Mystery solved

“Which of you kids keeps leaving the printer turned on?”

marco printer

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Waiting for the Big One

Wow. This is an excellent read from Kathryn Schulz at The New Yorker. We’ve all grown up knowing to fear the San Andreas Fault, but she explains why that’s nuthin’.

I’m still haunted by images from the Thailand tsunami in 2004 and the devastation in Japan in 2011. Recap the death tolls: 230,000 in Thailand, wholly unprepared for such a disaster and 16,000 in Japan, a place expecting it. The property damage in both places defies description.

It’s a half hour read or so. I suggest you make the time.

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Dear Men on the Internet

There are times you look at something and think, “now, that can’t end well.” And you’re right. Twice in the past week, Men on the Internet (well, that’s where their stories ended up) have strapped fireworks to their body parts and died. Don’t do this. These guys in Greece aren’t much better: they used homemade firecrackers and tried to run them through a battery for extra oomph. They got it. Someone accidentally killed some people while playing beer pong. With a gun. My kids play beer pong. And they sometimes play with fireworks. We’re heading up north next week, and these Men on the Internet have me worried.

Some Men on the Internet are more manly, of course. This gentleman in Texas was simply avenging a friend who went all ‘damn the torpedos’ (he actually said ‘eff that gator’, but I prefer my version) and jumped into a pond with a huge alligator in it. The gator did what any self-respecting thing with big teeth would do if something landed in its mouth: it ate him. His buddy, named Bear (just what his parents had in mind, I’m certain) killed that damned gator to get even. The fact that nobody has been killed by an alligator in Texas since 1836 mattered not a bit. “He had to go,” explained Bear. “That’s what happens when you kill someone.” No, Man on the Internet, that’s what happens when you jump into an 11 foot alligator’s mouth. I’m with the gator on this one.

This one is admittedly more Dear Boys on the Internet, but only just. Two evil little bastards in New Jersey lured some geese (no doubt Canadian) on to the road and ran them over? WTF? How about we let me play a little beer pong with them? Or I know of some alligators no doubt looking for a little revenge.

Dear Men on the Internet: if I politely decline to date you, it doesn’t mean I’m “really bitter” or even that I “seem to have some anger issues”. Well, I suppose actually it could seem that way, but rest assured, I’m simply exercising my right to answer your question with a “no, thank you” and the fact you read a lot more into that doesn’t mean I have issues, it means you do. No link for that one. Actually, those two. And, to be fair, I really think you have to have at least met me before you get to decide if I’m bitter, and to remind me that “men don’t like women like me”. Gotcha.

I have a friend who helpfully sends me ads from her city’s Craigslist. She does this because we share a twisted appreciation for some of the things that Men on the Internet post on the internet. Because they are trying to find true love, they helpfully post pictures of themselves. They think women will find this enticing, or something. Here is what we do: We critique these pictures, but not in the way you think. We aren’t actually debating why you’re standing in your bathroom holding your penis in one hand and your phone in the other (remind me not to borrow a phone from a Man on the Internet); no, we are sizing up your actual bathroom. One friend who is a little decorating-OCDish wants to replace a lot of shower curtains. We often remark that your towels look a little dodgy. Sometimes, it’s just all the clutter. All of which just reminds me that Women on the Internet don’t look at things the same way as Men on the Internet.

I guess the theme I’m sensing is a combination of dumb and/or dangerous, (some) Men on the Internet.

Women will get their own post, obviously.

Oh, and this I just loved:

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The Alfie Sagas

This is Alfie:
alfie tag

This is Alfie’s dinner:
alfie's food

This dog cracks me up.

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Who’s that knocking at my door?

Argh. For the umpteenth time (I’m turning into my mother; it’s official), the Jehovah’s Witness’s (too many apostrophes?) were banging on my front door. This is how it works: I’m sitting at my computer, so I can lean and look towards the door and see who it is without being seen if I’m fast enough. I can then sit down at my computer and they can cool their heels at the door wondering, why, if there are several cars in the driveway and the door is open, is nobody answering their knock? Can everyone be in the bathroom?

They always knock twice, at least. One time, this nosy old bat actually opened my door and yelled yoohoo. OPENED THE DOOR TO MY HOUSE AND STARTED TO COME IN I LOST IT AND YELLED AT HER. Which of course made me seem like I needed saving all the more, I’m sure.

But I’m funny like that; I don’t buy anything I didn’t order at my door, except Girl Guide cookies. I don’t care if you’re ‘working in the neighourhood’, I don’t care if you have a clipboard (and tell me, since when did a clipboard become as official as a cop badge?) and want to sell me furnace crap now that the law has finally snuffed out your ability to sell me natural gas programs. Anyone notice how fast they pivoted on that nonsense?

I’m not sure how serving your religion entitles you to trespass against me. See what I did there? Maybe I need to be fighting fire with fire.

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Alfie’s first visit to the cottage.

He is on the dock. Safety first…
alfei dock

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“A little bag of meal was standard equipment in the tool kit.” – John Steinbeck

Great read, even if you’re not a car freak. But especially if you are.

“I don’t know what I did wrong but what I did was final.”

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It’s official

I’ve run out of hiding spots for the cat food. This is Marco the Brat….I’m considering applying a thin coating of oil to the range hood.
mark brat

I was away for a couple of days with Chrysler, and because it’s easier to drive to Detroit than sit around airports waiting to make a one hour flight, I asked them for something fun. They gave me this:
challenger 2
It has something called a Shaker Scat Pack, which isn’t poop. But it is fast. Very fast. It was indeed fun.

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Hey, Pop

I’m trying to do a Father’s Day thing. It would have been Dad’s 89th today. I can’t write it. I’ll just drop in a rerun….miss you, Pop.

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After a hard day of being a cat

I was working last night. This was my bed at midnight, five minutes after I got in.
But, you wonder, isn’t there one missing?
kitties plus jojo

JoJo don’t play those reindeer games.

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