Today, I realized that I hadn’t created a new wallpaper for several months now. After racking the brain for a few minutes, came up with this, inspired by recent revelation of the meaning of “99 Luftballons”.
You don’t have to count; there are really 99 balloons. (Thank you, Bryce 6, for the Multi-Replicate feature!) Unfortunately, it’s far too obvious that the balloons are just elongated spheres in the larger sizes. The fighters are supposed to be F-18’s. The model has been floating around the Internet for a decade, and unfortunately, I have no idea who made it. It looks nice, though. Maybe I should have put some fire coming out of the back.
The scenery by itself without the fighters and “balloons” might deserve its own rendering. We’ll see.
This is something that shouldn’t have surprised me, but did. Why people buy a Prius, the most well-known, visible hybrid in the States:
According to a marketing survey (which the Times ran in a graphic I couldn’t hide from), more buyers bought the Prius this year because it “makes a statement about me” (57 percent) than because of its better gas mileage (36 percent) or lower carbon dioxide emissions (25 percent) or new technology (7 percent).
Stream of conscious upon reading that: “What? The heck does “a statement about me” have to do with anything? I’ll bet the statement is ‘Unlike Joe here, I’m doing my part to help the earth.’ Sigh. OK. I forgot what human nature is. So it makes sense. But 57%?”.
Ms. Bazelon goes on to write a most entertaining article, and manages to throw in a reference to The Lorax. As a kid, I liked seeing that on TV once a year. Although I missed the point, because I liked the factory and seeing the trees getting chopped down. Well, actually, I did get the point, but I still liked the factory anyway.
You know how in a video game, it happens where there’s that one level or scenario you just can’t beat? Presenting…level 26 of Trogdor.
I hate it. It’s easy to get trapped trying to stomp peasants from the northern huts, and they can’t wander far, so they tend not to be out as long. I’ve gotten past it before, but not without losing a ton of mans (If you’re wondering how I have so many, it’s this secret code.)
Insight into ancient warfare: Why javelineers were more useful than long jumpers.
100 feet from disaster: Two planes almost collided yesterday at the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport.
It didn’t fit in the trunk: A wrecking ball snaps loose from a crane, smashing cars and injuring people. Zero deaths.
Perhaps Overly Worried Father: Definitely. (See the last letter)
No, presidential wanna-be Mike Huckabee’s not worried about the Australian wool trade (as far as I know).
He also thinks Michael Moore is fat and should improve his health. Huckabee pretty much blamed voluntarily unhealthy people (smokers, overeaters, etc.) for taxing the health care system.
Sometimes the day after a cholesterol test, I’ll go to a Wild Bean Café in a BP station and get an egg and bacon on an “everything” bagel. They even have a touch-screen computer to enter your order, which is a good thing if the person at the counter can’t speak much English.
Today’s sandwich-purchasing path was rather convoluted. First, a middle-aged guy yelled “Young man!” at me just before entering the automatic glass doors. He said he was homeless and hungry, and was interested in a meal more than money. He promised that both of us would be blessed if I would help him.* So I gave him a bit of cash, and to his credit, he went directly into the store to buy breakfast.
I went in and placed the order on the touch-screen machine, which printed out a receipt (”please pay the cashier and your sandwich will be ready when you return”). The cashier tried to ring up the order, but didn’t know how to do it. She asked me to wait while the more experienced other girl came back.
So I watched other people pay for their stuff for a minute, then started reading “Backseat Driver”. It’s an activity book for young kids that’s not cleverly disguised propaganda designed to trick them into thinking BP is pro-environment.
The experienced lady came back and was able to ring up my sandwich. I tried to pay by debit card. The first time, I typed the PIN incorrectly. The other 3 tries only got a “network error”–but, fortunately the credit card worked.
Despite the receipt’s assurances, the sandwich was not ready when I returned. It didn’t take too long…but still.
OK, that’s enough. Happy Friday the 13th.
The only bad thing about going to the doctor is the lack of magazine variety. 90% of them are “Golf” and “Boating Life”; my interest in either could be represented by an imaginary number (ah, for the days when 2 ± 3i meant something). There was a copy of “Business Traveler” that I already read last month’s visit, and “Highlights”.
There was no one else in the waiting room, so I broke out the “Highlights”.
It was actually mostly readable, except for the bad jokes. Goofus and Gallant–with a major makeover–were still there (raise your hand if you liked Goofus better). The Timbertoes, too.
After re-reading the bit on Russian cultural differences in “Business Traveler”, finally got to see the doc.
He’d just gotten back from vacation, and had this report: “All I did was sit on my ass.” I told him that was too bad, but he broke a big grin and told me how great that was! He and his wife visited Israel, and the most work he did was walk with his wife to go shopping.
So we went through the regular stuff:
Don’t know why I made this “grilled cheese post”, but no sense in wasting all this good typing. (A “grilled cheese post” is an entry that’s a boring story of the blogger’s personal life. The term probably comes from the idea that people will post, “I had a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch today!” and think for some reason others will want to read it.)
Black’s left a Pawn hanging, and White can gobble it up with Rxe6. Is that move any good?
