"I see that you have made 3 spelling mistakes." Last words of Marquis de Favras after reading his death sentence before being hanged (1790). pic.twitter.com/b4aFy7yyJM
— Klaas Meijer (@klaasm67) September 15, 2017
Never miss the opportunity to make something awesome.
The copy: Why do we malign bugs so? Are we not their Creators? As we crush them, do we not crush a part of ourselves? It was not weakness or failure that allowed them into this world. Nay, it was the light of innovation that we cast into the dark corners that these bugs call home. ’Twas our torches that send those bugs skittering. This update does not contain bug fixes. No! This update contains bug promises. Promises to find them a new home where each may pursue those interests most central to them.
“North, a constant hotbed of agrarian reform, is radical, progressive, upsetting in politics with a habit of electing opinionated men whom sober folk elsewhere often regard as sons of the wild jackass.”
— Jack Schaefer, describing North Dakota in the feature article for Holiday magazine, May 1955.
Last night, I went walking down by the river, looking for Pokémon (It’s exercise!). The sun had set a while before, so things were pretty dark except for the occasional working light in Keelboat Park.
From almost beyond the reach of the light, a man emerged from the parking lot. “Speak Spanish?”
I shook my head and said no.
Approaching me, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, opened an app and spoke into it. The autotranslation was a jumble and he quickly realized it so he tried again with something different.
The translation on the phone said, “look like a woman with a child”.
My first thought was, “Is he calling me fat?”
He was friendly so I dismissed that.
He then pantomimed pushing something at waist height.
Ah! Yes. I had seen a woman pushing a baby stroller down the walking path a few minutes earlier.
I nodded, copied his stroller-pushing movement and pointed the direction I saw her go.
“Five minutes, yes.” as I held up my hand and five fingers, because I’m a dork.
He said thanks and was walking back to his truck when he turned back around and asked, “Short?”
“Yes, short.” as I held up my hand to about my belly, because she was short and I’m a dork.
He said thanks again and headed off. Nice guy.
I’m glad that you don’t have to speak English to be in this country, because otherwise I would have even less of a story to tell.
Also, he made more sense than many of the English-speaking people I know.
Last night, I remembered a book I stumbled upon but never checked out while researching ball lightning for a paper in the University of North Dakota geology library a quarter of a century ago. It didn’t quite belong in a geology library (or in the nonfiction section), but I’m glad it was there.
In the book, the author told of a hitherto undiscovered land where an assortment of fantastic little critters lived who had evolved adaptations a la Galápagos/Darwin. It had wonderful illustrations and seemed to be written in a very serious and scientific manner. That’s all I remembered.
After quite a few futile search stabs with ODIN (the Online Dakota Information Network), I added “satire” to the search and BINGO.
Found and bought a good-looking hardcover on eBay and it’s headed my way.
So… Thanks, brain?
I wasn’t supposed to like her.
I had gone to Central Dakota Humane Society looking for a calico, and there were a few. It was great fun meeting them all.
And then I was told there was one more in quarantine along with a sister and two brothers. They had been abandoned during the night at the shelter.
The calico was Patchie — You know her as Cricket these days. There was a black and white boy with an impressive overbite named Sylvester. There was a tumbly orange fella named Nipper. And lastly, there was an adorable doof with orange and white fur and a single canine tooth named Sophia.
I wasn’t supposed to like her.
As I sat on a chair inside the quarantine, Sophia came right up to me, stood up and put her front feet on my leg to check me out, purred, hopped into my lap and then hopped on my shoulder like a parrot.
And then she hopped into my heart. Continue reading
Behold, the Asshole Lane (AKA the Testy Twat Triangle). It is found at the intersection of Main Avenue and 26th Street in Bismarck, North Dakota.
Its origin was probably one of good intentions, or at least an attempt to correct a mistake, but all that has long been forgotten. Continue reading
Q: Why do Trolls live under bridges?