1) The new accounting assistant goes by "Stacy," but her full name is "Athanasia." Avoid, avoid, avoid making jokes about the Arian heresy until I get to know her better.
2) Yesterday, several of us were eating our lunches together in the conference room while watching Arrested Development on Hulu. Professor D. walked in just as Jeffrey Tambor's character said, "The doctor said there were claw marks on the inside of her womb!" referring to the reluctant entry of Tony Hale's character into the world. Awkward.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Angry eagle taxes
This one's for Cousin Nancy:
Mr. Angry Eagle wants to do your taxes.
In this case, "angry eagle taxes" refers to tax preparation by an angry eagle, not taxation of angry eagles. I'm not aware of any state or federal taxes on disgruntled raptors. If there were, I imagine somebody would organize a mass bird-drowning in Boston Harbor, and that just doesn't seem right.
Seen in Shawano, Wisconsin. Sadly, the sign is not visible in Street View. You'll just have to trust me.
Mr. Angry Eagle wants to do your taxes.
In this case, "angry eagle taxes" refers to tax preparation by an angry eagle, not taxation of angry eagles. I'm not aware of any state or federal taxes on disgruntled raptors. If there were, I imagine somebody would organize a mass bird-drowning in Boston Harbor, and that just doesn't seem right.
Seen in Shawano, Wisconsin. Sadly, the sign is not visible in Street View. You'll just have to trust me.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Lake Superior catnip
Work recently took me to the twin cities of Hurley and Ironwood, in Wisconsin and upper Michigan, respectively. We finished the job in the allotted time (important because we depended on the others' equipment for a substantial part of the job), so to celebrate, we ate an enormous dinner and drove a few miles north to a beach on Lake Superior. One member of the team suggested it would be fun to build a fire on the beach, and thanks to the availability of driftwood and partially burned logs from previous visitors' fires - and my new Estwing Long-Handled Camper's Axe (best purchase ever) - we soon had a cheery blaze. It was that fire that led to our meeting Jay.
As the fire crackled under twilight skies, a young man approached us and said, "Hi there, mind if I utilize your fire?" as he produced a can of Bush's Baked Beans from his bag. I wasn't sure what he meant by "utilize" our fire, but we assented and invited him to sit. After all, anyone who carries baked beans with him couldn't be all bad.
The bean-bearer, who identified himself as Jay, announced that he had just pedaled ninety miles from Tomahawk, Wisconsin to the beach we now shared, and that he was on a journey around the Great Lakes with no destination in mind. His journey had begun somewhere in Tennessee, and he had been wandering northward, alternately working as a farmhand and traveling by bus, train, or bummed rides. The bicycle, he said, was a "recent acquisition."
As the beans warmed, Jay sat down and took out some smoking materials and rolling papers. Before I realized what he was doing, he preemptively assured me, "It's not what you think - I mean, it's not the herb that you think it is." He lit the rolled product from our fire and continued: "It's not weed. It's, um...catnip. Yeah. It gives you a real mild buzz."
That's right - catnip. I chucked and said, "Well, it seems to work on cats," but he quickly corrected me, pointing out that "cats take it in a different way." Indeed. He offered the catnip joint to anyone who wanted to experience it. He seemed slightly disappointed that there were no takers. One of our group asked if smoking-grade catnip tastes like cat-grade 'nip smells. The answer was a definitive "no," without any elaboration.
By this time, the sun had set and the beans were out of the fire and the can cool enough to hold. Jay grabbed his beans, thanked us for the use of the fire, and disappeared into the darkness with his catnip stogie.
Happy trails, Jay. May no one harsh your mellow.
As the fire crackled under twilight skies, a young man approached us and said, "Hi there, mind if I utilize your fire?" as he produced a can of Bush's Baked Beans from his bag. I wasn't sure what he meant by "utilize" our fire, but we assented and invited him to sit. After all, anyone who carries baked beans with him couldn't be all bad.
The bean-bearer, who identified himself as Jay, announced that he had just pedaled ninety miles from Tomahawk, Wisconsin to the beach we now shared, and that he was on a journey around the Great Lakes with no destination in mind. His journey had begun somewhere in Tennessee, and he had been wandering northward, alternately working as a farmhand and traveling by bus, train, or bummed rides. The bicycle, he said, was a "recent acquisition."
As the beans warmed, Jay sat down and took out some smoking materials and rolling papers. Before I realized what he was doing, he preemptively assured me, "It's not what you think - I mean, it's not the herb that you think it is." He lit the rolled product from our fire and continued: "It's not weed. It's, um...catnip. Yeah. It gives you a real mild buzz."
That's right - catnip. I chucked and said, "Well, it seems to work on cats," but he quickly corrected me, pointing out that "cats take it in a different way." Indeed. He offered the catnip joint to anyone who wanted to experience it. He seemed slightly disappointed that there were no takers. One of our group asked if smoking-grade catnip tastes like cat-grade 'nip smells. The answer was a definitive "no," without any elaboration.
By this time, the sun had set and the beans were out of the fire and the can cool enough to hold. Jay grabbed his beans, thanked us for the use of the fire, and disappeared into the darkness with his catnip stogie.
Happy trails, Jay. May no one harsh your mellow.
Friday, July 17, 2009
World's largest badger statue
On US Highway 45, just north of Birnamwood, Wisconsin, there lies a force of unspeakable power.
That's right - the world's largest badger statue. Look upon my unblinking mustelid zombie eyes, ye mighty, and despair!
I first chanced upon this beast last June while driving through western Shawano County in a driving afternoon rainstorm. Due to the weather and the threat of being run down by a speeding log truck, I didn't stop to take a picture.
Ok, that was a lie: I didn't stop because I was afraid it would eat me.
This time, I was emotionally prepared and blessed with favorable weather. I also did my homework: according to the writeup at RoadsideAmerica.com, the statue was constructed by the owner of the Badgerland Gas Station which previously occupied the site. In its glory days, the badger was 40 feet tall. Now, the Badgerland Gas Station has become the Northern Exposure strip club, and the badger's body is gone, leaving only disembodied head and menacing claws lording over the signs promoting exotic dancers and a "full liquor bar."
Coordinates: 44.99043°N, 89.20450°W (WGS84)
View Larger Map
That's right - the world's largest badger statue. Look upon my unblinking mustelid zombie eyes, ye mighty, and despair!I first chanced upon this beast last June while driving through western Shawano County in a driving afternoon rainstorm. Due to the weather and the threat of being run down by a speeding log truck, I didn't stop to take a picture.
Ok, that was a lie: I didn't stop because I was afraid it would eat me.
This time, I was emotionally prepared and blessed with favorable weather. I also did my homework: according to the writeup at RoadsideAmerica.com, the statue was constructed by the owner of the Badgerland Gas Station which previously occupied the site. In its glory days, the badger was 40 feet tall. Now, the Badgerland Gas Station has become the Northern Exposure strip club, and the badger's body is gone, leaving only disembodied head and menacing claws lording over the signs promoting exotic dancers and a "full liquor bar."
Coordinates: 44.99043°N, 89.20450°W (WGS84)
View Larger Map
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Advice from Kenny Rogers
You probably know these lyrics to the well-loved Kenny Rogers song, "The Gambler":
Humbled! And by the Internet, no less! Bah.
And the night got deathly quiet,This is a lesson in the importance of proper use of commas. Without the comma after "game," the listener might think that The Gambler was admonishing the narrator (and, by extension, us) to train himself in the proper use of Nintendo's vintage-1989 handheld game console. That is,
And his face lost all expression.
Said, if you're gonna play the game, boy,
You gotta learn to play it right.
...if you're gonna play the Game Boy,I thought I'd be clever and cobble together a picture of Kenny Rogers playing Tetris, but a quick search revealed no fewer than five pages already dedicated to this line.
You gotta learn to play it right.
Humbled! And by the Internet, no less! Bah.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Things I did before noon today
1) Got pooped on by a garter snake (Thamnophis sp.)
Don't give me that look, snake. You know what you did.
Don't give me that look, snake. You know what you did.
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