I've decided that if I could have any superpower it would be the ability to hear exactly what a person is listening to on their mp3 player and instantly know all the lyrics and any relevant choreography.

Then I will act accordingly.

Complementary to that, I will also be able to broadcast my thoughts directly to anyone with such a listening device. Beware, music-loving villains, for in my head I do a damn good James Earl Jones impression.

I'm not really sure if the following content is at all appropriate for this type of medium, but...

I kinda like some girl and I am unsure how to go about it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go stand outside with my head down and my hands in my pockets and kick weakly at a small pile of dirt.

My ferret is a male. I know this without a doubt because he somehow got a full beer out of the mini-fridge and had dragged it up onto the couch.

I've had this ferret for a long time and he still manages to surprise me. My sister gave him to me when she moved to Massachusetts. His name was Pookie then, but I've always called him Ferret. I've long since learned the futility of naming animals that have no interest in coming when you call them.

But, since I never learn my lesson, a few days ago I named him anyway. His name is Ferrett B612 which is a reference to Asteroid B612, the asteroid that the Little Prince lives on in the book by Antoine De Saint-Exupery.

This also means that when Ferret B612 dies, I will be obligated to launch him into space.

It's what he would have wanted.

I think, as social creatures whose survival largely depends on our ability to interact successfully with other social creatures, we are afraid of becoming "out of touch." The phrase "Judge not lest ye be judged" is a suicide chorus. (Although, I think in the biblical context "judge" actually means "condemn to hell." Silly redactors. Why don't they just say what they mean?)

I find myself constantly judging. "Is that person with the baseball bat going to hit me with it?", "Can I make it through this stoplight before it turns red?", "How many single servings of sliced cheese can I eat before I go blind?", "Why would they build rooftops so close together if we weren't meant to jump them?"

I spend most of the day assessing risk. The rest of the time I'm trying to forget about risk. Eventually, I grow so weary of the whole business that I run out and embrace risk in a bearhug and throw myself off the nearest rooftop. Sometimes I hit the ground first and sometimes risk breaks my fall enough for me to limp away. I suppose nothing is really accomplished, but there's a street cleaner somewhere that sees that cracked and splattered concrete and thinks "job security."

By their blogs ye shall know them?