Pronunciation: Chēz
(n) How do you not know what cheese is? Are you dumb? It's cheese. Literally cheese. You eat it, you make it with milk, and it's often paired with wine. It can be found on pizzas, sandwiches, and even the odd pasta dish if you're feeling frisky.
(n.) a dining room cabinet or sideboard, short enough to serve as a secondary table, in which one (presumably one unwilling to admit they have a problem) may store their booze.
the name 'credenza' comes to us from italian, and means 'trusted one,' apparently because these cabinets were where food was taste-tested for poison before being presented to the pope
the name 'credenza' comes to us from italian, and means 'trusted one,' apparently because these cabinets were where food was taste-tested for poison before being presented to the pope
The major problem with the medical profession in the most advanced sectors of the galaxy had to tackle after cures had been found for all major diseases, and instant repair systems had been found for all physical injuries and disablements except some of the more advanced forms of death, was that of employment.
Planets full of bronzed healthy clean limbed individuals merrily prancing through their lives meant that the only doctors still in business were the psychiatrists, simply because no one had discovered a cure for the Universe as a whole -- or rather the only one that did exist had been abolished by the medical doctors.
Then it was noticed that like most forms of medical treatment, total cures had a lot of unpleasant side effects. Boredom, listlessness, lack of... well anything very much, and with these conditions came the realization that nothing turned, say, a slightly talented musician into a towering genius faster than the problem of encroaching deafness, and nothing turned a perfectly healthy individual into a great politician or military leader better than irreversible brain damage.
Suddenly, everything changed. Previous best selling books such as How I Survived an Hour with a Sprained Finger were swept away in a flood of titles such as How I Scaled the North Face of the Megapurna with a Perfectly Healthy Finger But Everything Else Sprained, Broken or Bitten Off By a Pack of Mad Yaks.
And so doctors were back in business recreating all the diseases and injuries they had abolished in popular easy to use forms. Thus, given the right and instantly available types of disability even something as simple as turning of the 3-D TV could become a major chanllenge, and when all the programmes on all the channels actually were made by actors with cleft pallettes speaking lines by dyslexic writers filmed by blind cameramen instead of merely seeming like that, it somehow made the whole thing more worthwhile.
Planets full of bronzed healthy clean limbed individuals merrily prancing through their lives meant that the only doctors still in business were the psychiatrists, simply because no one had discovered a cure for the Universe as a whole -- or rather the only one that did exist had been abolished by the medical doctors.
Then it was noticed that like most forms of medical treatment, total cures had a lot of unpleasant side effects. Boredom, listlessness, lack of... well anything very much, and with these conditions came the realization that nothing turned, say, a slightly talented musician into a towering genius faster than the problem of encroaching deafness, and nothing turned a perfectly healthy individual into a great politician or military leader better than irreversible brain damage.
Suddenly, everything changed. Previous best selling books such as How I Survived an Hour with a Sprained Finger were swept away in a flood of titles such as How I Scaled the North Face of the Megapurna with a Perfectly Healthy Finger But Everything Else Sprained, Broken or Bitten Off By a Pack of Mad Yaks.
And so doctors were back in business recreating all the diseases and injuries they had abolished in popular easy to use forms. Thus, given the right and instantly available types of disability even something as simple as turning of the 3-D TV could become a major chanllenge, and when all the programmes on all the channels actually were made by actors with cleft pallettes speaking lines by dyslexic writers filmed by blind cameramen instead of merely seeming like that, it somehow made the whole thing more worthwhile.
(n.) a tiny little insect that compensates for its shrimpiness with endless reinforcements. attracted to exposed foodstuffs, some of the more vicious varieties bite. known also for its monarchist sympathies
The loss of one's soul; also the place in which it can be found.
(also: The Devil's Dictionary)
(also: The Devil's Dictionary)
to lie motionless in a state of unconsciousness. Doctors recommend you spend about one third of your life sleeping
n. In Theology, a miscreant who does his thinking at home instead of putting it out. He is regarded by the priesthood and clergy with the same aversion that a barber feels for the man who shaves himself.
(also: The Devil's Dictionary)
(also: The Devil's Dictionary)
(n.) remedy, poison, and scapegoat -- a trifecta.
remedy because it can heal, in the right circumstances and the right amounts.
poison because it can cause damage, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, on the wrong person, in the wrong form.
scapegoat because the act of summoning all evils and fallings-short of, say, a community onto one person & then casting them out/ sacrificing them can lead to a clean slate and healing, or it can lead to things being swept under the rug and continued festering.
being reactive (aka, living within past assumptions; aka, blind to your current circumstances) can lead you astray. you may apply some substance, activity or method and expect to heal, but instead, it only causes damage. ready-made "cure-alls" and "easy fixes" fall into this category.
(also: paradox)
(also: damage)
(also: healing)
(also: pay attention)
remedy because it can heal, in the right circumstances and the right amounts.
poison because it can cause damage, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, on the wrong person, in the wrong form.
scapegoat because the act of summoning all evils and fallings-short of, say, a community onto one person & then casting them out/ sacrificing them can lead to a clean slate and healing, or it can lead to things being swept under the rug and continued festering.
being reactive (aka, living within past assumptions; aka, blind to your current circumstances) can lead you astray. you may apply some substance, activity or method and expect to heal, but instead, it only causes damage. ready-made "cure-alls" and "easy fixes" fall into this category.
(also: paradox)
(also: damage)
(also: healing)
(also: pay attention)
(n.) a communicable disease that's very dedicated to its work
charles bukowski: the man, the poet, the big big drinker.
and he will tell you to reinvent yourself,
and to go through your own struggles, rather than seeking approval from someone like him.
and he will tell you to reinvent yourself,
and to go through your own struggles, rather than seeking approval from someone like him.
(n.)
narcotics? yes.
your prescription at the pharmacy? yes.
psychedelics? yes.
coffee? yes.
the associations, implications, and moral judgments behind 'drugs' varies widely. so instead of 'drugs', use the specific category you mean.
the most limited definition I've seen is, "a substance recognized or defined by the US Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act."
a drug is a drug because of the effects it has on a person when used, not because of a label slapped on it by some top-down council. this definition only works in its legal function. and yet, this narrow style of thinking about 'drugs' (for example, all drugs are bad; drug use is always drug abuse; see also, thinking such as https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2djwbhadeY) is pervasive beyond the legal system.
(also: medicine)
(also: harm reduction)
(also: addiction)
(also: immoral vs illegal)
(also: social norms)
(also: black and white thinking)
narcotics? yes.
your prescription at the pharmacy? yes.
psychedelics? yes.
coffee? yes.
the associations, implications, and moral judgments behind 'drugs' varies widely. so instead of 'drugs', use the specific category you mean.
the most limited definition I've seen is, "a substance recognized or defined by the US Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act."
a drug is a drug because of the effects it has on a person when used, not because of a label slapped on it by some top-down council. this definition only works in its legal function. and yet, this narrow style of thinking about 'drugs' (for example, all drugs are bad; drug use is always drug abuse; see also, thinking such as https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2djwbhadeY) is pervasive beyond the legal system.
(also: medicine)
(also: harm reduction)
(also: addiction)
(also: immoral vs illegal)
(also: social norms)
(also: black and white thinking)
A mistake is only an error, it becomes a mistake when you fail to correct it
(also: error)
(also: error)
the political concept that posits that left-wingers I disagree with and right-wingers I disagree with are equally wrong.
(n.) 1) having desirable and admirable masculine characteristics. 2) having contemptible and detestable masculine characteristics.
A place of punishments and rewards. The poet assures us that —
"Stone walls do not a prison make,"
but a combination of the stone wall, the political parasite and the moral instructor is no garden of sweets.
(also: crime)
(also: The Devil's Dictionary)
"Stone walls do not a prison make,"
but a combination of the stone wall, the political parasite and the moral instructor is no garden of sweets.
(also: crime)
(also: The Devil's Dictionary)
(also: long pork)
Time travel is increasingly regarded as a menace. History is being polluted.
One of the major problems encountered in time travel is not that of accidentally becoming your own father or mother. There is no problem involved in becoming your own father or mother that a broadminded and well-adjusted family can't cope with. There is also no problem about changing the course of history- the course of history does not change because it all fits together like a jigsaw. All the important changes have happened before the things they were supposed to change and it all sorts itself out in the end.
The major problem is quite simply one of grammar, and the main work to consult in this matter is Dr Dan Streetmentioner's Time Traveller's Handbook of 1001 Tense Formations. It will tell you for instance how to describe something that was about to happen to you in the past before you avoided it by time-jumping forward two days in order to avoid it. The event will be described differently according to whether you are talking about it from the standpoint of your own natural time, from a time in the further future, or a time in the further past and is further complicated by the possibility of conducting conversations whilst you are actually travelling from one time to another with the intention of becoming your own father or mother.
Most readers get as far as the Future Semi-Conditionally Modified Subinverted Plagal Past Subjunctive Intentional before giving up: and in fact in later editions of the book all the pages beyond this point have been left blank to save on printing costs.
Note: The term "Future Perfect" has been abandoned since it was discovered not to be.
The Encyclopedia Galactica has much to say on the theory and practice of time travel, most of which is incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't spent at least four lifetimes studying advanced hypermathematics, and since it was impossible to do this before time travel was invented, there is a certain amount of confusion as to how the idea was arrived at in the first place. One rationalization of this problem states that time travel was, by its very nature, discovered simultaneously at all periods of history, but this is clearly bunk.
The trouble is that a lot of history is now quite clearly bunk as well.
Here is an example. It may not seem to be an important one to some people, but to others it is crucial. It is certainly significant in that it was the single event which caused the Campaign for Real Time to be set up in the first place (or is it last? It depends which way round you see history as happening, and this too is now an increasingly vexed question).
There is, or was, a poet. His name was Lallafa, and he wrote what are widely regarded throughout the Galaxy as being the finest poems in existence, the Songs of the Long Land.
They are/were unspeakably wonderful. That is to say, you couldn't speak very much of them at once without being so overcome with emotion, truth and a sense of wholeness and oneness of things that you wouldn't pretty soon need a brisk walk round the block, possibly pausing at a bar on the way back for a quick glass of perspective and soda. They were that good.
Lallafa had lived in the forests of the Long Lands of Effa. He lived there, and he wrote his poems there. He wrote them on pages made of dried habra leaves, without the benefit of education or correcting fluid. He wrote about the light in the forest and what he thought about that. He wrote about the darkness in the forest, and what he thought about that. He wrote about the girl who had left him and precisely what he thought about that.
Long after his death his poems were found and wondered over. News of them spread like morning sunlight. For centuries they illuminated and watered the lives of many people whose lives might otherwise have been darker and drier.
Then, shortly after the invention of time travel, some major correcting fluid manufacturers wondered whether his poems might have been better still if he had had access to some high-quality correcting fluid, and whether he might be persuaded to say a few words on that effect.
They travelled the time waves, they found him, they explained the situation- with some difficulty- to him, and did indeed persuade him. In fact they persuaded him to such an effect that he became extremely rich at their hands, and the girl about whom he was otherwise destined to write which such precision never got around to leaving him, and in fact they moved out of the forest to a rather nice pad in town and he frequently commuted to the future to do chat shows, on which he sparkled wittily.
He never got around to writing the poems, of course, which was a problem, but an easily solved one. The manufacturers of correcting fluid simply packed him off for a week somewhere with a copy of a later edition of his book and a stack of dried habra leaves to copy them out on to, making the odd deliberate mistake and correction on the way.
Many people now say that the poems are suddenly worthless. Others argue that they are exactly the same as they always were, so what's changed? The first people say that that isn't the point. They aren't quite sure what the point is, but they are quite sure that that isn't it. They set up the Campaign for Real Time to try to stop this sort of thing going on. Their case was considerably strengthened by the fact that a week after they had set themselves up, news broke that not only had the great Cathedral of Chalesm been pulled down in order to build a new ion refinery, but that the construction of the refinery had taken so long, and had had to extend so far back into the past in order to allow ion production to start on time, that the Cathedral of Chalesm had now never been built in the first place. Picture postcards of the cathedral suddenly became immensely valuable.
So a lot of history is now gone for ever.
One of the major problems encountered in time travel is not that of accidentally becoming your own father or mother. There is no problem involved in becoming your own father or mother that a broadminded and well-adjusted family can't cope with. There is also no problem about changing the course of history- the course of history does not change because it all fits together like a jigsaw. All the important changes have happened before the things they were supposed to change and it all sorts itself out in the end.
The major problem is quite simply one of grammar, and the main work to consult in this matter is Dr Dan Streetmentioner's Time Traveller's Handbook of 1001 Tense Formations. It will tell you for instance how to describe something that was about to happen to you in the past before you avoided it by time-jumping forward two days in order to avoid it. The event will be described differently according to whether you are talking about it from the standpoint of your own natural time, from a time in the further future, or a time in the further past and is further complicated by the possibility of conducting conversations whilst you are actually travelling from one time to another with the intention of becoming your own father or mother.
Most readers get as far as the Future Semi-Conditionally Modified Subinverted Plagal Past Subjunctive Intentional before giving up: and in fact in later editions of the book all the pages beyond this point have been left blank to save on printing costs.
Note: The term "Future Perfect" has been abandoned since it was discovered not to be.
The Encyclopedia Galactica has much to say on the theory and practice of time travel, most of which is incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't spent at least four lifetimes studying advanced hypermathematics, and since it was impossible to do this before time travel was invented, there is a certain amount of confusion as to how the idea was arrived at in the first place. One rationalization of this problem states that time travel was, by its very nature, discovered simultaneously at all periods of history, but this is clearly bunk.
The trouble is that a lot of history is now quite clearly bunk as well.
Here is an example. It may not seem to be an important one to some people, but to others it is crucial. It is certainly significant in that it was the single event which caused the Campaign for Real Time to be set up in the first place (or is it last? It depends which way round you see history as happening, and this too is now an increasingly vexed question).
There is, or was, a poet. His name was Lallafa, and he wrote what are widely regarded throughout the Galaxy as being the finest poems in existence, the Songs of the Long Land.
They are/were unspeakably wonderful. That is to say, you couldn't speak very much of them at once without being so overcome with emotion, truth and a sense of wholeness and oneness of things that you wouldn't pretty soon need a brisk walk round the block, possibly pausing at a bar on the way back for a quick glass of perspective and soda. They were that good.
Lallafa had lived in the forests of the Long Lands of Effa. He lived there, and he wrote his poems there. He wrote them on pages made of dried habra leaves, without the benefit of education or correcting fluid. He wrote about the light in the forest and what he thought about that. He wrote about the darkness in the forest, and what he thought about that. He wrote about the girl who had left him and precisely what he thought about that.
Long after his death his poems were found and wondered over. News of them spread like morning sunlight. For centuries they illuminated and watered the lives of many people whose lives might otherwise have been darker and drier.
Then, shortly after the invention of time travel, some major correcting fluid manufacturers wondered whether his poems might have been better still if he had had access to some high-quality correcting fluid, and whether he might be persuaded to say a few words on that effect.
They travelled the time waves, they found him, they explained the situation- with some difficulty- to him, and did indeed persuade him. In fact they persuaded him to such an effect that he became extremely rich at their hands, and the girl about whom he was otherwise destined to write which such precision never got around to leaving him, and in fact they moved out of the forest to a rather nice pad in town and he frequently commuted to the future to do chat shows, on which he sparkled wittily.
He never got around to writing the poems, of course, which was a problem, but an easily solved one. The manufacturers of correcting fluid simply packed him off for a week somewhere with a copy of a later edition of his book and a stack of dried habra leaves to copy them out on to, making the odd deliberate mistake and correction on the way.
Many people now say that the poems are suddenly worthless. Others argue that they are exactly the same as they always were, so what's changed? The first people say that that isn't the point. They aren't quite sure what the point is, but they are quite sure that that isn't it. They set up the Campaign for Real Time to try to stop this sort of thing going on. Their case was considerably strengthened by the fact that a week after they had set themselves up, news broke that not only had the great Cathedral of Chalesm been pulled down in order to build a new ion refinery, but that the construction of the refinery had taken so long, and had had to extend so far back into the past in order to allow ion production to start on time, that the Cathedral of Chalesm had now never been built in the first place. Picture postcards of the cathedral suddenly became immensely valuable.
So a lot of history is now gone for ever.
Pittbull is an American music artist. It is widely believed that he is enjoyed but not a very good one.
For we're do the sails of life lead?
Rudderless in direction.
The captain knows
Yet lest we see
Blow winds to far off destinations.
- Pittbull (song: Timber feat. Ke$ha)
For we're do the sails of life lead?
Rudderless in direction.
The captain knows
Yet lest we see
Blow winds to far off destinations.
- Pittbull (song: Timber feat. Ke$ha)
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