Anatomy of a rock album.

 

The formula of stupid ideas.

I have wondered if there is some means to get an idea of how many stupid ideas we have. I think there must be a finite number. Perhaps if we had a formula to find that number we might be better able to prevent them, or at least cope with their effects. 

Some definitions are in order here. By stupid ideas, I am referring to bad ideas for actions that may be put into effect. "I am cold, so I will leap into the sun" is stupid, but impossible. "I am cold, so I will start a fire in the kitchen" is stupid, but possible. The latter would count toward the total, the former not.

The universe may be infinite, or infinite for our practical purposes, but human intelligence can only grasp so much. Therefore we may assume it has an upper limit to its generative capability, which we will call i. The total number of humans to have ever existed to the present moment we will indicate by the symbol h. We will further want the number of dumb ideas generatable by i over the course of the average lifespan (g). That gives us the base formula of:

(i x g) x h = theoretical total of dumb ideas 

But wait! Perhaps we want to remove all the redundant ideas -- like, instead of counting each incidence of "I'm going to wrestle that polar bear" as 1, we just count every incidence of that exact idea as a single idea, allowing for similar but not identical permutations of it. I propose that for this purpose we use the amended formula thusly:

(i x g) x h - dittos = theoretical total of unique dumb ideas 

Now, if it wasn't obvious before, it will be clear that I am talking through my hat. I can barely make my checkbook balance. So while it might be a nice idea to get a grip on our total number of possible bad ideas, I have no idea how to do that. Plus, in practice, human ingenuity toward bad ideas may actually be infinite.

I'm kind of sorry I started this whole process. Just add this blog entry to the pile of bad ideas and proceed with your day.   

Heels at a wake.

I predicted that this might be a bad year for funerals, and indeed, I was obliged to attend one last week. In a way it was a happy occasion, in that the deceased had once been estranged from his family, but by his passing was sorely missed by all. A wake with a prayer service was scheduled, and I got there just in time for the prayer service, which was standing room only. 

Then the weird thing happened. I bring all this up because I found it very odd and slightly entertaining. 

As the service concluded, I made my way to the front to bid farewell to our friend and to offer condolences to the family. I happened to notice some black flecks on the ground as I waited -- black flecks that stood out against the beige carpet -- black flecks that followed my path to the front. 

Had I stepped in some foul substance on my way in? How embarrassing! Time for a quick goodbye and exit. 

Except on my way, I saw something sticking out from my pants cuff. The very thing that was leaving the trail. 

The heel of my left shoe had chosen this sacred and solemn occasion to disintegrate completely. 

I ripped the heel off and continued. As I ducked down the steps to the funeral home, the heel from the right shoe, not to be outdone, emerged from beneath my shoe. I paused, ripped that off too, and proceeded to the car posthaste. 

Now, this is an odd thing to have happened. This was a pair of well-made Ecco shoes that were in apparently fine condition when I left the house, shoes that were comfortable and buffed up nicely. But note too that these shoes had been in my possession for well over fifteen years -- I can't actually remember when I bought them. Since I've been working at home for more than nine years now, they have not gotten as much use as they once did. But meanwhile the rubber was slowly rotting away until bam! In the presence of death, they themselves gave up the ghost. 

Funerals and weddings have a way of disclosing unfortunate couture situations at the last minute. The suit you like no longer fits (damn you, Doritos!). The tie you intended to wear has a coffee stain you missed. The cuff links no longer sit together in the box; one has gone roaming. Anything can happen. I would not have minded discovering the shoe issue at home; I have other dress shoes. I did mind the heels sitting under my feet through the event like a sooty time bomb.

I've had heels detach from shoes before. I've even had the entire sole with heel detach from cheap uppers in my young days. But I've never had a heel just disintegrate. Had the dog gotten to them and chewed at the heels? No, it would have been plain to see. Nope, this was just a case of rubber deterioration, I suppose. Even silicone lasts only 20 years. 

Well, that's the way the heel bounces. 

For the men whose funerals I've attended recently: May their souls rest in peace. 

As for my shoes, well, may their soles rest in peace. 

Springshots.

Ah, spring! What joy! How well the great poet Chaucer put it: 

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, 

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, 

And bathed every veyne in swich licóur 

Of which vertú engendred is the flour; 

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth 

Inspired hath in every holt and heeth 

The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne...

Yeah, dude. Righteous.

You gotta love spring, if only because winter sucks so much. Yeah, the bugs are back, and some of the birds make a lot of noise, and some of the neighbors make a lot of noise, but it's okay. Why, I saw a pileated woodpecker the other day, not twenty feet away! Almost fainted with excitement. 

The bird was camera-shy, alas, but I offer these simple pictures of spring in her splendor. 

Okay, so this doesn't look like much. But when I see long, dead grass strands under my deck, I know what it means...

Construction time for the Robins again. 

The blooms look so wonderful that I hope we don't get snow in May again this year. Kills flowers dead.

The dogwood's already losing its petals. Lazy, that's what I call it. Well, let sleeping dogwoods lie. 

The maples are finally unfurling their leaves. Baby steps, maples. 

This tree always looks great. Except the year we got a late blizzard and it had so many leaves up already that the weight tore down several limbs. But it bounced back after a decade or so. Can't kill this guy.

And finally, daffodils. Maybe my favorite flower.
You forget the bulb is there and suddenly: Bing! I'm back!

The sunlight colors always look like hope. 

Sike?

Honestly, I wonder what kids are thinking. I didn't know what they were thinking when I was one, to be frank, so you can imagine how bad I am at it now. 

Today's complaint concerns the abuse of an interjection that my generation made great, a tagline so profound and so much fun that it arose from nowhere and became universal in no time. 

Of course, I am referring to

PSYCH! 

It seems that youngsters, who literally know nothing, are rendering the word as "Sike!" Which is inscrutably dumb. If they aren't doing this as some parody of Gen X, which Occam suggests is not the case, then they are making a silly mistake. 

Psych! as an exclamation, of course, is something one says as to indicate that the other has been fooled, gulled, pranked, or otherwise tricked -- from the expression psych out. I think Webster's errs in listing as synonyms for psych (out) words like terrorize, frighten, and discourage. Psych out was and is a less serious term in common use, at worst meant to intimidate or distract an opponent, not drive him into the fetal position. 

Obviously this term comes from psychology, "from scientific Latin psychologia 'the study of the mind and behavior,' derived from Greek psychē 'soul, mind' and Greek -logia 'science, study,'" according to Webster. Pretty common terms, especially in this over-analyzed era, no? Been around in English since at least 1749. And yet the youth of the country has to make up some strange spelling for psych?  

If only there'd been a popular TV show, one that lasted, say, eight seasons, using the term as a title; perhaps a show featuring a fake psychic, a member of Gen X; a show titled after the term that would have the double meaning of psychic and psyching out (since the hero is a fake). Perhaps the show's theme song might even use the expression "psych you out". 

Maybe then, kids today might remember how to spell the word. Oh, who knows. Probably not. 

Tax Day, Fredcoin, and You!!!!

Today is the income tax deadline in the United States. Talk about rending unto Caesar -- the whole process leaves you feeling pretty rended. 

Of course, you know what the answer to all your tax problems is: Fredcoin! Not just the only cryptocurrency with the imprimatur of Fred himself, but also the only cryptocurrency with a secret toy surprise!*

Before or on tax day, the teeming hordes of Fredcoin customers always come to me with questions. "Fred!" they say, "we have questions!" And I say, "My friends, I have answers!" But since we're up against the deadline for filing income tax, I figured I'd better give you an FAQ list rather than trying to help each of you individually. Plus, I hate to see a grown man cry. 

FREDCOIN AND TAXES: FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

1. Is Fredcoin considered a tax shelter?

Yes, and by that I mean, no. If you leave your cash invested in Fredcoin, then yes, you don't have to worry about paying taxes. If you should foolishly want to reconvert your Fredcoin to worthless U.S. currency, then consider your shelter as firm as Dorothy's Kansas farmhouse.  

2. Which IRS form do I need to file to lay out my Fredcoin investments? 

You need to file a Schedule FRD, form 8712-P, with a side of pickled beets. 

3. Are my vast Fredcoin profits taxable income?  

Yes, I certainly believe they would be. 

4. Can I buy Fredcoin if I live in Austin?

I'm sorry, this is a "Fredcoin and Texas" question; that's a different FAQ.

5. Is Fredcoin a form of money laundering?

No, no, of course not! Now, it's possible that some unscrupulous characters might slip some ill-gotten gains into their purchase of Fredcoin -- how would I know? And it's possible that they might convert their Fredcoin back into some crummy U.S. currency, minus a large fee, to claim it was all Fredcoin profits and totally legit. Ha! Ha! What a funny little totally fake scenario. No, we never talk about money laundering here at Fredcoin. We much prefer to call it money fortification.  

6. Why is Fredcoin the best cryptocurrency out there, bar none, hands down, hands none, bar down?

You have to ask? Look at it! No other currency of any kind has Fred on it. And I think that says it all. 

🪙🪙🪙🪙

*Secret toy surprise offer may not apply. See side of box for details. Do not use Fredcoin internally. Some patients reported that Fredcoin caused dizziness, nausea, and elongated nostril hairs. Fredcoin is a registered trademark of Fredcoin Inc. LLC LLP MNOP. All Rights reserved. Lefts are up for grabs.   

Dogs in the comic books.

Throughout the history of American comic books, dogs have played an interesting but not dominating role. There have been a number of famous canine characters who appeared first in comics, and others who appeared elsewhere and made their way into comics. But considering the enormous popularity of dogs as pets in our history, they actually seem underrepresented. 

Note here that I'm not referring to funny-animal type dogs, like Snoopy or Pluto or Droopy or Huckleberry Hound or even Underdog. I'm thinking here of action hero dogs. And no, Scooby-Doo does not count. Jonny Quest's dog Bandit is close, but he's not a headlining character, I'm afraid. The same goes for Snowy and Dogmatix. 

Lassie, however, was not just a star of film and television; the world's favorite collie starred in comic book adventures by Dell from 1950 to 1962; then Western picked up the series until 1969. And I am not kidding about being the favorite of the world, or at least what we used to call Christendom -- those comics were also published in Canada, Brazil, the UK, Australia, Scandinavia, Germany, and so on. Rin-Tin-Tin didn't have as long a run in comics, but his adventures appeared in most of the same markets and Lebanon as well, according to the Grand Comics Database. 

Less down-to-earth dogs were featured in comics, of course, and we've covered a couple of the most famous ones on this blog. Krypto, Superman's super pet dog, was unleashed (ha!) on the American public in a March 1955 issue, and Batman got a part-time dog helper named Ace a few months later. Older than both of those characters by three years is Rex the Wonder Dog, a heroic white shepherd who was so smart and whose adventures became so fantastical that in more recent years has been said to have superpowers, and be a superhero in his own right.

When Marvel comics decided to have a dog character, it was of course Lockjaw, a monstrous teleporting bulldog, as part of the Inhumans, because we can't just have friendly pets when Jack Kirby is involved.

But speaking of Marvel, I'm proud to report that the inspiration for this post today is my own dog Izzy, America's Sweetheart. Yes, I was amazed to discover that before he lived with us, he was actually a friend of the Fantastic Four's Human Torch, appearing in an issue of Strange Tales in 1965.

Therefore, as I own Izzy, I am the official agent of a Marvel character. If Disney wants to go ahead and ruin the Fantas -- that is, make a new Fantastic Four movie, they will need to pay us a small fee -- perhaps two or three million dollars -- for the rights. 

🐕💰🐶💸🦮🤑

Okay, maybe it's just possible that Izzy did not appear in the actual comic book. I say that based on the fact that his head is not as big as a human's, as shown above, and in 1965 he was not born yet -- and would not be for 56 years. The actual panel from the story, courtesy of the entertaining Comics Archaeology site, is here: 

But if Disney would like to send us a bushel of money anyway, I'm sure we can accommodate them. Come on, Mouse House! Look at my dog! He's cuter than anything you've coughed up in at least twenty years and has universal appeal. (Oops -- maybe I should not have mentioned Universal.)