Peeking Behind The Curtain

"It's called a word cloud," he said.

C and I were having a spontaneous dinner with some friends, a husband and wife, having met at a mexican restaurant two and a half hours away from home.  I realize that I do employ the word spontaneous with certain irony here, but to us it felt both dramatic and reckless... Let's go get us some guac. and good conversation!

The husband is a teacher, and he was explaining some of the techniques that he uses to engage his middle school students in class.  Both of our friends are remarkably creative and full of ingenious ideas regarding education, team-building and general all around rabble-rousing.  They're great.  In fact, there's so great that I nearly proposed to the guy a few summers ago at a local beach, by accident.

You'll do well to avoid things like this, which when I think about it, shouldn't actually be very hard.

Anyway, we're at dinner and our friend is explaining word clouds, which sound pretty cool in terms of their general use, but when applied to something personal, seem outright terrifying.  Each diagram/widget/list shows the most frequently used words in large, bold print and the least used in small, faint print. The rest of the words are collected in a spectrum of small to large, in varying fonts and colors, based on their recurrence.

(Wait, you already know what this is?)

(Of course you would.)

So when he suggested using one here on the blog, it got me wondering what the resulting word cloud might look like.  Doing this will only make me look bad worse, I soon realized.  After considering the possibilities for a blog-cloud, I got to thinking about what my very own thought cloud could contain.  Oh, the possibilities! 

I don't know about you, but the content of my mind is like a dollar store grab-bag suspended inside of a large gift balloon: the structure contains so many wonderous things and yet, at the same time, so... much... empty... space...

They can put anything in there. 

I can only dread what would appear if we were to figuratively release its contents out onto the kitchen counter.  All I'm certain of is that there would be the sudden and overwhelming sound of muffled laughter and a series of scathing, disappointed looks.  If I understand these "clouds" (insert finger quotation visual) with any accuracy, mine might look something like this:

     SOFT-SERVE

      BRRR... go put on some stretchy pants

QUIT TALKING SO MUCHGET THE CATred rocks    

muffinbottomlate to [location] again

 you can't only wear stretchy pantswhy is it so cold?

MY GOSH, will you quit running into furniture?!

WHERE'S THE BATHROOM?

if it's not black, don't buy it   best. cat. ever. 

will someone please tell me why don't we eat horse meat? 

not again.

In truth, I would be horrified if I discovered that you could read my mind.  And really, in most cases, I don't want to look behind your wizard curtain, either (a few of you are strong exceptions - you probably don't know who you are).  Socially, most of us are too composed, too well-behaved, and far too eager to conform, which necessarily means that - while I admittedly have some weird cat-lady stuff going on in my head - underneath that calm, cool surface, you're probably daydreaming about getting the lead role in the next television super-drama (Law & Order: Medical Malpractice), and are anxiously fighting a wild obsession with adorable baby ferrets.

"But how does she know??"

So while the concept of a word cloud does seem pretty intriguing, and really fairly educational, I'm pretty grateful that it only works on written text.  In light of how revealing this little word-picture could be, I'd like to suggest that people strive to become increasingly mindful about what they choose to write.  It would be a great shame for an author's words to betray a sagging intellect.

I'm relieved to have such a handle on that.   

Making Wilbur Proud

Up to this point, I don't think I've ever used this blog to give a shameless plug for any one thing.

Well, maybe ice cream cones.

I just realized that I have 6 pages of search results on this blog for "ice cream".  SIX PAGES.

Or whitewater kayaking.

Or my sister.

Or my sister and ice cream.

So - scratch that - I guess I have made my fair share of endorsements.  Today, though, I'd like to give a plug for some music you may or may not want to check out. Right now, it's free (yes, FREE) on Noisetrade, a magical land of musical discovery (with, I admit, some very misfit toys scattered throughout).  Noisetrade could be a whole other plug on its own.

Artist: Bison.  Album: Quill.

What's weird is that just the other day, my sister told me to check out an album titled The Goat Rodeo Sessions.  Then I found Bison's record.  I'm not sure what is going on with the livestock theme, but at least both sets are good.  In addition, there aren't actually any farm animals involved in the production of said music.  That I know of.

Bison's debut is, in my opinion, a great album, and is worth a run-through, particularly the title track, Quill.  If you turn up the volume, sit back and soak it in, your heart will want to take off and soar like a balloon filling with helium at the party store.  I promise - you'll need a ribbon around your wrist just to keep it from escaping through the car window.  Bison is like the love-child of Mumford & Sons, Fleet Foxes and David Garrett.

If that's possible.

Keep in mind, though, that this is all coming from a girl that lives in the forest, wears penguin pajamas, and can only play the rubber band guitar she made in kindergarten.  I'm what you call out-of-touch, so if you give this a listen and find that I'm living three years in the musical past, keep it to yourself.

I like my ice cream served with a healthy dollop of blissful ignorance.

It's an acquired taste.