He's Got A Knife

 

This reminds me of the time I used a kitchen knife to cut holes in a cardboard box for our then toddler to play in.

His mother spotted him soon after with the knife, going to the box to make more holes.

Good times.

Bill Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods"

I tend to take Bill Bryson with a grain of salt, as I get the feeling he's more of an exaggerator than a truthful reporter of the real.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed this book, though the humor he's often credited for comes off a lot as snark and smarm in this one. When reading Bryson, I always have the feeling he has never met another human being who has met up to his lofty standards, and that's wearing as you read his interactions. Maybe there's less mileage to be had through reporting pleasant interactions, or that we all as flawed humans remember the people we didn't like better than the ones we did.

That's just my take, I guess. I try to have a better view of humanity, though I often fail at is, particularly as I navigate the streets and marvel at the idiots I have to share the road with. There's a little of that Bryson superiority in us all, I suppose.

One caution with this book: Katz, Bryson's hiking companion for portions of the books, swears a bit. Not egregiously, and it does make him feel a bit more human than Bryson ever does. I didn't necessarily want to put up with the language, but at least the character of Katz felt real, and might come close to being the only character in the book that met Bryson's expectations.

I Reject This

If you build your religious and cultural identity on such messages, I want no part of your religion or your culture.

As a descendant of the huddled masses on both sides of the family, I reject this message.

And I reject your use of a symbol of freedom and a poem written to embody that symbol as tools of your hatred.

Go to hell, sit on a hot coal, and rethink your terrible choices. This is all I hear:

And now I'm seeing this picture in other forms.

There she is again!

. . . Stupid Sheep Movie Making Me Cry . . .

So tonight we watched The Sheep Detectives with Hugh Jackman.

Oh my goodness. I knew I was going to laugh, but I didn't expect to cry that much. Not that it takes much to make me cry at a movie anymore, but wow. Niagara Falls, Frankie Angel.

I won't spoil things. But Hugh Jackman hit this one out of the park, and he's dead for 2/3 of the movie. Reminiscient of James Cromwell in Babe for an understated performance.

But this is an ensemble cast, and they shine.

A few familiar faces and voices, but to me mostly unknowns, and I think that made it work. (When I say unknowns, it's really unknown to me, and I'm an out of it fud, so if that hurts your feelings, sorry.)

Location is ambiguous, and maybe so intentionally. Certainly an odd mix of American and European autos, and that village certainly had many more neon signs than you'd expect from something quaintcountrysidesque.

Definitely a movie that made me cry, right to the end, and I was almost robbed of that second happy ending I knew had to come but there it was.

Clong Bong Doyoyoing

I have, of course, been drawn to novelty music since my older brother Jeff introduced me to Weird Al Yankovic and my mother introduced me to Spike Jones.

Since those young days, though, I've gone through several odd sound rabbit holes and found something fun today: A collection of odd noises from the BBC.

Now we Americans have our fair share of odd noises, but to hear the odd noises of a different culture is fun.

The "clong bong doyoyoing" is, if I'm honest, a little disasppointing, but you don't want to miss the "Irish Nightingale."

"Several Men Coughing," however, is downright disturbing.

Porch Rail

When I rebuilt the porch steps a few years ago, I pondered whether I should build a rail. I decided at the time a rail wasn't necessary, though a few people suggested I might want one in the future.

Well, today was the day.

This is mainly in place so when Michelle's Dad comes to let the dogs out when we're gone he has a rail to help get him up and down the stairs. Fair enough; he's approaching 90 and is still mobile, so we should do what we can to keep that mobility going as much as possible.

I used some redwood I had left over from the steps project, but had to go to Ace Hardware to buy $30 worth of fasteners. Eight carriage bolts at just shy of $3 each; not cheap.

And I managed the typical flaw -- one of the nuts I brought home was a fine-thread out of the course-thread bin and wouldn't work with the carriage bolts I had. But luckily enough I found a nut that would work in the garage, so I didn't have to go to the store again.

It does make it a little bit harder for Dottie to go exploring - and pooping - under the stairs, so maybe that's a good thing.

It's sturdier than I dared hope. Behold, as my meaty hand and pimply voice demonstrate:

I hope it passes muster when Michelle gets home, but I feel good about it.

I Have Several Problems with This

Who on God's green earth decided that several means more than one, but even more ludicrously "more than two but fewer than many"?

What does that even mean?

Where, pray tell, is many's lower limit, and while we're at it, where is the upper limit of several?

I'm still grappling with the difference in meaning between will and shall (hint: there is none, and I cannot be convinced otherwise), and now you're shoving this several malarkey in my face?

Terry Pratchett's trolls have a better grip on numbers: One, two, many, lots. At least their system - and that is their nomenclature in total - makes more sense than this "more than two but fewer than many" business.

Anyway, this is what fills my mind as a distraction from my real task of standardising how dates appear in the reference section of a document, my latest effort in protecting the Snake River Plain Aquifer from democracy.

And lest you think I'm not properly anal, I pointed out as I rectified the dates in this particular voldrani that 2025 was not a leap year; thus the date of February 29 had to be an error.

This is what it feels like:

Not Quite 24 Hours Later

 

Critter No More

Critter in the craft room window well tonight. Whether a mole or a vole or a mouse, I can't tell.

But it's chewing into the sill board underneath the window.

Or at least it was. We put in some ramps to see if it would climb out, then thought better of it and started to get a bucket trap set up, but then I saw where he was - I was already in the well - so I stomped him flat.

I'm sorry, little critter. I deliberately took a life, and I feel like an ogre. But maybe that's better than dying - drowning, really - in the bucket trap.

I'm going to bed now. And then probably to hell.

AI Truck? [Chef's Kiss]

Found this in the wild today.

AI, of course, abounds.

But the best part is the truck. In the video linked above, it's backing up.

Behold: