Monday, December 31, 2007

Happy Gnu Year

After swiping, always with love, the above heartfelt message from Stinkypaw, pray allow me to offer to you, my faithful few, a very happy, prosperous, and truly bizarre 2008. There is very little that cannot be solved with a strong dose of surreality.

Excelsior, my friends!!


Sunday, December 30, 2007

Still Here

Hi, Folks. Sorry about the paucity of postings herein, but I'm away from home and as the Holidays™ are wont to be I have hardly had a moment to sleep, let alone blog. So here's a little something to tide you over.

Love y'all,

funny pictures
moar funny pictures

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

An Ocean of Blood

We saw Sweeney Todd a couple of hours ago. If you are a fan of the play, you will enjoy this movie. Well...I'm not so sure 'enjoy' is the right word. I have seen the movie of the play a couple of times, and while it's not a fave, I don't really have anything against it. I'm not a big fan of the dissonant music that permeates the stage show, but Sondheim is a genius even when he's using the musical equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. The movie sticks fairly close to the play, although it is a Reader's Digest condensed version, and most of the dissonance has been taken out. Johnny Depp is, of course, marvelous and broody as the barber who's life and family were stolen by a greedy judge(played by a deliciously slimy Alan Rickman). Helena Bonham Carter plays Mrs. Lovett, and while she usually plays crazy better than anyone else other than Christopher Walken, she was a bit too subtle in this movie. Angela Lansbury's barely contained hysteria really suited the part better than Bonham Carter's smoldering insanity. The second half of the film is classic Tim Burton in that once Sweeney starts killing we are treated to a steady supply of up close and personal throat slittings, with blood gushers that would have had the Monty Python people crying for a wee bit of restraint. My only real complaint with the movie regards the above dispatchings. Like he did in Sleepy Hollow, Burton seems to think that if the audience enjoyed watching one graphically depicted murder, they'll like a dozen. Repetition does not bring with it desensitization, and after the final throat is slashed I was just grateful that we didn't have to see any more. This is not a film for the squeamish. It is, however, a masterful screen adaptation of one of the darkest nights of theatre. Just one warning: if dinner and a movie are your thing, and Sweeney Todd is the movie, make sure that dinner comes first.


Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Sunday, December 23, 2007

A Christmas Message From Santa Marius

Damned Computer

I have several card and board games on my computer, and while I don't expect to win every time, lately my machine has been taking great glee in not just defeating me, but has been crushing me! Does your computer ever do that to you, or is it just my devil-spawned device?

Not Quite 11

Check out the bassist.

Title TBA

Waaaay too long ago Duke gave me a new shield. He has been trying to lure me to the dark side of center grip, and I must confess the battle wasn't that difficult. Alas, due to my lethargic nature, the shield has taken this long to finally get painted. I asked one of my high school kids who is a brilliant artist if she would do something with my device. She totally jazzed it up, so I wanted to do her artwork justice when I painted it. Below are the results. Now I just need to get my lazy ass to practice.

And for you non SCA types, here are Artemis and Starbuck being adorable.

Feliz Navidad!

Friday, December 21, 2007

I Am UberGeek!!

Take the Sci fi sounds quiz I received 92 credits on
The Sci Fi Sounds Quiz

How much of a Sci-Fi geek are you?
Guess the Sci-Fi Movie Sounds hereCanon powershot

Producers Suck

Recently, as I'm sure you all know, two relatively invisible factions of the US Entertainment industry went on strike. The NYC stagehands shut Broadway down during some of its most lucrative weeks and forced the producers to come back to the bargaining table. That drama has yet to reach its denouement but I suspect the techies will get most of what they want. Unfortunately, and more invasively, the Writers Guild of America has been on strike since November 5th. This will have greater consequences soon as TV studios begin to run out of material that was completed prior to the strike and are forced to show reruns, but for people who live for late night television the impact was immediate. I'm going through serious Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert withdrawal. With the stagehands strike I could sort of see both sides of the argument, but I am 100% behind the writers. They are totally getting the short, spiky, glass embedded and unlubed end of the stick and I wish them success. And here to explain the strike far more eloquently than I can is Daily Show writer Jason Rothman.

Power to the people!

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Words of Wisdom

Someone from my wife's church sent her this today. It almost restores my faith in Christians.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Dan Fogelburg, RIP

Sadly Dan Fogelburg died of prostate cancer this morning. While I wouldn't consider myself a fan, I did see him in concert back in the early 80's, and he was a gracious, pleasant, and thoroughly entertaining man. His music was always a bit too mellow for my tastes, but I would never deny its beauty. The world has truly lost an artist today.


Recently Madame Stinkypaw wrote in her blog about a gustatory treat called a tourtiere that Canadians enjoy during the holiday season. She linked to a recipe, and while normally recipes are Greek to me, this one sounded quite yummy. It is a pie made with ground pork, onions, and seasonings. I had never tried to make such a thing, and the thought intrigued me. So I enquired further of the lady, and she gave me some tips. So today I went to the store and acquired the needed ingredients, and with no small amount of trepidation, set about to construct my own tourtieres. I was somewhat nervous because even though I do the majority of the cooking round these parts, most of what I make is in the grilled, baked, or Shake N Bake family. This pie required actually cooking. But everything went swimmingly, and they came out of the oven looking brown and tasty. But looks and taste are very different, especially with a child who turns her nose up at anything that isn't pizza or McDonalds. So I summoned the family, cut the pie, and held my breath. Not only was it tasty, but the Child-O-The-Apocalypse had seconds which is almost unheard of. So thanks to Stinkypaw for sharing. Our tummies are very happy.


That's Better

It's 75 degrees, sunny and windy. I got the house clean, tourtiere ingredients awaiting assembly(wish me luck, Stinkypaw), and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers just made history by running a kick-off back for a touchdown for the first time in their history.

Yeah, bragging.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Damn You, Al Gore!!

Ok, I realize that those of you who are worried about just how many favors you'll have to perform to thank your husbands for shoveling mountains of snow this may sound like bragging, but I assure you it's not. For the second night in a row I've had to turn the air conditioner on. It's the middle of frikken December! Even in Florida it's supposed to be cooler! We've been enjoying nice cool days, and chilly nights for weeks now. This is the time of year when the electric bill plummets to cover the fridge and the lights that the missus and young'n won't turn off. And just to be clear, I keep the a/c set at 80, so we aren't exactly living la vida polar here. It got up to 85, which makes my fat ass sweat like Sidney Greenstreet in a parka stranded in Death Valley in July.(how's that for a far-reaching simile?) This, and today's UN summit on Global Warming, got me thinking about the whole climate change issue. Even if, as some Neo-Con paid scientists insist, we are simply going through a normal warming phase based on Earth's orbit, mightn't we be exacerbating the situation by pumping so much Co2 and other greenhouse gasses into the atmosphere? Imagine if, billions of years ago, Venus had a thriving population of intelligent, industrialized beings. As their planet grew warmer due to it's orbital proximity to the Sun Venusians started to notice increased temperatures, decreased polar ice caps, and general warming all over. Some said it was an issue of concern, while others said it was a natural phenomenon. What if both were right? What if it is incumbent in the orbits of the inner planets that there would be periods of higher and lower temperatures, resulting in ice ages and draughts? But...what if the introduction of massively elevated levels of greenhouse gasses caused a period of warming to never end? Eventually you have an uninhabitable world where, due to volcanic out gassing, the average atmospheric pressure would crush a human being, and a nice Spring day would melt lead.

Of course, I'm no climatologist, nor have I done a lick of research to back this hypothesis, but I did just finish my second glass of wine after having to turn the a/c on, and since I used big words like 'out gassing' it sounds good to me.

Hee hee.

Friday, December 14, 2007


If you look up the word 'relaxed' in the dictionary, it just says 'see: cat.'


Thus does my Christmas break begin, and to honor two weeks of sloth and gluttony I give you a cute-kitties-instead-of-actual-content blog.

Starbuck Ferretcat is displeased with being outed as the purring lump under the covers.

I guess Artemis needed a second cup of joe.

Maybe I'll have something later.


Tuesday, December 11, 2007

What? Another One?!

Well, it's just a blogtastic Marius-binge today. On my way to and from work I pass over one big bridge, and several smaller ones, and off to the sides are various beaches and shoals where folks participate in all sorts of aquatic recreation including fishing. Now in the interest of full disclosure I am not a fisherman. Unless it's with a bunch of friends on a boat I find fishing to be second only to Olympic Paint Drying in the most boring thing ever category. But I do not begrudge others their sport. There is one thing about fishing, however, that puzzles me. Animal rights groups lose their minds if someone abuses a mammal, no matter how high they rank on the vermin scale, but fish are caught and killed in the most horrific fashions, yet nary a peep from PETA. If someone were hunting deer with baited meat hooks driven through the deer's face, then dragged the animal hundreds of yards only to slice its still living belly open and dump its entrails on the ground the howls of protest would echo from sea to shining sea. Yet that's just what my father did the one time I remember going fishing with him. Again, I don't really have a problem with this. We are a predator species and fish have the misfortune to occupy a lower, and very tasty, rung on the evolutionary ladder, but the lack of righteous indignation seems odd to me.

On a more personal note, today I am truly a married man. It took five years, but my wife finally asked me to pick up tampons on the way home today. Contrary to popular wisdom there were no construction workers waiting by the register to ridicule me, the lovely young cashier did not look upon me with a pity in her eyes, and as far as I can tell my nards are the same size as when I entered the store. Of course, I still have yet to face the dreaded day when the young'n will need a similar errand run. Then you might hear some weeping, and maybe the unmistakable sound of a grown man hiding in the closet.

Later, my peeps.


The capitol of Assyria was either Ninevah, or Assur depending on when in history you look.


Giant space spider attacks shuttle! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Check, Please.

Remember the space ark I wanted to build so we could get off this crazy planet? Well I'm doubling my efforts. Over the course of the last twenty minutes I read two news stories that have me fuming, and struggling to remember if I took the red pill, or the blue. The Recording Industry Association of America, which are the same asshats who continually sue 12 year old girls, 80 year old grandmothers, and even the Girl Scouts of America for improperly using their precious music is now saying that ripping your legally purchased CDs into your computer is unauthorized and illegal. This is in direct contradiction to what the RIAA's own lawyer said to the Supreme Court in the 2005 MGM v Grokster case. "The record companies, my clients, have said, for some time now, and it's been on their Website for some time now, that it's perfectly lawful to take a CD that you've purchased, upload it onto your computer, put it onto your iPod."(p.12) And things are even crazier across the pond. In Astley, England the historic Dam House was told last year that they needed a license from the Performing Rights Society because the staff was listening to a radio in the kitchen that could be heard in the nearby tea room, and this year are being charged because of their annual practice of children singing Christmas carols.

The second story out of Bizarro world comes from, what a shock, Iraq. Jamie Leigh Jones claims that she was gang raped by employees of KBR, a subcontractor under the employ of Haliburton at the time, and then locked in a storage container for 24 hours without food or water and told that if she went to the authorities she would lose her job. Her efforts to pursue any justice in this matter are being met with stonewalling, denial, and apathy by the US Government, and she has been told that, due to massive loopholes that protect contractors in Iraq against prosecution she has no legal leg to stand on. She says she was examined by Army doctors who verified that she had been raped both vaginally and anally, but the rape kit disappeared after it was turned over to KBR security. She is pursuing a civil case, but has low hopes for any sort of positive outcome. She has set up The Jamie Leigh Foundation to help other women who have been sexually assaulted by contractors overseas, which indicates that hers is not an isolated incident. Get the full story here.

When you combine this insanity with the now weekly reports of teachers sleeping with under aged students, politicians committing all sorts of depraved acts backstage while spouting 'family values' on camera, and Emo kids going nuts and shooting up shopping malls I'm ready for my flight. All I need is for those back ordered warp coils to get here, and we'll be go for launch. Who wants a ride?


Monday, December 10, 2007

Merry...ugh,cough, gag!...Christmas

Twas many nights before Christmas, and all through the house, only Marius was stirring, and the two Kitties-O-The-Apocalypse. Actually it was around 5:30am, and thanks to the playful mayhem of the two above mentioned felines I had already been up for more than an hour. I had finished my first cup of coffee, and as these things are wont to happen, had to answer the caffeine call of nature. Upon exiting the room of necessities I was struck by a stench the likes of which would make a dung beetle wince. Looking down I saw the tiles in front of the catbox had been smeared with kitty leavings. Oh shit, I said. A statement of both identification and dismay, whose verbal thrift I was ill equipped to appreciate at the time. As I cleaned up the mess, I worried that one of the little darlings had acquired a bug of some sort, since these two are actually quite fastidious with their lavatorial activities. I followed the trail further and further into the living room, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but Starbuck, and a shiny new rear. Yes, our little MENSA candidate had found a bit of tinsel and had it as a snack sometime last night, and had gotten his entrails flossed as a bonus. If you've never had to pull a piece of silvery plastic tape from the butt of your cat, then may you enjoy your charmed and wonderful life. If you've never had to mop the entire house at 6am, mazel tov. And the kicker is that, while there was tinsel in the box of decorations that I took out yesterday, I was careful not to let any escape so as to avoid just this occurrence. Ah well, the best laid plans, eh?

Happy Monday, y'all.

Marius the Outgrossed

Sunday, December 09, 2007


funny pictures
moar funny pictures

Kickin' Some Scrooge Butt

Somehow, despite my inner Scrooge's best efforts, I'm beginning to feel the Christmas Spirit(tm). I just got back from the store where I bought a small fiber optic Christmas tree(the young'n liked it) and now we're going to decorate it. Well, some of it. I want to save some of the decorating for when the missus gets home. And so, in honor of my new found tidings of comfort and joy I give you all an early gift.

Of course, a gorgeous prancing fiddle-nymph certainly helps to raise the spirits as well. :-)



My morning ritual generally consists of various semi-conscious cat avoidance tactics, followed by reluctant resignation. I get up, turn on the computer, and get some coffee. Then I surf, sip, and slowly grow aware. One of my first stops on the web is, which is where I find many of the weirder stories I relate to you, dear readers. It is a site that catches many stories that are just too strange, too trivial, or too local to appear on the major news sites. This morning I saw one that really didn't make much of an impact, other than 'that's a good idea'; a researcher in Japan is inserting spider DNA into silkworm eggs to try to get them to spin stronger, more elastic silk. Then I read the comments section. One of the first ones said, "This kind of genetic engineering is frightening. Not intrinsically, but because they don't know what the fark they're doing. The Japanese here are behaving like farking Americans, being cowboys. "We'll put some of this spider shiat here into this silkworm shiat, and see what happens! Maybe it'll turn into some kind of new wonderful spider-silk-thread combination that we can use to make a monopoly of new fancy clothes on!!" Have they considered ecological repercussions from their dabbling?"
This reminded me of my ex who's usual reaction to scientific progress was distrust and fear. How is it that in this world of instantaneous communication, MP3 players that hold more music than five jukeboxes yet could be easily swallowed by an infant, and terabyte hard drives people can still be technophobic? I suspect that our popular entertainment has a great deal to do with it. The arcane, unknowable world of science has always been fertile ground for generating fear. Mary Shelley knew this when she wrote her masterpiece Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus. If you read the book, which I highly recommend you do, you will find that it is not a tale of a macabre ghoulish doctor with delusions of godhood, and the hideous, inarticulate monster he creates. Rather it is a bold statement on the dangers of science moving too far, too quickly. Then there was 2001 with the homicidal HAL 9000 computer, the Terminator and Matrix movies, and more apropos of this story, Jurassic Park. Most people assume that what they see on the screen is based on hard fact, regardless of how tortured and convoluted those facts have gotten. Mary Shelley took stories of the recently discovered property of electricity to stimulate dead muscle tissues and extrapolated it to reawakening the dead. Arthur C. Clark predicted that computers would be able to think in ways analogous to the human mind by now, when in reality progress in Artificial Intelligence is moving at a snail's pace, and even the most basic spoken word computer interfaces are notoriously snarky. And as for autonomous robotic killing machines, well, let's just say that robots are good at building cars and vacuuming your kitchen, but the T-1000 is still a long way off. And whereas cloning is pretty good at making lizrds and sheep, the process is so complicated, tricky, and expensive that I wouldn't count on giving your kids a ride on a triceratops any time real soon.
People just need to relax and learn what is worrisome, and what isn't. Just because a new technology is developed doesn't mean it's dangerous. Yes, we should be diligent and responsible, but the Large Hadron Collider isn't going to create an artificial black hole that will eat the Earth, genetically modified corn isn't going to destroy the worlds edible corn supply, and KFC didn't change it's name because they have genetically grown a creature that tastes like chicken, but has no head or feathers and has six legs. However I don't think I like the way my computer is looking at me. Uh, gotta go.


Saturday, December 08, 2007

The Carol of the Memes

meme–noun: a cultural item that is transmitted by repetition in a manner analogous to the biological transmission of genes.

Here's one that made the cross-species jump from MySpace to the blogosphere. I'll not tag, but feel free to join in the fun.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Gift bags are a godsend to a wrapping-challenged ham fist like me. Folks usually have no trouble identifying which packages I wrapped.

2. Real tree or Artificial? I prefer a real tree, but so do the kitties-o-the-apocalypse. We haven't gotten a tree yet this year. Not sure what direction we'll go.

3. When do you put up the tree? It varies. The young'n goes to her dad's every other year, so when she stays we put it up sooner, when she goes it's a crap shoot.

4. When do you take the tree down? Sometime after New Years.

5. Do you like egg nog? As I have blogged before, Publix eggnog is like crack to me.

6. Favourite gift received as a child? I'm not really sure. I remember a lot of my gifts, but no one really stands out. Possibly my Six Million Dollar Man action figure.(I do wish I hadn't donated that thing to a garage sale)

7. Do you have a nativity scene? Yeah, we do. And it became a tradition at my mom's house after one night when my girlfriend and I came home very late, and very intoxicated, and I got the idea to put a little wind-up monster behind Joseph. We nearly woke the house laughing our asses off. Ever since I've made it my mission to slip some sort of creature into the barn.

8. Hardest person to buy for? I honestly don't keep that sort of information in my head.

9. Easiest person to buy for? Me! If it walks, talks, or blows up I'm happy.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Every year I vow I'm going to send out physical cards, and every year around the 23rd or so I realize I didn't and go to

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? If someone went to the trouble to give me something, even if it's obviously a 're-gifting' I'm still grateful.

12. Favorite Christmas movie? SANTA CLAUS CONQUERS THE MARTIANS

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? Usually with my last paycheck before Christmas. Often on the 24th.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Probably.

15. Favourite thing to eat at Christmas? We kinda drifted away from the 'Christmas Meal' a couple of decades ago, so I don't really associate foods with Christmas.

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? Ok, ladies, I know that clear lights are classier, and have an aesthetic beauty all their own, but give me lots of colors, lots of blinkies, and lots of talking ornaments.(oh, and a few starships as well) ;-)

17. Favourite Christmas song? I love the Carol of the Bells. And while we are on the subject, I read a news story last week about someone getting in trouble for singing Jingle Bells at school or some other state-sponsored event. I don't want to get into the whole 'separation of church and state' thing here, but I would like to point out that there is a class of 'Christmas' songs that have nothing to do with Christmas. Jingle Bells and Winter Wonderland are two such songs that are about winter, not Christmas. Just sayin.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? It depends on where we are living. While we were in Louisiana it was too far to drive home. On the other hand, we're only four hours or so from home here.

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? Sure. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer...uh...Frodo...Germaine...Bashful...Chewie...ummmmm, and Data.

20. Angel on the tree top or a star? We have always taken the Vlad Tepes route and impaled an angel.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Morning, morning, morning.(besides, we have a young'n. can't really perpetuate the Santa story if you open your gifts the night before he 'arrives')

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Commercials.

23. Favourite ornament theme or colour? Starships

24. Favorite thing for Christmas dinner? See question 15.

25. What do you want for Christmas this year?

26. Who is most likely to respond to this? Beelzebub. That dude is all about Christmas.

27. Who is least likely to respond to this? John the Baptist...that prick!

Friday, December 07, 2007

On Tournament vs. War

This one is mainly for the SCA folks out there. Those of you not part of the group are more than welcome to read on, but it might not make much sense to you.

Four or five years ago I got re involved with the SCA in Louisiana. I even got armored and qualified, but I have found myself growing more and more reticent to train, and to go to events to fight. At first I chalked it up to loss of skill, then to bad armor, then to laziness, then to fear of getting my ass kicked, but those things have never stopped me before. Usually once I got padded up and swung my stick for a while I was fine. But this absolute resistance I've been feeling has been puzzling me, but I think I've figured it out. It seems to me that SCA fighting has become less about the tourney, and more about the war. Everyone talks about training for Gulf War, or Pennsic, or whatever the next uber battle is to be. I have fought in a couple of wars, and numerous melees, and I have come to the realization that I DON'T LIKE THEM. Thinking back on my youth I was never good on a shield line, and I'm too small to be a pikeman. Back when I was young and fast I was often used as a shock troop, flanking the enemy line and trying to take out the pikes. And on the occasions that I was put in a small team of four or five people I would inevitably break ranks at the slightest provocation to engage in single combat. The last time I was in armor was at Hoggetown. We were doing a melee demo, and Tearlach put me in command of a four man team. I know he was honoring me, but I am the worst commander for that sort of thing. We got decimated. And even at non-war events the tourneys tend more toward bear pits and the like rather than the classic single combat. I think that part of it is that I love the spotlight. It's even right there in the marshall's instructions: For honor and glory. To me honor is at its zenith in single combat, and at its nadir in wars. And glory suffers similarly. To me SCA fighting was never about endurance, and brute force. Anyone who could safely swing a sword and stay on their feet for the time it takes to finish one fight was welcome on the lyst field to defend the honor of their consort, and to win a bit of glory for themselves. In a war there is shared glory in victory, and the camaraderie of hundreds of warriors, but when it becomes the perceived acme of our game I get turned off. And I think that is what is holding me back more than any of the other concerns. The fear that, in this game that I started way back when because it was one place that I did fit in, I won't anymore.
What say you, fellow medievalists? Is my assessment of things close to accurate, or am I full of bantha poodoo?


Epiphanous Cognizance and Other Nonesense

I just had a strange realization. George Harrison has always been my favorite Beatle. I became aware of this this morning as I was making my breakfast and listening to Pandora is a web site wherein you input your favorite bands, or even just songs, and it tailors a playlist of music based on your inputs. I have two 'stations' set up there. One is populated by my more energetic likings, and one is just for mellow stuff. I tend to use the mellow one in the mornings, and today a George Harrison tune played and struck my brain at just such an angle as to cause the titular awareness. I was not so much amazed by my liking of the late Beatle, but more by the realization that I had not been consciously aware of that particular predilection. It seems similar to my ability to suddenly notice a tree in the yard next door and be absolutely sure it wasn't there before, only to be informed that it had been there for centuries. Am I alone in having such mental blind spots?

This just in from the 'no shit, Sherlock' desk. The Environmental Protection Agency announced that bottled water is no cleaner than municipal tap water. In fact city water is actually better regulated since they are required to test the water quality daily, whereas bottled water companies do so far less often. The major difference is that most bottled water(more than half of which is tap water anyway) has been filtered to remove the chlorine and fluoride. We use a water filtering pitcher at home which does the same thing for far less money. Personally I think that the massive popularity of bottled water is a huge comment on the mindless consumerism that has infected the industrialized world. In my life I may have purchased a dozen bottles of water, and almost all of those times were when I needed portability. And I almost always refill the bottle several times from a fountain or the tap at home. But some people buy hundreds of bottles of the stuff a year, convinced that since it's in a bottle it must be safer than the water from the faucet. Yet even the water bottlers won't say that their product is better for you. They can't. It's the same damned water! I would love to shake the hand of the person who first realized that people are such sheep that you could sell them something that is freely available. I wonder if we could get Nomads in the Sahara to buy bottled sand? Might be worth a try.

Oh, one other thing. For some reason I haven't been getting my email notification of your comments, so if I take a while to respond pray forgive me.

Thirstily yours,

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Paging Darwinbot 2000

Greetings, fellow space travellers. Last August I told you about one contender for the Darwin Awards in Cincinnati who walked over two sets of railroad tracks while engrossed in text messaging. He missed the first train, but not the second. Today's cell phone moron comes to us from San Leandro, California. This time the candidate was talking on his phone and walked past a lowered crossing gate complete with flashing lights and on into eternity. I feel very sorry for his friends and family, and I earnestly hope that this, so far, unidentified gentleman had not yet passed his faulty DNA along. This helps to prove my axiom that any time an adult human is either hit by a train, or attacked by an alligator, 9 times out of 10 they had it coming.
As the cell phone related carnage increases, I begin to think that if there is a huge government conspiracy to cover up Alien presences on Earth it might not be such a bad thing after all. When I think about the two most revolutionary technological advances of the late 20th Century; personal computers and cell phones; and all the ways the vast idiocracy manages to use these boons for self-destruction, I shudder to think of what sorts of mayhem would ensue if we had anti-gravity boots, or matter transporters, or (shudder) holodecks. I can just see the lead story on CNN: The University of Florida is reeling today after five members of the Gabba Gabba Hey fraternity tried unsuccessfully to beam themselves into the Tri-Delta sorority's showers yesterday. City workers say it will take them several days to remove the bodies from the asphalt of the intersection of University and 13th, but fortunately their blood alcohol level was high enough that they should be well preserved during the excavation. It makes me wonder if there is a lab somewhere working on a cure for stupid. Of course, if one were found then the companies that make 'natural male enhancement' pills would have to destroy it.

Adios, mis amigos.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Hat's On

Hiya, folks! Once again I need your group brain to solve a conundrum. You may have deduced, those of you whom I've never met in person, that I make Edgar Winter look positively tan. I am pale to the point of transparency, and the Florida sun wastes no opportunity to afflict me with its deadly UV rays. I have already had two minor skin cancers excised from my flesh, and therefore rarely venture out by day without a generous slathering of sunscreen, and some sort of headgear. And herein lies my woe. I have numerous ball caps, but I don't particularly care for them. They are functional, but I have always wanted to wear a HAT. Something with personality and style. But whereas I suffer from, possibly, an overabundance of the former, I am severely lacking in the style department. So I appeal to you, my wondrous and oh so tasteful audience. Have you any suggestions for a chapeau that might suit my Luthoresque melon?

In local news, Mrs. Marius began training with the Transportation Safety Administration this week, and will soon be a full-fledged airport screener. So yay for actual income soon!! The downside? Since she'll be the new kid, she gets to work Christmas day. :-( This means that our usual attendance of the annual Christmas Eve festivities will not occur this year. Granted I'm off starting next Wednesday, but it would be quite the fecal move were I to abandon her on Christmas. But I shall be in the southern climes ere long, most likely for most of the time twixt Christmas and New Years. Check local listings for times and dates in your area.


Monday, December 03, 2007

What? Really? Here, on Our Earth?!

Well I never would have imagined that common sense would actually rule the day not once, but twice in the last couple of days. The first occurrence involved El Jefe Fabuloso, and Un Gran Hombre con la Cabeza Loca, Hugo Chavez. His people love his anti-American rhetoric, and don't seem to mind that every time he opens his mouth he makes our own Buffoon in Chief sound lucid, but when he tried to change the Argentinian constitution to allow him to become a de facto president for life, and to enact sweeping socialist changes to Argentina, the people said no. It was a narrow no, 49% to 51%(do those numbers sound familiar, my fellow Americans?) but it was still a no. The Argentine people have had their fill of dictators, so Chavez will have to continue to spank it to his poster of Kim Jong Il all alone.

Secondly Gillian Gibbons, the British teacher who was jailed in Sudan because she allowed her 2nd grade students to name a teddy bear Mohamed, has been pardoned by President Omar al-Bashir, and is now safely in Dubai. She was convicted of insulting Islam and sentenced to 15 days in jail and deportation. British diplomats worked day and night to get the Sudanese government to commute her sentence and let her go, while thousands of fanatical Muslims protested and called for her death. Over a f***ing teddy bear! I have been at the vanguard of the 'let's not condemn an entire religion over the actions of a few nutbags' camp, but this is pushing even my tolerance to its limit. When thousands of people can call for the death of an innocent teacher over a simple cultural misunderstanding, I am starting to think that the tolerant Muslims are the radical fringe. Anyway, she's safe and will be home in London tomorrow.

And now, a gripe. If you are going to the bank, and you have a transaction that is complicated, or requires more communication with the teller than 'hi', go the fuck inside!!! I sat behind a woman in the drive-through today who sent the little canister back and forth three times before she was done. All I had was a thirty-second long deposit to make, and I was there for twenty minutes. Arrrrrrrgh!!!!!

Ok, I feel better now. Hope your day was grand, and that a little of this common sense trickles down to your neck of the woods.


Sunday, December 02, 2007

Uh, Canada?

The more I hear about Canadian society the more I find myself admiring least until I read this. The Americanization of the world is even infecting our more reasonable neighbors to the North. In a bizarre case of environmentalism gone berserk some Canadian mothers are paying upwards of $80 for designer cloth diapers. These are handmade flannel, wool, or fleece diapers that come in a variety of patterns such as tie-dye and camouflage. About the only thing that makes sense in this story, although it is tortured logic at its best, is that some mothers put these fancy pants on their little ones only after a regular diaper has performed its proper function. Please, Canada, I beg of you. Don't become us. Your hand basket has yet to begin its decent, whereas Dante himself would be hard pressed to come up with a poetic description of our hellward plunge.

See ya's later,

Saturday, December 01, 2007


Yeah, I know I already crowed a bit, but then I found this nifty badge and had to share it. There was another one that was a pic of a sleeping puppy that said 30 Posts in 30 Days, NoBloPoopedMo that I thought was cute, but when I counted my posts for November I discovered...

Forty-eight posts! Zoinks! I must really like this blogging thing. Too bad I can't make any money at it, I'd just sit here and type all day.

Ok, that's enough for one day. Sleep well, dear friends. See you tomorrow.


Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit

Good day, and welcome to December, eh. So how are ya? Come on in, take off your shoes, and have a cup of cocoa with Uncle Marius. One of my most prominent ex-girlfriends had a superstition that on the first day of a new month, before speaking anything else you should say 'rabbit, rabbit, rabbit'. I don't know why, but it is a good excuse to put up a pic of a trio of cute bunnies to go with your coffee. And now, on to the stuff.

Since the late 60's-early 70's the SETI(Search for ExtraTerrestrial Intelligence) project has been scanning the night sky for any indication of intelligent life. The project developers, Carl Sagan among them, reasoned that the first signs of an alien civilization would consist of radio signals. He would later flesh out this concept to a grand conclusion in the excellent book Contact, which was made into an ok movie with Jodi Foster, that predicted a peaceful and mutually beneficial meeting between an alien species and ourselves. I've known about SETI for years, and always assumed it to be a passive ear to the cosmic wall, but I just read an article that has me in a bit of an ethical pickle. There are groups that have been advocating what they call 'Active SETI'. The basic premise is that we choose specific stars that seem likely to have life nearby, and beam high powered radio signals directly at them. The concept is sound enough, but there are numerous devils in the details. What should the signals contain? Who makes that decision? And perhaps most importantly does anyone have the right to speak for the entire planet? I say this is a dilemma for yours truly because three such signals have been sent since 1999 that have contained data about our location, biology, and languages. While the peace-loving optimist in me thinks this is a great idea, and that holding out the cosmic olive branch can only end well, there is also the cautious pessimist lurking in the shadows saying 'ok, we've just told any potentially hostile space-faring races out there that there is a habitable, resource filled world here on the galaxy's edge.' So, do we continue to announce our presence, or do we hide our candle under a bushel. No matter the outcome none of us will be alive to see it, since it will take centuries for any signal to reach these stars, and even longer for any spacecraft to get here, but do we have a duty to our descendants to protect them from possible dangers from beyond, or to allow them to be the hosts for our party invitation. I guess it all depends on whether the guests of honor look like this:

Or this:

Have a glorious day.


Friday, November 30, 2007

And Now, The End Is Near...

So National Blog Post Month, or NAMBLA, is over. I want to thank all of you who helped me complete this Sisyphean task. Your comments, suggestions, and ideas made it all so easy. I really can't believe November is over. This month was so full of stuff that it rocketed by. I look at the calendar and see things like A Midsummer Night's Dream and realize that rather than monolithic horizon lurkers, they are things done and gone and I wonder how I missed them. I oft times marvel at that bizarre dichotomy of human perception. I first noticed it in basic training, or after basic I should say. I looked back and it seemed like the 30 days went by so fast, and yet I remembered every agonizing minute as if it lasted an hour. How can things feel so interminable, and yet so fleeting? Scientists have seen the areas of the brain where decisions are made become active only after the decision has occurred, so does that mean that we react instinctively, and then our brains do a bit of retcon to make it seem that we actively decided something? Or is it simply that the scientists have yet to be able to fathom the data they are receiving? And what about people who, after having 'suppressed memories' excavated firmly believe they have been abducted by aliens? If our memories can be manipulated can we ever trust our senses? We think that we interpret the world in real time, but actually the totality of our experiential references are memories, and therefore subject to manipulation by either internal or external forces. This thought was made very clear to me after my post about my accident with the table saw. One who was there commented that I got part of the story wrong. It was part that had always puzzled me; I remembered being gently teased for being overly polite while I was bleeding and struggling against going into shock, but I didn't recall saying anything that would have incurred that reaction. After reading my account herein, Deb pointed out that, rather than ask if someone would take me to the hospital, I actually said that if someone could tell me how to get there I could drive myself. Two very different recollections, and hers made more sense. As soon as she told me that, my memory of the conversation realigned itself to reflect this more accurate version, and it all fell into place. But if I had never wrote that post, my version of the events would have continued to be flawed, though I would never have known it. Accurate, to me, but not reflecting reality. Things like this give me pause, and give me great doubts about the legal system. Since we can never be 100% sure of our own recollections, how can we base the life or death of others on those inherently flawed perceptions?
Hmm, this certainly went in a direction I never planned. I'd like to say that I consciously decided to connect NoBloPop to the death penalty, and given enough time I could convince myself that that is exactly what happened, but in reality I just started typing, and this is what fell out.

At least that's what I think happened.

Peace, Friends.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

As we enter the penultimate day of NoBloBopSheBopSheBop, I was fretting. The tank was empty, the brain a shrivelled cranio-raisin, the mind a blank. Oh, Lords of Weirdness, quoth I in desperation, send unto me a miracle of the absurd. And there was a loud Hosanna, and a fusillade of trumpets did sound, and magically my browser of its own accord bestowed upon me this boon:

It is called the TwoDaLoo, and it is a real, $1400 toilet for two. It supposedly can help a rocky marriage recover by promoting increased closeness, and I know I can't count the number of times I thought to myself, "I really love my wife, but wouldn't it be nice if we could crap together, too?"

But wait dear Marius, some of you might utter. Did not the jesters of Saturday Night Live make of this concept a sketch-like thing? Ah, yes my child. They did indeed

Isn't it wonderful that just when you have given up on figuring out why things went the way they did, the Universe offers up the answers? Now I see what went wrong with all those women in the past. If only we could have not wasted those minutes spent in agonizing lavatorial seclusion, I might have been celebrating my 30th wedding anniversary along with our 15 children today. Oh cruel Providence! Why did you take so long to create this marvelous device?!
And the comedy doesn't stop with just the photo. The write up for this ridiculous thing is equally ludicrous. Behold:
The TwoDaLoo is billed as the world's first toilet two people can use ... at the exact same time. It brings couples closer together and conserves our water supply all with one flush. The TwoDaLoo features two side-by-side toilet seats with a modest privacy wall in between. An upgraded version includes a seven inch LCD television and iPod docking station
So the double shitter promises to bring couples 'closer together' yet offers an optional TV and Ipod dock just in case you get bored with each other? Priceless.

And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to wake my wife up so we can take a leak.



Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Not The Best Way to Lose Weight

I am terrible with dates. I'd barely remember my own birthday if folks didn't bring it up first. But there is one date that is forever burned into my brain. Thursday, May 5, 1994. That was the day that I tried, unsuccessfully, to hold hands with a running table saw. Rosebuckle and C.L., please feel free to correct me if I get any of this tale wrong. I was working for a now-defunct theatre in Jupiter, Florida. It was the first day of the build for The Music Man, and I had the unfortunate task of ripping 1x3s. To do this required the use of the table saw. This is a largeish saw that is used to make long, wide boards into long narrow boards. It is a ferocious and unforgiving device, but quite necessary, and safe when used properly. It is also very loud, so I tend to wear ear plugs when using it. On this day I had been ripping for at least an hour when my one of my coworkers brought me a whole new stack to cut. Here is where I made my first mistake. Rather than turn the saw off, walk away, and get my bearings back, I just started in on the new stack. Unfortunately I didn't realize that I was in the grip of a form of white-line fever. The job was so repetitive, and the ear plugs so isolating, that I began paying more attention to my inner voice than to the spinning blade in front of my. This did not last long, however. As I finished a cut, and was absent-mindedly reaching for the next board I heard a loud 'thwump!', and a short, sharp shock ran up my arm to my elbow. 'Dammit!' I thought. 'I've cut myself.' Then it dawned on me just what tool I was working with, and I realized that I had done quite more than 'just cut myself'. I unclenched my right fist from around my left thumb and witnessed the havoc wrought there. It looked like the end of my thumb had been exploded from within. Mental shock mixed with disbelief flooded my mind and I began to slowly walk away from the saw. Part of my mind worried about leaving the saw running, since that is a big safety no-no, but the rest of my mind shouted that I had a bigger worry. By this time Deb, who was in command of the shop, had noticed that something was wrong and came over to me. I told her that I had just cut my thumb off, and then the dizziness inspired me to sink to my knees, since that seemed a better choice than falling down. She asked if I wanted and ambulance, and later teased me for my politeness in the face of dismemberment because I responded that no, I didn't think I needed an ambulance, but if someone wouldn't mind driving me to a hospital I'd be grateful. I think Chris asked if he should look for the thumb, but there really wouldn't have been anything to look for, or so I thought(more on that later) so I told him no. I remember being remarkably calm through the whole affair, although the ride from the shop to the hospital is a blurred jumble of nausea and self-recrimination. There was an intern working in the shop then, whose name I cannot recall, who was a lovely, sweet and very hard working young woman. In my somewhat distracted state I gave her the unpleasant job of calling my mom, with whom I was living at the time, to tell her that I was going to the hospital. When we arrived at the hospital and the two ladies helped me out of the car, we realized I was still wearing my tool belt. The intern immediately knelt in front of my and removed it. Just to show you that the male pig-brain is indefatigable, I actually thought to myself 'of all the times for this fantasy to come true...' The following week was spent in the hospital with my hand hanging from an IV stand. I got very lucky that the on-call doctor that day was also a very skilled hand surgeon who spent two hours rebuilding the end of my thumb whereas most doctors would have just cut it off at the knuckle and been done with it. As it is I lost 3/4", but the nail grew back and most people don't notice it unless I point it out. It was three weeks before I was strong enough to go back to the shop to visit, and at that time they presented me with a gift. Chris had taken the boards that had been on the saw at the time of the accident, and had been sprayed with blood, and stapled them together to preserve the pattern. He gave them to me telling me that they saved my thumb for me. Most people thought that was pretty gross, but I thought it was hilarious, and saved those board for more than a decade. My brother also came down to visit, bringing with him a thimble with a hook sticking out of it for me to wear.
All in all I was out of work for three months, and cost Workman's Comp untold thousands of dollars. You never know how much you use your thumbs until you can't any more. Thing like tying your shoes, or buttoning a shirt, or driving a stick shift all become infinitely more difficult with only one hand, and let me tell you that the elastic waistbands of underwear are not your friend when you only have one hand. So appreciate the parts you've got, gentle readers, for unlike the lizard's tail, our bits don't grow back.


Tuesday, November 27, 2007


Dammit! Just as the pain in my ear from Stinkypaw's tag was starting to subside, The Purple Pigeon tags me again! Well, at least the tranq dart lets me take a nice nap. Ok, Pidgey, here are seven more weirdnesses about yours truly.

1. Despite the fact that I put on plays for a living, I hate being in an audience.

2. I would love to learn to speak Russian.

3. For a brief time I seriously considered getting my tongue pierced.

4. I have only seen 2 episodes of Friends in their entirety.

5. I think the SR-71 Blackbird is the coolest aircraft ever invented.

6. I firmly believe that there are, at most, 3 different kinds of shampoo in the world. There are, however, thousands of labeling options.

7. The only time I miss the end of my left thumb is when I have to wear a dress shirt and I have to button the sleeves.

Ok, gotta get back to work. Hugs to you, Pigeon. It'll get better eventually.



Monday, November 26, 2007

If I Go Crazy Then...

Yesternight, though I know not wherefore, a thought-memory came unbidden to my mind. Many years ago, and no doubt after some intense study of Colombian horticulture, the great wizard Rico Sanchez and I pondered the creation of a compilation album to compete with the mighty and awful K-Tel corporation. This was long before such wond'rous things as CDs and Itunes, so it was more a thought experiment than anything else. We thought to create a library of all songs that mention The Last Son of Krypton. Back then it would have been very labor, not to mention cost intensive, but today it seems quite possible. Here's where you come in. I need your brains, my musically gifted friends. Think o'nt and if you would send me herein any song you can remember that speaks of the Man of Steel. If you know the band name that's great, but not necessary. Even if you only remember a snippet of the lyrics that's helpful too. Any and all assistance in this regard will be greatly appreciated. And, once the project is complete, I will send you a copy of the disc.

Con mucho gusto,

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Too Cool

What do you get when you combine an old laptop with an electric guitar? Psychedelic sweetness, that's what.

Umm, Hello, Geiko?

How do you call your insurance company and file a claim for 'falling cow'? Unfortunately a Manson, Washington man had to do just that. A 600 pound cow fell off of a cliff on November 6th and crushed his minivan. The man was quoted as repeatedly saying "I don't believe this." This reminds me of the time a motorist neglected to notice that the road he was on dead-ended in a fence, then our shed, then the back of our house. Fortunately he ran into the laundry room, so no one was hurt. Unfortunately he ran away and was never caught as far as I know. The steering column of the car was bent, presumable by his chest, so I can't imagine he got very far. I thought it was pretty funny at the time, but my folks, understandably, didn't. So what's the weirdest automotive accident/encounter you've experienced?


Saturday, November 24, 2007

Over the River and Through the Everglades

Hello, Blends, and thanks for your patience over the holiday with my perfunctory postage. It was a bit of a whirlwind, but it was also totally worth the drive. And, as is usual in my solipsistic universe, the Gods-O-Irony(tm) were fully awake and active on Wednesday. The plan was that Mrs. Marius and I would go to work, and leave as soon as humanly possible to begin the drive south. Things at the school were quite quiet, and as I had the COTA in tow (she had no school on Wed.) I was able to depart my place of employment around noon. I prepared my goodly vessel for its voyage, giving her all the needed fluids and vapors to make the trip a success, and arrived at our domicile around 1:30. I quickly packed my stuff, loaded the car, and settled in to await my lovely bride.
At this point it is necessary to point out that one of the primary reasons that we have been in some financial distress of late is that her waitressing job was providing her with very few hours. Normally if she were scheduled to work 10-5, she'd be lucky to stay til 1:30 before being sent home. Now, for those of you who have tangled with the aforementioned capricious deities, you might see what's coming. We figured that she would be done with work by 3 at the absolute latest, and planned for an optimal launch window of 3:30, getting us to West Palm Beach by dinner time. Alas, since we wanted her to be cut early, she was there until 4:15. That doesn't seem like much of a problem, except that would put our departure, after she came home and got cleaned up, right in the midst of the evening rush. So rather than leave town at 2 miles per hour, we decided to wait til 6. The drive down was uneventful, although I am totally sick of SUV driving idiots who don't know how to drive the damned things! They lumber into traffic and accelerate at the same pace that snails screw, and just generally make a nuisance of themselves. But I digress.
We arrived at the In-Law's without incident, and I proceeded to relax. We chatted, I read, and then crashed. Thanksgiving morning I slept in and loved it. I always sleep really well at my In-Law's, and I chalk it up to a combination of a really comfortable bed in the guest room, and the fact that I can relinquish command while I'm there. I love my family, but they aren't the best at turning things off, or putting things away, or cleaning things up, so if I don't keep the reminders going the place gets out of hand rather quickly. My MIL is very good at taking care of things at her house, so I get to relax. So, anyway, we spent a chill morning doing lots of nothing while my wife and her mother plotted their strategy for Black Friday. Black Friday, for those of you lucky enough to not live in the US, is the busiest, and most insidious, shopping day of the year. It's the Friday after Thanksgiving, and many stores have major sales that start as early as midnight on Thursday night, and many women consider it as big a challenge as any wild boar hunt. I usually stay as far away from any place of purveyance as possible on that day, since the unwary shopper can easily lose life or limb should they drop their guard for even a moment.
So once the battle plan was formed, I bundled wife and kid into my well rested car and off we went to visit my 'rents. It was a nice visit, and one with a magical moment in it. Many years ago I became the daddy of a little black kitten named Ripley. She is a bit of a weird cat. Her mom contracted some sort of virus during her gestation, the result of which is that Ripley seems to be perpetually drunk. She staggers, and stumbles, but is otherwise ok. Well, except for the fact that she has never been an overly affectionate animal. She lived with me for about a year, then I moved in with my friends K&T and their two cats. Unfortunately Ripley simply would not tolerate the other two, and I ended up having to send her to live with my folks. Nowadays whenever I go visit, if she comes out at all, she will sniff me and tolerate a few scratches on her head before she runs off to hide in the bedroom. Thursday was no I thought. At one point Ripley come out of the bedroom, and slowly came over to me. I let her sniff my hand, and then to my utter surprise she rubbed her cheek against my fingers and let me pet her for a good five minutes. It was almost like she was forgiving me after all these years. It was very sweet.
After a very nice visit with the folks and critters we went back to the In-Law's. Dinner was awesome. Turkey, cornbread stuffing, sweet potato and green bean casseroles, and salad. We picked up chicken nuggets for the COA since she announced that she doesn't like turkey...a fussier eating child you won't find...and she ate without having to be told too often. Later, after I had passed out on the couch for a bit, we played SCRABBLE, and in a universal upset I won! I would like to point out that my Father-in-Law is a newspaper editor, so a SCRABBLE victory is hard won(quinces and jiving both on triple letter scores, thank you very much).
Friday morning Mrs. Marius and MIL sallied forth to brave the throngs, and I did as little as possible. We met for lunch at a lovely new Mediterranean restaurant...nothing beats cous cous and good hummus...and then wifey and I headed home. The COA stayed with her grandparents til tomorrow, and we spent a quiet evening eating the care package of leftovers MIL made us and watching the tube. Even though there was a lot of driving over the last two and a half days, there was also a lot of much needed resting. Tomorrow I have to drive half-way back to rendezvous with the MIL and pick up the young'n, then it's back to the grind on Monday.
And there was much rejoicing. :-)


Friday, November 23, 2007


My turn to be a sloth. We drove back from the southern reaches of our fair peninsula today, and as I was dozing on the couch I just realized that I darned near missed today's entry. I am too tired to do much now, but tomorrow I will relate the tale of the trip.

Night, night. Sleep tight.


Thursday, November 22, 2007

Bo Shuuda!


Happy Thanksgiving!!

On this day I give thanks to all my friends here at The Corner, whether they be the old guard like Celebhith, Chris, Duke, KA, Queen Bad Kitty, Rico, Rosebuckle, Targon, or Turtle; or newer friends like Catt,the Monkey, Pigeon, Sheep and her kitties, Stinkypaw, and ZoZo. I thank you for your words, your thoughts, and your comments. I thank you for your blogs, or simply your words of wisdom and/or silliness. I thank you for taking this medium which can be so impersonal and keeping a human face on all these zipping electrons. And most of all I thank you for keeping me blogging for more than two years. You guys rock!!! And if there is anyone reading this whose name I left out, I beg your forgiveness and say that you, as well, rock!!! :-)

Love and turkey,

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Oh Canada

Hi, folks, and welcome to a fully functional edition of The Corner. Sorry about yesterday. I started getting a headache late yesterday afternoon, and by the time I got home I felt like total ass. I tried to come up with a decent blog entry, but all that dribbled out of my malfunctioning brain were the few lines of drivel that appeared herein yesternight. I beg your forgiveness, gentle readers, and hope to make amends anon. And now, the news.

On September 15th an American truck flipped and burned during an accident at the Fort Erie Peace Bridge on the U.S.-Canadian border. Two Canadian border guards, Terry MacArthur and Derek Weston, risked their lives to pull 55-year-old Leslie Hammond from the wreckage and get him safely away from the conflagration. Yesterday Hammond was taken by ambulance to the border where he and his family had a tearful reunion with the men who saved his life. He could not speak, but there were tears in his eyes as he shook hands with his saviors. His wife and sister were there to thank the men for him. The two gentlemen are to receive bravery awards from the Niagara Police Dept.

Closer to home, the clan Marius will be headed south tonight to join the MIL and FIL for Thanksgiving. I fear we will only be in town until first thing Friday morning, so pray forgive us if we limit this visit to immediate family. December, however, is the time when working for a religiously affiliated school really pays off, and I shall be in town for a good portion of it, so visits aplenty will ensue.

And now it's time for...The Obligatory Hypothetical Audience Participation Question!

Perhaps you have heard of the SETI project, which scans the heavens for any signs of artificially generated radio signals. I say they are going about it the wrong way. I think rather than passively looking to the stars, we should broadcast one song that will entice alien civilizations to want to hear more from our tiny little chunk of rock. A sort of cosmic PR campaign. Given that such a signal would need to cross millions of miles of empty space, compression is vital. Therefore the transmission can only be a maximum of ten minutes long. What one song should we broadcast, and why? I'll post my answer tomorrow.

Give me your hands if we be friends, and Marius will restore amends.

Thanks for your patience,

Tuesday, November 20, 2007


Synapses cease, struggle to fire, then silence. Memories trickle, concepts fade, and blog entries suck.

Me do better tomorrow.