I think it would be more evident that he was running away if I had any semblance of a horizon.
This has been another episode of Minimalist Anorex[st]ics.
Ciao for now!
I think it would be more evident that he was running away if I had any semblance of a horizon.
This has been another episode of Minimalist Anorex[st]ics.
Ciao for now!
Hm. Haven’t seen that character for a while.
Great- the cut-off point on the comic file makes Stickman-on-the-ground’s legs look very short in the last panel. [sigh]
Ciao for now!
by the Night Writer
What’s a little regurgitation on St. Patrick’s Day? Here’s a favorite piece describing the adventures – and misadventures – of my first St. Patrick’s Day in college.
I don’t think there will ever be a St. Patrick’s Day when I don’t think about my first semester of college when I enrolled in the Spring term at the University of Missouri-Rolla campus. UMR is mainly an engineering college but it was close to where I lived at the time and a convenient way for me to knock out some general liberal arts credits before transferring to the main Mizzou campus in Columbia.
St. Patrick’s “Day” was actually a 10-day party at UMR. The campus was about 90% male then, almost all in grueling engineering classes that seemed to require binge drinking in order to cope. The reason St. Pat is such a big deal at UMR is because he is deemed to be the patron saint of engineers for having driven the snakes from Ireland and thereby creating the first worm drive (engineering humor). The rites and festivities of the season were under the auspices of the St. Pat’s Board: upper-classmen (some I think were in their 30s) elected by their fraternities, eating clubs and campus organizations. For most of the year their duties seemed to be based around regular “meetings” marked by drinking and carousing. Come March, however, they were especially prominent in their filthy green coats (part of their semi-secret initiation rites) as they enforced the rules and protocols of the holiday (for those familiar with the St. Paul Winter Carnival – especially in the older days – think green Vulcans).
Part of the tradition was that all freshmen males were to have beards in the week or so leading up to St. Pat’s, and were to carry shillelaghs (an Irish cudgel). Most people think of shillelaghs as being a bit like walking sticks, but at UMR there were specific requirements: the shillelagh had to be at least two-thirds the height of the student and at least one-third his weight, and it had to be cut from a whole tree with at least some of the roots showing. The punishment for being caught beardless by a Board Member (and they usually traveled in packs of two or more) was to have your face painted green. The penalty for being without your shillelagh was to be thrown into Frisco Pond. Frisco Pond was actually the town’s sewage lagoon, but was called Frisco Pond because the St. Pat’s Board of 1927 rerouted the Frisco railroad into the pond after one of their meetings. I’m sure it seemed like a good idea to them at the time.
Fortunately I was able to cultivate my first beard, red and wispy as it was, and I cut myself a suitable cudgel. Carrying books and a shillelagh of the stated dimensions was a challenge, and even more so when certain professors wouldn’t allow them into class, meaning they had to be stacked in the hallways and guarded because Board members liked nothing better than to snatch unattended shillelaghs and then wait for their rightful owners to appear — followed by a honking procession to Frisco Pond. (I did mention the campus was 90% male and fueled by alcohol, right? During St. Pat’s week the campus looked like No Name City from “Paint Your Wagon.”)
The reason we carried cudgels was in case a Board member approached you with a rubber snake and demanded that you “kill” it. This generally meant pounding on the snake with your cudgel until the Board member (not you) got tired. I weighed about 170 then; you do the math as to what my shillelagh weighed, minimum. I was fortunate to go largely unnoticed (as unnoticed as a guy carrying a tree can be) through most of this period. This was especially remarkable given that one of my friends from my hometown was on the Board. Toward the end of the week, however, he came up to me in the dining hall. “Red,” (for my beard) he said, “I think I see a snake.” With chants of “snake! snake! snake!” I was led outside and my “friend” tossed said snake on the ground. It landed, however, in a flower bed. “Freshman! Kill!” was the command. Hoisting my club over my head (and somehow not tipping over backwards) I brought it crashing down onto the hapless rubber creature — and even more hapless plants in the soft earth.
“Hit it again, it’s not dead,” was the order. I looked down once, then again. “Oh, it’s dead, alright,” I said. Actually, it would be more accurate to say, “Missing, presumed dead” because the rubber snake was nowhere to be found in the newly-created crater. Rather than wait around for CSI, or the gardener, the small group repaired to the dining hall to toast the success of the mission and I survived the week, the highlight of which was the St. Pat’s Parade.
In those days the St. Pat’s Board would be out early in the morning with mops and barrels of green paint, painting Pine Street in advance of the parade. High school bands from around the area would march, car dealers would drive demo models with pretty girls in them and various and sundry other parade standards would be present. In particular, however, I remember the Precision Pony Team: a group of students scooting along on empty pony kegs strapped to skateboards with rudimentary heads and yarn tails attached to the kegs. They wove patterns and formations down the street, stopping periodically to lift the tails of their “mounts” and drop handfuls of malted milk balls.
Much like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, the event culminated in St. Pat (not St. Nick) appearing on the route, riding a manure spreader and attended by his Guard. The duties of the Guard were largely to keep St. Pat vertical (he’d probably been drinking for four days straight) and to bring any fetching lasses from the crowd to St. Pat for a good luck kiss. (I did say the campus was 90% male and fueled by alcohol, didn’t I?).
After this particular St. Patrick’s Day all the other ones I’ve experienced have just kind of faded from my memory.
Note: the annual UMR St. Pat’s parade and related festivities still go on, but in a much more muted manner. A couple of alchohol-poisoning deaths were a factor (sad and true) to be sure, but I also think it was because some of those Board members finally graduated.
Okay, so I’ve been playing Oblivion: The Elder Scrolls IV. I like it, Dad thinks there’s not enough challenging action (I usually play on Casual difficulty, because I’m a sissy I don’t want to get frustrated).
One of the things about it is when you’re waiting for someone to show up, you can practice your magic/swordsman/whatever skills. I usually make my character do jumping jacks. Every time I jump boosts my experience in agility a little bit, until BAM! I reach the next level of agility.
And you thought I had no time management skills.
Ciao for now!
by the Night Writer
I noticed one of those ads next to an on-line article I was reading this morning. No, not one of those talking about Obama wanting mothers to go back to school or terrorists to go back to Guantanamo or whatever is being promoted this week. This ad appeared to speak directly to a significant issue: The Five Dumbest Things You Can Do if You Have Too Much Debt.
A better title, though, may have been “Obama doesn’t want you to read this.”
Following the link, I discovered that the ad really did list the five things you shouldn’t do, rather than just starting you on a trail of multiple clicks to suck you into a scam. Reading them I thought the advice was as relevant to a country as they are to a family. Here’s the list, with my observations:
The five strategies you may want to avoid:
The first piece of advice from experts in the financial field is to be sure you don’t make your situation worse by making common mistakes. In particular, try to avoid:
1. Paying only the minimum payment on your debt, as this will result in the amount you owe actually growing, and your problems will only become worse.
This is especially true if you only pay the minimum on your existing debt and continue to take on new debt at the same time.
2. Relying on friends and family, as this can damage relationships with the most important people in your life.
Do we consider China a friend? Can we count future generations as “friends and family”?
3. Unscrupulous credit counselors that demand cash upfront or high fees for help they promise, but don’t deliver.
Ben Bernanke, I’m looking at you.
4. Using new, high-interest loans to pay off lower interest rate loans. While it may be easier to just have one payment, it will actually increase the amount you have to pay back.
Isn’t this what Quantitative Easing is all about?
5. Declaring bankruptcy–this can have permanent and severe consequences on your financial future. Avoid it if you can, especially when debt settlement may work for you.
Declaring bankruptcy is a good thing to avoid. But what if other countries declare it for you by removing the U.S. dollar as the reserve currency?
As it turns out, the advertisement wasn’t completely altruistic. It eventually made a pitch for working with a Debt Settlement company to develop and execute a plan to get your finances back in order. Unfortunately, you can’t hire a debt settlement group for an entire country.
You can, however, elect them.
I don’t get it . I thought everyone liked being interrupted?
Kidding aside, it irks me when I’m halfway through a sentence and somebody who was standing there just randomly barges in with a completely different topic. RAGE
Ciao for now.
by the Night Writer
Janet Napolitano is claiming that because the airlines have started charging bag fees, air travelers are carrying on more baggage, which is somehow costing the TSA extra money; so much so that she thinks her agency needs another $600 million or so. While inspecting more bags may take time away from the TSA’s preferred activities of ogling naked scans and crotch-groping, it isn’t clear to me how the carry-on situation is increasing the TSA’s costs.
1. Passengers are still limited, typcially, to one carry-on or one carry-on and a “personal item”. They are not suddenly bringing extra bags.
2. These bags may be more densely packed but there are still size limitations; there really is only so much you can jam in there.
3. Are the TSA agents charging by the bag, or are they paid hourly? If you work a shift aren’t you paid the same whether you check one bag or 100?
Methinks this is rent-seeking, pure and simple. I know, it’s hard to believe a government agency could do such a thing, but so far Frau Napolitano’s argument simply doesn’t scan.
I also had the opportunity to take a couple of flights this past week. Returning via Phoenix Sky Harbor airport, I shuffled through a narrow corridor to the x-ray machines at Security. A couple of guys about my age were in front of me and one asked the other if he knew whether this airport had the body scanners. The other guy didn’t, but asked his companion if he’d go through one or not. The first guy didn’t know.
I interjected, “I’m not going to go through a body scanner. The government can treat me like a criminal, but I’m not going to let them treat me like a guinea pig.” When the guys looked at me a little askance, I said “There’s no way they’ve had enough time to actually test out the health affects of those machines.”
“They’re supposed to be safe to use,” one of the guys said, a bit nervously.
“That’s what they said about Thalidomide, too,” I replied.
We shuffled on. There were no body scanners waiting at the end of the chute.
by the Night Writer
Pakastani Minister of Minority Affairs Shahbazz Bhatti was assassinated this week by radical Islamists over his opposition to the blasphemy laws. It was the second assassination in two months of a leading opponent of the blasphemy laws.
A Catholic, Bhatti’s life had been threatened many times since he accepted his office in 2008. He was undaunted in the face of these threats, honoring his faith and openly citing his desire to live up to the example of Jesus Christ. “Jesus is the nucleus of my life,” Bhatti said in 2008, after accepting the Minority Affairs portfolio, “and I want to be his true follower through my actions by sharing the love of God with poor, oppressed, victimized, needy and suffering people of Pakistan.”
In an interview with the freedom of expression group First Step Forum four months ago (and broadcast here, I believe, by Al Jazeera), he spoke of the ultimate sacrifice Jesus Christ made for the oppressed and that he understood “the meaning of the cross.” He vowed not to give in to the “dark forces” of extremism and said he was ready to lay down his own life for the sake of his fellow Christians and all other oppressed minorities in Pakistan.
Naturally, he was too dangerous to be allowed to live.
Inspired by the hotel shampoo supplies. What does ‘Clarifying Shampoo’ even mean? They had some clarifying conditioner, too.
Also, stick figures are harder to manipulate than you think.
Ciao for now!
First day in Arizona didn’t go so well. In retrospect, I probably should have been a bit more cautious when they told me it was, ‘all natural’.
Ciao for now!