Symphony of Noise

I hate car alarms.  My neighbor to the south has a car alarm that honks loudly, and repeatedly, when it is activated.

I hate loud motorcycles.  My neighbor to the north has one that rattles my windows when he drives past.

When the motorcycle drives past the car alarm, the resulting cacophony gives the impression of sound terrorist leaving a path of annoyance as he moves through town.

But after listening to this happen 3 or 4 times, I’m starting to appreciate the cause-and-effect symmetry of one noisy device consistently activating another noisy device.  I won’t call it poetic, but there is a certain chaotic resonance that jars you out of your daily monotony.  

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Don’t Use a Scale

In the past 18 months I’ve lost approximately 60 pounds. I say “approximately” because I don’t know for sure. I don’t own a scale. And what is the significance of this statement? It is that, despite our common obsession, I don’t care how many pounds I weigh, and neither should you.

Last time I weighed myself (on a novelty coin-operated scale at a movie theater that has since been demolished), I was 240 pounds. I stepped onto that scale out of curiosity. In the subsequent weeks and months, I counted calories and logged my exercise to the point where I could estimate how much weight I was losing per week.

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Reality check for a bachelor who is not a morning person

Is day-old coffee inherently bad for you? No.

Would a normal, well-adjusted person with good housekeeping habits instinctively check his coffee pot to make sure there aren’t any mold colonies floating on top of said day-old coffee? No, again.

Just sayin’.

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Would you buy a painting of Papa Smurf?

Art isn’t always supposed to be pretty. That’s one of the first rules of art in the modern era. Nevertheless, if art is to survive it must be somewhat commercial. No matter how successful a photo or painting is in provoking the viewer in the gallery, how successful will the artist be if he/she can’t get a patron to buy that painting and take it home?

In other words, that photo of the artist’s scrotum looks great on Saturday night, after a couple of glasses of wine, but do you really want to take it home and hang it on your living room wall?

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