365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 304

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31st, 2013

"For these beings, fall is ever the normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond.  Where do they come from?  The dust.  Where do they go?  The grave.  Does blood stir their veins?  No: the night wind.  What ticks in their head?  The worm.  What speaks from their mouth?  The toad.  What sees from their eye?  The snake.  What hears with their ear?  The abyss between the stars.  They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners.  They frenzy forth...Such are the autumn people."

-Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes.

Image has no relation to above quote.

Today's Jazz Hands hear the abyss between the stars.

Day three-hundred and four complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 303

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 30th, 2013

Today's Jazz Hands corrected yesterday's Jazz Hands because yesterday's Jazz Hands miscalculated what day of Jazz Hands they were supposed to be hand jazzing on again for the first time.  

Who gives a rat's ass, time is irrelevant anyways.

Speaking of time, today is the eve of the biggest masquerade of the year where everyone turns in their regular disguises for more elaborate costumes to celebrate the passing of a season, piercing the very heart of autumn with a giant pitchfork exclamation point.  There will be many ghosts, witches, zombies, evil clowns and drag queens running amok, resulting in mass hysteria as we scramble to differentiate between the actual monsters and their impersonators.

At least there are proven methods to challenge a witch's authenticity.  We can all thank our lucky, ignorant stars for that.  As for zombies, if they literally eat your brains, that's pretty much all the confirmation you need.  If the zombie is wearing a red hat, please forward his whereabouts to me, as it's been a while since I've seen our good friend Pops and I've got salty treats on standby in the event of a chance encounter.  Plus I'd like my disposable camera back.

If a ghost appears before you, it's likely a fraud.  According to smart people, at least 60% of alleged ghost sightings are proven and dismissed as hoaxes, while 35% of encounters are attributed to scientifically verifiable optical illusions such as parallax, autokinesis, catoptric cistula, or our newfound friend, atmospheric refraction.  This leaves a 4% probability that what you are seeing is a bona fide phantom.  Although not entirely impossible, the odds are simply against it.  This, of course, is not an indictment of people to have claimed to have seen a ghost (myself included), it is merely an indictment of ghosts themselves.  I'm just saying they're rare.  And mostly explainable by sciency stuff.  But yes, admittedly possible.  If numbers can gain mass approval and acceptance, then why not see-through walking talking dead people?

Note:  The sum of percentages above equal 99, leaving 1% available for an option that our limited brains cannot fathom at this point in time.

As for clowns, they've taken this irony thing way too far, and despite their deceptively harmless appearance, they are all evil (100%) and should be avoided at all costs, regardless of who is behind that big red nose. 

I don't recall exactly how to tell a real drag queen from a fake.  If memory serves correctly, the real ones float and the pretend ones do not.  Or is it the other way around?

As for me, look for the piscine amphibious humanoid monster, pictured below, devouring chocolate peanut butter cups and deploying Jazz Hands like there's no tomorrow.

Be sure to say hello.

Today's Jazz Hands accept improbabilities.

Day three-hundred and three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 302

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29th, 2013

I think life is far too short to concentrate on your past. I'd rather look to the future, like November 16th for example. - Lou Reed (paraphrase)

November 16th is precisely three miles away from today.  Of course, this does not take into account the deviation of light from a straight line as it passes through the atmosphere due to the variation of air density as a function of altitude (a.k.a. "atmospheric refraction").

Atmospheric refraction is responsible for that mirage making distant objects near the ground appear to shimmer, ripple or otherwise transform in shape.

What isn't a mirage?

Today was the workplace's fall harvest department picnic.  There were apples, though this region produces none.  There were beer steins placed on each table as a centerpiece, though they contained no frothy, ice cold beverages.  

Both mirages.

There were smiles and small talk and general congeniality.  

Mirage, mirage, mirage.

Mirage or not, the deviation from monotony and routine was welcomed with open arms and all performances by the cast and crew were quite compelling, as all the gentlemen adhered to the rules of verse, and the ladies, well, they promptly rolled their eyes at the gentlemen adhering to the rules of verse.  

I'm certain that if one were to stand back and look at this gathering of the departmentally ill from a distance, we'd all appear to shimmer and ripple. 

One coworker remained inside, abstaining from the festivities, however.  Perhaps Mitch was far too busy creating air turbulence, causing the stars to twinkle and deforming the shape of the sun on the horizon.  Or maybe he just had a lot of really important work to do.

Today's Jazz Hands took a walk on the wild side.

Day three-hundred and two complete.

rip.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 301

MONDAY, OCTOBER 28th, 2013

"And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations, they're quite aware of what they're going through."  - David Bowie

Today's Jazz Hands are a reflection, an echo, a duplicate, a replica, and a parallel.  Today's Jazz Hands are a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal.  

Day three-hundred and one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 300

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 27th, 2013

I was startled awake this morning by that unexplainable deja vu sensation, and upon doing so, I suddenly came to a some familiar realizations.

The first is that drinking coffee, while naked, is a terrible idea.  I could go on to explain all of the terrible byproducts of doing this, but something tells me you probably already know that it's not advisable.  

Instead of coffee, I had the urge to consume a goofy looking drink through a straw with red and white stripes.  Given the context, this seemed much more appropriate, although the results are still considerably bad.  I don't believe it is the particular drink being consumed in the nude that makes the activity absurd.

Another realization is that today is day three-hundred of our 365 Days of Jazz Hands journey.  This is a fairly significant milestone and I am at a complete loss of words that are remotely important enough for such an occasion.  

With a mere sixty-five days to go, I see the horizon line fast approaching, but I'll hold off on that topic for another day...although it seems we've been through this before.

Anything I could potentially write about would just seem redundant...I can't stress enough how I'd prefer to keep these posts far out of the reach of repetition's grasp...and any topic that I attempt to conquer on this particular day of the three-hundredth, will just never quite live up to the expectation and thus, I must concede that I have nothing to offer but naked dorky drink drinking in front of the mirror.

I will leave you with this however...

I am finding it difficult to NOT hand jazz today.  My arms seek to roam upward and keeping them down is proving to be a tremendous challenge.  Although I'm not really trying very hard to suppress their wanderings.  That would just seem...redundant.

Today's Jazz Hands seem vaguely familiar.

Day three-hundred complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 299

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26th, 2013

On some days I feel her warm breath, on others her cutting teeth.  She is a blessing, a curse, a prowling lioness watching my every move...and if I continue writing like this, today's Jazz Hands will sound like a Meatloaf song.

Besides, likening time to hungry predators is more of a Sunday thing.  As for now, I'm focused on today's specific method of deployment...no matter what version I choose, they will inspire awe.  They would inspire awe if I chose to deploy them in the company of others, which I will not...but still...awe inspiring Jazz Hands for an audience of me.  

Today's Jazz Hands are glad they went back to live this day.  Skipping it would have been a tragedy.

Day two-hundred and ninety-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 298

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 25th, 2013

Math does not account for the concept of nothing, yet when I ask my son what he learned in school on any given day, he inevitably replies "nothing."  

If you take a geometric shape, any shape at all, and reduce it's scale by half and reduce it in scale by half once again and again and again...when does the shape completely disappear? (Hint: answer rhymes with "clever"). That's the paradox of mathematics.

The hypocrisy of math gives us the illusion that anything minus the same thing equals zero, even though we know this to be impossible.

4x5=12.  4x6=13.  4x7=14.  Right or wrong?

I suppose it entirely depends on which rules are applied to the logic.  Wrong if you adhere to standard base 10 mathematics.  But what if 4x5 were calculated in base 18?  Then 4x6 in base 21?  And 4x7 in base 24?

At first I had thought that time travel had made simple math difficult to comprehend, instead it has helped me to accept math for the fraud that it truly is.  Our assumption is that math gives us absolute truths about the universe, in particular the world we live in.  The fact is that there are none to be had.  We have merely given expression to concepts in attempt to explain the undefinable.  It is in our bloodstream to decode, unlock and define, gaining purpose and meaning as if solving the mysteries of life will provide us with freedom.  

Imagine, if you will, a party of four consisting of myself, Robert Lochaven, Coworker Mitch and Time (which is invited to every party, whether you sent him an invite or not).  Suppose, for hypothetical purposes, time gets fed up and storms out, leaving the remaining three to exist forever, walking in circles like hands on a clock with no end.  Imagine a world without a horizon line.

William Rowan Hamilton revealed his discovery of quaternions in the mid nineteenth century, which was a four term coordinate system, three of which were place designators, the last designating time, all to define rotation in a three-dimensional universe.  If time leaves the party, the quaternion is incomplete leaving the remaining three components to rotate on a plane for eternity.  These rules were given to define the physical space we live in, and I'm 85% certain that William Rowan Hamilton felt somehow more complete after this irrelevant discovery of his.

I wish I could tell you that the hypothetical scenario I have described above was original, but it is not.

Charles Dodgson wrote a very similar tale toward the end of that same century as a scathing commentary on the absurd state of mathematics, and in direct response to Hamilton's claims, at a time when complex equations were taking over a once stable and definitive numerical ideal.  We know this man better as Lewis Carroll and he titled his written protest to this new math, "Alice In Wonderland."

Mr. Dodgson, a mathematics professor and one hell of a storyteller, was merely attempting to say that with math, one could prove opposite conclusions to be correct, depending on the set of specific rules being applied...rendering its premise ambiguous at best.

In his version, the March Hare, Dormouse and Mad Hatter are the three left at the party after Time departs.  Alice happens upon the madness and eventually escapes the eternal "unhappy birthday" party.

In a universe where time is irrelevant and numbers have no specific value, life can be quite maddening.  How can we interpret this world without confounding math to define our existence however we see fit?  People like Coworker Mitch, Robert Lochaven and myself are left to run around in circles creating eternal sequences and patterns, destined to repeat the same mistakes over and over again, lest we find some way to break the cycle.  

Damn this time travel.

Today's Jazz Hands appreciate Esther Inglis-Arkell and her Science History, and leave you with a creepy photograph taken in 1914. 

Day two-hundred and ninety-eight complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 297

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 24th, 2013

I was startled awake by that unexplainable falling out of bed sensation and upon doing so came to the sudden realization that I have no idea when I am.  How in the world did I get to now?  

Time travel is mind blowingly inconceivable.

Unbeknownst to me, I have been existing in the yet to come, which is much like attempting to walk along a tightrope with a lot of slack in it, or trying to float inside of a bubble that has expired.

If you've ever tried to float inside of a bubble that has expired, it is exactly like not floating inside of a bubble at all.  

There are numerous rules to the game of time travel, many I have yet to learn as this is all relatively new to me.  As it turns out, no matter what direction you travel, the days of the week need to remain consistent with the present.  For example, if you travel to a past or future Monday, you had better be departing from a Monday.

This is to prevent brain zaps, cranial zings, sudden outbursts of anger, over responsive reflexes, renal failure, disseminated intravascular coagulation and in very few cases, death.  

If you've donated blood too frequently, overdosed on antidepressants, heroin, pixie sticks, or found yourself on the brink of hypothermia, some of these symptoms may seem vaguely familiar.

To say the least, it is vitally important be consistent with the weekday whilst traversing time.

The bad news is that adhering to this rule does not make the time trip less perplexing and disorientation is a hazard within the finest, most advantageous parameters, as I can attest.

Another byproduct of time travel is that mathematics become extremely difficult to compute.  Simple, routine equations become confounding and easy arithmetic is rendered anything but.

a. Time travel makes math difficult even to the most sophisticated of minds.

b. I find math difficult.

c. Therefor I have traveled through time and must have a sophisticated mind.

Tight, indisputable logic.

Here are the specifics that I am grappling with...

Somewhere around day 289 I leapt forward by 11 full days, and then travelled back to day 290 this morning, but now it's actually day 297, the difference of 7 days.  None of this adds up correctly.  I have luckily landed on the correct day of the week, so no fears of renal failure or cranial zings.  

If math were an exact science, which we can all now agree that it is more concept (maybe even mythological) than anything else, I would merely travel back to day 290 and proceed.

However, that bubble has already burst.

The most troubling aspect of this entire debacle is that I have entirely bypassed days 290 through 299, and have already experienced days 300 through 306.  This leaves a gaping hole of roughly 17 days and the last thing I want to do is go back and live through the has been, nor do I wish to stay in the not yet, because well, it seems fairly premature.

Now that I have seen the future, I can report back to you that not much changes in the next several days, which supports my theory that we, as a human population, are not making any sort of progress whatsoever.  If we are, it's granular at best.  Five days from now, eleven days from now, sixteen, seventeen days from now, whatever the magic time frame might be, is almost identical to the present save for the numbers we assign to them using mythematics and hokey calendars invented by other humans many many generations ago prior to all of the technology we typically associate with "advancement"...which is another strong argument against what we perceive as progress in general.

I believe today is supposed to be two-hundred and ninety-seven.  This will require me to experience a few days that I should have already lived, and skip a few others that I will never get back no matter how hard I pine for them.

It's best to merely proceed and accept when I am...which is now.  The good news is that I get a golden opportunity to embrace several days for the second time.  

Today's Jazz Hands are getting reacclimatized.

Day two-hundred and ninety-seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 306

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22nd, 2013

Everything seems slightly askew as of late.

Time has slowed to a screeching halt, the clocks came to a stop and then began running in reverse.  The well established fact that time is irrelevant should be comforting, but it admittedly is not.  

I am constantly looking behind me and keep getting the overwhelming sensation that I'm getting way ahead of myself.  Lastly, and unexplainably, I have an irresistible craving...for salt.  

Today's Jazz Hands are moving counter clockwise.

Day three-hundred and six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 305

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22nd, 2013

Salt is very important when it comes to time travel as we are now abundantly aware.  However, when it comes to giving blood, iron is a critical asset to any healthy donor as is sugar.  The latter being the trickiest of the two when it comes to the waiting period between visits to the blood bus.

Iron can be accounted for by diet and supplements, although supplements are almost completely useless overall.  Nothing beats a healthy dose of red meat now and again when it comes to iron.  

Sugar on the other hand can not be adequately accounted for by eating candy bars.  You can try, and you'll likely enjoy it, but somehow more useless than preventing anemia with manufactured iron supplements.

Forty-two days is the minimum recommendation for the waiting period to allow the red blood cells within your body to regenerate.  Less than forty-two days and you're placing yourself at risk of passing out due to low blood-sugar levels and ultimately severe illness, potentially long-term and/or permanent damage.  The blood normally allocated to the digestive system rushes to the brain, which is not commonly thought of as advantageous.

The trick, after a healthy dose of donationing, is to lie very still and drink syrup.  Some like apple juice, grape juice perhaps, some may even like grapple juice.  Whatever your poison, the key here is sugar and time.  

If you get the sweats, a fever, headache, nausea, double vision, the spins or see little cartoon blue birds flying circles around the perimeter of your head, it's best to just lie down and wait it out.  The human body is equipped to recover given the right circumstances.

If you find yourself in position to donate more regularly than what a medical professional might recommend, first of all don't tell them, second of all, don't press your luck.  Donate frequently in two week successions, but then go on a donation hiatus for a while, let the cell population grow healthy and strong again.  

A good life can't be had without the proper balance of risk so long as the reward is well worth the gamble.  Just be sure to have enough grapple juice handy.

Today's Jazz Hands are not anemic nor sugar deprived.

Day three-hundred and five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 304

MONDAY, OCTOBER 21st, 2013

At the portal intersection of West Kennedy Blvd. and Dale Mabry I noticed a large, dark feathered bird clumsily making its way along the concrete sidewalk.  He had a reddish crest upon his head and could not have seemed more out of place amongst the strip mall backdrops and loud traffic and aimless pedestrians and the rest of everything else completing the definition of urban decay.

The bird may have been injured as one of his long, stick legs seemed more awkward than the other and he moved gingerly while in pursuit of small lizards among the neglected landscaping hedges.  

Hungry, lost and compromised, every desperate attempt to capture food was inadequate, lizards avoiding the meager thrusts of the beak, narrowly missing demise by finding refuge among the refuse, discarded and scattered throughout the forsaken shrubbery.

The image reminds me of the Japanese folk tale of a poor man that finds a crane in his garden with an arrow in her wing and nurses the bird back to good health.  The very day after she flew off, a young lady appears at his doorstep and the two fall in love, eventually marrying.

This new bride had a gift to weave exquisite fabrics which they sold at market and by doing so became wealthy.  The only requirement his wife had of him was to never look upon her while she was hard at work.  His greed pushed her to make more and more threads and eventually his curiosity became too much of a burden, eventually breaking his promise to never look upon her in a moment of weakness.

You know full well what happens next (the wife flies away and with her went the fortune).

The bird at the portal intersection of West Kennedy Blvd. and Dale Mabry reminded me, in a very strange way, of our good friend 'Pops.'  The dark feathers, the red crest upon his head, the limp, the hunger.

Perhaps this bird is waiting for rescue and to the savior the spoils of his talents.

The light turns green, the vehicle behind me honks their horn and I move on.  I am in no position to rescue the poor bird or to have my greed and patience tested.

Today's Jazz Hands narrowly avoided a magic spell.

Day three-hundred and four complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 303

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 20th, 2013

Today's Jazz Hands corrected yesterday's Jazz Hands because yesterday's Jazz Hands miscalculated what day of Jazz Hands they were supposed to be hand jazzing on.  

One thing is for certain...today's Jazz Hands were deployed on Sunday and were properly documented as a Sunday hand jazzing.

And let me tell you...these hands of mine were jazzing a considerable amount on this particular Sunday.  In all, it was a very hand jazzy weekend.

Day three-hundred and three complete.