Watching The Dinosaurs At Michael’s


Safari Ltd 'Toob' tubes of small toy animals. Hanging from one hook is a tube of Carnivorous Dinos. Next to it the hook for tubes of Regular Dinos is empty.
Not pictured: the tube of Cryptozoological Creatures. Because they were out of frame, not because I couldn’t find them. But wouldn’t it be a kick if they listed their tube of, like, Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster and all that in their catalogue and advertised them like crazy but only ever sent out one tube at a time to some random store two cities over from wherever you were? This is why you shouldn’t put me in charge of real businesses.

“Well, that’s funny; whatever happened to the tube of Dinosaurs? … And why is the tube of Carnivorous Dinos so heavy?”

It amused me, is who. And my love knew I was going to take a picture of that so I’m comfortable sharing it with you. If you’d like more writing try my mathematics blog, which did its weekly-or-so comics review yesterday. Thank you, won’t you?

Another Blog, Meanwhile Index

With the index dropping two points again and returning to its initial value of 100 once more a group of analysts are proposing they just start their own index and see how much better they do with it. I think they’re bluffing but goodness knows what happens when you get a bunch of analysts all upset that a number isn’t the number they want it to be.

100

In Which My Love Makes A Good Observation


Aisle 23 label: 'Martha Stewart Paint; Tempera Paint; Paint'.
This could really be anywhere. But where it actually is, is an aisle at the local Michael’s. Aisle 23, I suppose.

“Or you could label the aisle `Paint’.”


I’ve mentioned this several times in recent days, but it’s true again. I had a fresh new bunch of mathematically-themed comic strips over in my other blog. And I’d like it if you read them, thanks. Also there’s an appeal for mathematics terms for me to attempt defining. If you don’t know what something means, let me know. I might have a fair idea. Thank you, won’t you?

The Mid-Winter Fashion


To explain why I discovered only at the end of the day Monday that I was wearing a shirt inside-out I need to give some context. I don’t think I need to explain the wearing of shirts, as that’s been popular nearly my whole adult life, and Monday has been almost perfectly assimilated into American culture since its invention in 1964 as a way to ease the transition from Sunday to Tuesday.

Now, it’s wintertime. It hasn’t been as cruel a winter as last year, but last year’s was exceptionally cruel, frequently using the power of social media to ridicule individuals and harass them in what had been safe social areas. This winter has been much nicer, but it has still been getting cold, and the weather’s been getting bad. My love pointed out there isn’t any such thing as bad weather, only people badly dressed for the weather. I answered this by asking what about when the weather is minus two degrees Fahrenheit, and a heavy, wet snow is coming down so hard you’re on the verge of whiteouts, and it’s about ninety minutes after sunset. My love went “hrm” to this, and I added that you were stuck with a flat tire more than an hour away from home, on a frontage road outside the abandoned scrap metal recycling center, and your cell phone, which you never use and you charge all the time, is out of battery, as it always is, and none of these additions are properly the weather per se but they do help set the scene. My love walked away to ask our pet rabbit if he wanted a raisin, which he does.

Still, the right way to deal with weather like that is layering, which we start doing around November and let up on around March. The principle of layering is simple: you can stay somewhat less cold by, whenever you find an article of clothing, putting it on. Whenever you find an article of clothing. So just strolling around the house I’ll put on underwear, sure, and long underwear, and here’s a t-shirt by the bed, and a regular shirt that was on the dresser, and a dress shirt that was in the bedroom closet, and the soccer shirt from that one time I played soccer in tenth grade, and the novelty “2010” eyeglasses because eyeballs get cold too and what the heck New Year’s Eve might roll around again, and go downstairs and put on the blanket we put over the couch for guests because that’s kind of a dress shirt for furniture, and then put on the reclining chair, and that’s all before I’ve even got to the closet where we keep the jackets.

If it’s done right, by about mid-February you’re basically a gigantic elliptical bundle of flesh and cloth, and it’s not all that cold as you step outside, trip over your six pairs of shoes, and go tumbling down the road. People from warmer climates may believe that mid-Michigan in the upcoming weeks will be a field of spinning balls of population bouncing off one another until they roll into a snowy creek, all the layers keeping folks from freezing to death until the currents can sweep them into the Grand River. This is absurd. Given the plowed streets, people are much more likely to roll down to the strip mall and into the nearest Michael’s, where they bounce into the folks waiting in the line where, even though there’s four registers open and nobody has more than maybe three things to buy and everybody’s paying cash, the line never advances any. The disruption is appreciated since it gives customers the chance to give up on their plans to buy decorative boxes and plastic flowers and run off to the Petco next door and stare at heaps of sleeping ferrets instead.

You might think this makes laundry terrible, since there’s so many clothes to wash if you got them all taken off at once. And it’s true that the laundry loads are bigger than summer, but you don’t have to wash all the layers at once. The two great sources of dirtiness, in clothing, are the outside world, and only the outermost layer of clothing ever touches that, and the body, and only the innermost layer touches that. Everything else is just touching other clothes so you can let them slide a while or, if you’re wearing enough layers, let the accumulated fabric pressure crush any dirt that might somehow get through into little bitty lint diamonds, which are good for industrial lint needs.

Anyway, so this all gets back to how I discovered I wore a shirt inside-out on Monday: it was underneath that thing I wear that isn’t a hoodie, I guess, but that I call one because I don’t know what else to call it, and I didn’t discover this until I was getting ready for bed by taking off the outer eighteen layers. I feel kind of silly about it, but, I understand how this sort of thing happens and nobody else noticed.