Come On In, The Water's Fine
Hello World,
And so here we find ourselves, already past the Fourth of July, and what have we got to show for it, I ask you that? Of course, it was nice to have a day off on Tuesday for the holiday, and I was also off on Friday, so it turned out to be a really short week at work for me. Tuesday seemed like a nice enough day for flying the flags, as I usually do, but in a peculiar repeat of what happened on June 14th, around dinner-time I had to dash outside and bring them in all of a sudden and just before the rain came out of nowhere. Then there were fireworks at a nearby park, and although they do this every year, this time it seemed like the house was going to blow apart from the noise, and the cats certainly didn't think much of the idea either, I can tell you that. Fortunately, it wasn't a very long program, but it really got our attention, and then some. And although I've never seriously considered embarking on a life of crime, it always makes me wonder that more cars aren't stolen at times like that, because the noise of the fireworks makes all the car alarms go off at once, and no one pays any attention to them, so it would be a perfect opportunity to break into them with impunity, since the alarm function has already failed in its efforts to raise any alarms for the vehicle's protection. In fact, it happens so routinely and on a wide scale, that you could have your pick of whatever vehicle you like, out of the dozens that all have their alarms screaming at the same time, and none of the owners come running to defend their prized possessions from harm. Far from being a deterrent, I would refer to that as a fireworks-induced theft attractant device, and I can't say that would have much to recommend it, not by a long shot.
Anybody who knows me can tell you that I'm the soul of patience, and as easy-going as the next fellow. Oh, all right, I admit that no one would tell you that, they're more likely to say that I'm a big fat finicky fuss-pot face and obsessive compulsive control freak. But be that as it may, as much as I try to maintain a "live and let live" spirit of good will in our yard with the local wildlife and native habitat, there comes a time when I simply have to draw the line. I don't mind saying that I went to a lot of trouble to set up our decorative fountain parts, without the pump, to serve as a rather elaborate bird bath. Not to mention, spent a fortune over the years on bird bath heaters, some of which didn't even make it through one winter in working condition, much less living up to their claims of providing many years of trouble-free performance. In fact, I believe that it was as a direct result of the bird bath heaters not working reliably, that caused the center support bracket for the fountain to crack, from the pressure of the water freezing around it, which would not have happened if the heater had been functioning correctly. So you can imagine my chagrin, or perhaps outrage is not too strong a word, when I noticed last week that I now have invasive weeds actually growing in the bird bath, through the cracks in the support bracket, no thank you very much. I tried to pull them out, but they're stuck in there like a son of a gun, and by all indications, the bird bath life seems to agree with them to a wildly satisfactory degree. Well, satisfactory to them anyway, but as for me, I'm just plain disgusted with them and I have no patience with this sort of unprincipled, free-loading botanical interloper in our midst. Or, in the immortal words of Bugs Bunny, "Of course, you realize this means war!"
Earlier in the week, when we were watching the Mets hosting the hapless Pirates (who turned out to be not quite as hapless as we would have preferred, in fact, they showed plenty of hap in that first game of the series) one of the announcers, Ron Darling, made the point that the coaches were teaching Jose Reyes those instincts that he would need to become a better shortstop for the team. I'm afraid I've got some bad news for Ron Darling, and that is that instincts, by their very definition, are innate and occur naturally without being taught. Having a "learned instinct" is an oxymoron along the lines of a new antique, square circle or honest politician. (Oh, hit that easy target!) So the Mets coaches can go ahead and teach Reyes whatever they please, but then you can't turn around and call it "instinctive" after that.
Meanwhile, Bill has this to share, from some people who ought to know better --
===================================
I just thought you'd like this. The Harris Polls people send me opportunities to take online surveys and I got one just now. The headers read:
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~
Subject:Give us your opinions on commercial contruction decisions! Date: 5/2/2006 3:19:52 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time From: HarrisPoll@hpolsurveys.com Reply To: To: WDDT@AOL.COM Well, obviously someone with a spellchecker must have seen that and made Tsk Tsk noises because the body copy has the revised spelling of "construction":
What's this survey about?In this survey, we're interested in getting your viewsand opinions on various topics related to commercial construciondecisions.
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~
Good to know that a big place like Harris Polls prides itself on its accuracy!
===================================
It's times like this that I wonder if people haven't out-sourced their computer's spell-checking function, not just to some foreign country where the workers don't speak English, but instead to someone like Zorchan from the Planet Remulak in some far away galaxy. I mean, this really isn't rocket science, and we all know how I worry when things like this start to make perfect sense to me.
Everyone knows that if July 4th has come and gone, then my vacation can't be far behind, and they'd be right on the money. Tomorrow, Bill and I will be heading out to Vacation-Land, and anyone who has any pull in this area, I'd appreciate your using your influence to assure good weather during the week while I'm camping. No one will be hearing from me next week, as I will be blissfully in the low-tech environs of trees, sandy beaches and furry woodland creatures in abundance. And I happen to know, from watching other people who bring their technologically advanced gadgets and gizmos with them, that Wildwood Park is one of those places where you can't get a signal for anything that you want to use anyway, so trying to stay connected out there is more an exercise in futility than anything else. As for me, I'm really looking forward to some much needed down-time, and I plan to spend my days at the beach studying the inside of my eyelids, and at night, practicing the fine art of gazing into a well-crafted campfire. Of course, if all that gets to be too much work, I might just "veg out" instead, because after all, if the unprincipled free-loading botanical interlopers can do it, why not me?
And so here we find ourselves, already past the Fourth of July, and what have we got to show for it, I ask you that? Of course, it was nice to have a day off on Tuesday for the holiday, and I was also off on Friday, so it turned out to be a really short week at work for me. Tuesday seemed like a nice enough day for flying the flags, as I usually do, but in a peculiar repeat of what happened on June 14th, around dinner-time I had to dash outside and bring them in all of a sudden and just before the rain came out of nowhere. Then there were fireworks at a nearby park, and although they do this every year, this time it seemed like the house was going to blow apart from the noise, and the cats certainly didn't think much of the idea either, I can tell you that. Fortunately, it wasn't a very long program, but it really got our attention, and then some. And although I've never seriously considered embarking on a life of crime, it always makes me wonder that more cars aren't stolen at times like that, because the noise of the fireworks makes all the car alarms go off at once, and no one pays any attention to them, so it would be a perfect opportunity to break into them with impunity, since the alarm function has already failed in its efforts to raise any alarms for the vehicle's protection. In fact, it happens so routinely and on a wide scale, that you could have your pick of whatever vehicle you like, out of the dozens that all have their alarms screaming at the same time, and none of the owners come running to defend their prized possessions from harm. Far from being a deterrent, I would refer to that as a fireworks-induced theft attractant device, and I can't say that would have much to recommend it, not by a long shot.
Anybody who knows me can tell you that I'm the soul of patience, and as easy-going as the next fellow. Oh, all right, I admit that no one would tell you that, they're more likely to say that I'm a big fat finicky fuss-pot face and obsessive compulsive control freak. But be that as it may, as much as I try to maintain a "live and let live" spirit of good will in our yard with the local wildlife and native habitat, there comes a time when I simply have to draw the line. I don't mind saying that I went to a lot of trouble to set up our decorative fountain parts, without the pump, to serve as a rather elaborate bird bath. Not to mention, spent a fortune over the years on bird bath heaters, some of which didn't even make it through one winter in working condition, much less living up to their claims of providing many years of trouble-free performance. In fact, I believe that it was as a direct result of the bird bath heaters not working reliably, that caused the center support bracket for the fountain to crack, from the pressure of the water freezing around it, which would not have happened if the heater had been functioning correctly. So you can imagine my chagrin, or perhaps outrage is not too strong a word, when I noticed last week that I now have invasive weeds actually growing in the bird bath, through the cracks in the support bracket, no thank you very much. I tried to pull them out, but they're stuck in there like a son of a gun, and by all indications, the bird bath life seems to agree with them to a wildly satisfactory degree. Well, satisfactory to them anyway, but as for me, I'm just plain disgusted with them and I have no patience with this sort of unprincipled, free-loading botanical interloper in our midst. Or, in the immortal words of Bugs Bunny, "Of course, you realize this means war!"
Earlier in the week, when we were watching the Mets hosting the hapless Pirates (who turned out to be not quite as hapless as we would have preferred, in fact, they showed plenty of hap in that first game of the series) one of the announcers, Ron Darling, made the point that the coaches were teaching Jose Reyes those instincts that he would need to become a better shortstop for the team. I'm afraid I've got some bad news for Ron Darling, and that is that instincts, by their very definition, are innate and occur naturally without being taught. Having a "learned instinct" is an oxymoron along the lines of a new antique, square circle or honest politician. (Oh, hit that easy target!) So the Mets coaches can go ahead and teach Reyes whatever they please, but then you can't turn around and call it "instinctive" after that.
Meanwhile, Bill has this to share, from some people who ought to know better --
===================================
I just thought you'd like this. The Harris Polls people send me opportunities to take online surveys and I got one just now. The headers read:
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~
Subject:Give us your opinions on commercial contruction decisions! Date: 5/2/2006 3:19:52 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time From: HarrisPoll@hpolsurveys.com Reply To: To: WDDT@AOL.COM Well, obviously someone with a spellchecker must have seen that and made Tsk Tsk noises because the body copy has the revised spelling of "construction":
What's this survey about?In this survey, we're interested in getting your viewsand opinions on various topics related to commercial construciondecisions.
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~
Good to know that a big place like Harris Polls prides itself on its accuracy!
===================================
It's times like this that I wonder if people haven't out-sourced their computer's spell-checking function, not just to some foreign country where the workers don't speak English, but instead to someone like Zorchan from the Planet Remulak in some far away galaxy. I mean, this really isn't rocket science, and we all know how I worry when things like this start to make perfect sense to me.
Everyone knows that if July 4th has come and gone, then my vacation can't be far behind, and they'd be right on the money. Tomorrow, Bill and I will be heading out to Vacation-Land, and anyone who has any pull in this area, I'd appreciate your using your influence to assure good weather during the week while I'm camping. No one will be hearing from me next week, as I will be blissfully in the low-tech environs of trees, sandy beaches and furry woodland creatures in abundance. And I happen to know, from watching other people who bring their technologically advanced gadgets and gizmos with them, that Wildwood Park is one of those places where you can't get a signal for anything that you want to use anyway, so trying to stay connected out there is more an exercise in futility than anything else. As for me, I'm really looking forward to some much needed down-time, and I plan to spend my days at the beach studying the inside of my eyelids, and at night, practicing the fine art of gazing into a well-crafted campfire. Of course, if all that gets to be too much work, I might just "veg out" instead, because after all, if the unprincipled free-loading botanical interlopers can do it, why not me?
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 8:42 PM
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