One thing I forgot to mention in my Centennial article back in February:
near the end, we see a character’s ancestry chart.
His paternal grandmother is Pale Star Zendt,
1874-1939.
Her mother is Prudence Wolf,
1866-1936.
I read this book before I had a very clear understanding of human
reproduction.
For the longest time I thought that only cultural taboos were
keeping the eight‑year‑olds I knew from having babies.
I found this hanging in a classroom:
If any History Channel execs are reading this, I am pleased to present
you with your new logo.
While one of my (adult) tutoring students wandered off to take what
turned out to be a half‑hour phone call, I heard a
“flutter‐BANG!‐thump,
flutter‐BANG!‐thump” sound in the living
room, and when I went to investigate, I found a wren repeatedly bashing
into the picture windows.
It took me a moment to realize that somehow the wren was inside
the house, trying to get outside.
Those windows didn’t open, but a small window in the next room did,
so I tried to direct the bird in that direction, with no luck.
Finally I found a paper bag and successfully captured the wren, then
took it outside and let it go.
It probably flew directly into a mulching mower or something.
Seen at the BART station:
From far away I could only make out the question, and I honestly thought
this would turn out to be an ad for the Democrats.
I am terrible at putting important objects in places I can
remember.
I have to budget five extra minutes for myself before I leave for work
just in case I need them to find my keys.
A couple of weeks ago I found my keys, but could not find my wallet, and
I had to run to campus to give a presentation.
After several minutes of searching I was in danger of being late and had
to get going.
But it felt so weird heading out of the house without my wallet that I
couldn’t stand it.
I ran back inside and grabbed my Canadian wallet (contents:
CDN$45 in plastic bills,
CDN$7.88 in coins, TD Canada Trust bank
card, seven BC Transit tickets, and a pass to the
2016 Victoria Film Festival) just so I would
have the right amount of weight in my pocket.
Why do people on the internets announce their preferred pronouns
as e.g. “she/her” or “they/them”?
Do they think that readers do not know the correspondence between
subject and object case?
Are there people who mix and match, like “she/him”?
If people are going to specify both subject and object, why not throw in
the possessive and reflexive while they’re at it?
This may seem flippant, but I genuinely do want to know why people say
“I’m a he/him” instead of just “I’m a
he”.
It’s redundant information!
This month’s Australian dessert: “melting
moments”.
They did not turn out well.
I had to make buttercream, which involved whipping cream into
butter.
I was skeptical about whether this would work for me, because while I can
whip up an amazing pasta sauce or vegetable curry, I can’t get eggs
to whip to stiff peaks and this seemed like the same sort of deal.
So I was pleasantly surprised when the whipped cream turned from a thick
liquid into something with some solidity to it—it looked like
pipeable cupcake frosting, which was what the pictures suggested was my
goal.
But when I tried to assemble the melting moments, the
“buttercream” gave way beneath the weight of the top cookie
almost instantly, and when I tried to whip it some more, at first it did
no good and then it did actual bad, turning the mixure back into a
liquid.
I guess it’s just as well, since I didn’t like the cookies
either: they were thick, crumbly, and dry.
Viking princess Julia would run me through with a broadsword.
But perhaps I will pick up some tips before my next minutiae article
goes up, because apparently Masterchef Australia is
returning on April 29!
No longer will I need to get through my evenings chomping on fistfuls
of macadamia nuts while listening to Spiderbait records and weeping.
