This is the Outcome We're All Hoping For

 

Donald Trump Eats Poo

Donald Trump eats poo.

That is all.

Buncha Wordle Com-Plainers

First, read here the history of Wordle, so I don't have to repeat it.

Simply put, it's a fun daily, one-shot word game that was recently bought by (cue thunder and lightning) The New York Times.

I only started playing the game a few weeks before the purchase became public, so I'm not as vested in the "original" Wordle, nor have I seen much of a change in the New York Times version.

Others, on the other hand, have stronger feelings.

Some of the feelings include:

1. Wordle is getting harder.

2. Wordle is suddenly using double letters when in the past it avoided them.

3. Wordle is prioritizing American spelling (favor vs. favour) to British spelling. Nevermind that the key of the game is to guess a five-letter word.

These and other factors have causes no shortage of consernation and hubbub among the Wordle long-timers. Thus, and thus.

I'm only really here, of course, to share some Wordle theory. The columnist in the last link laments that others have proven "maths" is the best way to beat Wordle, and since she's terrible at maths and the NYT took over, she's outta here.

Maybe so.

But there are also sound linguistic strategies that come into play. My theory:

Step 1: Eliminate consonants early on. This pairs with

Step 2: Eliminate letter patterns. If, for example, the letter H doesn't appear in the word, it's not likely you'll see such parings as TH, SH, CH, PH, and probably others I've missed in the word. That eliminates consonants without ever having to type them in.

Step 3: Eliminating consonants and letter patterns also decreases your reliance on luck, though luck does still play a part.

And to all the complainers, I'll echo what good friend Dennis Gaunt shared with me about the complaints:

Some truly MAGNIFICENT pearl-clutching here.

An Open Letter the the Utah State University Alumni Association

Dear Kimberly A. Larson, BS '00 MBA '02

My wife and I have received your postcards. Your many, many postcards sent on behalf of the USU Alumni Association, requesting we call your number so we can have our alumni file "verified."

I would direct you to the administrative department at Utah State, which surely has a record of us attending your school. Or indeed check your own records to see since you are sending us each at least two postcards a month that the chances we are alumni of Utah State are actually quite high. I suspect you will find enough information to confirm that we are indeed alumni and thus I have no real pressing need to call your number to have our records "verified."

Now, I am not obtuse enough to think a simple records verification is the real reason you want to hear from us. No, alumni associations, while known for wasting money on physically-mailed postcards sent at least twice a month to alumni must have a more pressing desire to speak with us. If this were a mere question of verification, a website at which verification could take place could easily be assembled and that information disseminated.

What you want, of course, is not alumni record verification, but alumni monetary donations. And I get it. Alumni often have fealty toward their institutions of higher learning and thus might be persuaded to make a donation to help indigent students or fund ivory-handled back-scratchers for whomever at the university wants one.

Rest assured, if my wife or I suddenly come into money and decide a charitable donation might be forthcoming, we know where to find Utah State University lest, of course, the university has found a way to move its assets down Sardine Canyon into the hinterlands of Utah.

So please, consider our alumni records as verified.

I note on the cards you send that you are also "collecting stories" in order to "memorialize the history of the campus through the years." I cannot speak for my wife, but here is my story of my campus experience:

I completed an entirely online program and never once set foot on campus as a student. I do appreciate the instructors I had while taking these courses. I learned a lot and still have some of the textbooks.

I also note the now rather menacing "Once an Aggie, always an Aggie" message included on the cards. It cows me, yet I rely on the strength of my wife who, when I pass her the alumni record verification card addressed to her, she deposits it in the kitchen trash.

So keep sending the cards, I guess. Or use this post as my verification of alumni status. Either way, I remain your grateful if pinch-pennying alumni.

Sincerely,

B. J. Davidson, Biff at Large

Our Belle Notte

 

Ogilvy, Step Forward

So I was following a conversation in one of the Facebook groups I'm in wherein someone posted a video from a certain news network putting inappropriately positive spin on an individual's behavior, and it looks like it's been Memory Holed.

The spin made the individual's behavior -- and that of his enabler -- appear to be noble.

The truth showed the individual chose disobedience and justified it by hiding behind a technicality that was deemed unlawful.

And this is in a group that purports to uphold high morals.

The post is gone. Reactions to my comment on the post are also gone.

Memory hole.

This is what they look like, just so you know.

It was probably deleted in the interest of preserving the "peace" in the group.

This is in a group that should be discussing lies and untruths and spin, as it has been tremendously harmed by such in the past.

And even now.

YouTube Free Movies: Planes, Trains & Automobiles

 An immediate clue you're watching a John Hughes film:

A very familiar home, to be sure.

This features -- briefly -- in Hughes' 1987 film Planes, Trains & Automobiles.

I've seen the highlights to this film a thousand times. But never seen the full movie.

And after the Edie McClurg exchange and the ensuing discussion of Larry Bird ball handling, i'll remain unwatched.

I have a moderate tolerance for foul language, but this one crossed the bar.

It was fun to see the typical John Hughes Midwest place-setting, but I'm not putting up with the cussing to watch any more of this.

It's easy enough to show a character is fed up and angry without dropping into one of the longest streaks of using the F-word I have ever heard in a film. That's a cheap way to show anger; and only Edie McClurg's use of the word was comical. I'm not sure what Hughes was going for with having Steve Martin deliver that tirade, but it was lazy.

I get he might have been trying to get away from his reputation as a teen movie writer and director, but if your idea of an adult movie is adult language, I'll pass, thankyouverymuch.

Yet I'm still watching . . . update to come.

Well, this is subtle. Were Neal and his wife having struggles outside of his delayed arrival this Thanksgiving? That's the unanswered question. That Del had nowhere to go was less subtle.

Guess the point is we don't know what other peoples' struggles are unless we walk in their moccasins. Or travel with them cross-country.

Still one I don't think I need to see again.

Murder Scene?

Over the weekend, I walked out into what appeared to be a murder scene, but the kid with the laptop wasn't talking.

This, of course, is just our oldest son napping, blocking out the light with a pillow, as I often do.

 

Again, Avoid Jargon

It's hard to hear what Lister says to Cat that finally helps him understand the "magic door" here, but it's clear the explanations Lister and Rimmer offered before that just weren't doing what Cat needed.

And while it might seem childish to refer to such a phenomenon -- whatever it is -- as a "magic door," but it could be the basis of an explanation that would eventually leave the magic behind and help Cat -- and us -- make more sense of the world we live in.

So don't dismiss simple explanations; use them as the springboard for discussion.

A Social Media Fix: 'My Little Buttercup'

The more I think about it, the more I realize this video clip is PERFECT to describe how I (mostly) try to use social media.

I enter the room and it is as Dusty says: Pretty grim and ugly-stickified.

About 99% of the time, I can find those idiots in the room ready to put on a bonnet, or go over to that piano, or do some stupid little dance with me while all the oh so serious people watch in horror.

Then just when they think everything's gone back to the terrible normal, I ask for beer.

I am a GENIUS, I tell you. A genius.

And "those idiots" know who they are. And I salute them for playing along.