October 20th, 2006


(no subject)

It seems like my icon list is where the Tick animated series goes to die. I've got two random pictures ostensibly from The Tick's mental imagery, a picture of Blowhole, the Transcontinental Leviathan, and now I've got Handy, the handpuppet-sidekick of The Human Ton.

Couple favorite Handy quotes (Both from "The Tick vs Arthur's Bank Account"):

[referring to a mopey Tick]
"Even now, he sulks like Achilles in his tent.

Achilles? The Iliad? It's HOMER?! READ A BOOK!!!"

[discussing melee strategy with The Human Ton]
"Don't just stand there! EAT HIS HEAD!

See? He's eating your head, and I can still talk! He's eating, I'm speaking! He's eating, I'm speaking! How do we do it?!"

Ah, I miss you, Handy.

In other news blather - my folks are coming to visit tomorrow, so I spent this evening cleaning the house up so they won't wonder if I wasn't raised in a barn, after all. I decided to run out to the store to restock my cleaners, cleansers and related Winston Wolf paraphernelia. I don't know, something about after-hours grocery lighting must kill higher brain functions because everybody in the building was walking around like zombies. The chick in front of me insisted that her twelve-packs of Shasta (I wanna pop, I wanna SHASTA - which sounds dirty to me now) were 4/$10, not the $3.47 that they were ringing up on the computer.

Eventually, I get up to the front of the line, and the walking dead trained cashier asked me for my driver's license. Without even thinking (because, really, who could be expected to) I stammered that sure, that'd be fine, let me get it out. Ha! No, he was just funnin' me. Having a jape at ole Dave's expense. Ha ha, cause see, I had tried to purchase alcohol, and the joke is that I might actually pass for a minor. Whee!

It didn't bother me that he tried to card me, what kinda weirded me out was how much fun he had at his little game. I'll bet you even money right now that next time he tries to steal my nose.

Ways in which Dave is an idiot, numbers 30267 and 30268

  • tripod - I think I had some plans to go out somewhere... you know, outside. And I think I planned to take some pictures. I forget what the plans were, but I put a tripod in the back of my car. This would have been over a month ago. Maybe more than two. Today, as I was retrieving my groceries from the back of the car, I decide to finally pull the tripod out, because whatever trip it was that I thought I was going to go on, must have not actually happened.

    As I'm returning it to the pile of random stuff where it normally lives, I notice that one of the many cranky bits (no, the other kind of cranky) has snapped off. Perhaps I shouldn't have been stacking power drills and cases of cola beverages on top of the thing for the past two months.

  • bread machine - some people like the smell of freshly baked bread. Some people like to eat bread, as well, but that's not as important right now. Some of you may recall that I got a bread machine maybe 10 years ago (goodness) back when I was living in Cambridge. And I've had a good run with it. It's made bread, and churned butter (seriously!) which is more than you'd really expect out of an appliance like that. And hey, I know that the Arch Bishop of things to eat says that unitaskers are bad, but just the same, a bread machine has a place in my kitchen.

    So, last night, I set my machine to do its thing, so that I'd have freshly baked bread (and more to the point, the house would smell like freshly baked bread). Around lunchtime, I figured it would have done its thing. No. It turns out that I had a lump of baked sludge, topped with maybe a cup of toasted flour.

    "Huh" says I to myself. "Perhaps I didn't snap the paddle firmly to the rotating shaft. Or perhaps I didn't snap the baking pan firmly into the baking pan socket. Or perhaps the paddle was left in the dishwasher, where it wouldn't have rotated anyway. Because clearly, the water, flour, and yeast have not been stirred together into the sort of mixture that brings forth what we call bread."

    So I throw out the lump and flour and try again. This time, I was out of the house during the critical mixing phase. At the end of the work (!) day, I checked again. Nuts, sludge again.

    I disassembled (Sorry, Johnny 5) the pieces and checked everything, and determined that the paddle wasn't actually rotating, that the rotating shaft was somehow seized up. So, I did what any professional would do, and reached for my WD-40, and loosened the baby up (Geena Davis says: "What? Chefs do that!"). Much better. Almost like you'd think it ought to work. Nice and smooth, like a baby's bottom. If there was a rotating propellor-like flap sticking out of a baby's bottom.

    And one more batch of flour, yeast, and water. And me at home the entire time. No sound of the motor, no beeping alarms. Looks like I went and burned out the motor of the thing. Want some sludge? There's no way I'm eating all this myself.

    Oh, well. Looks like I've got some stuff to add to my Christmas list, if my family asks. Please buy me new toys, because I broke all my old ones.