Evidence that I actually want to punch everything

Last night I had a dream that I was escaping from Venice via a secure military installation with a clone of Neal Diamond.

Let me backtrack.

I was flying through Venice for some reason, but I missed my connecting flight. In anger, I fought with some guy in the airport. The judge ruled that I was mentally unstable, so I was confined to leave Venice. Now trapped in this majestic Italian city, I was forced to punch out a lot of uppity pickpockets. They were persistent.

In my apartment building, I met a woman who wanted to leave Venice covertly and hired me to escape with her. She was smuggling something out in a cradle. We hopped a motorboat piloted by a clone of Neal Diamond, crossed the lagoon, and landed in a Bond-inspired military base---rather than anywhere else on the shore.

The dream ended with a montage of us fighting through the military complex by the most lowbrow tactic: while people were shocked from seeing Neal Diamond, I punched them. Hard.

If anyone wants to make a major motion picture out of this, please give me a cut of the proceeds. I'll even take a shitty cut.

All I want for Christmas

Is a pomegranate -- it does everything; cell phone, projector, coffee-brewer, real-time spoken-language translator..

Nested glass Klein bottles

If we have any readers out there who are not yet subscribed to Boing Boing, let them know:When I grow up, I want to be a glassblower. A mathematician-glassblower. And Ernie will be a time-traveling geometer. (Is "geometer" a job? Are there non-academic jobs where one simply does geometry all day? Maybe he'll be a member of a time-traveling a cappella group. Any gig, anywhere, any time -- we can make your event truly special! Add dinosaurs for only a small fee!)

Sometimes I have to wonder...

My sleep last night was most rudely interrupted by a horrific nightmare. Without explanation, I was being beat up by mimes. Yes, mimes. Let's take a look at these criminals:

See? Horrifying. Throughout the encounter, I was bludgeoned with imaginary implements. And they hurt. They were the worst sort of bully, because they never told me what they were after. It was a silent terror. I tried to give them my money, but they were after something else. Maybe they wanted my identity.