Where I’m At Today, a Monday


I was just struck by the recollection of this time in maybe 1997 or 1998, on Usenet. Someone had been explaining the etymological origins of the names for the days of the week. You know, like how Thursday comes from Thor’s Day, or Wednesday from Woden’s Day, or Friday from Freya’s Day. And after this quite reasonable, quick description of the origins of day names someone comes in and declares, “I don’t believe it. Sounds like a folk etymology to me.” Anyway so I’m angry about that all over again and just hope that the person who insisted it was absurd to think that, like, Tuesday had anything to do with Tyr has had this come back to humiliate them, ideally by blowing what would otherwise have been a decisive victory in the Jeopardy! Tournament of Champions. You know, in the way people have normal and healthy reactions to things.

In Which I Am Not Alone At The Checkout Aisle


Legitimately thought the tabloid was telling me about Angelina’s Cruel Revenge on Bread, and I think it would have sold many more issues if it were.

Tabloid headline promises a world exclusive: Scorned Angelina's CRUEL REVENGE ON BRAD!'
Meanwhile the Archie Digest you can get a little glimpse of in the upper left corner there has a Josie and the Pussycats story where they’re playing one of those tiny European mountain principalities, and the chipper young prince won’t relent on his insistence that Josie marry him — until she explains that by the American custom he’ll be doing all the household chores and he starts listing them! Ha ha! That’s really making your 1950s “the worst person in the world is the wife I chose to marry” attitude work for you!

How I Annoy Squirrels


We’ve got a bunch of planters around the yard, since this is a good way to get a little extra soil space for growing carrots or flowers or those slightly smelly plants that our pet rabbit likes to eat, and they turn out to be a little more fun as the early stages of fall set in because of the squirrels that hop into the planters, sniff around the soil, determine that it won’t do for their various squirrel-related needs, and hop off again to chase off other squirrels who’re also examining the planters.

This week with winter setting in abruptly — last night the xenon condensed out of the atmosphere, which would cover the land with a thin layer of a mysterious lavender film if we hadn’t sold off all the xenon rights to some mysterious Dutch pinball manufacturer years ago — and I had to go about moving the planters inside so the cycle of freezing and thawing that we dearly hope develops at some point this winter won’t go cracking them.

I knew this wouldn’t be popular with the squirrels, who were busy staring angrily at me through all this, but I didn’t realize the red squirrel was going to give me the “got my eyes on you” gesture. I kind of hope that all us humans look alike to the red squirrels so there’s only a one in seven billion chance he exacts his vengeance on me. (Or her vengeance. I suppose something like half of red squirrels have to be female.)