20-Minute Topic: Permutation

           As quickly seems to be becoming a trend (and by “quickly” I mean “since yesterday”) today's topic is a lexiconographically abeyant word. “Permutation”. Also, it starts with “p”, too. Not sure if that was intentional or not. Unless you're a nerd, geek, dork, or any of the assorted monikers granted to society's perceived smart people by you remaining knuckle-draggers, this gem likely slipped through the cracks in your consciousness. How's that for dichotomous thinking? And, no. Glasses do not necessarily make you look smart. They even make some people look dumb.

          Change, depending on your upbringing, personal credo, frame of mind and/or state of inebriation, can be a scary thing. Change is always happening. You changed when you started reading this. You probably didn't finish because you changed which page you were reading. It's fair to assume that by this point, I could talk about anything I want, and no one would know...Kind of liberating, really. This kind of change is, however, not the kind one conveys through language when one uses the word “permutation.” Permutation isn't the slow, gradual change from interest to boredom from reading words you don't understand. It isn't something that can easily be missed. Permutation is a fundamental change. One which carries the subject of change from one state to another in as long as the state of flux lasts. There is no transitional period. In that regard, it probably is a lot like changing the web-page from someone on his high-horse, lecturing you about proper diction, to an animated .gif of a panda bear sneezing on a kitten. See how I tied that all together? Synergism, baby.

          
          The really, super, ultra nerds out there (if there are any left by now) are probably stammering about the mathematical definition of the subject. I don't care about it, and I don't care about you. Math and I have an understanding. It doesn't come within 200 yards of my person or domicile, and I don't go on a murderous rampage using sharpened metal multiplication signs. Division signs are surprisingly difficult to hone. And don't even get me started on square-root.

 

          There is one more facet of the word which, I feel, simply MUST be discussed. That's right! You guessed it! Err...hello? Anyone? The result of the change must, essentially, reuse the parts which comprised the original state. A piece of software may go through numerous permutations while you slowly dissolve in a miasma of obsolescence. I'm looking at you M$. Eggs permutate into chicks. (I can't believe Word doesn't know that “permutate” is a real word. Whoever designed spell-check should permutate into a different job! ZING!) If you decided upon reading my opening statement that you would rather do something more productive with your life, like design sweat-pants or hunt corporate executives for sport, that can't be considered permutation. Ooh! Even MORE synergism! The two things are, in my mind, and hopefully yours as well, very different, nay, unrelated things. I'm also about 90% sure that it's from Latin, so that's cool. Permutate away, gentle readers! It almost certainly won't result in your gruesome death!

20-minute topic: Pensiveness

           Observing pensiveness is, I imagine, a lot like looking for something you've never seen. The Loch-Ness monster, bigfoot, size 80 lederhosen, the Loch-Ness monster's lederhosen. For me, the list stops there. Seeing as how I haven't found anything I haven't seen, I'm not really capable of drawing from personal experience. Qualifications aside, I can point to a term called the “known unknown.” It means something we know that we don't know. Pensiveness exists; we have a word for it. A real word, not some made-up, Carrolian word of which I am, admittedly, fond. It is etymologically old, and probably French or something. Anyway, we know it exists, but we lack proof. You can't see it. You yourself have (maybe) been pensive before, but the moment you look in a mirror, the pensiveness is gone. You can see it on other people's faces, theoretically, but identifying it is like locating something small in something large. Or something smaller in something small. Was that pensiveness that smothered his face, and swallowed his expression? Was it constipation? Was it the sun in his eyes? Was it even a real face? What IS a face anyway? *Ahem*

         I was going to rail against modern society, and the lack of emphasis placed on thought. That plan disintegrated the moment I began to pensate on it. I spent no less than 12 minutes this morning being pensive about various...varieties of breakfast cereal. I feel like that's not even abnormal for my average day, but specific examples elude me. Suffice it to say, I think subject is irrelevant. Depth is important, and eyebrows probably play a part. Also, depth of eyebrows are probably metaphysically related, Mr. Cromagnon. Sorry, eyebrow.

          I guess what I'm trying to say is that pensiveness exists as long was we believe it does. It is very much like faeries in that respect. I mean, I guess that's what I'm saying. I'm not afraid of admitting it. Faeries are something I'm often pensive about. Anyway, proving its existence is impossible, but dismissing it as nonexistent is akin to admitting that you spend your life flitting from one topic to another without giving any of them consideration. *CouFACEBOOKgh*. Oops. No scathing social analysis. My bad. Really, that's more like Twitter anyway. Then again, I have seen expressions which I have interpreted as pensive on a fellow homosapien's face while was, indeed refreshing his Facebook profile for the 8^th time in as many seconds. Deep in thought. While I'm spitballing here, I may as well point out that he may not have been paying any attention at all to his profile, and perhaps was, in fact, contemplating his fingers, or choice of long-sleeved clothing. Who knows? Who knows, indeed. Think about it.

 

          It occurs to me that the definition, while implied, is not explicit, and perhaps, not obvious. To be pensive is to be deeply engaged in serious thought. Which, I suppose, introduces another variable. What serious thought constitutes for one person is probably brushed past by another. Breakfast cereal, for example. How often do you let your mental processes linger on its many facets? Gleaming gems are there to be discovered, if you only take the time to brush off the dirt. Or, in this case, sugar-coating. Granted, I'm hard pressed to actually identify any of said gems at the moment, but something must have captivated me and my attention for all that time. I'm getting off-topic again; I guess that means I'm done. Exit question and challenge: What makes you pensive? If the answer is nothing, try to think more, dummy.

The Stench of Predudice in the Bathroom

This picture:

was taken in the bathrooms adjacent the Honors Society main office at the University of Nevada, Reno, where I attend. Let your fears be allayed, I had not yet removed my pants by the time I took it.

I am not a member of any of these societies. Not due to a lack of capacity on my part, I indeed believe I possess such a capacity, but instead due to a lack of attraction to such endeavors as membership would surely entail. In short, I think I know what I am and am not missing. My first thoughts were those of jealousy. Did they, by some virtue I could not perceive, deserve more toilet paper than the rest of us? Was the array of rolls there due to some occupational hazard I was not aware of? Was it all an elaborate and obscure pun about having a crappy job? I would have felt the same way had any of those been the case, since I despise being on the “outside” of an “inside joke”, and I would wish to be aware of any occupation which warranted such a precaution. The more I thought about it, though, the more confusing the display became.

Was it really a positive thing to be granted such tools? Yes, I decided, it was. I enjoy having a comparably clean rectum, simply because the alternative is undesirable. I enjoy it in the same way that I enjoy wearing a coat in the winter. Until such a time as defecation is no longer necessary, I must be appreciative of every advantage I get.

Infinitesimal as the opportunity for taking advantage of such an asset may be, I resent not being granted it. This is discrimination of the worst order. In addition, it furthers an unpleasant stereotype about the odor of people not smart enough to be accepted into Honors Societies. Prejudice is alive and well, and it smells like a public restroom with insufficient toilet paper.