Get in the queue

Then did he raise on high the Holy Queue of Netflix, saying, "Bless this, O Lord, that with it thou mayst veg on the couch and eat popcorn, in thy mercy." And the people did rejoice and did feast upon the junk food and onion dip and jello and trail mix and pork rinds and breakfast cereals ... Now did the Lord say, "First thou signest up on the website. Then thou must click at least three titles. Three shall be the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be at least three. Four shalt thou not receive immediately, neither shalt thou choose only two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three. Five is right out, until two titles have been returned. Once the number three, being the number of the counting, be reached, then clickest thou the submit button and begin to wait for the mailman, who, being worthy in my sight, shall deliver it." (many apologies to Monty Python)

If you could not discern from the passage above, we've fallen off the edge and into the Netflix abyss. Our lives, from which television has been absent for 2 years, 4 months and 28 days, have just drastically changed. Let the vegging out begin anew!

This is going to be interesting. When the tv fast first began, 2years4months28days ago, myself and The T wondered how anything had ever been accomplished previous to the banishment of the idiot box. We did not suddenly find ourselves awash in extra time to be spent bettering mankind. Rather, we were perplexed at the notion that anything had ever been accomplished at all. The tasks at hand swelled to fill the vacuum no longer occupied by commercials and SportsCenter and made for tv movies and the Star Wars Holiday Special.

When it came to adding titles to the queue, the decision paralysis which struck initially very quickly became click-o-rama! The poor trackpad had hot spots from The T's fingers moving so fast. With all the mouse clicking going on, the living room sounded like that old commercial for the game Trouble with the pop-o-matic.

We haven't even gotten our first title yet and I'm already making tv references. Stay tuned, Bat fans.

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Since I mentioned junk food:

What happens to your body if you drink a Coke right now?

Other wacky uses for Coke

You don't like what I said? I'll just change the translation. From Wikipedia: " 'Bite the wax tadpole' is a rough translation for one of the names previously used by Coca-Cola to translate the name of their product into Chinese. The original Chinese is kǒukē-kǒulà (口蝌口蜡), which does approximate the sound of "Coca-Cola" quite closely, and which might more literally be translated as "mouth tadpole, mouth wax". When it was discovered that this name had an unappetizing sound, Coca-Cola changed their translation to kěkǒu-kělè (可口可乐), meaning roughly "tasty and fun", after which the beverage became increasingly popular in China."

Breathe, just breathe

Do you hear that? It's quiet.
And my eardrums say aaaaaah.

This is not to say I wasn't happy to see the house fill up with folks who have not seen each other in 15 years. I was thrilled to be able to host such a reunion. The house (including bathrooms) got cleaned. The fridge got cleaned and then refilled. The guest room got built and furnished in time to be warm and comfortable and slept in.

But I cannot find the words that describe how nice it is to have the house returned to the day-to-day occupants. The Paw Posse wholeheartedly agrees. They are once again purring in unison and gourging themselves on bowls of vittles.

I'm going to go enjoy the lack of reverb of voices not my own and continue reading a very, very good book: Fun Home by Alison Bechdel (the power behind Dykes to Watch Out For). If you feel unfulfilled by this post and need more of something, perhaps one or some of these links will fill the void:

It's recycling and decorating! What a deal. A Mountain Dew holiday tree—with lights and everything.
One more thing to do with your thumb.

Evolution of plasticware you can write on. Move your wares over, Mr. Tupper, the gadgets that can count have arrived. Oh, if I'd only had these before I put the mystery meat stew in the fridge and thus begin it's slide over to the Dark Side.

Tis the Seasoning

In preparation for the familial infestation ... er ... visitation, I've been cleaning everything in sight. The cats have no idea what is going on and they are less than happy. They are in full defensive mode while both the Roomba and the vacuum have been running for the last two days. Well, if the grrllzz would stop shedding and hit the boxes a little more consistency and not drop crumbs in a six-foot radius around the dish when they eat and stop giving the food back in chewed form just because they're a little rumbly in the tummy maybe this cleaning thing wouldn't be quite so traumatic for all of us.

But I should stop dissing the furballs. I am only slightly more fastidious than they are. In fact, the only difference between them and myself is that I don't vomit in random places around the house. Yesterday I cleaned out the fridge in anticipation of and preparation for the influx of fresh food and new leftovers to fill the cavernous space. In order to fill the space, one must first find the space. This is scary. I've seen things come out of my fridge that would make tough guys cry. That old line about "set it free; if it returns to you it is yours" doesn't apply when UWOs (unidentified walking objects) drop off the second shelf and stroll away under their own power. It is best to just let 'em go.

I now know what evolution holds for carrots and other root vegetables. It isn't pretty. Nor does it involve these items remaining firm. The future is similarly depressing for green peppers and cucumbers. These thrown-away-more-than-eaten items are the sublimators of the vegetable world. Just like dry ice bypasses a liquid stage on its way from frozen to gas, as peppers and cukes break down, they turn directly from a solid into a liquid, bypassing the mushy stage. And the transformation is pretty much instantaneous. I buy the veggies. I put the veggies in the fridge. I go to bed. I wake up to a green puddle in the crisper drawer. I swear to zeus that the guy who lives in the fridge and turns the light on and off goes at the veggies with a sledge hammer when I close the door.

So the chiller is clean and waiting for the food cycle to begin anew. Yesterday we played What's That Smell? as I cleaned out plastic containers and dumped the contents. Today as I was stacking the plastic containers, the skunk-like smell hit me full in the face again. Whatever was in the container had embedded itself in the molecular structure of the plastic and wasn't coming out. As much as I hate contributing more plastic to the local landfill, there was no way I could keep that container. Later today we'll be playing Guess What Meat Dish Devolves Into Skunk? and removing that recipe from the kitchen rolodex.

What's the question?

The answer is: Holey rubber!

Your choices for the correct question are:
a) what did Mary say to Joseph when the pee strip turned blue?
b) what did Robin say to the Batman in episode #42, The Eraser Meets the Sharp Pointy Thing?
c) what I exclaimed to The T when we were cruising along at 55 miles-per-hour and a front tire on the Subaru blew out?

If you chose (c), you'd be correct. Man, nothing like a flat tire to help you focus on what's important. It didn't matter that we were on our way to Slum Depot to drop another good chunk of change to outfit our new guest room. Nor did it matter that we had found two really cool bedside tables in an "antique" store, aka: ongoing junk swap, and they were now getting a bit damp in the evening mist as they sat on the side of the road while we dug out the spare.

No, what truly mattered in this whole experience was that the very first time we needed the lug wrench to change the flat tire we found it wasn't there! We've owned this car for 10 years now and did we ever think to check for the lug wrench? No. Why would we look for it when we didn't need it?

So we called our hero Joe the Electron (not his real name) and his trusty sidekick, Rainbow Hemp (could be her real name), and they came right out to the east of the middle of nowhere to aid us in our time of need of wrench-lessness. And in the true spirit of brotherhood and plain old getting-along-edness, the lug wrench from the German Audi would have nothing to do with the lug nuts on the Japanese Subaru. Have we learned nothing from the messages of the season? Can't we all just get it on together?

So Electron and The T cruised back to Electron's abode to find his collection of wrenches while Hemp and I communed with the cows. We were the highlight of the cows' day, I swear. The just stood there and stared and chewed and stared and chewed ... and you get the idea. Thirty minutes later, we bid the cows adieu and we were rolling along on our donut-wheel. We got to the 'Pot, bought our goods and returned home safely. The room is now tricked out quite nattily and the invasion of relatives not my own begins soon.

All's well that end's well.

And then there were 5

Oh man was I looking forward to Thanksgiving break. The preceding Sunday, I was dragged from bed (drug from?) while I was in a weird spot in my sleep cycle and I never recovered. I was a total zombie until I could nap on pre-Thanksgiving Eve. If I kept moving, I was fine. The moment I was stationary, I collapsed.

So thank the cranberries the break showed up when it did. A nap, a guilt-free sleep-in the next morning and I was good to go.

The problem now is there is no go happening. We have had three consecutive snow days. Day One was a pleasant treat. Day the Second was also OK. I managed to finally get through all the papers that needed to be graded. After one day off, I may have had an out but after two days of no classes, the students would have been throwing pencils at me (except that one guy who seems to avoid pencils like he's afraid of 'em).

So this morning, I sprang from bed—no problem with the sleep cycle now—showered, had a little breakie, pet the cats ... and heard The T call from the other room. The message that was not posted at 6:01 A.M. was now there at 6:30 A.M.: All classes at the main campus cancelled.

And so I blog. The other events planned for today are flossing, making a wallet from some cool foil tape, cleaning the fridge, comic book organizing, laundry, wandering around the house bemoaning the drafts in this ol' house, snacking, etc. You get the idea. Maybe I will also do some work activities related to my classes. I do have a lovely stack of books and journals I've been meaning to plow through. Since I am not in the mood to shovel, perhaps I will plow the pages.

For those of you who have some time to kill, read on. I will now amaze and astound with some tidbytes from the web.


My name in hieroglyphics. The second and third characters look like they could be on a waterbed warning label. If you do "squiggly" the bed will stay intact. When the Eye of Mordor opens, the bed drains and your feet stick up. Maybe that third character is actually the ancient symbol for "napping". Get your own here. It's mainly in French but you can figure it out.



Design + Child's game = Commercialism. These shelves are cool looking but I wonder how you claim any sort of copyright on such a thing.



If the Web were a city, it would look like this. Link.



That reminds me of the map of Springfield, USA, home of the SImpsons. Be sure to check out the interactive version.



Here's what you get with a little stick-to-it-ive-ness. About 20 years worth of photo attempts finally resulted in this shot of London. How much film is that?



Got a tune in your head that you can't get out? Want one? Click on the people to get a little piece of harmony going. you can record your masterpiece. It's very buy the world a coke-ish.



The highest scoring Scrabble game ever. Check out this board. Don't you love the irony of using "bleep" as a word? The most I ever got on one word was 96 points for trembles, starting in the top-left corner. I remember it like it was yesterday and it was almost 20 years ago.
Any idea what a "vrow" is? It's in this game not once but twice (!!) and I can't find it in a dictionary.



Call the ASPCA right now!!! This doggie-bag is wrong on so many levels. Resist the urge to click and see more ... er ... styles. Don't click on the link. Just send me your $75 and we'll call it even. The pictures below are of the red faux fur model and the faux brain model.



That's enough for now. After that last one, I need to go wash.

Nothing but someone else's words

Apparently I have nothing original to say and will amuse you with other pieces of the internet.

Listen as Obi Wan Canoli tells Cuke Skywalker of the threat of Darth Tater and the dark side of the store. Only if he harnesses the power of the Farm will Cuke successfully rescue Princess Lettuce, a captive on the Death Melon. Of course, Cuke can't do it alone. He gets a little help from Ham Solo, Chewbroccoli, C3-Peanuts, and Tofu-D2, of course. Check out the adventure... and the sax playing butternut squash in the cantina scene.

Timewaster Alert!!
More fun than you've ever had with eggs.


Resistance is futile.

Apple Computer Inc. said on Tuesday six major airlines will let passengers play video and music from their iPod digital devices on in-flight entertainment systems beginning in mid-2007.

Air France, Continental Airlines, Delta Air Lines, Emirates, KLM, and United Airlines will begin offering their passengers iPod seat connections, which power and charge iPods during flight and allow the video content on the devices to be viewed on seat-back displays.

And another entry for the Never Thought You Read Those Words in That Order category: Eco-friendly bra doubles as shopping bag I couldn't be that funny if I had a word randomizer helping me type this. Here's proof:

Faux bonsai. Need to reconnect with the earth? This is not the plant to get.



Yes, this is what you think it is: a chocolate covered Mac Classic.




What you can make with a slab of wood, a scroll saw and an hour or two. Or you can just buy this one.

Viva la Revolution!

The sun came out today, after five straight days of rain. And the government was overthrown yesterday. For these reasons, we shall but laugh and gawk today.

Laugh: Take Grandma skydiving.



Gawk: No, you can't have a notecard for the exam, but...
I have actually told my students to do this (must be permanent, no wash-off-able henna, etc.) and not one has taken me up on it yet. When have they ever heard that they can't bring a tattoo to an exam? More found here


Laugh: the politically incorrect alphabet primer




Gawk: What to do with all those pennies you're saving:

Knowing the punchline is half the fun

OK, so there I am the other day, tooling along in class, talking about one of the coolest numbers on the planet when I seemed to forget I was not in the classroom alone. I had warned the students previous to this event that this might happen occasionally. Once in a while, my inner geek rises to the surface and—BLAMMO!—unwary onlookers are left in the dust.

The number responsible for this is e. It is just as cool as π but gets almost no press. You never hear of people memorizing e. As far as pop culture goes, e is getting short shrifted. Just what is a shrift anyway? And does size matter?

One more common way of describing where the value e occurs is in the following expression:

Ready for what seems like a mathematical paradox? The value for n can increase without bound. Pass Go, get your $200 and don't even slow down. Yet the overall value of the expression has a limit. It will never get bigger than e ≈ 2.71828 18284 59045 23536 ... Isn't that cool?

Can you tell my geek personality has taken control of my body right now? A similar thing happened in class. I was sharing the next occurrence of e with the students: pick a random number between 0 and 1. Go ahead, you've got an infinite amount to choose from. Now pick another number and add it to the first one. Keep picking and adding until the sum is 1 or greater. When it is stop and count how many numbers you had to pick. Then repeat the process; keep summing random values between 0 and 1 until the sum is greater than 1. When you've repeated the process a goodly number of times, find the average number of numbers you had to pick to exceed 1. That average will be—you guessed it—e.

It was right at this moment, this exciting climax when a student calmly asked: if we know the value of e why do we have to keep determining it?

(sigh) I felt I was in the room alone. Oh, well. I had a good time and hopefully my enthusiasm will prove contagious someday. Today was just not the day.

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Ode to e (and other math jokes/rhymes)
If (1+x) (real close to 1)
Is raised to the power of 1
Over x, you will find
Here's the value defined:
2.718281...

It takes a peasant to multiply.

Just can't let go of Halloween yet

Just wanted to share these pics because I'm so excited about being able to upload pictures to my blog again! Here are the results from our Squash Scarring party. The T is responsible for the top one, it's our hero Strong Bad (note the creepy eyes looking through the door in the background). I'm responsible for ... well, I'll let you figure out which ones I'm responsible for.

Entertainment over Thinking

With all due respect to Larry Bird, today's blog is brought to you by the game of H-O-R-S-E. Through the window, off the scoreboard, off the floor, nothing but links.

H for ha-ha: Post No Bills
O for oh-my: I'm going for a look that says "more death" and "non-regular hexagon"
R for g-R-R-R-R
S for: Somebody want to help me turn this page?
E for Everybody come get your tea!

Halloween Decompression

The refuse from our Halloween jack-o-lantern festival is now slowly recycling in the compost bin and the ghoulie-themed Tweety and Sylvester vest is once again tucked safely in the back of the closet. What's left from another holiday crossed off the calendar? A bowl full of homemade roasted sunflower seeds and 135 individually-wrapped Fruit Leathers.
I think it is safe to assume you didn't see that word combination coming, eh?

No, Fruit Leathers are not chaps for melons. Rather, they are direct relations of fruit roll-ups, sans the sugar, high fructose corn syrup, or artificial additives. And they are the only thing I could find that was suitable for the little whipper-snappers begging for treats. In my efforts to be a friendly neighbor in this here 'hood, I wanted to have something that would simultaneously be a hand out deemed worthy and prevent an egging or decorating of the house with TP while also being reasonably healthy or at the least not a mainline of sugar. Thanks to the creep that stuck a razor in an apple way back when, you can't hand out fruit or anything without a wrapper.

So think about this dilemma. What else is wrapped and snack-like without sugar? Should I have gone for meat jerky? That's an interesting idea. While we're wandering down Carnivore Lane, why not consider Slim Jims? You really have to appreciate a food item on which the first ingredient listed is "mechanically separated chicken." If we move to chips and/or pretzels, we merely make the carbs more complex. And therein lies the rub.

I refuse to contribute to the poor dietary habits of obese children. Yet I loved trick-or-treating as a kid and I didn't want to not participate. But eating the loot I'd collected was truly a treat for me. Candy was not a food group when I was growing up. More than once, my pleas for sustenance lest I pass out from starvation an hour before dinner was "go find something in the garden." The big treats for snacks were popcorn and pizza, both of which were labor intensive since they were made by hand—my hands. I'm not saying I had to shuck the corn but I did have to do the labor and clean up the mess to enjoy the snack. And the labor was more than rip off the plastic wrap and throw the bag in the nuker for two minutes on high.

So there I was in the big-box store looking for something reasonably priced with no sugar that I could hand out and feel no guilt when I watched the 3-foot tall superhero/heroine/sponge-bob/goblin waddle away down my walk. And I could find only one thing. I bought three boxes (48 per box) and handed out less than two-dozen of the brightly wrapped flat fruit. I was so ready if last year repeated itself and cars of non-city kids starting cruising the neighborhood. Alas, the temperature dropped and the scores of beggars I was anticipating stayed indoors. I now find myself gnawing my way through the fruit chews I have not yet been able to give away. Anyone interested in a Mango Madness?


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Play with Pi — each digit is a different color and the end result is a field of brightly colored pixels

Tampon Crafts — anything that involves a tampon, a hot glue gun and googly eyes is worth a click

5-Sided Regular Polygon

Sharing time. If you're a frequent visitor to this blog—and we can define 'frequent' as more than one visit—then you may have noticed how busy this page has gotten. I don't mean busy as in traffic. I mean busy as in bells-and-whistles. In the past few weeks, the page has gained:
• a countdown timer to ... uh ... count. To count down, specifically.
• a terror level alert scale, 'cuz who can pass up Bert & Ernie
• a Clustrmap to see where visitors are from (and let me tell you how humbling that little addition has been; can you guys tell a friend to surf over here once in a while so enough data compiles to earn a dot on the map?), and
• spelling with Flickr (scroll all the way down)

One item that has been a constant since day 1, maybe day 2 at the latest, is the StatCounter. This little gadget counts page loads as well as the IP address of the people viewing the page. If you have your own blog, probably none of this info is new to you. If you don't have a blog, are you surprised in the least that the blogosphere has spawned vast and numerous thriving cottage industries, such as services that do nothing but count?

Mere moments ago, I was mining the data regarding this blog's traffic and saw the following:

IP Address: 134.205.62.17
Host: dhcp062017.hq.af.mil
ISP: The Pentagon
Entry Page Time: 23rd October 2006 11:47:33
Visit Length: 0 seconds
Browser: Firefox 1.5.0
OS: Windows XP
Resolution: 1024x768
Location: Virginia, Arlington, United States
Returning Visits: 0

I've taken the liberty of highlighting the interesting part of the above data pile.

Are we to infer that the world is safe for at least a little while since someone in HQ has time to surf?!?
Should I feel snubbed that said visit was not of substantial length, or any length for that matter?
Is it a matter of concern that the military uses machines that are responsible for the second most popular download of all time, Windows Service Pack 2? (btw: first place is held by iTunes)

I'm going to go peek at the data a bit more and see if there's a hit from whitehouse.gov.

Tell me again why we're here

We just hit the midterm yesterday. And I mean we ran right into it like we didn't see it coming. We were just toolin' along, singing in our atonal kind of way with the tune in our head when—BAM!—we smacked full-on into week six. Or is it week five? See? We hit midterm so hard I've lost my ability to count.

I have a classroom gem I would like to share with you. For matters of clarity, please recall that I teach mathematics. Everyone on board? Let's go...

Me: What questions are there on the homework assignment (inside my head voice: that you have had for a week and probably haven't looked at yet) that is due tomorrow?

One of Them (OoT): I'm not sure how to start number three.

FYI: #3. Find all the points on the graph of y=x^2 that are a distance of 1 unit away from the point (1,2).

Me: Hmmm...(thinking about how to nudge OoT along without sharing the answer outright) ...

Another One of Them (AOoT): There's only one.

Me: There is at least one. There are definitely more.

AOoT: Well, sure. If you want to get into the numbers.

Yes, why would we want to do that in this—of all places—a math class?

FrenchieF, this one's for you

Mathematicians are like Frenchmen: whatever you say to them they translate into their own language and forthwith it is something entirely different ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

(I wish I could hang this on your office door myself.)

Care to rephrase that?

I was able to hear Dr. Georgia Dunston, Director of the Molecular Genetics core research unit at the National Human Genome Center, speak the other day. She is passionate, brilliant, and driven. As I listened to her talk, I thought how little I would want to be someone who had to say to her, "Sorry, but I'm not done with that task yet."

Her work deals with using information gleaned from the human genome to address health issues. As she tells it, she is still looking for answers to the question she had as a little girl: What makes us different? A fair question, to be sure. What I found interesting, however, was a particular way she had of asking this question during her presentation. Couched in the framework of describing how she started on her career path and life's work, she asked instead "Who do you say I am?"

This stuck with me. Clearly this woman has worked hard to get to where she is today. She has earned degrees and titles and respect and recognition. Her work revolves around the innermost make-up of humans, the DNA and chromosomes and genes (98%+ of which is no different than that of an earthworm). Yet, even with her focus at that level of one's individuality, she phrased her question in terms of how others see her. She didn't simply ask Who am I? Nor did she ask What does this say about who I am? She asked Who do you say I am?

That is more power than I want.

And yet at other times I take the power on and use it so easily I do not recognize that I am wielding it. A different conversation happened the same day, about an hour after the presentation. Our school year has just started. We're not even 10 days into the quarter when I run into the women's assistant basketball coach and academic counselor. I have three of these young women in class. We talked for about 5-10 minutes about these players as students and how they are doing in class. I have to admit that I had little positive to say regarding their classroom performance thus far. While not incapable, I didn't think they were working very hard. I saw no evidence of interest or concern about their assignments. During class, if there is a hum or a murmur of a decidedly non-mathematic bent, it is probably coming from their corner of the room.

And it was oh-so-easy for me to categorize them as immature, and lazy or disengaged instead of simply young and possibly overwhelmed (there was also a dash a miscommunication thrown in). I lumped them in with other students who I believe/-ed were in school because they did not know what else to do and were stuck in a class they could not care less about. I have honest empathy and concern for students show an iota of responsibility for their grades. I have zilch for those who show zilch. I perceived these women to be showing zilch.

On the tail of Dr. Dunston asking Who do you say I am?, I didn't realize my students may have been asking me the same question. And where I shuddered and backed away from answering the former due to her titles and aura/presence, I raced ahead and categorized the latter without a second thought.

The quarter is still so young and I've already learned something. Go figure.


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Audio book ad - click on the picture for more detail.
Where would this ad go in a women's room?
Speaking of ad placement, someone wasn't thinking—or were they?

One small word, one huge document

Today's blog is brought to you by the letter 'A'. More specifically, I mean the word 'a' that was not lost in the transmission of the first words from the surface of the moon, spoken by Neil Armstrong. Turns out he didn't flub it and the apparent redundancy in his oft-repeated quote can be chalked up to transmission static. Hmm, I'll be blaming my next mis-step on transmission static. Is this the 1960's version of "the spam filter must've deleted your email message?"

In this same vein, I want to point you to a very cool offer regarding some other words being forgotten, ignored, mangled, warped, bent, and just all-around trod upon. As a collective, these words are known as the Constitution and the Amendments and they're good reading. I have a way cool pocket-size copy of these words, as well as the Declaration of Independence and the Articles of Confederation and it was (practically) free. For less than a latte, you two can own an ultra-portable copy.

I found my cool book while looking for a small copy of the Bill of Rights (like I couldn't just print myself one, right?) Some enterprising folks out there are selling metal, wallet size Bill of Right plaques. I love the fact that they're metal and sure to set the teeth of any TSA personnel on edge. Since I have been targeted for [ahem] random searching four out of the last five times I've flown, I think this is a great idea. I have been one of the lucky winners of the "back of my hand" special touching. Years of Sesame Street education telling me what to do if ever touched inappropriately have been cast asunder. Listen lady, you touch me with the back of your hand one more time, you're damn right I'm going to request a private room. And there is no way that the TSA's puff machine would ever be put into service if it inadvertently dropped men's pants rather than raised women's skirts as it does its thing in the hunt for explosives. Dumb machine, dumber people.

Somehow, I have digressed. Back to my cool little book. I was flipping through the book and the quotes and anecdotes about long dead men when a blurb on the back catches my eye. I must've been tired because this is what I read:

Which Supreme Court Justice said of obesity, "I know it when I see it"?

I didn't know the who but I knew I couldn't argue with him. Truly a timeless, living document.

Fashion Spectrum

OK, my inability to post pictures to blogger is really starting to get me down. London Fashion Week just happened and I really wanted to share with you the photo of what I've taken to calling the Red Tumor Suit. Can I add this to my list of why I think the species is doomed?

On the other hand, strolling across campus today I saw a bloke in a kilt. If a guy can wear that in a smallish U.S. town (read: not Scotland) today, maybe we're not so doomed. Stay tuned.

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Paris Hilton is immune to zombies.

Atari code as art - so this is what was going on inside the console while I ate fruit and slew ghosts

Enter the Fray

OK all you residents of the Buffyverse (you know who you are), run—don't walk—run to your local book peddlar and get your hands on a copy of Fray, Joss Whedon's first graphic novel. The main character is Melaka Fray and she is everything Buffy was, sans the Scoobies.

If I am not prepped for class tomorrow it is because I was once again unable to put this book down. I almost didn't get to sleep last night. The pages seemed to turn themselves. I can hardly wait to re-read it and I haven't even finished my first run yet.

I thought that Whedon's skill at writing great dialogue couldn't possibly translate well into a static medium where the speed I read at dictates the flow of the conversation. Also, in a graphic novel, the art, layout, design, and etc. all factor into the pace one moves through a page. Well, it all works in this text. I particularly liked Melaka's reaction to, uh, not ducking: You hib my face wib a girder. You can just hear that being said in our house incessantly now, can't you?

It is good to know that mankind still has a protector long after Sunnydale dropped off the map (literally).

and.... we're off!!!

OK, one day down. Does this really count for anything, besides counting?

Only one entertaining anecdote to report. In Intermediate Algebra (which differs from Elementary Algebra in that all letters in the alphabet are eligible to be a variable, not just x), two students came up to me before class started to verify that their names were on the roster. They both were and the students had two different responses.

Student A found a seat in the back row.

Student B said, "I am so going to lunch" and walked right out the door.

Better living through chemicals

I know I should be totally focused on tomorrow's first day of classes and all but I just have to get this off my chest. And I've been dying to use the words "colloidal suspension" in conversation for so long I think I just might burst.

Me and The T hit the grocery store this morning. This is a kind of pseudo-synchronized dance routine of which the cart is the moving focal point and the troupe members constantly whirl around, flitting off in search of some item and then swooping back to deposit the prize in the cage-on-wheels. When the chaos portion of the blitz was over, I found The T in the laundry aisle. The T said, "I hope you don't think this is an impulse purchase." And we both simultaneously say, "I've been looking for this for years!!"

The prize was a bottle of Mrs. Stewart's Bluing. I had chalked up the existence of bluing as another entry in The Louie's Book of Fictional or Extinct Things. My father, The Louie, always claimed that bluing was the best way to get white things white in the laundry. It sounded so bizarre that I held off on outright scoffing and began what would end up being a 20-year quest to find a container of bluing. He is otherwise a rational man so I reasoned his claim just might have something to it. While I never actually saw my father do laundry, his father was a tailor/cleaner, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Turns out this stuff is a colloidal suspension of a very fine blue iron powder in water that contains such potential that the future of mankind may hinge on our species' ability to harness it fully. In a nutshell: the whitest whites are those that have a little blue in them. The added blue reflects more light than just white on its own so—voila!—adding some bluing to the laundry makes whites whiter. Works on pets too! Fluffy not white enough? Just blue the pooch. Can't see the goldfish in your pond due to algae? Just blue those pesky greens away.

As a totally unforeseen jumbo/LARGE bonus to finding this bottle of laundry bliss, the info card banded to the cap took us in a new incredibly exciting direction. It turns out this colloidal suspension is the secret ingredient in magic salt crystal gardens. I have always wanted one of those but was never courageous enough to admit it (the slight anonymity of the virtual plane has made me brave enough to fess up). I'm also a fan of sea monkeys and ant farms but these are topics for another day. I'll post pictures of my crystals when they get rolling.

T-minus weekend and counting

Monday looms on the horizon like my 14-year-old cat on the edge of the bed and my reaction to the former is very similar to my reaction to the latter: if I just roll over and act like I'm asleep, it won't poke me in the face with its paw.

Alas, there is no way I can avoid either the campus or the cat. Classes start Monday and I am oh-so-very behind in my prep. I am further behind, I think, than I was three years ago when I was new at this gig. Sheesh. It's not like the math has changed any since I taught it 12 weeks ago, especially not in Intermediate Algebra. Regardless of the time-crunch I have brought upon myself, I am looking forward to the quarter, even the part where I play the role of honest-but-brutal teacher when I tell Annie Student that, yes, even though we are all individuals, your particular method of manipulating symbols on the page won't solve the equation. Ever.

How do I convince my students that the textbook is nothing more than a collection of methods that work and it's not such a bad place to start? The techniques in the book work now, they worked yesterday and they will work tomorrow. Granted, an alternative method may not be incorrect but we need to start at a common point and I elect to use this book as the starting place. I swear sometimes I think I am the first person to ever dare say No to some students when I deny points, praise, or pleasantries. As of Monday at 8 a.m., I am going to start a counter to track how long it is before a student asks, Well, why can't I do it this way? Inside my head, the mini-math-prof will stomp her foot and scream Can we put off exploring your ideas under after you solve two consecutive problems correctly?!?

Yes, there is value in seeing the problem a different way than the text shows, perhaps, but algebra is a set of rules and there are only so many ways those rules can be interpreted. Most of my energy will be spent convincing a handful of people that we do not have the time to explore n different wrong ways of trying to find x.

The part I enjoy most is looking for new problems to assign as homework exercises. I'm going to go do that now and put off fine-tuning the syllabi for a little while longer.


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USBCell - given that we can now plug in fans, lights, and missile launchers into a USB port, what took so long for someone to come up with rechargeable AA batteries?

Hardwood floor via puzzle pieces - do you start with the corner pieces?

A new feature on Mostly Filler

I find myself emailing links to cool sites to friends who may or may not appreciate receiving the onslaught of messages from me telling them to Click Here for Fun!!! In an attempt to conserve some of the internet pipeline for traffic other than these messages, I'm going to start tacking on links of the day to the bottom of my stream of consciousness blatherings. Also the links to the right will be expanded to include both the mind-expanding and time-wasting sites I find and would like to share.

Here's a few to get the ball rolling. Be daring. Click a little.

+-+-+ Click Here Roulette +-+-+

Not a lot of time but want to read a classic? Try out DailyLit. A piece of a public domain work that can be read in about 5 minutes is emailed to you daily or every other daily. I'm currently working on the The Federalist Papers (only 207 more segments to go!)

What time is it?

State of the Union - graphs the key terms in every State of the Union address. You can see which words figured prominently. You can also see the reading level of each address.

Meme of Three (or: I'm it!!)

I'm back from my romp in the woods, sans gadgets. It was glorious, thankyouverymuch. Nothing like a few days in a sleeping bag on an air mattress in a two-person tent to make you appreciate the waterbed that much more. Even cleaning the litterboxes is not the chore it was before my week hiatus.

On to the meme. Many thanks to Kfluff for tagging me. This was a fun exercise.

Three People Who Make Me Laugh
1. Lily Tomlin
2. Robin Williams
3. T, my sidekick (and it's a damn shame y'all can't listen in)

Three Things I Can Do
1. Ride a unicycle
2. Fashion a wallet from duct tape or playing cards and non-duct tape
3. Brew beer

Three Things I Can't Do
1. Pass up the opportunity to pay for an item in such a way as to maximize the number of quarters I'll receive as change.
2. Sit quietly while someone else is driving.
3. Bring down the patriarchy.

Three Things I'm Doing Right Now
1. Cat-sitting while drinking coffee and watching SportsCenter and trying to define how long of a time period "right now" defines
2. Wondering if #1 counts as three separate things if they occur simultaneously
3. Drooling in anticipation of the creation, purchase, and use of a full-screen video iPod with a virtual click-wheel

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die
1. Travel to another hemisphere
2. Get through all those books stacked on, under, and around the bedside table
3. Learn another language besides English, mathematics, and the little bit of html I understand

Three Things I Hate the Most
1. Hearing four words: I can't do math.
2. Cult of the empty celebrity
3. Scent of juniper

Three Things that Scare Me
1. Belief without questioning
2. Fundamentalism's seepage beyond the arena of faith
3. The erosion of civil liberties under the guise of "security"

Three Things I Don't Understand
1. How the discussion of intelligent design/fundamentalism pseudoscience is allowed to continue
2. Economics, be it macro, micro, or my checking account.
3. The "need" to own a SUV

Three Skills I'd Like to Learn
1. crossword puzzle design
2. drawing (cartoons)
3. Vulcan nerve pinch or a martial art

Three Ways to Describe my Personality
1. forthright
2. intense
3. generous

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To
1. Allison Kraus (run, don't walk, run)
2. The Daily Show
3. Tom Lehrer (utterly timeless)

Three Things You Should NEVER Listen To
1. Infomercials
2. Talk radio
3. Leonard Nimoy singing

Three Favorite Foods
1. Popcorn, popped in oil
2. Fried Chicken
3. anything someone else has prepared for me

Three Beverages I Drink Regularly
1. Homebrew
2. Tea (iced, hot, black, green, herbal, whatever-if it's a leaf, I'll steep it)
3. dihydrogen-monoxide

Three Shows I Watched as a Kid
1. The Carol Burnett Show (why-oh why!-is this highpoint of western culture not available on DVD?)
2. The Muppet Show & Sesame Street
3. Looney Tunes cartoons (this continues to today)

Three Blogs I'm Tagging (note: this is the single most difficult threesome on the list)
1. Amelia, over at (Not So) Old and Married, since she's home with Kaos and he's got to sleep sometime, right?
2.
3.

If anyone reading this has a suggestion for a blog to tag, I'm open to it. Add it to the comments.

Where do bytes go when they die?

One of my most favorite pieces of mental lint I acquired in graduate school:

You know when you're typing furiously even though your document is not open or is in the background? Where do those keystrokes go?

I bring this up because I have not had any luck posting images to this blog for 48 hours. I've tried it approximately 274 times to no avail (and that is the definition of stupidity). My clicks resulted in the extraordinarily unhelpful error message that says "There was an error uploading your image. The following image was not uploaded: {name of image.jpg}"

So if you see any images go floating by in the digital ether surrounding you, they may have come from me. Feel free to add your own caption.

I'll be back in a week or so. I'm off to commune with some trees, large mammals, and a lack of electronic gadgets.

Can't do this with a Pee-Cee

All you readers sitting in front of a Mac running OS X, try this super-duper neat-o jumbo/LARGE tip (all you pee-cee-ers will have to find a friend with a Mac to see this live and drool over these pics in the meantime). This will work in any cocoa application, like Safari, Mail, iChat, etc.

Press and hold down the keys apple-control-D while you point the mouse at any word on this blog. I've provided some interesting text below in case my own words are not fascinating enough.

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

In case your left hand is in a cast or something or you're surfing with the Firefox browser, here's a pic of what success should look like:

hmmm, can't seem to load the damn picture ... click here to see the results, please ...

When the virtual gremlins decide to work with me rather than against me, I'll upload a screenshot.

It's stamped so it must be real

No purpose other than good clean fun.



Only click here if you want one of these for your very own. Here's another I gave my hosts when invited to dinner:

People who have always been dead

It's that time of year when the diesel cheeseboxes appear on the roads again, tourists complete their migration back to their nests, and Beloit College reminds us what events have formed the perspectives of today's college freshmen.

One of my favorites from this year's Mindset List® is #34:

They have always known that "In the criminal justice system the people have been represented by two separate yet equally important groups."

The item on the list that gave me the most pause was #2:

They have known only two presidents.

Since a President can only serve eight years, I'm assuming that the president-during-infancy is not being counted. Otherwise, we have the first incoming class of all 16-year-olds. Anyway, I was born under LBJ (sounds kind of astrological, does it not?) so my lifespan thus far has covered eight members of the White House Gang: LBJ, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, and Shrub. By the time I was 18-years-old, the First Bedroom had survived five different makeovers by First Ladies. The Oval Office was more merry-go-round than the set-in-stone throne it must seem like to today's newbie-adults.

Related to this, my voting ballot for the primary election arrived. A Senator and Representative are on the ballot, as are two state representatives. It is a pretty short ballot because there are no choices to make in three of the four races. The only place on the ballot where it matters where my pen hits the page is for the Senate race. For every other seat, I can mark either the incumbent or the write-in box. This is not an election so much as it is an affirmation. It is a disturbing trend. Whether or not I like the ideas/performance of the incumbent, his/her party provides no options.

I find myself stuck between two competing ideas: I should not paint the world with a broad brush and force categorizations on individuals but I am forced to settle for lack of nuance in my candidates for office, menu selections, music choices, etc.


Hmm, I need to think about this more. I'm going for a walk.

Why the house is clean

Hmm, looking at that title, perhaps it should read instead: Why the house is cleaner than it has been in a while. If Einstein's theory of relativity was explained in terms of cleanliness rather than time and space, every shmo on the street would understand. "Clean enough" means something different for everyone, dig? A postulate to the theory of cleanliness is that the level of acceptable cleanliness is directly correlated with the advancements in window technology. The dirt in the corners didn't bother us when we couldn't see it. When floors were dirt and windows were holes in the walls, less vacuuming was done. OK, maybe it had something to do with vacuums not existing yet. I still think the postulate works. Let in more light and the furball hair floating through the room is more visible, capiché?

The reason for the spate of scrubbing is that my sister and bro-in-law, Viv and Dilbert, are crashing here for a week. I believe the house will be clean enough for them by the time they arrive (is the ticking of that clock getting louder?) If instead my parents were visiting, I would have started cleaning six months ago in order to feel that the result was just barely near the level my mother set for spic-'n-spaniness. That cleaning binge might involve cleaning under the lino and behind the paneling, for instance. On the other hand, my sister gets a clean kitchen, laundered towels and bedding, and a swept floor. I'll even clean both the bathrooms before I call it "clean enough."

The problem with this whole plan is that the Paw Posse continually sets me back. Just when I manage to get the floor to be not-crunchy from either food crumblets or scattered litter, one of the grrllzz wanders over to Food In or Food Out and entropy ensues. This phenomenon is known as perpetual exertion, a lemma to the theory perpetual motion (I'm not sure if that's correct; I just wanted to use the word 'lemma').

I have to go sweep again. Check back for highlights during the week, tentatively titled Dilbert Said Wha'?

My powers of deduction

I just finished listening to a murder mystery. If we were looking at a pre-October 23, 2001 calendar, I would say it was a book on tape. Since today is clearly after that aforementioned date, we need to change the lexicon to book on byte. The date is relevant here because 10/23/01 is the date that the original iPod was introduced. I think Apple missed a great opportunity for an exceedingly memorable (and definitely marketable) numerical palindrome; the iPod should have been introduced the day before. Anyway, I can't remember the last time I actually listened to music on my iPod rather than a book or podcast. Hmm, maybe I'll nickname my iPod the iPage ... is that appropo since it's a recording of a book rather than a printing ... ?

But back to the book, In the Presence of the Enemy by Elizabeth George. It was, as usual with all her books, a good read—er, listen. The solution to the murder is plausible and no rabbits-via-hats are ever needed to pull it all together at the end. I got away from reading murder mysteries for that reason: far too often I got to the final chapter only to learn that it was because the moon was full, the coffee was decaf, and the woman behind the reception desk wore hoops instead of studs, that the detective was able to determine how the circus clown murdered the chicken-eater with the sword swallower's nail clippers. Well, Ms. George never pulls stunts like that.

I've run into so many contrived whodunits that I have a hard time setting aside my doubts when I come upon what I think are errors in dialogue or description. I wonder how the author and editor missed that boo-boo. Well, duh, it's a clue not an error. Maybe I'm too critical to enjoy a mystery considering that my mornings are often spent looking for—and finding—typos on cereal boxes.

I'm hungry

We can stay up late, swap manly stories and in the morning, I am making waffles!

This never happens in my kitchen.

Neither does this.

Recently heard at Meanwhile Manor

So there I was, standing in front of Mr. Caffeine: cleaning, measuring, and filling the magical machine in the daily ritual of preparing my dose of liquid pick-me-up.

T says: Well, I've got my shoes on.

I reply with the obvious: Let me guess. You forgot to put pants on.

T: Yep.

And so begins another day.

Tis the Season for Green

Today was a momentus day, a day we've been looking forward to for—lo!—these many months. Today was the day that I ate a cucumber that was grown in my very own garden. Now, you might think that this is not a big deal, this harvesting of a single fruit. But I say unto thee: you are wrong. Wrong! This was an agricultural monument for yours truly.

You see, this pickle came out of the same patch of mud in which I have not been able to grow zucchini. I ask you: How many people do you know are unable to grow zucchini?!? Isn't this that time of year where we say to our co-workers: what were you thinking when you planted a dozen squash plants and how much zucchini bread do you think a human can safely eat? Anyway, I think the fact that I was able to successfully pick a cucumber from a garden in which no zucchini deigns to grow is quite a feat.

I watch this rogue zucchini, relaxing beside the cucumbers and brussel sprouts, both doing their part to convert H2O and CO-2 into soup and salad fixings, and wonder what I ever did to make it spite me so. It got the same attention as all the other garden folk. I watered it the same and doled out it's fair share of organic fertilizer. Perhaps this plant is just plain lazy and the very thought of photosynthesizing tires it out. It does sport a kind of rumpled look, like it just got out of bed.

Maybe next year I'll have better luck if I plant more zucchini plants.

Wardrobe check

If that made you laugh out loud—and even if it didn't but you're willing to be a contestant on today's episode of Web-Click Roulette—point your mouse here.


And totally not related to the above in any way other than the clothes are interesting: 9 months of pregnancy in 30 seconds. I've watched this a few times just to see how long the women continues to wear a belt!

At the gym

I'm not going to talk about the time I flew off the back of treadmill.
These guys are way more graceful.

Take a number for faster service

Here's the solution to those times you find yourself trapped in frustrating jabber gridlock.

Scenario: you're amongst very effervescent chatterers or those poor souls who—unbeknownst to only themselves—suffer from diarrhea of the mouth (or possibly both types at once) and you have a comment/joke/literary or historical reference/oral footnote to share. How do you simultaneously wait your turn and tell everyone that you are waiting your turn? Use a conversation queue. My sources in the know tell me that this could be the "next big thing" so let the record show that I am officially virtually registering the following terms as trademarked: Conversation Queue, Qonversation Queue, and Conversation Cue. (I'll settle on the one that looks best in a logo.)

Here's how it works: Person A is talking: " ... blah blah blah ... " and Person B is reminded of that time at band camp and wants to mention it but doesn't want to disrupt A's verbal mojo. So instead of rudely talking over A or whispering to C while A still has the attention of D, E, and F, B softly interjects with "I'm in the queue." It is then understood that when A's commentary on the social, environmental, and hygienic benefits of non-bleached 2-ply made from 80% recycled materials versus commercially mass-produced, chemically fortified and possibly old-growth 1-ply is concluded and follow-up comments addressed, it is B's turn to talk.

Perhaps the verbal taking of a number is augmented with a physical element as well. It works for Captain Picard, does it not? Commander Data, second star to the right and straight on 'til morning. Warp factor 8. ... a little wave of the hand and ... Engage! The most powerful ship in the fleet never moves until he waves his hand, does it? The Devil in Prada also has a gesture, although hers is more like flicking crumbs to the floor rather than Picard's pointing towards a bullseye. Just saying That's all does not dismiss an underling as completely as when the words are accompanied by a snk snk wafture of the fingers. But I digress.

The point here is that the proper use of the queue can help a large group maintain its collective sanity and give everyone an opportunity to contribute. It's so much better than standing there with a drink in one hand and your other hand raised over your head while the blood drains out of your arm as you wait for your turn—and you don't look nearly as dorky.

Some (un)Official Rules to get the ball rolling (one must define what one is trademarking, eh?):

a. The speaker may get behind her/himself in line if the current thread reminds her/him of an additional thread.

b. A single individual may not stand behind her/himself more than one additional concurrent place in line. The idea is to let someone else have a turn at the mic, folks.

c. The group must decide on queue order discrepancies. No cutting. Cheaters to the back of the line.

d. Comments related to current thread need not be queued. We're not trying to stifle discourse here, people, just rein in s/he who blathers.

Go forth and chat, kids. And mind your peace and queues.

Fun with dirty clothes

This is a very cool ad and kind of answers a few questions we've all asked: where are my socks disappearing to and what do bras eat.

OK, maybe we haven't all asked those questions.

Don't Let Me Touch That, Part II

This is the second post cataloging my recent adventures with gadgets. Although the chronological order of these mishaps is not important, if you would like to go in order and experience these events in the same order I did, you should check out this entry first.

The chapter involves the gadget in my life that has become my second brain: my Palm PDA. My interaction with these hunks of silicone has developed over 10 years and 4 different models. My relationship with each unit has been symbiotic rather than parasitic or negatively addicitve. These gadgets are useful and practical, allowing me to have information literally at my fingertips—or stylus-tip, as the case may be. The fact that I can play games while a meeting morphs into a coma by committee is just an added bonus.

Here's my Palm Archive, in order of their appearance in my back pocket:



L-R: Palm Pro, Vx, Tungsten, and Tungsten E

Now, contrary to the story those images seem to tell, my pocket did not have to increase 200% in order for my latest unit to fit. But that is not the point to this story.

As I said, my relationship with my UotM (Unit of the Moment) is symbiotic. For the unit, I clean it's screen, charge its battery and keep it out of the mouths of dogs. For me, the unit retains a seemingly limitless pile of minutiae such as the phone number for the Thai restaurant, the price and aisle number of my favorite tomato sauce and the overall mileage on my last tank of gas. We've always gotten along swimmingly!

Until the third-party case (not shown) on the Tungsten cracked a bit. Oh, that little flaw did not matter for months. If the unit was inadvertantly turned on when I sat down because of this cracked case, I was never really that far from home or office and could recharge the battery and lose no data. However, during a somewhat longer trip, the edge of the cracked case pressed down on one of the buttons on the front of the unit and this led to the unit remaining on until it's battery was drained down which led to it being totally dead dead dead dead dead dead and braindead. Of course, as Murphy's Law would have it, I was far from my Mac and could not rebuild the unit's memory and get the information I needed at that very moment.

This is when my relationship with the Tungsten soured beyond repair. The fact that the friend I was visiting was giving me her mint condition Tungsten E unit (far right) just as I realized my unit was dead has nothing whatsoever to do with the speed with which I tossed it aside. I am now quite happy with my new Palm Tungsten E that has no cracked case.

.....
For those of you scoring at home, I have now completely eradicated the memory of a Mac and a Palm (and rebuilt both) in the span of 7 days. The root device, on whom the most terrifying of all error messages I have ever seen on a screen occurred, is doing just fine, thank you very much.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it

As flexible and malleable and dynamic as the English language is, I think I have found a circumstance which is lacking a word.

It seems lately that individuals who feel they must deny, vehemently or otherwise, that they are gay are getting bigger headlines than those people who announce that they actually are. One voice in my head is saying that the small headlines for those coming out are a sign of progress, albeit a tiny one (why does it need to be in print at all?) The voice then goes on to say that the people denying their queerness are hungering for some attention and did not put enough time into thinking about creative ways to get some press (um, repeat of last parenthetical) and that this is decidedly not progress.

So if the act of saying one is homosexual is called outing or coming out, what is the act of denying that one is homosexual called? Not tonight honey, I'm staying in. (!?!)

We'll now open the blog lines and take comments from our readers...

Conform, conform, conform

Why can't you be a good little lemming and just behave like everybody else? Why must you think you are so-o-o-o-o different? I don't ask for much. Why can't you just do what is expected of you?

You and all your little friends make me crazy. You sleep in late, eat any food you can find without too much effort and then immediately plan your afternoon nap. Then you stay up all night doing who knows what. The most energy you put out is in getting into a more comfortable horizontal position. Your idea of exercise is staring out the window and seeing how long you can go without blinking. It is you and everyone else as similarly lounge-oriented that give your kind a bad name.

You want to be different? Well, I've got news for you: this time being different has gotten you into trouble. This is my house and I make the rules including the only one you've ever been asked to follow. You are going to stick to this singular rule or you are going to pay the price.

From now on there will be no more thinking outside the box, you grungy furball. You will not follow your dreams and squat where they lead. You will make your used food deposits in a litterbox. You've got four (4!) to choose from, for scoop's sake. Variation from this rule in the name of 'creativity' will not be tolerated. When the spirit moves you, you get your tuckus in some sand and drop the movement there. Am I making myself clear? There will be no more Jackson Pollock-ing on the rug. Stop checking the kitchen floor for level by seeing if piddle will puddle. And for the last time: you do not have to add your 'special ingredient' to the clothes in the hamper.

Now you get in that sunspot and you start purring. I do not want to tell you twice. And don't forget to purr.

Cross Nebraska off list of vacation destinations

An article found in The Seattle Times

... The two-day event, which drew about 100,000 people last year, features live music, an art-car show, skateboard demonstrations and the famous Solstice Parade, with dozens of naked bicyclists leading the way.

It is a carnival of creative expression, with humans dressing up as animals, and animals dressing up as humans. Shortly after 11 a.m., a naked man jogged through the art-car show, his fake tail flapping in the wind. A few minutes later, a dachshund wandered down that same path in pink chaps and a pink cowboy hat.

Chris Gilbert, 20, stood by the sidelines of the parade route in a tuxedo-styled thong, the tails covering his rear end. He had flames painted all over his body. He only recently moved to the state, and it was his first time at the Fremont Fair.

"Just had to get out of Nebraska," he said. ...

I wonder how the dachshund would go over in Nebraska.

I could have bought a goat instead

A funny thing happened while I was making numerous trips around the yard, meandering behind my smart-bomb-proof lawnmower...

In my effort to be a good neighbor to both the people around me and the planet, I bought a reel lawnmower. You know, one of those featureless gadgets that will keep the socially acceptable weeds known as "grass" cut to a reasonable height. Using this mower is my somewhat muted statement against the vicious cycle of suburbia wherein the players try to keep up with each other. The second reason is that there are only so many decayed dinosaurs to go around and why should I burn a few just to keep a lawn I don't really care about looking good for people whose opinion about my yard I really don't want? This thing does a fine job and nothing I've run over yet has stopped it from working.

So there I was, iPod on, sunglasses on, reel mower only on when moving when Ima Budinski comes strolling over. This woman is a true gem. She complains about everyone else's business on the block to the city so much they know her voice at the other end of the phone. Oh, joy. What does she want?

While checking out my yard under the guise of being friendly, she offered me the use of her electric mower until I could get a real one. I said I had a reel one and then realized that homophones don't make good audio jokes.

Well, pushing this mower keeps me from having to find additional time for exercise so I'd better get to it. Last time I checked, mowing the lawn burns more calories than typing about mowing the lawn.

---
Addendum to this post: Aaron McGruder, the brains behind Boondocks, said it best when he put these words in Huey's mouth: Plus lawnmowing feels like one of those pointless societal distractions that keep us from focusing on matters of actual importance.

Don't Let Me Touch That, Part I

Just when you thought this space had become a bit static, I've returned. All I can say regarding my hiatus from my digital duties is: did I just sleep through July?

The thought for today is : Don't let me touch that.
You see, I seem to have gained a certain talent for component deconstruction and the randomization of digital bits. In an effort to keep you coming back for more, this drama shall be presented in numerous parts. Now that I've returned, I want you to keep coming back, 'k?

Scenario: there are four computers in the house all trying to print via two printers, neither of which is networkable. The fact that three of the four computers are Macs makes this process easy. The fact that the remaining computer is a PC is something I don't like to admit. My only excuse is that I do not have to soil myself by touching it very often. In fact, I only had to touch it in order to figure out how to get it to print via the network. In order for the PC interloper to play nice on the network, all the Macs must be running Tiger, the latest OS. This was not a problem for the G5, named Nirvana, or the G3 laptop, named Whitey. However, the G3 iMac, named Fruitcup, resisted accepting Tiger with every little silicon chip on its motherboard. Stop shaking your head; you know you name your stuff.

To get the Tiger OS on Fruitcup proved to be a bit of a challenge, since the OS comes on DVDs and not on CDs and Fruitcup can only read CDs. Many methods did not work. I began to think that Fruitcup had to be, er, cored and the hardrive erased back to what it was like when it rolled out of the assembly womb. In an attempt to avoid this time-consuming task, I ran a third-party application which I shall not name because it is not the creators' fault that I am an idiot.

Using this software required linking Fruitcup to Nirvana and running the program on Nirvana to tweak the innards of Fruitcup. When I restarted Nirvana like I thought I was supposed to, I saw the Mac equivalent of hari kari: the system folder with a flashing question mark. As if that was not bad enough, the beautiful blue background then went to black and green letters appeared as Nirvana's alter-ego came to the surface and asked "Do you want to play a game?" ala the WOPR computer in Wargames (1983, Matthew Broderick). Actually, what flashed on the screen was:

Still waiting for root device...

Oh, I had pulled a whopper, alright. I felt my skeletal system begin to fail. My understanding of programming does not compare to my skillz in navigating a GUI interface and I knew that questions about the root are not ones I want to ask. I had done something very very very bad to Nirvana and I wasn't sure if we would ever be on speaking terms again. While I rebooted and disconnected and wiped the sweat from my brow, I began to compose the script I would use with the helpful AppleCare customer service person whose lunch of naan and rice I would be interrupting with a panicked phone call. "What was I doing? Well, that's kind of a funny question. See, I was trying to install a second copy of the OS for which I only have one user license onto a computer that Apple does not support installing it on by using a third-party shareware program I didn't pay for. Yeah, it's a real side-splitter, ain't it?"

Needless to say, I was putting off the phonecall while I tinkered around a bit. As bad as things seemed it's still a Mac, right? Right! A few days later, all is well. Like all good Mac-doobies eventually do, I zapped the PRAM (I don't know what that means but I can do it) and trashed all the files associated with the Application of Doom. A little more first aid on Nirvana and we're humming along again.

Pun, with fruit

Have you had enough?!? Can't take it anymore?!? Well I for one am right behind these guys ... The Grapes of Wrath




Check out more photos. These guys can be found under the Challenges: Literary Adventure category.

Check out the art

Hey Amelia! This guy works in DC. You ever see his outdoor art in your big city wanderings? Check out his site for more cool photos from around Virginia and Baltimore, as well as DC. I particularly like the one below—which is made from packing tape—and the walker locked to the street sign like a bike. That's hilarious!

If this is a joke, where's the punchline?

It is rare that fiction becomes real. For instance, please enjoy the following joke and then compare it to the bit of reality it aligns with:

A man standing in line at a check out counter of a grocery store was very surprised when a very attractive woman behind him said, "Hello!" Her face was beaming. He gave her that "who are you look," and couldn't remember ever having seen her before. Then, noticing his look, she figured she had made a mistake and apologized. "Look," she said, "I'm really sorry but when I first saw you, I thought you were the father of one of my children," and walked out of the store.

The guy was dumbfounded and thought to himself, "What the hell is the world coming to? Here is an attractive woman who can't keep track of who fathers her children!"

Then he got a little panicky. "I don't remember her," he thought but, maybe ... during one of the wild parties in college, perhaps he did father her child!

He ran from the store and caught her in the parking lot and asked, "Are you the girl I met at a party in college and we got really drunk and had wild crazy sex on the pool table in front of everyone?"

"No," she said with a horrified look on her face. "I'm your son's second grade teacher."

And now for a dose of reality. While reading a recent edition of the paper, I was skimming the pages to see if the stories might actually be interesting even though the headlines were not. Near the end of one story, a paragraph began with:

"The fathers of a lot of my children are in Iraq," she said. "So it's especially nice to have Mister Rogers."

I just about bust a gut and then I read the paragraph above that quote: " ... and C____ , a first-grade teacher at Fort L_____ , watches [Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood] with her students."