Category: Space

One thing and another

Yesterday… I mean apart from getting ZERO done on my life list, I had something resembling a perfect day.  I got to see my kids and Paul as we chatted about the job hunt for the kids (got some things straight). I got fed a yummy tortilla lunch which Paul and Keith and Katie assembled; later I did a kindness for someone which triggered him buying me sufficiency of beer for the nonce.  Happiness is a fridge full of Corona.

I got to visit with Tre.  Logos, but that’s one cute babby.  Battery and Tanya and Jeff and I laughed and chatted and had a very pleasant time while I got the grisly details of the birth, none of which are for public consumption.  The result, a calm but busy 6 week old who developmentally is a month ahead (REALLY strong), is what counts.

Margot couldn’t stand the lack of focus on her, and came into the livingroom to (very ladylike) hork up some grass, because the babby was being changed at the same time…

The weather, after a little overcast, was perfect all day.

Then, hung out for a while not doing much of anything and Mike came by and took me and Keith and Jeff to the Richmond Night Market, where I bought nothing but REALLY GOOD kettle corn, and where I watched my beautiful son metamorphose into a steely eyed killer (there was a mini-midway, and he shot enough pins to get me a little purple bear (not exactly worth the five bucks he paid to play…. but I digress as usual and besides, Miss Margot is eviscerating it as I type, so its purpose has been revealed)) and after we drove away Mike took us to his cefu’s traditional chinese martial arts club (Mike corrected me, Jack is NOT his cefu, Galen is.  Men can be so STERN when you get things wrong) in an industrial park in Richmond (and boy, has he done a pile of work on that place to help Jack get ready) and then I got to watch the north shore skyline etched against a sunset sky while the wind whipped through my hair.  Ah, convertibles. And I cried a little bit, because I am so happy, and so grateful to be living here, surrounded by such loving friends and family. Side note, John Caspell trained with Jack.  Everything is deeply intertwingled.

When we got home, TrueBlood.  Not enough Eric; no Pam, not enough Jessica.  But considering what the first four episodes of the season were like, I am willing to cut some slack.

Can you tell I had a perfect day?

And today, instead of working, I’m going with daughter Katie and Mike to the beach.  My happiness is like a golden thread.

I would like to give special, extra, crunchy golden props to Jeff, who has been leaving the real for real audio of the Apollo 11 mission running for the last couple of days during waking hours.  It’s been an ongoing reminder of why I’m an atheist.

Until we saw the Earth rise over the moon, I don’t think the fundamental unity of human life, and its fragility, had ever been so starkly drawn.  And it wasn’t the Pope or Mohammad, peace be upon him, what got us there.

I must filk it.

These are the times that try men’s souls. In the course of our galaxy’s history, the people of the Milky Way have rallied bravely whenever the rights of homo sap have been threatened. Today, a new crisis has arisen. The Milky Way Transit Authority, better known as the M.T.A., is attempting to levy a burdensome tax on the population in the form of a far increase. Citizens, hear me out! This could happen to you!

(Eight bar guitar, banjo introduction)

Well, let me tell you of the story of a man named Charley
on a tragic and fateful day.

He put ten g-notes in his pocket, kissed his wife and family,
went to ride on the M.T.A.

Chorus:
Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and
his fate is still unknown.
(What a pity! Poor ole Charlie. Shame and scandal.
He may ride forever. Just like Paul Revere.)
He may ride forever in those graffiti spattered rockets.
He’s the man who never returned.

Charlie handed in his gnotes at the Galactic Center Station
and he changed for Sag A Rocket.
When he got there the conductor told him, “Five more gnotes.”
Charlie couldn’t find any in his pocket.
(Chorus)
Now, all night long Charlie rides through the station,
crying, “What will become of me?!!
How can I afford to see my sister in Nu Aquilae
or my cousin in P Cygni?”
(Chorus)
Charlie’s wife goes down to the Galactic Center Station
every day at quarter past two,
And down the disk accretion she hands Charlie a sandwich
as the rocket comes rumblin’ through.
(Chorus)
Now, you galactic citizens, don’t you think it’s a scandal
how the people have to pay and pay?
Fight the fare increase! Vote for Creede Lambard!
Get poor Charlie off the M. T. A.
(Chorus)
He’s the man who never returned.
He’s the man who never returned.
Ain’t you Charlie?

Lots of links

Biggest space disaster. Dr. Filk told me about this some years ago.

Gahan Wilson explains it all for you. The SF movie plot generator.

Oh look, a rat playing banjo…. and standup bass.

Once upon a time I made up a character named Pockets.  She was an alien and she carried everything she needed.  Now, there’s Eric le Fou.

Fellow Performers!  How to craft a good set list.

D’oh, a deer.

You will notice my mother’s blog is now on the blogroll.

Gerald dear, when are you going to start blogging????

And then my head exploded

SINCE I don’t know which of the two links I posted originally to this time stamp was a problem I’m taking them both down.

The first link was to an article by Marcus Chown – who, when I follow his google trail sounds like He Do the Science in Different Voices. If you google Marcus Chown Holographic, you will find the article.

Essentially, there is now a small amount of experimental support for the notion that everything we are, see, etc, is a holographic projection.  Where string theory and quasars fits in with this I have no idea.  I am just a meat machine, and my thinky thoughts sometimes are not well parsed.

Another glorious day at work

Jarmo’s on my team, Jarmo’s on my team, Jarmo’s on my team!!!!!!

I talked to Mike today, he’s doing better.

LTGW and Francis went swimming at lunch at the aquatic center at the university.  The thought of LTGW in swimming trunks kept a happy smile on my face most of the afternoon.

Robof9 wrote one of the most humane pieces of business communication I have ever seen, not to me, but gosh it was good.   I heart Robof9.

On the basis that I wouldn’t want to hear it read back to me in court – a sore point with me and Patricia these days, although not because we’re having problems with each other – I deleted this first line.  I may say Patricia’s a happy woman these days, and she’s taking her boyfriend (long, long, long, and wonderful and not bloggable story) – to Carmen.

Tanya booked her 3D ultrasound, which of course I didn’t have access to back in the Mesozoic, when I was progenizing.  Gosh, it was a long time ago, and it gets longer ago all the bloody time!  It is good to experience the wonders of birth anew vicariously through Tanya.  PS, her sister in law accused her of STALKING HER.  When Tanya was at home in bed.  Asleep.  This is not good for the baby in waiting, and if the first thing that baby does the first time it’s in the same room as the SIL is vomit and spray feces like Eta Carinae spews light, it’ll be better than the SIL deserves.  Oh, I’m so hoping Tanya’s eating when she reads this and sprays partly chewed Cheerios on her laptop as she’s lying in bed.  Hugs to Battery.

Daxus got the ring Katie got him out of pawn.  Seriously, I’m not crazy about the priorities, but it makes an incredible difference to Katie… huge in fact.  If she’s happy bla bla bla.  Jeff just scowled when I told him; he’s not the only one who feels like that.

We watched a documentary about the Hubble, thus the Eta Carinae reference earlier.

And I’m happy.  I’m really quite unreasonably, and unseasonably, happy.  I don’t understand how I can be so blah one day and so in a happy groove the next.  Earlier this week I felt like scrap, and I feel good now….This despite the fact that my company’s landlord and the university ARE TRYING TO KILL ME EVERY SINGLE MORNING by not putting salt and sand down.  There was a skin of ice on the stairs and the walkway this morning that nearly sent me on my ass and definitely wiped out some others.  What’s with these people?  Don’t they know that people who try to kill me don’t get biscotti?

Was it the ice cream?  Mayan Chocolate ice cream is very good.  That’s enough to keep you happy for a minute.

all gone

I wrote a post and it vanished.  That always makes me mad.  I went back through my pages hit on and found this: Please Vote!

And Mars Mission news.

I have a coworker who is addicted to lip balm. He jokes about it.

I am at a super low ebb.  Everything takes a million years; I feel like I can scarcely move.  Fortunately, I have to get up and go to work, otherwise I’d just lie here and moan quietly.  Knowing this state of mind is entirely temporary is useful; I once believed that if I felt bad I’d feel bad forever, and now I know I’ll feel lousy for a while and then it will go away.  Also, I can think of at least three things, off the top of my head, that would make me feel better.  Obama winning, lunch at the Himalaya and seeing some critters.

I just managed four weeks without a single cigarette, not so much as a drag.  That’s the longest I’ve gone in probably 10 years. Unca Dave getting sick was the wakeup call I needed.

Since it takes a month to make a new habit, I’m now contemplating the next peak to conquer.  Hopefully I won’t need oxygen and a Sherpa.

Oh wait, banjo music!