…from an uncle whose 18-year-old neph, a collegiate athlete, lives with him:
“Looks like my nephew ate all the leftover pizza.”
Seriously. In what alternate universe did I suppose this would fail to occur?
…from an uncle whose 18-year-old neph, a collegiate athlete, lives with him:
“Looks like my nephew ate all the leftover pizza.”
Seriously. In what alternate universe did I suppose this would fail to occur?
Just a comical interlude today. Deb came in from three days on the road, and once she had done all her usual routines to shed the trappings of work travel, came down to ask me something.
Now, Deb has varying tones for yelling at the dog. Usually it’s Leonidas, the miniature Schnauzer, who is not a good dog. He knows what he’s supposed to do; he just doesn’t care. He’s figured out that no matter what he does, he’s not going to get tortured or killed, therefore, he’ll just screw up and take the consequences.
One of his favorite pranks is to take a dump in the house. Once he did it right next to Deb while she was sorting out Christmas ornaments, unrepentant. Anyway, I can usually tell from the feminine yelling upstairs what the dog has done wrong. And there’s a certain high note, an anguished shriek of the kind you’d normally associate with hearing of a death: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
I don’t hear real well in the lower pitched tones, but higher sounds penetrate all the way to the skull.
This time it wasn’t the dog. Deb recently got a summons for Federal jury service in Yakima, but it hasn’t yet turned into any actual service. So she’s about to head back upstairs, and I say the magic words to her: “Don’t forget your jury summons.” (It was from Benton County, not Federal.)
“I already dealt with that,” she said, annoyed at my lousy memory.
“Look behind you on the cornet case,” I replied.
She picked it up. “Noooooooooooo!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
You’d think Leo had just decorated the floor again.
I don’t blame her a bit.
It’s something I get every year, especially with a last name that’s more Irish than a spraypainted sheep. It’s easier to just explain it this way.
Not to be a stick in the mud, though. If you’re observing the holiday, have a happy one. Honestly.
Okay, not all of it is Scandinavian. Not even sure it all qualifies as metal. My moods are very heavily shaped by music in all forms, but lately people have been turning me on to a wide variety of new music. Today I’m going to share some tunes with you.
Alestorm: Scottish pirate metal. Favorite track: Keelhauled.
Dalriada: Hungarian folk metal. Favorite track: Világfutó Szél.
Faun: German/Celtic folk metal. Fave: Unda.
Korpiklaani: Finnish folk metal. Fave: Wooden Pints.
Nightwish: Finnish folk metal. Fave: Over the Hills and Far Away.
Turisas: Finnish Viking metal. Fave: Stand Up and Fight!.
Týr: Faroese Viking metal. Fave: Regin Smiður.
None of it has to do with editing services, but neither must everything posted here. Enjoy.
Today I was out taking my wife’s ride in for an oil change. We have a mechanic that actually fixes things (Ralph Blair of Tri-City Battery (509-783-9000)), in a shop that gives him the tools to do so, so it’s not nearly as painful or fearful for me as for many. On the way, I saw a sign by the street in Cyrillic: ‘Russki magazin.’ Russian store? I love little specialty ethnic grocery stores, so I swung in and muddled through in my broken Russian. One thing I bought was a 2l bottle of Kvass, which I’d always wanted to try.
Kvass, at least in the form I had it, was sort of like a carbonated, sweet, tamarindy black tea. It wasn’t overly sugary. I never want to drink Coke again if I can get this. If you get a chance to try some, by all means give it a shot. If you’re in Tri-Cities, it’s on Clearwater (north side) between Kellogg and Edison.
Had a real adventure making the notes to go with the socks. Jason would like a note for each pair, which isn’t difficult. Translating it into Japanese, that’s the hard part. I felt most comfortable feeding the English to Google Translate, then feeding the Japanese back to GT and seeing what I actually said. Anyway, a large number of people decided they liked Jason’s idea and are following suit. Some days, you find out that you know a lot of really wonderful people.
Jason Kelly, a fellow author (financial writing, with the advantage of a liberal arts background) lives in Japan. He is close enough to the earthquake/tsunami disaster to have felt both, and to be able to triage aid, but far enough that he is not himself a disaster victim (except for one hell of a scare). We’ve corresponded a bit, enough that I think of him as a kindred spirit. His command of the language is superb, enough that most freelance editors might have difficulty providing him with useful feedback. That’s rare nowadays.
Living in Japan, of course, it’s quite logical for Jason to call upon the resources of his U.S. (Colorado) upbringing to help his nation of residence. His solution: socks, a simple comfort item and so important for cleanliness. Japan might be the world’s most passionate country with regard to cleanliness. If Jason thinks sending the Japanese socks will improve their comfort and spirits, I’m going to do it.
If you want to follow suit, please follow the instructions on Socks for Japan. His reasoning makes great sense to me. Every time there’s a major world disaster, Japan whips out its checkbook. The world knows Japan for many good things; Japan has been a staunch ally of the United States my whole life. The point of Jason’s plan is that we’ll do more good if we send comfort items along with notes of caring, rather than just donating money. Socks one may buy; a kind, honest note isn’t for sale in any store.
Sounds to me like little enough to ask. I hope you’ll join me in supporting Jason’s project.
Nephew’s first away game is at WWCC, so we’re going to go take in some of it after a swing past the antique show. Hopefully my navigation isn’t as inept as last time I went there. For those of you not familiar with Washington, our main state penitentiary (the one with the gallows and the gurney; in Washington, criminals can still hang) is at Wally, and it’s fairly out of the way. Undeterred, I got sufficiently lost and confused by atrocious road construction that I pulled up right outside the slammer. Fortunately, I didn’t get invited in.
With luck, JD will get to play. He hasn’t seen the field yet this year, and it’s a new experience for him, pining it. (For me in baseball, it was the commonplace norm, with my many athletic deficiencies.) It’s that way for all of us in college, or at least most of us: “Wow. All my life I was the best player/(or smartest kid). Good lord…so were all these people. I’m going to have to pack my lunch.”
Wally’s a pretty nice town, though, so I don’t mind going over there. Its primary industries, besides growing sweet onions, are educating the young (one university, one college and one CC) and incarcerating those who declined to be educated. It has a religious background, based somewhat on the Whitman College heritage of Methodist education (their mascot is still the Missionaries). The university, WWU, is an Adventist school. The Whitties get a real good education, though one pays handsomely for it–it is a very highly regarded liberal arts college. Some of my tougher editing services competition probably comes from Whitman.
Less known is that Wally was at one point the primary city in Washington Territory, a contender for the state capital. Not happening now.
Satisfying as it would be to cuss our news media’s coverage of the disaster, it would really miss the point. The point is that the event is harmful to another people, and if it matters, a people we call allies. My condolences, Japan.
Had a little bit of fun today. Everyone on Facepalm seems to be catching a Trojan (and I’m not talking the Tommy kind) that causes them to spam their friends with a supposed link saying “SICK! I can’t believe Miley Cyrus [or whoever] let someone videotape her doing this!” If you’re fool enough to click, you’re the next contestant on The Trojan Is Right–come on down.
I can’t see something too many times without wanting to parody it, so I hunted Youtube for something a lot grosser than whatever was being attributed to Ms. Cyrus: Rosie O’Donnell singing the Maude theme song to Bea Arthur. Posted the link, along with: “SICK! I can’t believe Bea Arthur let someone videotape her doing this!”
And it’s true. If I went on Rosie O’Donnell’s show, I sure wouldn’t let them film it. That would destroy plausible deniability. You don’t admit something of that magnitude, even if CBS News has you on film dead to rights. It’s always ‘alleged.’
Well, the contractor’s opinion of my bright idea was polite and helpful, but translated to: “Baloney.”
We have a driveway drainage problem, basically. The earth and concrete have shifted in the home’s 55 years. My bright idea was to cut a trough to enable the rain (it does rain here now and then) to drain downhill, rather than into my garage. Contractor: “That looks like it would work, but it won’t. French drains are expensive. The real solution is to break up this driveway, regrade and repour it.”
I guess my opinion of his solution will depend on how much it costs. Anyone ever had a driveway repoured, and if so, what’d it set you back? They vary, of course, but if it costs more than a roof, that’s going to be unpleasant.