IT'S NOT FACE BLINDNESS!
It's prosopagnosia!!! Oh my God! If you say face blindness one more time, I'll kill you.
Ok, I'm done.
The Hour had a little bit on PROSOPAGNOSIA just a minute ago, as if it was just some quirk or interesting new development.
But seriously, this isn't an average disease. And they didn't even pick a very extreme example. This man did seem to at least think he could recognize faces, but really it did seem as though he fixated on distinctive features on a face. (He said that he could have recognized Penelope Cruz from the side because he thought her nose was big.) It was apparently shocking to the woman interviewing him that he was unlikely to recognize his wife's face, but that's what the disease is all about. You can't do faces.
Prosopagnosia is an inability to process a face holistically. Normal peoples (like you and I, I assume) are actually "face experts". Right from the minute we're born, we're hooked on recognizing and processing faces. And it takes us until about age 10 to become complete experts. From there on out, we're seeing faces as a whole, not the sum of its parts. Prosopagnosics will either see the face only as the seperate parts and not be able to combine the parts into a coherent whole, or, in some extreme cases, will not be able to even recognize parts. Some prosopagnosics describe their condition by saying that they see faces the same way any person would see rocks on the beach. You know it's a rock, but you have no way of differentiating one rock from the rest of the rocks without close inspection, which they seem to have an inability to do, or else they have an inability to commit the details to memory.
Alright, now you're a little more enlightened, and I am sufficiently calmed for sleep.
Thank you psychology 2520.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
ZOMBIES! and Nerds...
Ok, Selena and I are watching Beauty and the Geek. It's not something we do often. Or ever. But holy man, nerds getting makeovers is exciting. And sometimes has hot results. For anybody who watches, Nate and Scooter = HOT! It was exciting.
Hot, exciting... hot. (Sorry, I realized I clearly didn't say those two words enough in the first paragraph.)
WAAYYYYY more importantly, there was a commerical on while we were watching the show about smoking. Zombie peoples with t-shirts that said nicotine, carbon monoxide, etc. riding in cars with people, walking around zombie-style, and clinging to people's legs. It's so hilarious! But lung cancer is not hilarious, people. Quit smoking!
And date nerds. Nerds are where it's at! I'm fairly certain that the idiots you can pick up anywhere (res, for example) are hardly passionate about anything, except getting drunk on the weekend. Think about it: any dude who can devote so much time and energy into schoolwork, and likely many and varied hobbies and interests (while they might not actually be interesting) is at least worth getting to know. I don't even like Star Trek or Star Wars , but sitting home on a Friday night and having a marathon seems way more interesting than blowing my money on George Street. We're in university, for Christ's sake. It's about meeting new people, learning as much as you can, and also learning how to be seriously cheap.
And aside from the obvious social benefits of hanging out with self-proclaimed nerds (my favourite people are nerds), you get these bonuses:
- Help with homework
- Tech support
- Guitar Hero marathons
- Freedom to hang out unshowered, with no makeup
- Hilarious conversations about how to prepare for the zombie apocalypse
- Pyramid schemes if you ever get desperate for money (they may involve the internet and nudity)
- Serious appreciation for being a chick who hangs out with nerdy dudes
Oh man, there's nothing to lose. Except mulityplayer games of Guitar Hero.
I would also like to note that the subtypes Movie Geeks, Band Geeks, Newspaper Geeks are all highly dateable variants of the Nerd species.
Seriously. It's either that or a guy who wears a white baseball cap. You know those are tragic.
Hot, exciting... hot. (Sorry, I realized I clearly didn't say those two words enough in the first paragraph.)
WAAYYYYY more importantly, there was a commerical on while we were watching the show about smoking. Zombie peoples with t-shirts that said nicotine, carbon monoxide, etc. riding in cars with people, walking around zombie-style, and clinging to people's legs. It's so hilarious! But lung cancer is not hilarious, people. Quit smoking!
And date nerds. Nerds are where it's at! I'm fairly certain that the idiots you can pick up anywhere (res, for example) are hardly passionate about anything, except getting drunk on the weekend. Think about it: any dude who can devote so much time and energy into schoolwork, and likely many and varied hobbies and interests (while they might not actually be interesting) is at least worth getting to know. I don't even like Star Trek or Star Wars , but sitting home on a Friday night and having a marathon seems way more interesting than blowing my money on George Street. We're in university, for Christ's sake. It's about meeting new people, learning as much as you can, and also learning how to be seriously cheap.
And aside from the obvious social benefits of hanging out with self-proclaimed nerds (my favourite people are nerds), you get these bonuses:
- Help with homework
- Tech support
- Guitar Hero marathons
- Freedom to hang out unshowered, with no makeup
- Hilarious conversations about how to prepare for the zombie apocalypse
- Pyramid schemes if you ever get desperate for money (they may involve the internet and nudity)
- Serious appreciation for being a chick who hangs out with nerdy dudes
Oh man, there's nothing to lose. Except mulityplayer games of Guitar Hero.
I would also like to note that the subtypes Movie Geeks, Band Geeks, Newspaper Geeks are all highly dateable variants of the Nerd species.
Seriously. It's either that or a guy who wears a white baseball cap. You know those are tragic.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
The Devil Has Been Playing With My Mind...
Alright, I'm back after a 6 billion year(ish) hiatus.
It's hard to think of good things to say. Clearly no one wants to hear about what I did in class this week, the cold that murdered me about two days ago, the crap snow outside and how Devon, Cheryl, Selena and I were nearly killed a hundred times driving to Stavanger Drive today.
However, the weather might mean not having class tomorrow...
Anyways, I do believe I have two things of interest to say. One, I had a wacky dream last night that will hopefully convince everyone that The Spur is a terribly bad place.
Backstory:
Last night, Chris declared a fake power outage (we turned off all the electric lights and lit candles and used flashlights), then we read scary stories about schizophrenic women and the devil trying to eat little boys and such. Apparently the devil has very bad breath, smells like burnt matches, and is all on fire inside (A Fire Inside? Davey Havok? Whatever...) When we finally went to bed at 4 am, I had a weirdo dream. I dreamt that some random dude showed up one night with Chris and George, all creepy, pallid and shaven-head (and we know how I feel about that). He convinces us to all go down to The Spur, because he knows everyone who's there. So we go and have a good time, but all the people we meet are really strange. I go back the next day for no particular reason, and everyone we met the night before is there, but they're all corpses! And they look like they've been rotting for years! We were hanging out with dead people! And then the creepy guy's corpse comes out of nowhere! AAAHHH!!!! And then I woke up.
Moral of the Story: I don't like The Spur. Neither do you.
Number Two!! (haha...)
My birthday is on Friday! (the 26th) I'm going to be an old fogie (ok, I'm going to be 20). There's going to be a glorious party with hors d'oeurves and funny clothes. Maybe I'll go downtown after and hang out with the corpses at The Spur. Or not. Likely, I'll go drink the fabby white russians at the Bull and Barrel. That place is cool, and full of people who are very much alive. Although maybe a little rotten.
Now I must go slack off once again. Goodnight all!
It's hard to think of good things to say. Clearly no one wants to hear about what I did in class this week, the cold that murdered me about two days ago, the crap snow outside and how Devon, Cheryl, Selena and I were nearly killed a hundred times driving to Stavanger Drive today.
However, the weather might mean not having class tomorrow...
Anyways, I do believe I have two things of interest to say. One, I had a wacky dream last night that will hopefully convince everyone that The Spur is a terribly bad place.
Backstory:
Last night, Chris declared a fake power outage (we turned off all the electric lights and lit candles and used flashlights), then we read scary stories about schizophrenic women and the devil trying to eat little boys and such. Apparently the devil has very bad breath, smells like burnt matches, and is all on fire inside (A Fire Inside? Davey Havok? Whatever...) When we finally went to bed at 4 am, I had a weirdo dream. I dreamt that some random dude showed up one night with Chris and George, all creepy, pallid and shaven-head (and we know how I feel about that). He convinces us to all go down to The Spur, because he knows everyone who's there. So we go and have a good time, but all the people we meet are really strange. I go back the next day for no particular reason, and everyone we met the night before is there, but they're all corpses! And they look like they've been rotting for years! We were hanging out with dead people! And then the creepy guy's corpse comes out of nowhere! AAAHHH!!!! And then I woke up.
Moral of the Story: I don't like The Spur. Neither do you.
Number Two!! (haha...)
My birthday is on Friday! (the 26th) I'm going to be an old fogie (ok, I'm going to be 20). There's going to be a glorious party with hors d'oeurves and funny clothes. Maybe I'll go downtown after and hang out with the corpses at The Spur. Or not. Likely, I'll go drink the fabby white russians at the Bull and Barrel. That place is cool, and full of people who are very much alive. Although maybe a little rotten.
Now I must go slack off once again. Goodnight all!
Saturday, January 6, 2007
"No, I can't talk to Selena right now. My nipples are hard."
If you haven't heard already, my family is nuts. All of them. Even the ones who, until tonight, I had never met.
Tonight I went to a dinner party at my great aunt Lillian's house. Lil is a writer extraordinaire, and one of the great anomalies of our family, but then again, we're all a bit strange.
You see, I really don't consider myself to be much of a Holland, even though it's my name. I'm really a Penton (my mother's family) and a Bouzane (my grandmother's family). For one, those are the people I grew up around as being my family, and two, the Holland part of my family can be a bit dull.
So anyway, my aunt Lil, my grandmother's sister, had a party with a lot of my extended family there. I finally met my uncle Jim (who is actually my great uncle, my grandmother's brother, but in this family great uncles are uncles, and even your 3rd cousin is your cousin, because they look just like you anyway), and my mother's cousins, and all those people that I've heard stories about but had never met. You'd know their face in a crowd of a thousand anyway. Interestingly enough, my pilot on my flight on the way home was some guy named Maurice Penton, and he looked just like my cousin Steve. So there we are.
Newfoundland is probably one of the only places left in the world where you'll find your distant relatives and still know they're yours. Which reminds me: If two people on Fogo Island get divorced, are they still brother and sister?
(That's a joke, by the way.)
Speaking of jokes, my family is dort. My uncle Ray, the lesbian thespian (that's a new moniker he got tonight), told some wonderful jokes tonight leftover from the days of Codco. and Fresh Fish (which, if you haven't seen, you should definitely try to find copies somewhere. Newfoundland humour is more than just Buddy Wassisname. And I get to say that without gall because Kevin Blackmore is an old family friend. My family has a link to everyone, and again, Newfoundland is the last place on Earth where that's possible).
Anyways, after discussing Christmas Beatings, telling a million confessional jokes (de Ire-ish Cat'lics, y'know?) and why shit is the "best" word in the dictionary (and why soggy wad is the worst combination of words ever, thanks to Cheryl for figuring that out), it all came down to this sketch that Ray and and an friend of his named Wade used to do with the Avion Players in Gander. When Brain Peckford, the born-again bayman, was premier, Ray and Wade did a skit about how Peckford wanted to re-write all the classics of literature in The Newfoundland Dialect, to put it politely, so that all Newfoundlanders could appreciate them. He decided to start with Shakespeare. So Ray would, in a very posh British accent, read: O Romeo! Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name! Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet. And Wade would "translate": "Romeo! Sure, Romeo, b'y! Where are ya?" "I's down 'ere, fer Christ's sake!" "Sure, come up 'ere now, me duck, and we'll get into some som'thin (winks), now luh!"
And Ray would say: "Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar!"
And Wade would say: "Brutus b'y, you're some prick! Yah friggin' had to stab me, wha? I's gunna friggin' die now!"
Hilarious!
Of course, my humour of my family is often best when shared with outside parties. Earlier in the night, Ray was doing an impression of Andy Jones, a Newfoundland comic of several years ago (who, incidentally, has said if there ever was a movie about him, he would want Ray to play him), who used to do a skit where he played Wade (no relation to the perviously mentioned one), a guy whose stories always ended with women getting their chests soaked in oil. (I don't know, don't ask).
I also don't think I can do the joke justice here, as it has a lot to do with the delivery. (Haha, left you hanging. I promise if you ask me to do it though, I'll do it in person.)
Anyways, it involved a lot of chest rubbing. At the end of the joke, much goaded by Aunt Lil, Ray exclaims that his nipples are hard. In other families, I'm sure, this kind of exclaimation at the dinner table would be met with shock and disgust. To the Pentons and Bouzanes, this is the height of hilarity. Then again, we're not a normal group.
So later I duck into the study to call Selena, and Ray comes in to badger me. I ask him if he'd like to say hello to Selena (they've met before, and there was an incident of drink tickets stuck to the forehead, but that's a story for another time). And he says, "Oh no, I can't talk to Selena. My nipples are hard."
Merry Old Christmas Eve, everybody!
Rebecca
Tonight I went to a dinner party at my great aunt Lillian's house. Lil is a writer extraordinaire, and one of the great anomalies of our family, but then again, we're all a bit strange.
You see, I really don't consider myself to be much of a Holland, even though it's my name. I'm really a Penton (my mother's family) and a Bouzane (my grandmother's family). For one, those are the people I grew up around as being my family, and two, the Holland part of my family can be a bit dull.
So anyway, my aunt Lil, my grandmother's sister, had a party with a lot of my extended family there. I finally met my uncle Jim (who is actually my great uncle, my grandmother's brother, but in this family great uncles are uncles, and even your 3rd cousin is your cousin, because they look just like you anyway), and my mother's cousins, and all those people that I've heard stories about but had never met. You'd know their face in a crowd of a thousand anyway. Interestingly enough, my pilot on my flight on the way home was some guy named Maurice Penton, and he looked just like my cousin Steve. So there we are.
Newfoundland is probably one of the only places left in the world where you'll find your distant relatives and still know they're yours. Which reminds me: If two people on Fogo Island get divorced, are they still brother and sister?
(That's a joke, by the way.)
Speaking of jokes, my family is dort. My uncle Ray, the lesbian thespian (that's a new moniker he got tonight), told some wonderful jokes tonight leftover from the days of Codco. and Fresh Fish (which, if you haven't seen, you should definitely try to find copies somewhere. Newfoundland humour is more than just Buddy Wassisname. And I get to say that without gall because Kevin Blackmore is an old family friend. My family has a link to everyone, and again, Newfoundland is the last place on Earth where that's possible).
Anyways, after discussing Christmas Beatings, telling a million confessional jokes (de Ire-ish Cat'lics, y'know?) and why shit is the "best" word in the dictionary (and why soggy wad is the worst combination of words ever, thanks to Cheryl for figuring that out), it all came down to this sketch that Ray and and an friend of his named Wade used to do with the Avion Players in Gander. When Brain Peckford, the born-again bayman, was premier, Ray and Wade did a skit about how Peckford wanted to re-write all the classics of literature in The Newfoundland Dialect, to put it politely, so that all Newfoundlanders could appreciate them. He decided to start with Shakespeare. So Ray would, in a very posh British accent, read: O Romeo! Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name! Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet. And Wade would "translate": "Romeo! Sure, Romeo, b'y! Where are ya?" "I's down 'ere, fer Christ's sake!" "Sure, come up 'ere now, me duck, and we'll get into some som'thin (winks), now luh!"
And Ray would say: "Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar!"
And Wade would say: "Brutus b'y, you're some prick! Yah friggin' had to stab me, wha? I's gunna friggin' die now!"
Hilarious!
Of course, my humour of my family is often best when shared with outside parties. Earlier in the night, Ray was doing an impression of Andy Jones, a Newfoundland comic of several years ago (who, incidentally, has said if there ever was a movie about him, he would want Ray to play him), who used to do a skit where he played Wade (no relation to the perviously mentioned one), a guy whose stories always ended with women getting their chests soaked in oil. (I don't know, don't ask).
I also don't think I can do the joke justice here, as it has a lot to do with the delivery. (Haha, left you hanging. I promise if you ask me to do it though, I'll do it in person.)
Anyways, it involved a lot of chest rubbing. At the end of the joke, much goaded by Aunt Lil, Ray exclaims that his nipples are hard. In other families, I'm sure, this kind of exclaimation at the dinner table would be met with shock and disgust. To the Pentons and Bouzanes, this is the height of hilarity. Then again, we're not a normal group.
So later I duck into the study to call Selena, and Ray comes in to badger me. I ask him if he'd like to say hello to Selena (they've met before, and there was an incident of drink tickets stuck to the forehead, but that's a story for another time). And he says, "Oh no, I can't talk to Selena. My nipples are hard."
Merry Old Christmas Eve, everybody!
Rebecca
Monday, January 1, 2007
Festivities!
Hello peoples!
I hope everyone had a great time ringing in 2007. I know most people find it really hard adjusting to it being a different year (and some of us are still stuck at 2000), but 2007 seems right to me. Maybe this will be my year!
Last night was a lot of fun. I started off hanging around with the elderly loons (Mutti und Stephen), while Mutti blasted the Doors, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and all of her rockin' out music. She's a bit insane sometimes, but it was fun. She got really drunk really quickly (2 bottles of wine will do that), and tried to get me to show her how to dance like Mick Jagger. As if anyone cares, I have a seriously accurate Mick Jagger impression. Mom does not. And still doesn't. Stephen tried to, but he looked like he was having a epileptic fit. Clearly, Mick Jagger impersonators are born, not crafted. :)
At 11:00, Selena came to pick me up and we went to George's. Sheena had asked us to "bring the party" and we so did! Well, maybe not, but we had an excellent time. At some point we all decided it would be an awesome idea to stay up all night wait go to Tim Horton's for breakfast. I wish I could remember who had the original idea, because I would punch them a bunch. It was probably me.
It doesn't matter anyway, because everything is hilarious when you're over-tired. I had the hardcore moment of my life last night! Chris was playing Zelda (and boring the hell out of me).
At one point he was hacking at a big dragon skull or something with a sword, and I asked him if it was useful to be "thrashing bone with steel". Matt and Peter immediately jumped on it, and it became a thrash metal classic. Oh man, I am truly the heart and soul of all metal. Or not. Well, maybe hair metal. I also have a seriously awesome David Lee Roth impression.
Anyway, by the time we got to Tim Horton's I wasn't in touch with reality any more. I had given up drinking hours before, but I was beyond tired. I had spent most of the day watching The Twillight Zone marathon on NTV, and everything was just weird enough for it to be believeable. I went in the washroom to see if I still looked human (ie: if I still had any makeup on), and I was convinced that I was going to cross over at any moment. I should take this time to mention that everything scares me. I saw the movie Candyman when I was 11, and I still can't do mirrors in the dark. In fact, the only horror movie I've ever watched that didnt scare me was The Shining. Yeah, I'm pretty bad.
I'd also like to take this time to note that Matt Woodman has disproven the theory that, if one throws up just after drinking cold milk, the milk will still be cold when they throw it up. According to Matt, that is not true.
Matt also does not participate in sexual activites or "somodie", as he is a Christian man. The red marks on his neck certainly were not put there by Cheryl.
And now, pictures!!
Sheena and I, after a long heart-to-heart about being like sisters.
Sheena advertising whatever kind of beer she was drinking.
The all-too-necessary "Hey! We're both taking a picture!" picture
Selena chillin' out.
Especially in this picture.
I think I was Vogue-ing. Who knows?
Sometimes playing Wii is confusing, apparently. I'll support it. The sound comes out of the controller! What sort of newfangled technology is that?
George and I. There's an awful lot of those "I'm holding the camera" close-ups.
The ever-necessary beer chugging competitions.
Peter won both times. Sorry, George.
Chris and I in the hottest new picture of 2007.
I judge my picture-taking success on how many silly faces I can get everyone to make. Last night was particularly successful.
Peter and George. Again with the excellent facial expressions.
This is a picture of Cheryl and Matt. They're a bit sickly sweet, but they're good kids.
Peter and Sheena rocking the bongos.
I hope everyone had a great time ringing in 2007. I know most people find it really hard adjusting to it being a different year (and some of us are still stuck at 2000), but 2007 seems right to me. Maybe this will be my year!
Last night was a lot of fun. I started off hanging around with the elderly loons (Mutti und Stephen), while Mutti blasted the Doors, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and all of her rockin' out music. She's a bit insane sometimes, but it was fun. She got really drunk really quickly (2 bottles of wine will do that), and tried to get me to show her how to dance like Mick Jagger. As if anyone cares, I have a seriously accurate Mick Jagger impression. Mom does not. And still doesn't. Stephen tried to, but he looked like he was having a epileptic fit. Clearly, Mick Jagger impersonators are born, not crafted. :)
At 11:00, Selena came to pick me up and we went to George's. Sheena had asked us to "bring the party" and we so did! Well, maybe not, but we had an excellent time. At some point we all decided it would be an awesome idea to stay up all night wait go to Tim Horton's for breakfast. I wish I could remember who had the original idea, because I would punch them a bunch. It was probably me.
It doesn't matter anyway, because everything is hilarious when you're over-tired. I had the hardcore moment of my life last night! Chris was playing Zelda (and boring the hell out of me).
At one point he was hacking at a big dragon skull or something with a sword, and I asked him if it was useful to be "thrashing bone with steel". Matt and Peter immediately jumped on it, and it became a thrash metal classic. Oh man, I am truly the heart and soul of all metal. Or not. Well, maybe hair metal. I also have a seriously awesome David Lee Roth impression.
Anyway, by the time we got to Tim Horton's I wasn't in touch with reality any more. I had given up drinking hours before, but I was beyond tired. I had spent most of the day watching The Twillight Zone marathon on NTV, and everything was just weird enough for it to be believeable. I went in the washroom to see if I still looked human (ie: if I still had any makeup on), and I was convinced that I was going to cross over at any moment. I should take this time to mention that everything scares me. I saw the movie Candyman when I was 11, and I still can't do mirrors in the dark. In fact, the only horror movie I've ever watched that didnt scare me was The Shining. Yeah, I'm pretty bad.
I'd also like to take this time to note that Matt Woodman has disproven the theory that, if one throws up just after drinking cold milk, the milk will still be cold when they throw it up. According to Matt, that is not true.
Matt also does not participate in sexual activites or "somodie", as he is a Christian man. The red marks on his neck certainly were not put there by Cheryl.
And now, pictures!!
Sheena and I, after a long heart-to-heart about being like sisters.
Sheena advertising whatever kind of beer she was drinking.
The all-too-necessary "Hey! We're both taking a picture!" picture
Selena chillin' out.
She sure knows how to look cool.
Especially in this picture.
Party peoples.
I think I was Vogue-ing. Who knows?
Sometimes playing Wii is confusing, apparently. I'll support it. The sound comes out of the controller! What sort of newfangled technology is that?
George and I. There's an awful lot of those "I'm holding the camera" close-ups.
The ever-necessary beer chugging competitions.
Peter won both times. Sorry, George.
Chris and I in the hottest new picture of 2007.
I judge my picture-taking success on how many silly faces I can get everyone to make. Last night was particularly successful.
Another close-up. Me and Cheryl.
Peter and George. Again with the excellent facial expressions.
This is a picture of Cheryl and Matt. They're a bit sickly sweet, but they're good kids.
I was going to put in a few pictures of Cheryl with her underwear hanging out, but I decided against it. We may be due for a fight, but we need a better reason than that.
Peter and Sheena rocking the bongos.
And this is the sun coming up this morning at 8:30, as seen from my backyard.
Pretty!
Happy New Year everybody!
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