And Other Bad Words
We’ve acquired a new resident in our local lake.
I didn’t know that river otters are native to our area, but they are. They were hunted for fur and became rare – but not extinct. Now they’re coming back.
Winter seems like an odd time to move in. The lake is busy freezing over.
Ah well, I welcome our strange new neighbor anyway.
I used to think I was fit when I walked a 15 minute mile. I was huffing and puffing, but I was proud that I did it.
Today, I averaged a sub-13 minute mile today and wasn’t even breathing hard.
I’m posting today not because that time was a particular achievement, but because it was so unremarkable. The achievement is that I can do it so reasonably.
Megh and I quote this story at each other from time to time about ordering breakfast at a foreign hotel. It originally came to us via email in the early days of Eternal September.
We riffed on it in front of a friend tonight. This friend did not know the story, and after giving the short-short-short story on it I figured I’d see if I could find it online.
Apparently it was written by Shelley Berman¹, not a random unknown person, and forwarded via email endlessly without permission or attribution.
I’m going to redistribute it again, but this time with attribution.
(Reading hints: You are on the phone. The other party is also in the hotel.)
Morny, rune sore-bees.
Oh sorry, I thought I dialed room service.
Rye. Rune sore-bees. Morny. Jewish to odor sunteen?
Yes, order something. This is room thirteen-oh-five. I want…
Okay, torino-fie. Yes plea?
I’d like some bacon and eggs.
Ow July then?
What?
Aches. Ow July then? Pry, boy, pooch…?
Oh, the eggs! How do I like them? Sorry. Scrambled, please.
Ow July thee baycome? Crease?
Crisp will be fine.
Okay. An Santos?
What?
Santos. July Santos?
Uh…I don’t know…I don’t think so.
No? Judo one toes?
Look. I really feel bad about this, but I just don’t know what judo-one-toes means. I’m sorry…
Toes! Toes! Why Jew Don Juan toes? Ow bow eenlish mopping we bother?
English muffin! I’ve got it! You were saying toast! Fine. An English muffin will be fine.
We bother?
No. Just put the bother on the side.
Wad?
I’m sorry. I meant butter. Butter on the side.
Copy?
I feel terrible about this but…
Copy. Copy, tea, mill…
Coffee!! Yes, coffee please. And that’s all.
One Minnie. Ass rune torino-fie, strangle-aches, crease baycome, tossy eenlish mopping we bother honey sigh, and copy. Rye?
Whatever you say.
Okay. Tenjewberrymud.
You’re welcome.
Shelley Berman, A Hotel is a Place, Price Stern Sloan, 1972.
When I first received the story, it was supposed to have originated somewhere in Asia but the accent and (mis)pronunciation always seemed to be Spanish to me. (so maybe Philippines?)
¹ My first encounter with Mr. Berman was “The Sex Life Of The Primate (And Other Bits Of Gossip)” from my parent’s collection of vinyl. I was 12 or 13 and much of the humor went over my head – but not all of it.
Now we just need to figure out if they are actual clowns or just people dressed up as clowns
— quoted by Sinister_JaY
Almost 30 years after I first said I wanted to, we went to see Big Bad Voodoo Daddy live in concert. It was billed as a “Christmas Concert” but it was definitely NOT just Christmas music. I am still riding high on this.
BBVD does a great job of recreating the look and sound of swing and big-band jazz. They played a mix of Christmas, old standards, and original music. I really dug their cover of Minnie the Moocher, IMHO it’s as good as Cab Colloway’s.
Things I learned today:
A little bit on that last point: the band was superb and carried some real energy. Their showmanship was on point! I’m sad that the crowd was overall on the geriatric side and people were polite but not really feeling it. I think they were expecting a slow Christmas show, and this was definitely not that.
Megh and I decided that we’re going to take swing lessons and catch next year’s concert. We want to get up in the aisle and start dancing to fight back against the old fogies. The band deserves it!
— Author unknown
If the devil can’t make you bad, he’ll make you busy.
Busy people don’t have time to care about other shit. As important as it may be to protect your country from apathy, from corruption, from fascism, it’s not something that’s directly in front of you so it’s not something you have time to worry about.
The propaganda about working hard (to keep single people busy), about getting married and having kids, about having a good work ethic, against work-life balance, all designed to keep you as busy as possible. Companies abuse childless people because “oh, well he has kids so he has to leave early… we need this done today”.
The government keeps you busy with paying taxes, renewing drivers licenses, passports, license plates, car inspections, code violations that you have to get fixed, tiny minimum wages that force you to take 2-3 jobs.
People with spare time have time to look at what’s going on around them… they have time to organize and fight for what they want. They have time to start their own businesses instead of being wage slaves for the rich. They have time to fight big issues when they come up. This is undesirable behavior. A big uprising, which is probably coming anyway, is the last thing the elite want.
So they keep you busy, and in control. They look at history and see all of the times when this failed but they think “Yeah, but people in the past were stupid… we can make it work this time”. And they push more and more and more, until everyone gets pushed too far. But first comes being busy.
After living here for twelve years and mostly limiting ourselves to making repairs, we’ve finally introduced some real improvements to make the house ours.
It’s been over a year in the making, and over a decade of informal planning.
We started out wanting a front porch. We were spoiled by our old home, which had a deep porch spanning the width of the structure. We missed it the first time we had to unlock the new house in the rain. We really missed it when we had use the the storm door to push fresh snow out of the way before we could even start shoveling.
The final straw, spurring us into action, was the chimney.
Our house came with a fireplace and chimney on the outside wall facing the driveway.
What seemed to be a charming accoutrement quickly became a white elephant. Fireplaces are always difficult to place furniture around, and this one was inconveniently located. By making a wall without windows, the room containing it was very dark, even on the brightest days.
We never used it. It sucked more heat out of the room than it generated and made the house smokey, and even when not in use it conducted heat to the outside. Minor leaks over the years had rusted the fascia.
The chimney wasn’t in great shape when we moved in, and suffered ongoing neglect. It was becoming a real problem but I didn’t want to spend money on something we didn’t even use. When chunks of brick started landing in the driveway, we knew it was time to do something.
Meghan came up with the final piece. Our tiny front yard has always been a hassle to care for. Too small to use, hard to mow, and packed with mulch over a foot deep by previous owners. The plot was dominated by two gigantic bushes that were rather healthy but not our style. Meghan realized that hardscaping could be equally beautiful and certainly more useful. We extended the water-permeable masonry across the driveway to catch some of the water, dirt, and sand that tends to accumulate at the far end.
After a couple of false starts, thinking a contractor could handle all aspects, we hired an architect to come up with a real plan. As an aside, I’ll recommend always getting an architect now. Planning, estimating, and permitting took a lot longer than we had hoped but we found some great people to work with.
Come see the results. Click the pictures to see larger versions.
This Halloween is special because a major home-improvement project, which has been more than a year in the making, is almost complete. It will probably be done tomorrow, but it’s close enough to done that we could host trick-or-treaters!
There are two parts:
We decided to have a little fun this year as well, by letting Consuela out for for a breath of fresh air.
The remaining part of the project involves some stone cutting to define the path leading up to the stairs, and adding some curbing along the far side of the driveway.
Above Consuela’s head is a lamp with a deep red bulb. We were going for a spooky look and I think we achieved it. Our younger trick-or-treaters declined the delicious full-sized candy bars. She really creeped them out!
It didn’t help that Beta child hung out on the other side of the window with a small “screamer” that she would set off whenever an older child approached Consuela’s dais.
Megh and I enjoyed a collective life goal tonight: seeing the Aurora Borealis with our own eyes. I’ve wanted to see this for nearly my entire life, ever since I saw the movie Antarctica.
The sun is at a peak of the current solar cycle. A CME was detected the other day, and it’s arrival tonight was predicted by the Space Weather Prediction Center.
Megh, Beta, and I found a dark spot near Rockport, arrived as dusk approached, and waited for the fireworks. Nature did not disappoint.
It started before the sky was completely dark, and initially appeared to be a whitish haze across the northern part of the sky. We started to despair that high clouds were going to interfere, until we realized… the show had actually started.
These photos are color-accurate, but a little brighter than what we actually saw.