90s Maigret Pleased, 2020s Maigret Curious

The last few days I've enjoyed watching an old Grenada Television show from the 1990s on YouTube -- starring Michael Gambon as Chief Inspector Maigret of the Paris police.

This chief inspector is far from the bumbling of Inspector Clouseau. The stories are based on novels written in the 1950s by French author Georges Simenon. I've read a few (in the original French, because that's how I found them in one of the missionary apartments I stayed in). They're wonderfully told, tight mysteries that really capture the feel of old Paris.

I'm intrigued that the stories have been retold more recently with Rowan Atkinson in the titular role; I'd love to see a few of those.

The Bacheloring

So it begins: The Bacheloring.

Michelle has been to camp off and on for a month now, but after a two-week break the whole family sans Lexi are headed to camp, even Isaac, who we thought wouldn't be going this year.

Michelle's up there as Cope and Climbing Director.

Liam is up there working in Nature and helping out with Trail to Eagle and the Astronomy Merit Badge.

Isaac, after a rough go of not really being welcomed back due to reasons, is going back as a commissioner, which thrilled him to no end because he's sick of working at Reed's Dairy and needed one more fling before he starts is mission in mid-August.

That leaves me and the dogs all alone. ALONE.

But I don't want to be alone. I'm no good on my own.

Take today: After church, I made dinner for myself. That's not so bad, because I only have to worry about what I want for dinner. But since then . . . I've taken a nap. I've played a video game. I've watched some YouTube. And that's about all I'll be doing for the next few weeks. At least I don't have to teach Sunday School next weekend.

I have a lot of yard work lined up for the next few weeks, though. Going to finish getting all the sticker weeds out of the garden, going to finish splitting the wood from the chopped down pine tree, and do some general cleanup in that area. Also have to mow lawns. And rebuild the rail I put on the back porch last weekend because the one that's there is a bit too short. But that'll be simpler since I've got the wood for it already and a general path forward on what the rail will look like.

Fun stuff. Whee.

Pardon Me, Google?

So I'm uploading a photo to this blog as I always do, and suddenly Google is asking me to sign into my Google account.

You know, the Google account I was already signed into so I could post something to my blog.

Why ya gotta be this way?

Way too Late at the Movies: The Night Stalker

As a longtime fan of A Christmas Story, I've known for a long time that the Old Man, Darren McGavin, starred in a movie, and then a television series, called The Night Stalker, wherein as a newspaper reporter in either Las Vegas or Chicago or it seems wherever the story called for, he investigates supernatural crimes.

The first film has his pursuing a vampire through Las Vegas' seedy underbelly.

The film is, eh, not exactly well written, but other than the Old Man, did include a surprise or two.

First, the Old Man:

He's looking good. And does a lot of narration in the film which I guess it a choice, but I'm not sure it works for me.

And the coroner. At least we know he has medical experience:

The script is really funny. At the onset of the film, McGavin's character - Kolchack - says he was pulled off the first vacation he's taken in years to write the story of a series of murders for the newspaper. Then his editor at the paper goes on to berate him and thwart him and bend the knee to the officials who want the story suppressed.

Mild spoiler: Just after he tells the police it's likely they're dealing with a vampire and under no circumstances should they approach him at night, he breaks into the vampire's house at night because of course he does. I guess it's less exciting of a movie if he waits until daylight and skewers the guy with a stake.

There are some other actors in the film I can't place. Claude Aiken is there, pre-Sheriff Lobo, I believe. But there's a smarmy dude I can't place, though I'm pretty sure I've seen him before.

Done Smithering

The week is over, and I'm done smithering. And by that, I mean I'm done filling in for the boss, who's been on vacation.

It was a good week to smither. A lot of people were leaving early for an extended Fourth of July vacation, which suited me fine.

But, for the first time, I actually accomplished things as the WIPP Review Coordinator. Actually did things, communicating out information with others in the nuclear waste industrial complex so we can all agree to get along and swap waste and keep everyone happy. Late Thursday I was told that I was part of the process that helped the company earn a $250,000 fee for completing work on time. Not that I get any of that money outside of my pay, of course. But it did feel good to be part of the process and hopefully I didn't screw up too much. We'll find out more during the debrief on Monday when the boss is back. But I don't think I committed any major screw-ups.

We did have one thing non-WIPP related turn up that was interesting: Something went wrong when one of our procedures posted to the company website and step numbering was off. What was odd is that on the surface of the Word copy, everything looked fine, but the render to PDF made it blow up. So we had to revise the procedure. Then I was tasked to work on another procedure from the same group, and I'll be darned if I didn't see the same thing happen. Fortunately we're aware of the problem now and can be more vigilant, just like W. A. Thornhump, VIGILANT AGAINST FURTHER ATTACKS.

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.