Mail a random person a cryptic letter
April 7, 2010
I had grand intentions of pointing to a name in the phone book and mailing a piece of paper through the USPS. (Phone book, huh? Does anybody even use a paper phone book any more?) But then as usual, I ran out of time and took the easy way out, doing it online. I did it twice, each time with the emphasis on one aspect over the other.
My first cryptic note was, I feel, the more cryptic of the two, as it was a response to the cryptic note that had been sent to me. The sender explained his selection process: “This message sent to a recipient I determined randomly from a list of people who were most likely to not reply “wtf” Fortunately, I did not wonder wtf and instead found a translator with which to craft my reply.
Later in the day, I received another cryptic note: “Zegabee-dash-coovran-dos-leek-va-ich-nop-hu-8797-hay-deek-dosh.” I initially thought it was a cryptogram like a few other notes had been, but it looked too much like actual language. I briefly though that maybe it was an elaborate anagram as the sender was British. I searched for the entire phrase and found nothing, so I searched in smaller and smaller chunks. Eventually (I don’t remember how, because I’m unable to recreate the search results now) I got to the lycaeum.org website. What I saw there looked very much like the cryptic note I received. When I entered any of the words in my message in the Search box, it seemed to generate a page based on that word. Weird, and interesting. Thanks, Jack!
The second cryptic note I sent was not so cryptic, but it was to a random person. A truly random person. I found an online name generator, entered the minimum parameters, and got a name: Ella J. Harrison. I performed a Google search for Ella Harrison (okay, you sticklers, my computer performed the actual search) and clicked on the first result. That took me to a seemingly regular person on Facebook with about a thousand friends, so I was hoping she’d be receptive to my overture.
I posted my not very cryptic note to Ms. Harrison: “I used a random name generator to make a name. Then I did a Google search on that name. Yours was the first result listed, so you’re the lucky one! If you’d like to know what I’m up to, please visit this link. It’s good, clean, creative fun!”
She has not responded.
March 12
Irrational fears
March 25, 2010
Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to be all controversial and rail against the people who think that President Obama is turning America into a socialist or communist state (he isn’t), or that he’s *gasp” Muslim (he isn’t) or wasn’t actually born in the U.S. (he was). It would probably make for more interesting reading, but no, I’m talking about irrational fears such as stepping on a crack and breaking your mama’s back.
I have two irrational fears that easily come to mind. The one that pushes to the forefront of my thoughts about ninety-five percent of the time when I’m in a situation where it could happen is getting my foot stuck in railroad tracks.
I grew up in a small town in Ohio that was bisected by the Pennsylvania Railroad. Historically it was the Pennsylvania Railroad; what it is known as today, I don’t know. The former depot is in the U.S. National Register of Historic Places.
What I do know is that when I was a child, my mother warned me never to step directly on the rail when I was crossing, lest my foot become inextricably lodged and I’d be trapped there, only to be made into mincemeat by the next passing train. Our town was a speck on the map. Trains didn’t slow down as they passed through. They blasted their horns and the crossing gates lowered, but the trains did not slow down.
This was back in the day when parents didn’t mollycoddle and overmanage their children. Comparatively speaking, I ran wild as a child. I walked or bicycled to my friends houses. I informed my mom that I was spending the day in the library or swimming pool. I went to play in the woods at the end of the street. No one saw me for hours. Nobody panicked. Eventually I showed up.
But I digress, because I’m having fond memories of the first thirteen years of my life. Why do I, thirty-three years later, still wax so nostalgic about this basically nondescript place? Okay, it’s not completely nondescript. It has the only Wilson football factory in the country. The balls you see being thrown and kicked around in the Superbowl are made in my hometown.
But I digress.
Nervousness about the consequences of stepping on steel at an unfortunate angle still haunts me. I ride a train to work every morning. The rail is at street level and I must cross it to get to and from both platforms. I am always very careful to extend or contract my stride by ten inches in order to avoid disaster. I always take extra looks both left and right to ensure that the beast is not going to hurtle down on me mid-stride.
Wow. Thanks, Mom.
The other irrational fear? That, when I come back after having had to get up in the middle of the night, some under-bed gargoyle is going to grab my ankle and pull me under, and I will never be seen again. I don’t know where this one came from. As I’ve tried to remember today, I’m guessing that it was what my parents told me when I was a youngster so that I wouldn’t dawdle in said middle of the night.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Mom’s coming for a visit tomorrow. I could confirm these things with her. It’s her birthday today. Happy birthday, Mom!
Street View © Google Maps
It was a dark and stormy night ???
March 16, 2010
Tonight I present a group writing effort, courtesy of the TweakToday community. Our mission was to write a story by building on the previous submission. We have a little grey goose who just wants fast internet but has to battle an army of super-beavers by channeling her inner llama. Contributors are credited at the end.
Once upon a time in a small corner of the interweb
…there lived a small gray goose that was stuck in the land of dial-up internet access…
but one day that little goose was gonna get the biggest and baddest broadband connection available, then and only then he would be webmaster of….
the entire pond, the rest of the ducks would be her minions, if only she could defeat the evil…
General Beaver and his army of chipmunks, navy of otters, and airforce of hawks. His life mission was to….
…stop the number 1 cause of beaver deaths. Falling trees!
But the ducks interfered with his mission, as they were against cutting the trees that surround the pond.
In order to fight back, the ducks had to arm themselves. They strapped on …
fricken laserbeams.. That’s right, austin powers might have failed, but the ducks wouldn’t. They…
believed in the words of this charismatic leader. She, the enemy of half measures and weak decisions, would lead them to a paradise of lightening-fast internet connectivity- but they had to earn it first, and they knew the likely cost. Together they…
took aim at the beaver dam and prepared to fire but out of nowhere three giant…
super beavers stepped out of the forest. Paws beating their chests, chanting their creepy, awe inspiring, hold to the bottom of your seat chant that went something like
Beaver two, beaver one, Let’s all have some beaver fun!
Beaver four, beaver three, Let’s climb up the beaver tree!
Beaver five, beaver six, Let’s go get our beaver sticks!
Beaver eight, beaver seven, Let’s all go to beaver heaven!
Beaver ten, beaver nine, STOP! It’s beaver time!
but then the ducks responded…
In disbelief knowing that they were out gunned. The only means for victory would be to travel to Hollywood forest and summon the invisible swordsmen so that…
they would be given the knowledge of how to defeat the giant beavers. Meanwhile, the small gray goose had an idea and googled…
to find a gaggle of more geese to support the ducks in the effort. But her 128k modem dropped the connection so instead she had to …
use a much more reliable source of communication- the carrier pigeon. She enlisted the help of her winged comrades to call upon the council of seven Anatidae Elders- the great geese of yore whose knowledge, wisdom and power were her only hope against the toothy menace. The elders responded…
in their ancient and arcane dialect that victory favoured the bold, so taking her mighty asparagus spear in her beak, and feeling a spirited wind in her feathers…
she flew through the netherworld of dark cable features and foggy grey bottoms to find the information that
her ancestors had been right – she was not a goose afterall, but a…
llama, transformed by a curse years before. How fortuitous it was then, that the ducks returned just as this was revealed to her to inform her that the invisible swordsmen had revealed the super-beavers only weakness- that most awesome and terrifying of creatures- none other than the llama.
As the ducks then walked away to prepare for the awesome battle that awaited her father emerged from the woodlands behind her. The same man that vanished on that December 26th night some ten years previously…
, he explained that he went out to buy some smokes and got lost in a blizzard. but she did not believe him because…
his eyes had that same smokey haze they had when he told her mother he would be back soon, he was just going to the 7Eleven for a pack, she replied: “……
“don’t bother me with your nonsense. I’m busy learning on my abacus and drinking scotch.” The man continued out wondering about ducks and geese that lay ahead.
And at that very point in time, the gray goose realized that she had to channel her inner llama, the llama that she used to be. This was the only way to defeat the Beavers.
She pawed her webbed foot on the ground and waddled up to the first Super Beaver. She stared him in the eye. She took one, two, three deep breaths, and from the depths of her goosey innards expelled a giant, gooey spitball at the Beaver. The Beaver clawed at his eyes and cried out …
“Gross!” Little did he realize the true consequences the spitball would have. In a matter of seconds,
The beaver from his disintegrated eye pulled out a weapon of mass destruction. The very much feared
ocular dribble cannon… he took aim and…
tried to fire at the goose, but the spitball goo had quickly solidified, causing the ocular dribble cannon to backfire into the Beaver’s head. The Beaver
Beavers head exploded and his brains covered his tribe. With pure evil and anger flowing through the tribes veins they…
lost their self-control and blindly charged at the goose, forgetting …
their lunch boxes, cool box of refreshing juices and their ethics, thereby causing…
fits with the beaver union and forcing a work stoppage. As the entire Beaver community protested their lack of snacks, the small gray goose with the heart of a llama decided to offer up a treaty by offering…
The holy grail the beavers have been searching for all their lives…
The one, the only, the Beaver-Wings of Auresteus, son of Laumos born of Ilya. Such wonderful and unfathomable a prize could the beavers hardly bear to imagine. Acquired by her bravery in the Battle of Hayden and given by the king Rawl, these wings had been her prize for years, nay decades. The young goose/llama returned to…
her community of peaceful waterfowl and revealed the treaty she had proposed to the Beavers. The elders of the noble Mallard Clan, however, were displeased she had given away such a treasure as the mystical Beaver-Wings of Auresteus. They proclaimed…
“You silly goose! You’ve given away our best bargaining chip! Now we’re screwed.” The goo-lma sighed and said …
oh dear me… dear dear me… what have i done? she reached into her utility belt and pulled out a…
peace treaty, and she asked everyone to join her around a stump, where she said…
“Dear geese citizens today is not a day for doubts, but a day for decisions. A day not for quarreling, but for rejoicing for here in my wings is a great treaty of…
the world wide web. May information flow to your heart and music stream to your brain.” And with a flap of her wing…
she launched herself into the fathomless blue sky and sped off to the south for it was autumn. They all threw up behind her a cry in joyous support of net neutrality and…
honked, “Now, may we PLEASE have a high-speed connection?”
Authors: amazingaaron, thedigitalghost, jackcomrie, a_noob, superc0w, x-u, saxchik, toyotaboy, merendis, thebradymachine, tmmh, fstopblues365, kellydna, redd141, mandy716, sayanythingbam, imryanharris, athanie, coco-tidan, chaomancer, quacorezx, nonlinear_time, philos-phobo
Illustration: athanie
???Sculpture of a Tape Hare??? by Alduct D??rer
March 12, 2010
In situations like this, I will not be reinventing the wheel. Today’s assignment was to do something unconventional with Duct tape. I didn’t think twice about how I would use this manmade wonder. I spent more time standing in Target trying to decide which of the five non-grey colors of “Duck” tape I would choose.
I was presented with flourescent purple, blue, pink, orange, and green. Given the subject matter, my first instinct was to choose orange. But as you may recall from a previous post or two, I do like my bright green. But what I learned from game after game of Trivial Pursuit is to trust your first instinct. I finally picked up the orange roll.
My orange hare is entirely duct tape. I wadded up a bunch to make a core ball for the body, then artfully wrapped strips smoothly around the outside. It was kind of interesting working in foil and tape, and fun trying to coax the desired shapes into existence, such as the haunches and the ears. They’re both pretty malleable media; tape was quite a bit easier to control than the aluminum foil as it had the advantage of being adhesive.
Okay, so I’ve created two masterpieces. Now what do I do with them? Enter Mom.
My mom is a complete and utter pushover for both rabbits and bears. She really only needed one look at Foil Hare and Duct Tape Hare perched atop my television to start gushing. Although I have piles of stuff all over my house, at times I am able to have an unnatural detachment about the possession of things (and people, for that matter). I asked my mom if she wanted them and it was a done deal. I sort of wanted to keep them because I feel sentimentally about the reason for and process by which they were created.
As my mom was preparing to leave and stashing them in her things, she was dismayed when one of Foil Hare’s ears fell off. I said that I had only required it to hold together long enough to be photographed. I had a brief moment of clarity as I separated the sentimental from the practical. On a number of levels, I am a lot better at being unemotional than my mother. But that’s a whole different subject.
My drink of choice (second runner-up)
March 11, 2010
I suppose the time of day would determine what I would say to this. In a shootout at the OK Corral, water would probably win because it’s the most versatile and the best for me. For fun, well, you all know I love beer. But beer isn’t always practical, and I also covered it in a previous post. So for this entry, the winner is coffee.
I do coffee backwards. I drink decaffeinated in the morning and regular in the afternoon. It’s like this. I get addicted to the caffeine very quickly, so I have to be careful. If I have a couple of cups two or three days in a row, I fall victim to that awful caffeine headache if I don’t start getting my fix soon enough on subsequent days. That is why I started drinking decaf years and years ago. So that I wouldn’t get hooked on caffeine.
In the last year or two, however, regular coffee on a regular basis has crept back into my life, after lunch. It’s sort of like when I started smoking again the last time. I thought, oh, I’ll just have this one and it’ll be just fine. Next thing you know, you’re smoking close to a pack a day. Same with coffee. One afternoon when I was bored, a little sleepy, and there was already some made, I drank a cup of regular coffee. And guess what—I perked up. Maybe once a week I’d do that. Well, now I’m drinking two or two and a half mugs an afternoon. On Saturday at home when I don’t make coffee for myself, I am visited by the splitting headache. I usually just take a few aspirin (not Excedrin, my prefered pain-reliever, because that’s got caffeine in it) and tough it out, only to start over on Monday. I still drink decaf in the morning. My reasoning these days is that presumably I’ve just been sleeping all night and should be rested and not need artificial stimulants. I also believe that morning caffeine reels me in a day or two faster than afternoon coffee. My name is Kelly and I am in denial.
Just to recap on my beers of choice, we have (L–R): Summit Extra Pale Ale, Surly Coffee Bender, Bell’s Oberon, Lagunitas India Pale Ale, Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale.
I have two mottos
March 8, 2010
I don’t hold myself to very strict standards in most areas of my life, but I do seem to embrace two credos. From my parents, I get “it doesn’t hurt to ask.” From bowling, I get “it’s only fun if you make it fun.”
It doesn’t hurt to ask
This is a philosophy that was instilled in me by my parents from an early age. In my young life, I was made to practice this by having to make my own requests about things. When I was eight or nine, I had come across a science activity to make my own bouncy ball by mixing certain chemicals together. I don’t remember what the substances were, but I do remember that it was very convenient that one of my best friends’ dad was, in fact, a chemist. As much as I wanted my mom to make the phone call for me, I had to do it. He was more than willing to bring me a little of what I needed. What still stands out in my memory though, is that, having never really directly addressed the dad before, I just went ahead and called him by his first name. Nowadays it’s common for kids to call adults by their first names, but back then, there was a brief hesitation from Mrs. H on the other end of the line as well as the suggestion from my mom to call him Mr. H in the future. I also remember that the ball did not turn out very round.
More recently, just asking is how I got Lagunitas Brewing to sponsor one of my bowling teams, even though they’re in California and I’m in Minnesota. I had the opportunity to meet the owner and brewer toward the end of last summer, and the idea hit me like a lightning bolt. So when it was my turn for a few minutes of conversation with him and I had finished gushing about how I absolutely love his beer, especially the India Pale Ale, I said, “Hey, I’ve got a promotional opportunity for you!” And his answer was, “Sure, we love doing things like that.”
It doesn’t hurt to ask.
It’s only fun if you make it fun
This one has developed in the last few years as a result of bowling with better bowlers in better leagues. Everybody wants to be good, including me, and there are some really intense people in these leagues. I always try to do my best and even when I’m having a game like the one pictured above, I try not to give up or get crabby. Being upset doesn’t benefit me or my game. But a lot of people don’t see it that way. They throw their towels or smack the scoring console or swear loudly at the foul line. I don’t believe that those things make them feel any better or help them figure out how they could adjust to improve their shot. It probably only raises their blood pressure a little. If we were that good, we’d be out on the PBA tour with a sponsor. We are good, but it’s still just a game and not a matter of life and death. We should enjoy ourselves while we’re out recreating.
It’s only fun if you make it fun.
And now I will refill my glass, even though it’s still half full.
Something borrowed, kept ???til tomorrow
March 7, 2010
’Fess up. Somebody, out of the kindness of their heart, loaned you something “for a few days.” Or you cat-sat for someone and took something home with you, fully intending to return it before they returned.
I fall into the latter catter-gory. Rob M, I confess. I have your Pantone swatch book. Let me refer back to old files on my computer. Nope, it’s been so long* that those files aren’t even on my current computer. No, I “borrowed” your swatch book when you entrusted the care of your feline companion to me for a longish Christmas trip to Green Bay, when I was still doing the quarterly catalog for cooking classes at Lund’s for my former freelance client. It was a one-color job and I got to pick the color. I used your swatch book to make the choice. Now you know. Obviously, you haven’t missed it much. Or else you’ve been just too nice to bring it up. You are a nice guy, but I suspect it’s more that you just haven’t needed it and so either didn’t even notice, or if you did, decided that it wasn’t important enough to mention. That’s because you went and became a fancy web designer guy at Yahoo!. The internet doesn’t care about the Pantone Matching System. If you ever need to use Pantone colors again, I’d be happy to return it to you. But may I note that it only goes up to PMS 587, with a few flourescents and metallics thrown in for good measure. The latest edition apparently features 2,058 colors. Your book is old news. The green featured in the call-out is 363, the color of the Pantone coffee mug that was part of the Christmas 2008 office gift to me. That color was carefully selected for me by our office manager who thought it reminded her of the color of the spinach soup that I sometimes make. She likes baby-shit-colored split pea soup, but for some reason, my green-greener spinach soup grosses her out. There’s no accounting for taste.
*Omg, it was SO long ago that I was still working in QuarkXPress. What?
Three items for your last meal
March 6, 2010
How many ways can you answer this question? I will share my favorites.
Meal: three things you’d like to eat in association with each other:
Three things I really like to eat together as a meal are grilled salmon with lemon juice, asparagus steamed al dente, and white rice with just a little butter. All with a little salt.
Three things I often eat together and which would be acceptably pleasing:
One of my favorite lunch places is Asian Max (pictured). There are two three-item combos that I usually ask for: sesame chicken, spicy green beans, and cucumber salad; or sesame chicken, shrimp spring roll with sweet brown sauce, and either spicy green beans or cucumber salad, depending on my mood.
My comfort lunch is D’Amico caprese panini, Tuscan chicken soup, and small bag of potato chips. It’s a fancy grilled cheese and tomato soup. They have a punch card for buy five and get one free. That’s not very many.
Three things you like to eat that wouldn’t necessarily comprise a menued “meal”:
Grilled steak (rare) with onion salt, grilled salmon, giant salad.
Grilled steak (rare) with onion salt, giant salad, zinfandel (doesn’t have to be fancy).
Steak, sauteed mushrooms, Bell’s Oberon Ale. The first time I ever tried Oberon was at a wine tasting. Bell’s had a table off in the side room, and I went there after I had tried some steak bites with butter sauteed mushrooms from Murray’s Grill. Oberon was the first beer I sampled. It was divine.
Pizza. Well, there are at least three ingredients there, aren’t there?
Salad. The same would apply to a giant salad. I am quite happy with one of those.
Everyone knows that smoking stinks (addendum)
March 5, 2010
I had a really stressful few days at work. I handed off the project at 1:00 this afternoon, at least for the next twenty-four hours. On my way home, I stopped to get some comfort provisions—sushi and beer. Posted next to the door of the sushi place was this placard. Now that’s what I’m talking about!
Everyone knows that smoking stinks
March 5, 2010
I should know, because I used to smoke. I managed to stop cold turkey in the spring of 2004 after I had been so sick with the flu that I didn’t go to work—or do anything, let alone smoke—for three and a half days. I had been wanting to stop, and with that head start, my brain finally got behind the effort.
Even when I was a smoker, I was a hypocrite. If I was not puffing away myself at the moment, I was not in favor of smelling other people’s pollution. It seems a lot of smokers feel that way. I was, um, lucky enough that none of the city, county or, eventually, statewide indoor smoking bans had gone into effect while I still smoked, so I didn’t have to deal with enforced outside-going to engage in my nasty habit.
But people who still smoke do have to go outside. And that brings us to the pet peeve that is my topic today. Hey smokers: please move a respectable distance away from the door to engage in your filthy habit!
As has been the case several other times in the course of writing this blog, I learned something new. I thought I had remembered that part of the ordinance detailed that your smoking is not supposed to occur within a certain distance of building entrances. That is not the case, it is not written into the law that you must be ten or twenty or any number of feet away from the door before you light up.
That part is, if you think about, simply common courtesy.
I accept that it is your choice to continue smoking and contribute to your eventual demise. My beer drinking probably isn’t doing me any great favors. But what bugs the living daylights out of me is having to walk through your stink to get in or out of a building. I have no choice where the door is. You do have a choice about where to create your smokescreen. Here’s a simple request: please move a little farther away.
Now you’ll try to convince me that in cold or otherwise nasty weather, you’re more sheltered from the conditions closer to the building. If you’re that concerned about your health and welfare, quit smoking!
I’m not really going to preach here; you’ll do what you want to and, like religion and politics, my little rant doesn’t stand a chance of getting you to change. But it feels good to put the bug in your ear for a minute, anyway. If I can influence just one smoker …
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 