Indelible Blue Pen

Jason C. McDonald (CodeMouse92)

January 19, 2011

Shades of Random (Masters, Magorium, and the Beatles)

Just when I think I’ve got a handle on how weird my family is, they get weirder.

And that’s without my help.

My mother, I have always considered to be the closest to sanity in my entire family. Until last night. I had been working with programming all day, and running into error after inexplicable error. I mentioned to her that it was probably partly due to something I didn’t do right, because I didn’t know how.

Her wise motherly counsel: “Well, you can’t know what you don’t know, because you don’t know it.”

My response: A resounding “WHAT?”

It took me about five minutes to swallow that one. In the world of random bits of advice, that one was equatable to a horse pill.

As I mentioned in my post (“On the Subject of Communication, Magorium Logic, and Carrolean Prose”), one of my favorite forms of logic is a paradox called Magorium logic, in which a logic pattern seems like it should have a flaw in it, yet no matter how hard you look, you can’t find it. And the more you think about it, the logic actually begins to fold back on itself into eternity.

And Mom’s statement was a doozy of a Magorium logic paradox. And my brain threw a stack overflow. (For all you non-techies out there, that is a computer error in which the system is overloaded, usually by a function repeating itself forever until the computer runs out of resources trying to process it.)

My sister Jacqui is a prime example of another type of logic I call Carrollean prose (as seen in Lewis Carroll’s works “Alice in Wonderland” and “Alice Through the Looking Glass”). Unlike Magorium logic, Carrollean prose is more of a rambling, illogical thought pattern that makes the other person too crazy to argue with it

Unfortunately for me, Jacqui uses both Carrollean prose AND Magorium logic in conjunction with each other, rendering her victims helpless. She is a self proclaimed “Random Master,” and I was dumb enough to challenge this title last summer. I lost. Miserably.

And then, I quoted my sister Jordyn on Facebook as saying “Bdl, bdl, bdl, bdl, bdl,” and Jacqui unleashed all her weirdness on me, leaving me floundering. When i made one last lame attempt to counteract her Carrollean-Magorium logic pattern, she said “Ya, see, lame cracks like that are why you are only a random padawan.”


So I slunk away, licking my wounds, and plotting revenge. The opportunity presented itself before too long, and I am proud to say, I got her…WITH HER OWN QUOTE FROM THE PRIOR BATTLE! And the Second Great War of Randomness begun, with a 1-1 score, and a tantalizing prize of bragging rights for the winner, and a status message of shame for the loser.

According to Jacqui, victory tastes like bacon. Who exactly will be munching on said bacon remains to be seen. But during the latest battle (during which, the score was 2-2 for the war), I was about to lose, when I pulled out the weirdest left field comment I have ever made to her, and she retreated. 2-3, my favor. I can hear the victory sizzling already.

And I plan to have mine with a side of scrambled eggs with mustard. Yum.

Out of all my sisters, however, my big sis Kate is the one I consider to be the most calm, cool, and level-headed. And the least random out of the lot. That is, until, the other day when I spotted a purple flatbed semi idling up the dead-end street I live on. I mentioned it to her, and quickly discovered that she is weird without caffeine.

KATE: “That’s the FBI. They’re on a stakeout for you.”

ME: “By golly, they found me at last. But why are they just sitting there?”

KATE: “Its a trap. They have heard of your randomness, and they chose a purple semi to see if you would try and take off with it.”

ME: “When what’s with the backhoe its hauling?”

KATE: “That’s to bury evidence with.”

ME: “Umm…the driver looks either asleep or dead.”

KATE: “They’re lulling you into complacency.”

ME: “”Oh he’s fine. he just rolled over.”

KATE: “Yeah, his glock was poking him in the side.”

ME: “Oooooo-kay.”

I walked away, came back five minutes later, and she was STILL detailing their alleged plan of action.

Need I say more?

Even my friend and business partner Mal exhibits her own special blend of random from time to time, as exhibited by where she took a typo of mine. Of course, I helped.

ME: “We make an awesome tea,.”

MAL: “An awesome tea? Makes me thirsty.”

ME: ” *team. Umm…what kind? I’d be peppermint. What would you be?”

MAL: “Chai.”

ME: “So I add an invigorating zest, and you add the zing. We’re fresh.”

There is one more shade of randomness I must address…and I fear to. It is the randomness that stems from having your mind glued to the 70s. Which, unfortunately, my father suffers from – BADLY!

I love music. I live by it. I cannot stand a day without music. Yet there are three major styles of music I cannot tolerate – bar none: southern gospel, screamo metal, and the 70s (especially the Beatles). Mom shares in those dislikes.

So here, my Dad is walking around singing Beatles music (usually with the lyrics off by 45-80%,) and Mom and I are begging him to stop. Does he listen?

Does Sgt. Pepper have a wife by the name of Salt?

So, he’s crooning 70s throwbacks, and Mom and I are getting ready to lock him in a yellow submarine and send him to the octopus’ garden for a permanent vacation.

For the longest times, even his romantic lines to Mom were based in the 70s. Remember the song “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”?

I was foolish enough to mention an online friend’s screenname in conversation to him one day. This person was known as Jood.

Shoot me now.

Yeah, my family is all shades of random. I’m just thankful that I’m random, too, otherwise I would have run screaming by now and moved to Bermuda.

Where they all would have inevitably found me sooner or later.



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