Category: Deeds

I think this is a joke news report, in which case it’s pretty funny. Actually, it might even be funny even if it did happen.

This one is a real news report about the possible damage to emotional interactions caused by psychopharmacology. If love is like addiction and obsession, you can more or less cure that with medication, right?

I have a feeling this could be a good excuse for people afraid to commit to relationships (“You’re wonderful and I would love you, but I’m medicated beyond the ability to love!”) That’s better than “it’s not me, it’s you” or “let’s be friends.” I guess.

I found it alternately creepy, heartbreaking, and fun to spend a few hours with my family sorting through my late uncle’s posessions. My grandmother, a firm believer in waste-not-want-not, was very concerned that his belongings be put to use. The automotive memorabilia has gone to the race team members and auto clubs, and the dog memorabilia has gone to the Bull Terrier groups. Most of the rest is probably Goodwill-bound, sadly. The puppies have been adopted, and Grandma is keeping the remaining two adult dogs, “Action” Jackson and Blondie, although they’re a bit too much for her– they have to be walked separately since we won’t risk them fighting, and that makes eight walks a day with stubborn, muscular dogs. His rifle went to the farm manager’s eldest boy, who’ll probably return the favor with gifts of venison next season.

We tried on some of the clothes, of course, but he was much, much taller than the rest of us. Nonetheless, my brother and father found a couple pairs of nice pants that they’ll have hemmed (Grandma: “I bought him these twenty years ago and he never wore them!” Dad: “And now they’re back in style!”), and my brother’s the proud owner of a new wide-lapelled suit from the 70s. I got a couple of old pit-crew jackets.. If the rest of the stuff hadn’t been three sizes too large, I’d be able to head over to the Model Cafe in Allston and hang with the indie-rockers in a proper costume, down to someone else’s name embroidered on the chest. At first I thought I’d feel awkward wearing his clothes, especially doing it in a semi-ironic fashion. But he was always one to appreciate utility and irony, so I think he’d get a kick out of it. Besides, the collars are short, perfect for motorcycling, once the weather warms up a little.

Later we took both his cars out for exercise. Fabulous, although I have to say that as someone who’s a little unsteady with a manual clutch, it was a rather harrowing experience at every stop sign. Not cars to learn shifting on. We’ll have to sell them– it makes no sense for anyone but a serious enthusiast to own these vehicles, and neither my brother nor I would even have a place to store them– you can’t keep a beast like that outside, not in Boston or DC. Anyway, if you’re interested in a heavily customized M3 sedan or Mini Cooper S, drop me a line. Classy, race-style customizations, mind you. No hydraulics, ground-effects, or subwoofers.

Odd weekend, I’ll tell you that much. Odd weekend.

Everyone else is commenting on the bombing in Spain. If I know my terrorist groups, (I may be quite off base, but bear with me) it’s not ETA’s usual style. As far as I can tell, their attacks were usually aimed at police forces. They’d plant a bomb, call it in, wait for the civilians to evacuate the area, and then detonate it when the police arrived to defuse it. This is the attack of a group which feels it has no friends left in mainstream society, which is attacking society itself.

ETA may have lost all moderate allies when concessions were made over autonomy, and now is reduced to a smaller, more radical core that simply wants to attack Spain’s hegemony, civilian sympathy be damned. Or it could be the work of another group trying to tear down Spanish society; the knee-jerk guess there is radical islamists, since the other major foes of the West per se, communism and anarchism, are not quite the forces they were.

I don’t imagine it could have been Catalan separatists; they’re not quite so violent or extreme, and seem to be getting what they want within the national framework. I could see them having a concerted letter-writing campaign and some very noisy protests, and maybe a ballot initiative or a tax revolt. But not a terrorist campaign.

It had really begun to feel like Spain was almost totally recovered from the consequences of the Spanish Civil War, and of Franco’s repression of linguistic and ethnic minorities. Maybe it has, and this is a completely new problem. But I doubt it.

Study Finds that Teenage Virginity Pledges are Rarely Kept.

Well, Duh.

Another obvious thing I encountered today: the admonition in a style guide for technical writers “Do not use italics or bold face to compensate for unclear text.” That would be equivalent to talking really loud so that the foreigners could understand you.

Non Sequitur: “Game Over” the new sitcom about video game people, is moderately interesting.

I’m back. No real surprises to the lessons I’ve learned in Sin City: the house always wins, and the death of a relative or hotel guest is never convenient. Also, even if it’s very nice Champagne, it can still give you a wicked hangover.

I’m headed for the land of bilking money, the land of Liberace (home of the world’s largest rhinestone!), the land of, well, ambivalence and flashing lights. I haven’t been since COMDEX 2000, when I wrote that last little bit on the city. This time it’s for not for work though– Bookdwarf’s best friend from high school is getting married. Let’s hope I manage to avoid that white wine spritzer that starts me down the Britney Spears-laden slippery slope to a Vegas marriage myself.

That French guy over at French Guys didn’t like the purple-grey, so I’ve switched to a more bluish grey. Better?

My least favorite pastime: emesis.

What a way to spend a holiday.

NYT article on a snowmobile race where a few years back “a snowmobile racer was rushed to a hospital when his corneas froze. And then there was the year the temperature dropped to 31 degrees below zero, and the portable toilets filled with ice.”

Race motorcycles get up towards 150, maybe 200 mph with six or seven hundred cc’s, but they’re on asphalt and are (relatively speaking) stable because of the gyroscopic action of the wheels. Snowmobiles are on ice with skis and treads, so they’re much less stable, and they’re doing 70-100 mph with 1000cc engines. Did I say the treads are spiked? This is a sport where there are almost as many injured spectators as participants. Wicked pissah.

Did you really have to sow salt in the fields? Well, maybe not. It’s not like I want it to die. I just want it to fade into insignificance. Not the literal Carthage, of course, which is already long gone and replaced with another city, but my metaphorical, personal Carthage. We all have one, or several. And I want mine to go away and never bother me again. All the Carthage-sympathizers around here need to realize that they’re either with us or against us, and that Carthage is not us.