Why it is okay to confine missionaries to ones cellar

  • They’re the first to forgive you, so it’s okay.

  • They know it’s a dangerous job when they take it.
  • They don’t usually laugh when you tell them their sexual position is one of your favorites.
  • They can still perform simple household tasks, even after the lobotomy; such as scramble eggs? Although you do usually have to remind them to stop when they’re finished, and you would want to do the actual cooking yourself, due to the hot burner and all.

We apparently had missionaries at the door recently, but I was in my shop at the time and Alpha answered the door and sent them on their merry way as she is wont to do. I tend to chat with them for a while. With telephone salespeople it’s the other way around. I say things like, “Whoa, the baby’s let the alligator out of the tank again, gotta dash,” while Alpha sometimes gets snagged.

I went out at lunch to buy paints for Gamma for the weekend, one-liter bottles of poster paints. This requires driving cross town to the big art supply store I just love so, so much, so so much, which in turn involves getting inconsolably lost in lunchtime Vienna traffic, which is not as bad as say lunchtime Mexico City traffic or lunchtime Jakarta traffic, but is bad enough for me. Also I forgot to eat lunch so I’m hungry now.

But I have the paints.

And I saw a guy washing a big bronze statue of the Pope. Scrubbing it good.

Lounge

Alpha: And I’ll give you guys my frequent-flyer card so you can go into the lounge at the airport when you go to America.
Gamma: Yay! Do they have cool music in the lounge?
Alpha: Erm…
Gamma: And disco lights?
Alpha: Not really.
Gamma: Drinks? Cool sofas?
Alpha: Well, beverages. Sofas, yes.
Gamma: Pff. No music? No lights? What kind of lounge is that?

Cultural awareness

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Originally posted 30 January 2004

4×24

Long weekend. Four days melt together in my mind. Random images:

  • Up at 3.30 on Easter morning when Gamma’s alarm clock unexpectedly rings. Alpha catches it before it wakes Gamma. We stay up, hide eggs, baskets in back yard. Go back to sleep.

  • Gamma wakes us up at 7.20 Easter morning with report of finding baskets, eggs, presents.
  • Leaning against sink, drinking coffee, wondering where the night went, listen to conversation between Gamma and her mother. “I feel sorry for people without children on Easter,” Alpha says. “Yes, like Aunt X,” Gamma says. “I wonder what she’s doing? Sailing or playing golf?” “I’d guess playing golf,” Alpha says.
  • Drive Gamma and her friend to what I will call Gemstone World, a theme park devoted to a certain gem. Multi-media exhibit. Gift shoppe. Tour, including a look at the vein of the gemstone underground. Alpha asks guide, so, the jewelry in the shop is all made from gems dug here? No, he says, they would fall apart. Which explains the theme park: how else to earn money from worthless gems? I pay

Feral Living Archive

Just for the record, in case any historians are interested, finally got the old Feral Living Archives moved to this server. The archives date back to when I started it in 1868, making it the oldest blog in the world, to my knowledge.

Images didn’t survive the move, however, and I can’t be bothered to fix them.