Category: Life

I am not claiming to be a polymath, gentle reader, as I would have to be a far better autodidact than I am. But I sure am reading and listening widely these days, which means I have a lot of new vocabulary words getting thrown into my brain, briefly, while I’m reading/listening/studying. Soon to be fall out when I start memorizing additional heavy metal lyrics on my gym playlist.

Recently, though, I have learned the following words and could briefly say them correctly and/or read them with fairly correct pronunciation:

• Kuduasai. I’ve started playing with Duolingo, refreshing some of my Spanish and starting, again, Japanese from scratch. Kudasai means please in a familiar sense.
• Chavín de Huántar. This is an archeological site in Peru which has information about the Chavín culture which spread through cities in Peru about 1000 BC. I’ve had a couple of car rides/child pickup opportunities recently, so I’ve started listening to lectures again, this set being Lost Worlds of South America. I’ll probably finish this sometime in 2024, by which time I will have forgotten how to pronounce Chavín de Huántar, but I will likely remember the feline deity and whether one can build a vampire story about them.
• As I mentioned, I’m in the process of reading The Life Of Greece by Will (and Ariel) Durant, so I am all steeped in Greek names like Polycrates and Anaximenes and Anaximander and Xenophanes, and I am pretty sure my pronunciation tracks with the Greek. I mean, I do have a cat named Chimera, which is pronounced just like it’s spelled, ainna?
• I’ve been reading some late ninteenth century and early twentieth century short stories, so I’ve been looking up lots of words like demirep and so on. Unfortunately, I did not write down each new word as I looked it up or otherwise note it. Or perhaps it is for the best, as I would want to use them and would become more obscure than I am.

Something is bound to stick, though, gentle reader, and that will make me even more boring to talk to at parties as I suddenly lurch from creepy and silent to enthusiastic about esoterica. Which is also creepy, ainna?

But I would not include photos of a gun cabinet (not even a gun safe, but a gun cabinet) in a real estate listing.

We’re having a little work done around Nogglestead, and every estimator and service professional that’s been by has wanted interior photos of the house, and that enough makes the conspiratal lobe of my brain throb.

Conspiratal lobe of the brain aside, photos of guns on a public real estate listing are right where burglars can see them.

Youngest: I need to make something medieval. He says, referring to a summer project that he has chosen to wait until the night before the project is due.
Father: What do you mean medieval?
Youngest: From the Middle Ages.
Father: What do you mean the Middle Ages? From the fall of Rome to, what, 1400? That’s a thousand years.
Youngest: I want to make a mace.
Father helps son by providing a poster shipping tube and by pointing out you don’t have to make the ball completely out of aluminum foil, but he can instead make a ball of crumpled newspaper and cover it with foil, saving his parents $20 in aluminum foil.
Youngest: I need some string to attach it.
Father comes up with some twine and envisions the boy tying the head of the mace onto the shaft like a thong holding on the stone head of an axe.

But the boy makes clear that it he is going to tape the twine to the end of the shaft and then to the mace head.
Father: Oh, you’re making a morning star.

---

So I told the boy the history of the mace and its application in warfare. Part of the return to school is signing of the syllabi, where the parents and students review the content of each class and what they will cover.

And I thought, hubrisly, I might know more about history than the history teacher and more about literature than the English teacher.

I mean, I only have a bachelor’s degree, but I have continued to read for the, erm, couple of years since then. Which is, in many cases, longer than the teachers have been alive.

Granted, I am quite the outlier. But I would be happy to help my boys with their studies, at least in these subjects. When they come to me three-quarters of the way through the year with advanced algegra problems, though, I guess it puts me back into my place.

Patrice Lewis of Rural Revolution on the issue of worry:

I know someone who is worrying himself into an early grave. He has an incredible number of blessings in his life – a lovely wife, great kids, a beautiful home, good health, modest financial success – and yet he is so caught up in how bad things are getting (both nationally and internationally) that his worries are starting to damage his health.

Like the commuters in the subway station, this friend can’t always lift his head to appreciate the beauty around him or the blessings of his life. Instead, his eyes are focused on the news as he obsesses over the state of the world.

I know I struggle with this, for sure. Perhaps more than most people. As a remote worker for almost two decades, my perspective often has narrowed to this monitor and keyboard. I have to make an effort, and it’s a constant effort, to not feel isolated and atomized, to get out and to do things.

Jeez, I was Gen Z before Gen Z had a name.

Two die in Ironman triathlon as witness says ‘race should never have gone ahead’:

Two men died while taking part in the “brutal” swimming leg of an Ironman triathlon event in Ireland with disruption from Storm Betty that made the water “choppy”.

The storm had been battering County Cork, where the event was taking place, and conditions were “brutal” as competitors took to the water, a witness said.

I am not a fan of the open water swim. I am also not a fan of competitive swimming in the ocean. Come to think of it, I am not really a swim fan.

This Saturday, though, I did compete in my first sprint-length triathlon, and I did better than I hoped. Longer swims expose my lack of swimming ability and make me far less competitive, so I finished about 6th from the bottom.

Forensically, I look back and think I could have trimmed some of my swim time if I had not positioned myself second-to-the-end of the indoor pool snake-swim where you line up according to speed–I was faster than the woman I was behind, but I did not pass her as I was doing the triathlon on “cruise” speed, aiming just to finish. The first transition included a run from the YMCA pool to a transition area that was a city block away–run around the YMCA building in a parking lot barefoot, cross some grass, cross an apartment complex’s parking lot, cross some grass, and then part-way across a church parking lot to the transition area where the shoes are.

I made a wrong turn on the bike, too, which added a mile or so until I recognized no police or volunteers were blocking traffic and no bikers finishing the out and back route were passing me any longer. So that added five minutes or more to my time.

Also, I walked probably half of the 5k run at the end. I certainly hadn’t trained for it. I had a time of 35 minutes with the walking–my normal 5k time is right about 30 minutes, so it only added 5 minutes to it.

But I suppose I could have trimmed, what, ten minutes from my overall time? That would have moved me up nine spots, probably still in the bottom third. So, yeah, longer triathlons are not my sport.

When I racked my bike, my old triathlon coach asked me if I was going to stay on it that day. I guess the fact that I laid my bike down on the Tiger Tri three weeks ago and finished it bloody has become common knowledge. He was working the mike at the finish line, and he announced me by calling me a staple of the shorter triathlons. Which I guess I have been this year–I’ve done two indoor triathlons and the two outdoor triathlons this year, which is pretty good for how poor my training regimen has been.

I did get a cool picture from it, though.

Now, after a couple months, I can get back to my real fitness passion: Weightlifting, as I can do so much of it sitting or lying down.

Well, until I decide to train at the last minute for the indoor triathlon at Chesterfield Family Center in late winter.

From Powerline’s The Week In Pictures:

C’mon, man, I gave something similar away for Christmas 2016:

I read Powerline’s The Week in Pictures to see if I’m in it (see also this and this).

On Wednesday, we went to 1984, the local vintage arcade, as part of my beautiful wife’s birthday celebration.

As in years past (2017, 2018, and 2019), we visited right after the arcade reset its annual high scores, and everyone in the family was able to get a high score on something. My wife got the high score on Joust again, of course.

One of the machines I got a high score on was Sinistar, but I did not register it immediately, as I was going to make just one trip to the counter as I was only going to get one free voucher and pin no matter how many high scores I set. When my oldest said he’d beaten the arcade’s high score, I went to look to see if it was higher than mine, and it was. So that triggered the boys’ sibling rivalry, and they swapped high scores on it for a while until the youngest blew us all out of the water. But by making a quick trip to the desk, the oldest secured a voucher for having a high score that did not last long at all. So we all ended up with vouchers.

How did I do?

I got high scores on the following:

• Arkanoid
• Asteroids Deluxe
• Circus Charlie
• Commando
• Elevator Action
• Spy Hunter
• Xevious

They might not stand for long. Hopefully not. We were there early on a Wednesday evening for roughly two hours, and the very light crowd turned over a couple of times. The number of games that were offline was a bit concerning, and many of these machines are 40 years old, so I imagine spare parts are getting thin. A lot different than when I dabbled in video game collecting 20 years ago.

At any rate, the intersection with the recycler tour comes from something I posted on Facebook and on this blog on July 27 and 28, 2011:

I sent the image to both of the boys.

Here in 2023, I don’t have to explain the forty-year-old game from 1983 that they’ve recently played.

I will have to explain Farmville on Facebook and the teaser of the wandering sheep. Or no, perhaps it’s better if I not try.

What, you thought I meant Nico and Cisco and merely misspoke when I said “the new kitten” yesterday?

Do try to keep up.

We have a new new kitten in the household.

Well, the school attached to our church posted about this stray kitten, and then a week ago when we came out of church, he came directly across the parking lot to my beautiful wife, and….

Well, she took him into the church to see if anyone wanted a kitten, and no one did, so here he is. She called him Paul, and since we give our cats literary names and this just came up on my memory feed (but not, apparently, in my recycler tour on this blog):

I guess his official name at the vet is St. Paul Atreides, but I call him Meow’Dib.

The first week in my office, he was very laid back and spent most of his time eating and sleeping. I guess he was pretty starved from his time outdoors. This week he’s definitely more interested in playing, and he wants out of the office.

Unfortunately, although the older cats kind of ignore him, Cisco and Nico want to have a go with him. They get so upset that they actually are standoffish with each other for a bit after seeing him–at a distance, all black kittens look alike to him.

So we’re not sure if he will be a permanent fixture at Nogglestead or not, but we’re hopeful.

Why does this cat smell like doughnuts?

Oh, it is the hand that I’m using to pet the cat smells like doughnuts. Why does my hand smell like doughnuts?

It has been sixteen hours since I had the day-old day-old markdown Walmart doughnuts this morning.

Could this be the cat pheremones we’ve been spraying so that the new kitten will integrate into the household more smoothly? Why would cat pheremones smell like doughnuts?

Wait a minute…. One of the last things that I did before coming to bed was to wring out a dish cloth in the kitchen sink. Today, the youngest made icing for the cookie cake for his grandmother’s birthday, and likely he washed the dish at the very last minute before bed, and he did not rinse the dish cloth afterwards, so when I wrung it out, I got some of the glazing on my hand, which is why my hand smells like doughnuts.

Not that I got up and washed my hand, gentle reader; I wanted to dream of doughnuts.

Feudal warlord’s European-style rapier was created in Japan:

A European-style rapier owned by a feudal-era warlord was actually forged in Japan, but who commissioned the production and what was used as the model remain unclear, according to a study.

Researchers from the Tokyo National Research Institute for Cultural Properties and the Koka city education board examined the rapier and found that Japanese sword-producing techniques were used in the manufacturing process.

The rapier dates from the first half of the 17th century in the early Edo Period (1603-1867) and was found in the Minakuchi district here.

As a reminder, gentle reader, when I was growing up in the projects, we would admire cars or homes we and our families could ill afford by announcing “That’s my thing.”

This sword reminds me of one I fondled recently at Relics Antique Mall. My beautiful wife gave me gift certificates to the antique mall, and I decided to look at the cabinets in the middle of the mall instead of the booths. And although the TRS-80 for $400 was…. well, it was not tempting–I called the front desk to look at a rapier because I thought the price tag said $70, and I would pay $20 for a nice rapier.

However, the actual price–I had seen a price tag near the rapier but apparently attached to a smaller blade–was $120, and I didn’t want to pay $70 in money. So I guess I’ll have to wait for a gift card of some sort. But it is a nice rapier, albeit a reproduction that looks a little like the Japanese warlord’s rapier.

(Link via Bayou Renaissance Man whose commenters are rightly pointing out how a rapier would quickly poke holes in samurai–when we did sword sparring at my martial arts school back in the day, I, who trained in fencing, ate up the people who learned to fight with katana as though they were slicing through cloth armor.)

Don’t pick a fight with a poet.

Well, actually, I guess picking a fight with poet Brian from 30 years ago would be pretty safe. Poet Brian now weighs almost 200 pounds and has studied martial arts for going on a decade. So picking a fight with current poet Brian is probably only slightly less safe.

What do Aaron Tippen, The Animals, Icehouse, and the Indigo Girls have in common?

I know, they’re all musical acts. But aside from that, I wish I knew. Almost 30 years ago, I listed them on a notepad I carried in my pocket at the time.

I mean, one is country, one is old rock, one is an 80s pop band from Australia, and one are the Indigo Girls. I like music by 3 of the 4.

I have no idea what this meant.

Of course I picked up a local paper or three on vacation in Arkansas. Those, and the highway signs and maps were very confusing.

Alright, alright, alright. To start off, Van Buren is not a county. Van Buren is a city in Carter County, and its newspaper is The Current Local–I subscribe, of course. The hospital in Clinton is Golden Valley Medical Hospital, and Clinton (and the hospital) are on Missouri 13, almost half way to Kansas City, not US 65.

It is, however, still the Ozarks. And the taller mountain part of it.

It was odd to see a lot of familiar names in different places, though.

I know, I know. What are the odds that I will subscribe to the Van Buren County Democrat (and the Stone County [AR] Leader–I already subscribe to the Stone County [MO] Republican and Crane Chronicle)? Pretty good I say as they’re only $50 annually even out of state. Although I will probably not subscribe to the Fairfield Bay News, the volunteer-run newspaper from the resort town where we vacationed as it is only four or five sheets of paper mostly full of coupons for visitors, and it’s $70 annually.

I’m not talking about people who participate in relays, where different people do different legs of a single triathlon. Nor am I talking about people who actually cheat at triathlons. For example, those who know how to swim.

No, I am talking about the official IRONMAN® reading glasses I saw at Walmart.

Come to think of it, most of the serious triathletes I know are getting near 50 years old these days no matter how much the local timing company owner and running enthusiast tries to get kids into the sport, it’s members are aging. Perhaps because one must generally hit a certain level of age and middle class to have time for all the training–which includes, generally, an expensive bike and a membership or daily drop-in fees for a pool that supports lap swimming (or going to a lake, I suppose, for open water swimming). It’s not hockey, by any means, but it is not a sport without cost. Which older people can pay in cash and in time.

I got a postcard from some new retirement company who for some reason thinks I’m thinking of retirement (which I have been, sort of, along the lines of I can never retire as I reach the age where peers who went into government service are retiring with full pension and benefits and are picking up second full-time careers, but I look at the retirement accounts I have gathered from various spots of full-time employment in my career and think, “Man, weren’t these at the same market value fifteen years ago?”)

The slug is “Here’s what financial freedom looks like”.

At a quick glance and given the kind of postcards I tend to get in the mail, I thought it was a picture of AOC pitching financial freedom and retirement products of some sort. And I cannot imagine any sort of freedom in retirement plans the congressional representative from New York would push.

Clearly, if you look longer, it is not AOC. But at a glance….

It’s the sort of thing I would have raised an issue of were I working on the marketing team. But I probably would not have been because 1) It’s direct mail marketing, not part of some technological marketing effort in which I have experience, and 2) most marketing teams these days would not understand how using AOC as a pitch woman would alienate a bunch of Americans, particularly those who plan for personally funded retirement.

Yes, it’s been quieter than normal on MfBJN again as I completed another vacation to Arkansas–the last one was six years ago? What have I been doing all this time? Well, aside from buying books and reading them sometimes? My goodness. Six years is a long time, but it doesn’t seem that long ago.

I digress.

We had originally planned to go to Florida (again), but flights for the whole family ran about $3,000, so we looked for a vacation spot that was a short drive away, and we settled on the Wyndham resort at Fairfield Bay, Arkansas.
Continue reading “Another Arkansas Vacation Recapped” →