingers would accidently fall against the appropriate button, allowing me some brief reprieve, where I fell back into a Cocteauian montage of sphinx and self-betrayal.

To say that I finally awoke refreshed would be a gross exaggeration. Too many cigarettes and my mouth tastes like tar in the morning, though I persist in this slow suicide, like so many millions of others. Peer pressure is one thing. It’s blunt and tactless: “Be cool, smoke.” Peer reassurance, on the other hand; knowing that if I have a weakness then it’s one shared by multitudes. That’s my downfall, my death, and perhaps the explanation of the self-betrayal in my dreams.

More likely, it was the General Tsao’s chicken I finished off just before I went to bed. I still don’t get the eyelashes thing though.

Categories
dance love personal poetic

next time, shoes

Life like a dirty martini
dance the fork out and swing it
wore holes through my socks on a sticky floor
trying to find the right way to
woo

She’s mentioned that breakfast numerous times
I’m always flattered
French poetry in the underground
smiles and coffee and oh what times
and thank you for the years

Now a reciprocity, previously unsuggested
French and dancing?
at the same time no less
like Dionysus waiting in the wings
with wine and fervor and he’s winking
but I’m not going to chase because
I’ve tried that and …

The right way to woo is like dancing
like jazz in the underground club
with smoke against the ceiling
and wine for 10f
and every night we’d stumble home
across the Rhine

just find the syncopation
and Apollo be damned

Categories
poetic

The Highest Tide

This last Saturday I went to a local book reading/signing at Orca Books. The book being read was “The Highest Tide” by Jim Lynch, who is an Olympia native, and whose book takes place in Olympia. As of about an hour ago, I finished reading it, and I have to say, it rocks my face off. Seriously, go read it.

The story follows a thirteen-year-old boy named Miles O’Malley who lives on the edge of the Puget Sound and who is obsessed with Rachel Carson, marine life, and the girl-next-door who used to babysit him. When Miles finds a giant squid washed up from a high tide, he is catapulted into local fame. When he continues to find things in the bay that shouldn’t be there, his fame goes from local to national, and he gets a lot of largely unwanted attention. Despite these catalysts, the story remains focused on Miles’ experiences with the ocean, with growing up (at the age of thirteen he still looks nine), with his parents who are growing distant, a friend who is dying and a girl he loves who is spinning out of control.

It’s often funny, particularly when Miles is explaining such things as the sex life of barnacles, or trying himself to understand the perhaps more bizarre sex life of humans. His friend Phelps plays a mean air guitar, and constantly talks about “melons”. The girl he loves is a local rockstar known to faint onstage. The book is so abundantly infused with life and energy and depth that it mirrors the bay around which it is framed.

Jim himself seems very cool, and he signed my book, which is awesome.

Rating: 5 / 5 stars.
Note: This book rocks my face off.
Link.

Categories
news poetic

Posthumously humane, humanity…

A Pithy Mood has been a secret pleasure of mine for months now. Something delectable, to be treated with earnest admiration, but from afar, and infrequently. We must not oversup on our extravagances.

Her recent post is about helping out with Katrina, and donating to a cause we might otherwise forget about. Pets. In most cases, these are family members that were left behind with food and water and a wish to stay well. As Tamea says:

However, the millions of now homeless, lost and starving animals who’ve also been affected by this hurricane have no politics to disagree with and they need help desperately.

If you have issues with humanity, then donate to save these animals instead. You can donate to the humane society who is working to reunite pets with their families, or find new families for abandoned animals. You can also donate to the petfinder disaster fund, which is doing the same thing.

Categories
humor poetic

Soyez patient.

Merci pour votre patience pendant que je traduit tout de ce blog en Francais. Je vous plaisant, bien sur, mais c’est vrai qu’il faut faire des changes ici. Ne me quittez pas! Je reviendrai.

Gros bisous,

l’homme autrefois connait comme “bava”.

babelfish: french–> german–> english

Thanks for your patience, while I translate everything this blog into French. I you pleasing naturally, but it is true that one must make rates of exchange here. Do not leave me! I will return.

Large kisses,

humans known in former times as “bava”.

Categories
love personal poetic

The eaves of your indifference

Beware the ides of eucalyptus eyes, and the crunch of hearts dropped beneath the eaves of your indifference.

Kisses dropped on my lips by idle loves, women who would have me but would not cherish me, perhaps. I know nothing of it. Lately lying late in the arms of conversation, mild parties of wine and whimsy, poetry and flimsy excuses to brush against each and every other.

Sleep is brief, waking early to breakfast or to go to the airport, or because the light sifting through the leaves strikes my closed lids and pries them apart, coaxing my pupils to wax like black moons as I rub lingering dreams from my lashes.

Today, two LARGE drip coffees, before 8 am. Only three hours of sleep, and two hours of driving as I bid my friend adieu on his journey to China. My skin, like butter over too much bread, stretched taut over jittery muscles and bones infused now with the tar of too many cigarettes.

Last night, conversation for hours with a strange girl who gazed at me while she spoke. Drinks over an open mike, and a late ride home as she and her friend sifted through books I needed rid of, as if they were the only copies ever printed. As she left the car she leaned toward me, looked at me, waited …

… the car filled with a pregnant hesitation …

… and then she wished me a safe drive to the airport in the morning. And then she was gone. As I drove home, I marvelled that we’re all so disparate, so unknown to each other and fascinating, though each normal in their own way, each perfect and unique and mad like Alice and her chesire cat.

Three hours of sleep on a night following a night of three hours of sleep, and momentarily alert I notice the quiet of 3 am, that even the gulls are still. As we merge onto the freeway at 3:45, I turn to my friend, who had not slept at all, and say, “So, last night was pretty crazy, huh?”

He looks at me, confused. “Wait, you mean tonight?” These hours of the day are ambiguous, secretive creatures, subject to miscalculations and shifts in perspective.

As I get home, the sun has begun to diffuse its light into the fog, and the gulls are screaming.

Categories
poetic

Fingered and Towed

Hank eyed the lump of metal warily, as though it were prize cock, defeated but not yet dead, ready to lash out one last time before the rattle. Held together by rust, duct tape, and the sheer conviction of its own durability, the car stood stalwart, defiant; its front bumper, long since turned gray from the sun and elements, lay crooked across its face like a wry smile.

Finally, he nodded stoically, lifted his finger to the car, cocked his thumb, and shot, a symbol that the beast, at last, was dead. The sun just began to peek its light over the distant hills as the truck roared to life and towed the old heap to its final grave.

-Ahniwa Ferrari
8/18/05

Categories
humor poetic

Mr. Owl ate my metal worm

Linguistics are fun!

Answers.com presents: palindromes!

This part blows my mind:

The Latin palindrome “Sator Arepo Tenet Opera Rotas” (roughly “The farmer by his labour keeps the wheels to the plough”) is remarkable for the fact that it reproduces itself also if one forms a word from the first letters, then the second letters and so forth. Hence it can also be arranged into a square which can be read either horizontally or vertically:

S A T O R
A R E P O
T E N E T
O P E R A
R O T A S

Isn’t that just too cool for words!?
Well, evidently not. *snicker*

Some of my other favorites, listed:

Able was I, ere I saw Elba. (the famous Napoleon’s Lament, source unknown)

I nam’d am devil Eros; a sore-livéd madman, I.

Name now one man’s sensuousness. Name now one man.

Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era? (Bill Bryson)

“Lewd did I live, & evil I did dwel.” (John Taylor, the Water Poet)

Reviled did I live, said I, as evil I did deliver.”

Aias sadas saia: “It rains white bread in the garden.” (Estonian)

“Esope reste ici et se repose”: “Aesop is resting here and relaxing” (French)

“Et la marine va, papa, venir à Malte”: “And the navy, father, is coming to Malta” (French)

Eh, ça va la vache?: “Hey, how you doing, cow ?” (French)

Rám német nem lel, elmentem én már: “The Germans won’t find me, I’m already gone.” (1943) (Hungarian)

È Dio, lo gnomo mongoloide?: Is the mongoloid gnome God? (Italian)

Sum summus mus. (“I am the mightiest mouse.”) (Latin)

God apa gavs galna anlag, svag apa dog: Meaning “Good monkey was given crazy genetic disposition, weak monkey died.” — note that all the spaces match, which is rare for longer palindromes. (Swedish)

anropa aporna!: Meaning “Call the monkeys!”. (Swedish)

Woo, Swedish monkey palindromes! Life rocks. 🙂

Categories
libraries news poetic

I’d rather it get me hired …

Yahoo! Blog News Story

It’s a strange, new little thing, the blogosphere. Michael Gorman, the president of the American Library Association, made some general and negative comments about blogs and “the blog people”. He pissed a lot of people off, to the point that some librarians have revoked their membership to the ALA for as long as he is president. Blogs can be a good way to share professional information, especially for a group as concerned with information sharing as libraries are. However, whenever I write on my blog I always keep in mind that it could be read by anyone. ANYONE. And I assume the worst, that if I write something that a certain person shouldn’t read, then I shouldn’t write it, because they probably will. If people don’t follow those guidelines, then to some extent I believe they deserve what they get. Though as far as legality goes, I don’t know how strong the cases of those companies can be, at least without a written policy in effect.

Some people I know think blogs, and bloggers, are crazy. I think as a technology, it’s interesting, and that it will change (and already is changing) the way the internet works and the way information is transferred. It’s not always to the good, i.e. who the hell cares about the angsty problems of every 14-year-old in the world, but it’s not going anywhere, so we might as well get used to it.