The Dog Ate My Blog
Half literally. Yes, the dog; no, the ate. Phosphors are bad for a golden doodle and Lucy* has so far shown no propensity for attacking the computer, although my typing fingers are occasionally her target. But my bloggage has been stunted by the extra dog time and also by a costume party.
In the space below I plan to dispose of many of the brief cryptic-to-incomprehensible notes I left myself while learning such phrases as "No!" and "Drop It!" over the past months.
Grammatical Flexibility
The older you get, the more grammar you seem to have. I try to eschew the usual whine about how the language** is deteriorating in the hands of young people who commit solecisms out of some combination of ignorance, sloth, and revenge against picky people such as myself. It has fallen to me to proofread much of our corporate communications for grammar and punctuation since the effective departure of our Comma Queen in days of yore. (I looked up 'days of yore' to make sure I was using it correctly. I'm hardly perfect myself.) Not ending a sentence with a preposition is a rule to which I try to adhere. (See?) Not only does it sound better, it's the right thing to do. Or was until now. I suggested modifying a sentence in one of our corporate pronouncements to reposition the preposition, and got what we nowadays call push back. Rather than be dogmatic, I considered the arguments and citations sent by the perpetrator and decided that he was right, or at least not wrong. I am officially giving up the preposition obsession in others' writing if not in my own.
Soybeans
Did you know that until recently I had been a gentleman soybean farmer? So much of a gentleman that I didn't even know what a soybean looked like until midway in my "career." Soybeans have become deeply political, and I have dutifully added the American Soybean Association to my list of organizations.
I May Have Mentioned this Before
There are about 300 million autos registered in the United States. The average car weighs about 3000 pounds. I declare without measurement that the average owner's manual weighs about a pound. If everyone just had a copy of their owner's manual on their phone instead of in the glove box, it would be the equivalent of removing the weight and much of the gas consumption of 100,000 cars from our nation's roads***. Why didn't the Government think of this?
Video vs. AI
You may recall I have an amateurish interest in dark matter. What I sadly lack is the spare time to watch videos, especially those that suggest that sugar can be used to detect DM. AI to the rescue: I asked for a summary of the video, which I read in one minute. I still haven't found any dark matter.
Rick's Blog—Possibly Even More Popular Than My Own
Dear Google: When I look up a phrase in this, the RIKLblog and add "RIKLblog" to the search term, would it be too much trouble to search for what I ask instead of telling me that Rick (fine fellow though I'm sure he is) hasn't mentioned that phrase in his blog? Well, would it?
Coat Hangers
Dear Coat Hanger Manufacturers: When one removes a clothing item from one of your products, the hanger often swings back on the closet rod and hits the wall behind it to the detriment of sleepers nearby. How about soft bumpers on the hanger ends to eliminate that sound? And did you know—as I just discovered—that a retractable rod orthogonal to the closet rod is called a "valet rod." AI-search to the rescue again!
Limburger Cheese
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If you "grew up" in the age of monochrome cartoons on the television set, you probably saw many examples of the Limburger Cheese trope, i.e., stinky with scent lines emanating from it. Even the mice can't stand it.
I spied a genuine Limburger in the store's cheese refrigerator, and realized I had never experienced its clichéd aroma. I brought one home. Such was it's reputation, that I was advised it was not to be opened in the house, hence the photograph of its exile on the deck fence.
Sorry, Ancient Cliché. Its aroma wasn't unpleasant, and it tasted good. A lifetime of tragic bigotry down the churn. |
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Bezos and PriUPS
Maybe there's something to my PriUPS project after all! Bezos, Cornell, and, of course, AI
Shades of Asimov
The name of the mayor-elect of New York City can be rearranged with very little ingenuity and most likely no danger to read "i, Madman."
Shades of Android
It used to be that I could say "Hey Google, what's that song" and have about an 80 per cent change of getting the correct answer. Not any more.
It used to be that when I plugged my Android into my computer, the phone's files would appear under My Computer. Not any more. Now "for my security," I have to unlock the phone, find the message that explains that I am only charging the phone, touch the "Transferring files" choice, and apply my fingerprint. Every. Single. Time.
What Costume Party?
Did I keep you waiting? I'm trying to learn "suspense" just in case I ever have some to offer. In addition to "No!" and "Drop it!" another phrase I learned was "Your Majesty," the title to be assumed by Richard III, who was actually Joe. I was to be the ever-unfaithful Lord Thomas Stanley, and my actual wife will be Lady Margaret Beaufort. Costumes to match, we are preparing for a lovely dinner and an attempt to prevent the Battle of Bosworth Field. Preparation for this event early next year ate the portion of my blog not consumed by Lucy.
* Often short for Lucifer. She's still a puppy.
** Yes, English, although some times it's hard to be sure.
*** For only 50,000 cars, eliminate just the gratuitous warning paragraphs from the manuals.
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