RIAA Satire

I hate it when people come up with funny, genius stuff before I do:

RIAA Declares Using Brain to Remember Songs is Criminal Copyright Infringement (satire)

I loved some of the comments as well: some people thought this was actually true. Unfortunately, it may not only be that the commentators are gullible. As the pace that we're seeing the RIAA handle so-called 'copyright infringement', waving the banner of 'protecting the artist' when they're really just protecting their pockets, this feels eerily possible. Being gullible or not, it's frightening just to think that this may happen someday.

Dave Chappelle's Best Joke

For people living outside of the States (and even for some living in them), Dave Chappelle may not be a known name. But for people receiving Comedy Central through cable television, the year 2003 through 2005 brought to them the Chappelle's Show. This show was very popular, but very hard on Dave Chappelle, not only from the production standpoint, but also from the audience itself, as it usually happens for a celebrity. It involves withstanding the idiosyncrasy of people worshiping you but not listening to you, which apparently is very common in the States. He stated once that:

You know why my show is good? Because the network officials say you're not smart enough to get what I'm doing, and every day I fight for you. I tell them how smart you are. Turns out, I was wrong. You people are stupid.

He left it all (including a salary that only Bill Gates wouldn't envy), and went to Africa to rediscover himself while all the Hollywood gossipers made up stories of him being in rehab or a mental hospital. He came back, and started doing stand-up like he did before his celebrity status and he's becoming one of my favorite comedians. He has done several TV specials, but in the most recent, called For What It's Worth, he really blew me away with two anecdotes. And yes, I'm giving him free publicity, not because he needs it, and even less considering that this blog is actually read by his demographic... or anyone for that matter... it just seems fair, that's all.

In any case, even though the first anecdote is not really a joke, he did hit the nail on asking the question "How old is 15?". He stated four cases: the first was in which apparently R. Kelly peed in one of his 15-year-old fans and was being prosecuted at the time (I think he still is), and everyone was flabbergasted at the thought. Deservedly so, yes, but the case was more in the matter of "Poor girl! She's too young to know any better", and Dave's point is that 15 years is an age in which, well, if you're being peed by someone, you probably already have made up your mind of if you like the idea or not. Then he threw into the table the case of a 15-year-old white girl that was kidnapped for six months; it was later found out that she was being held very near her house. During those six months a 7-year-old black girl was also kidnapped, but she escaped, came back to her house, called the police and had the kidnappers put in jail all in around 45 minutes. Yes, the white girl is 15, but c'mon! A girl half her age could do what she couldn't. "She's too young", you say? Really, how old is 15? And even more so when considering the fourth case: a 15-year-old black boy sentenced to life in jail because he accidentally killed his next door neighbor while practicing wrestling moves.

If 15 years of age is old enough to be sentenced to life, then I think it's alright to pee on'em. That's all I'm saying.

Beautiful! But the kicker came on the second anecdote. It was actually the last joke of the special, and, well, I'll let Dave do the talking in this one (sorry for the expletives, you'll just have to deal):

This' been the best year of my career, by far. I appreciate you guys watching me. Well, I do it for my kids, really, man. And my kids are off the hook. You think I'm a mad mother-fucker, wait 'til you see the two mini-Chappelle's. These niggers are off the hook. My sons are bad!

My oldest son is three. This nigger made me a necklace out of macaroni. That shit's ballin'. He painted the macaroni green and put it on a string. He tied on my neck and he told me he was proud of me. And I got choked up. And he thought I was sad, that's how smart he is. He said, "Are you sad, daddy?" And I said, "No, I'm not sad. You're too young to understand this, son, but this is fucking crazy. You used to live in my balls, man! Now you making jewelry out of macaroni! You're a bad mother-fucker!"

Long live Chappelle's!

That probably has to be the best joke I've heard come out of his mouth. Good for him. Long live Chappelle's, indeed.

0.999... = 1

Are you sure that what you know is true?
Click on the following thumbnail, it will open an image on another window that shows a very interesting proof:

You are free to distribute it, just try and give the link of this post. It is important to note that this proof was observed in the following links:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/0.999...#Infinite_series_and_sequences
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geometric_series#Formula

Some other proofs have been done, but they mostly end up tinkering with the value of 0.999... when it isn't possible; it's like trying to tinker directly with the value of infinity. Actually another hilarious proof is done this way, in which it is 'proven' that 4=3:

a+b = c
a+b-c=0
(4a-3a) + (4b-3b) - (4c-3c) = 0
4a+4b-4c - 3a-3b+3c = 0
4a+4b-4c = 3a+3b-3c
4(a+b-c) = 3(a+b-c)
4=3

The problem here is that a+b-c = 0, so that last step should be 0=0, because both sides of the equality sign is being multiplied by (a+b-c). This is somewhat similar to using 0.999... and then multiplying it by or adding to it something. It is not such a defined number to handle well directly, so every calculation done to it must be taken with a grain of salt. However, if infinity needs to be dealt with, the best way to do it is by applying limits, and, when used properly (like in the case of the proof I chose to show you), there's no denying what it proves.

So: 0.999... = 1. It isn't an estimate, it's an exact equivalency.

I tried my best to find a flaw in the logic followed with no success. I think that the thought of 0.999... being just an estimate of 1 has been put over my head for so long, that is difficult to let go... to let go of the past, and the misconceptions that came with it. It's a myth that one number can only be represented by only one decimal number, which gives in to the possibility that the Mathematics that we know aren't as rigid as they are thought to be. And that, in a sense, they are flexible and fluid.

It's a nice thought, and liberating in a way, but frightening in another (coincidentally: just like being in love). It is a test to abandon all gained knowledge and really consider all possibilities. All these apparently obvious paths that seem erroneous can lead to great treasures, but you run the risk of losing yourself in them if they are actually wrong, and looking like a complete idiot in the process. And, from what I've seen, the obviousness and gained knowledge are mostly right (they are taught for a reason). But sometimes, just sometimes, the Universe lets you see that it has a nice sense of humor, and that it likes to fiddle around with its children, surprising them, inspiring them, enlightening them of its wonderfully unpredictable nature.

Walking Days... in Plural

The day walked away from me today. Didn't do much, but got over some things. I'd be lying if I'd say that I didn't re-edit that last sentence and that I didn't hesitate to write this one, but I did, for both things. Sometimes I believe that I'm playing a character in a movie, and that that character should be a certain kind of person that is rightful, trustworthy, weird but innofensive, and just plain nice... but then I hesitate: am I being this person? Or am I being me? Then I realize that I really don't know who I am, just a weird mixture of personalities that I've met throughout my short years and have liked.

Interestingly, one of those personalities is very, very sincere, and really doesn't know how to say things, or how to act. I think that this personality is the one that is the most manifested in me; I don't know how to act, and I go into a serious state in which I just stand there, not knowing how to go about, feeling uncomfortable with my surroundings for no reason. Then another personality kicks in when somebody is putting attention: the talkative one, the other side, which is also very noticeable in me. There's supposed to be a listener somewhere in there too, but I haven't seen much of him lately; peaty, I really like him.

The day walked away from me today... the hardworking personality didn't come out; well, he did, for a couple of hours, but then the house maintenance guy popped in and got busy with other domestic things. I've grown accustomed to talk in plural about myself to myself, and I know it's not right to the point that I don't do it with other people around, but I feel comfortable doing it... we feel comfortable doing it. We're not well, we know, and even now, when we're writing this, knowing that somebody is going to read this, we feel the automatic need to write in singular... but now, that's what we are: plural, a bunch of needs, a bunch of moods, a bunch of attitudes that we put in when a certain situation arises. We guess that it is when another bunch of moods go along well with us that something in us kicks in and knows that it is when we multiply. We acquire new ways of thinking, new moods and new standpoints from where we foresee our future.

We're plural... but there's always this one personality that controls everything; or, well, there should be, from what I understand. What's mine? Where's mine? Could it be possible that I haven't acquired it yet? I will like to think that I have, since I've come back to singular again.

Yellow pads, padded cables, cable black, black camera, camera eyesight, sight of past, past tense, tense calm, calm door, door tree, tree forest, forest town, town agriculture, agriculture corn, corn chicken, chicken yellow... a chain of events that make up a sentence. A bunch of thoughts, a bunch of moods, a bunch of needs represented by two different things: a direction and a vehicle. The direction? The thought process that made about that chain of thoughts. The vehicle? The shell that embodies the thought process, in this case the sentence. And yes, while these are still singular, even the description of them still needs to be plural: a direction and a vehicle. Everything's plural, and yet I refer to myself as singular if I'm around a group of people (ironic, isn't it?). It's possible that it's easier to direct your attention to a person, not the group of thoughts and physical organs that make up that person.

In any case, I'll continue to refer to us in a way that my friends don't think we're completely out of my/our mind(s)... unless somebody states a preference for the alternative.

New song: Pao

Quick post:

There's a new song: pao (keeping with the 3-letter tradition). You can find it in this box.net public share or on the sidebar (if you're reading for blogspot.com). It's #9; hope you like it.

Remember, that if you do download the song (or any other one of the Just Three Letters demo) please comment on this post or on my MySpace; it's comment-ware music!