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An MIT linguistics professor was lecturing his class the other day…

“In English,” he said, “a double negative forms a positive. However, in some languages, such as Russian, a double negative remains a negative. But there isn’t a single language, not one, in which a double positive can express a negative.”

A voice from the back of the room piped up, “Yeah, right.”

Will says women just aren’t funny, and if they try to be, they’re lesbians. Maybe there’s some sociobiological reasoning that making people laugh is an aggressive leadership quality, or that the one requires the other, which might explain Ms. Fey’s ambiguous glamor. Note that the 1-900-OKFACE clip is linked in the comments.

Been a whole day now, but here’s what I remember: 老婆 watched me wake up laughing to a Colbert Report skit which introduced another of his aliases: Cullbucks, or Cullbux, owner of the network. (Must’ve mistaken the definition of the word, which happens a lot.) He and Will Ferrell confronted him in a scene where he played both roles like Shatner’s body double for comedic effect. Cullbucks identified his arch-nemesis as “Brain Gap”; Ferrell’s face was painted with black and white stripes like a one of those Star Trek aliens, and Colbert revealed, turning his head so the other side became visible, that the lines had run to half his face, though in a perpendicular direction. The audience ate it up.

TV’s will soon be so thin they’ll be recessed, but they can’t invent a scanner that slides between pages?

…While we’re on the subject of islands: uh-oh, Chongo!

The times they certainly are a-plenty of them, and I thought I might use the opportunity to implement one here, too, transferring everything to X’s beta site, but even that undertaking, involving a WordPress reinstall and possible theme re-tool, proved too much for my diminishing drive.

Oh, I’d been tempted to update, especially with developments like these——not to mention some trademark quips about the Lost finale, but forums sufficed. So let’s fire her up again, and hope that my brain doesn’t go the way of my car battery (which I wrestled with for an hour last night before giving up trying to get past the starter and left crud under my fingernails I couldn’t completely wash out to burp and change the baby; other parents want theirs to be doctors, lawyers, President, and I’d be happy with an auto mechanic).

Tide’s turning again, this time away from 30 Rock, which hasn’t been doing it for me lately, back to the Office producers and their newer work on Parks & Recreation. (Modern Family on the night before is good, too.) I dreamed that I was part of a similar documentary crew, except we were returning to the show years later, to witness the changes at the company since. We walked through the warehouse first, much larger than Dunder Mifflin’s—turns out it was Spectrum’s, as the entourage escorting us included leather-jacketed Frank, Ben and their usual cadre of bankers a-courtin’. Jim and Pam had either moved on, or their fate left for surprise. We made our way to the small office up front, which everyone knew was now fully manned by Chinese. Further evidence that this was the future, people walked there through a holographic wall. It was squalid, in terrible disarray with only a single frumpy clerical worker appearing from a closet-like restroom; in fact, there was no distinction between toilet and desk. No receptionist, either, following the new practical standards from the East.

It was unseasonably warm yesterday, which brought out the crickets. One must’ve come up with a new strategy during the winter, that is to perch himself as high as possible and broadcast his mating call to a wider audience. And thus it chose the second floor windowsill above our bed, and at midnight to begin his song. Tapping the glass would stop it for a minute, and opening then shutting the small sliding pane maybe twice that, but always just longer than it’d take to lie back down.

I imagined him to be an angel come to give final instructions to Xavier (in which case he’d better not be the sort to have fallen there), maybe even a warning about the world. If so I’ll have to argue my case later because I was soon violently yanking on the screen to get to him, and when I got it dislodged enough to squeeze my hand through, whipping a tape measure in its direction. He would taunt me in the worst imaginable way, by allowing me to extend my sense of accomplishment before resuming. I forfeited an hour later, and slept through the 4.4 quake at 4:04am.

Very un-Larry David of me not to continue my fight against a ticket I got in Laguna Beach because, after all, driving down there for the hearing, much less parking, would’ve cost me almost the same amount of money as paying the fucking fine. No wonder he owns a Prius. And has nothing better to do.