Collateral stinkage.

Yesterday morning I was walking the dog when we came upon the scene of an attack. It was dark, and we were walking the Big Loop, which as its name implies is a long street that leads us back to the street that takes us home. We were at about the halfway point when the evidence of a violent encounter became clear. 

When I say "violent encounter" I mean probably no one got physically hurt, but I'll bet something got a full-frontal skunk blast. 

I've been in cars and buses and on trains when we've passed the scene of a skunk run-over or a skunk attack, and the odor hanging in the air is a shock, but quickly gone -- although never as quickly as you might expect. It clings. Here it clung and how. There was no evidence of a skunk vs. car situation, so I suspect a critter decided to tangle with a skunk and lived to regrets its decision. The farther we walked into the cloud, the stronger it got; it would ease up a little due to that wonderful invention called olfactory fatigue, and then incredibly it would return, stronger and stronger, when you wouldn't think it possible. I expected to be able to see it, like mustard gas in a World War I movie. 

Eyes watering, we persevered. It seemed to go on for a good half mile. Hard to tell because of the curve of the sidewalk. There was no breeze blowing, though, so that cloud of punk just sat there. Whatever riled up the skunk got both barrels.

Don't look so flipping innocent.

I have nothing against skunks, really. They eat bugs, which I endorse -- not for me, but for other mammals and for reptiles. (Eat all the bugs!) And they have a unique self-defense mechanism. Everything is entitled to try to defend itself. Like porcupines, they only have one trick, but it's a winner.

The skunk can shoot its little anal weapon about ten to fifteen feet, and the speed at which it deploys is astonishing. Mental Floss says "Aside from the offensive smell that lingers for days (or even weeks), the spray is intensely irritating and can cause temporary blindness in anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the stream. Even if you're nowhere near the scene of the spray, you could still suffer the unpleasant consequences: People can detect the scent from up to a mile downwind." When Tralfaz got skunked years ago, it did take weeks to get the lingering funk off him. He'd gotten shot right in the mouth, and you could smell it on his breath the whole time, like he'd been drinking Skunk Vodka.

Weiler Woods for Wildlife tells us that the skunk has pretty damn good aim with the spray thanks to nipple-like protrusions on each anal gland. (That's like having a heat-seeking hand grenade -- which is to say, accuracy is not super important but still improves effectiveness.) They can shoot up to six times, like an old Colt revolver, except it takes them even longer to reload -- about 10 to 14 days. 

Fortunately, baby dog Izzy has not been so unwise as to challenge the local skunks so far, or any other wildlife. I hope our schlep through the cloud of doom convinced him that whatever made that odor is not to be trifled with. Meanwhile, if it wasn't a bear, fox, coyote, or bobcat that got the skunk treatment yesterday, then someone's house cat had a rude surprise for its owners in the morning. 

🦨🦨🦨

P.S.: This may seem like a strange topic for Valentine's Day, but remember the words of that great social philosopher Peter Wolf, "Love Stinks."

Frecoin Super Bowl Ad!

Well, friends, I hope you enjoyed the Super Bowl! Mostly of course I hope you enjoyed the Fredcoin ad that aired coast-to-coast during the game, and even in parts of Guam! It's sure to be on everyone's Top 10 Super Bowl LVII Commercials this morning. 

Did you miss it? I mean, it was right there, late in the fourth quarter. Actually, it was after the final whistle. A little bit. A couple of hours. Well, just in case you did, you'd better have a look at this baby, because everyone at the office is going to be talking about it this morning. 

 

Doesn't that just have the zingeroo? Gets the visual across with a catchy tune and leaves people wanting more. Like a lot of the ads, it doesn't waste time explaining the product. If you're not cool enough to know what we're talking about, well, I guess it sucks to be you. Or you could just look online and find out that Fredcoin is simply the fastest growing cryptocurrency mentioned in this post. It's true! 

I don't mind telling you we spent a pretty penny on that ad, yessir, a pretty penny. It was a 2018, exceptionally shiny. Minted in Denver, I believe. But it was totally worth it. Our agency, Wahoo Begonia, is simply amazing. Great work, guys! Is that Clio I smell? 

So thanks for all of you who supported us when we were just starting out, a far cry then from hitting the "Big Time." Remember, we're always here for you for all your crypto needs. We'll never get "too big for our britches." We're not even sure what "britches" are, but we'll never outgrow them. 

Oh, and I hope you liked the game. I heard one team beat the other one. That's probably for the best. 

Dog burglar.

Merriam-Webster tells us that the term cat burglar goes back to 1907, and means "a burglar who is adept at entering and leaving the burglarized place without attracting notice". Although it was probably the inspiration for Batman's nemesis/girlfriend Cat Woman, the term seems to have gone out of fashion (just like second-story man) as a means of describing a particular kind of theft. And why not? If you can just walk into Target and walk out with whatever your little arms can carry, why go sneaking around? 

Nevertheless, as a dog owner, I wonder what kind of a thief would be considered a dog burglar. I just wonder.... [Cue wavy fadeout as scene cuts to the sketch]

[Scene: Dead of night, Suburbia, USA]

Wife: What's that?

Hubs: HMph?

Wife: I heard something downstairs.

Hubs: Mmmblmm.

[Hubs schleps downstairs. At door SFX: scratch scratch]

Hubs: Huh? [Opens door]

Dog Burglar: Thanks thanks thanks! I was whining for hours and hours!

Hubs: Hey, wait--

DB: Can I come in? Thanks! Say, where do you keep your valuables? It smells great in here! 

Hubs: Valuables? You got the wrong house, brother.

DB: There! [Opens fridge]

Hubs: That's what you want? You're hungry?

DB: Not really but -- Oh, wow! You got ham and turkey and even cheese! Okay if I steal some?

Hubs: Well, er...

[1 hour later]

Wife: What the hell's going on down here?

Hubs: Hi, honey! We're just having a little midnight snack.

Wife: At three a.m.?

Hubs: This is my new best friend, Finnegan.

DB: Hi, glad ta know ya. I love your house.

Wife: Uh... thanks? Hey, is that the leftover ham? That was supposed to be dinner tonight.

DB: Welp, gotta go! Thanks so much, Sam! I love you. And you too, Mrs. Sam! [exits promptly]

Hubs: What a nice guy.

Wife: Why did he steal one of my boots on the way out?

Meme streets.

Have to get out of the house early today, so I spring-loaded these memes to pop out at you when you opened the page. Enjoy your Saturday! 

The one was making the rounds thanks to Elon Musk--story of my career

Robo Fred.

After I reported on the rise of artificial intelligence used by students to write papers and the reaction by the New York City Board of Ed last month, the problem may have temporarily solved itself. So many people are trying to use Open AI's AI writer that the servers are completely tied up. I get results! 

However, I wanted to get through myself. I wanted to see if I could retire from this exhausting work of blogging every day to have a robot write my blog for me. So I waited my turn to use ChatGPT and asked it to write a blog entry in my style. Herewith the results:

Good morning. This is Fred and I have more updates for you. The weather is all right. The dog is being very crazy today. I am not sure what the problem is. I wouldn't mind so much but the book I am editing is a real crowd-loser. It's called Eat Pond Scum, Live Forever!. I get sick looking at it. It's totally put me off my twinkies. If I have to eat pond scum to live forever, I'm A-OK with dying.

I wanted to buy a cartoon to run in this space with some Fredcoin, which is the world's greatest cryptocurrency, but it turns out the exchange rate is a little lower than I had expected. I needed an electron microscope to see how many Fredcoin fit in a regular dollar. Some people would say only a moron wouldn't find this depressing, but I don't! 

Meanwhile, I am recommending books, which you can find elsewhere, especially the ones I have written. Check them out! Or I will make more bad jokes. Or make you watch the Beloved Mets.

Come back tomorrow -- could be memes, could be cake. It could be memecake. It may be more complaints about the dog. Probably that.

💻💻💻💻

Okay, I was just joshing. After waiting to use ChatGPT for a couple of days, I did what I hope all the students are doing, and just wrote my own piece. 

However, to keep you from being disappointed by lack of AI blogging, I asked one of the AI image generators, Fotor, for a picture of Fred going off to war on a horse, wielding a pen. I didn't say whether it was I or the horse who would be holding the pen. This is what I got:

Doesn't look like me at all. Neither does the guy, for that matter. At least the horse doesn't have a teeny little face.

Old World craftsmanship.

I was looking through the Book of Esther in the Old Testament. Esther is a fascinating book, a story of a narrow brush with destruction for the Jewish people in exile, a history of the origin of the holiday Purim, and a story of how the courage and faithfulness of two normal people can make an enormous difference. It also shows some amazing carpentry work, if you ask me. 

If you're not familiar with the story, here's the setup: King Ahasuerus of Persia gets a new wife (well, a new #1 wife -- he had plenty) named Esther, whom he does not know is one of the many Jews living in the 127 provinces he controls. The king's top man, Haman, just despises the Jews, especially that old Mordecai who hangs around outside the palace. Haman decides he's going to kill all the Jewish people he can get to, and the date is set for a general massacre throughout the kingdom. 

There's a few things Haman doesn't know beyond the fact that the queen is a Jew. He doesn't know, for example, that Mordecai is Esther's cousin and foster father. He also doesn't seem to know that Mordecai saved King Ahasuerus's life by revealing a plot against him -- not that Mordecai ever got rewarded for it. Oy, such ingratitude! 

Haman's skipping along home, knowing that in a few months' time all the Jews in Persia will be massacred. He sees old Mordecai and thinks: I'm happy as a clam, but that guy burns my bacon! If only I could bump him off now! Haman's wife says, well, so what are you waiting for? Just go ahead and have the old man hanged. 

And here's where the carpentry comes in. 

Haman's wife tells him to build a gallows fifty cubits high, and then tomorrow tell his buddy the king he would like to have Mordecai hanged on it for all the world to see. Haman likes this idea fine, and orders the gallows built. So I asked myself, Self, how high is fifty cubits that the palace crew could knock this together overnight?

Merriam-Webster says a cubit is "any of various ancient units of length based on the length of the forearm from the elbow to the tip of the middle finger and usually equal to about 18 inches (46 centimeters)". So fifty cubits would be 900 inches, or 75 feet tall! You know how many things in an ancient city were seven stories tall? Maybe none. And yet by morning the staff has whacked the gallows together. 

Say what you will against royalty and the lack of rights for individuals, but they could get things done. In the modern era, Haman couldn't have even gotten the forms to fill out for a building permit as fast as it took these guys to shoot a gallows up. When it came to murder machines, they were raring to go! 

Now, one of the interesting bits about Esther's book is that God isn't not mentioned in it. Some Bible scholars and others dislike the book for that reason. And yet, the providence of God is evident. First, Mordecai and Esther fast in preparation for the dangerous act of asking the king a favor (to please not kill us all!), which shows they know they need God. Second, the king is having trouble sleeping -- maybe because some fools are hammering away on a building project all night long, who knows -- and decides that good, soothing reading would be to have his scribes "bring the book of records of the chronicles" and read to him. Maybe it was so dull that it would put anyone out. But what part do the scribes just happen to read that night? The part where Mordecai saves the king's life. The king realizes he never rewarded the Jewish man. He decides it's time to do something about that. Sounds like the hand of God was pointing to the page to me,

By the time Haman gets to the office the next day he is doomed, but he doesn't know it yet. Mordecai becomes a public hero, Esther makes a request of her husband, and guess who winds up hanging from the gallows? Yep, and for centuries "Haman's gallows" was a term either for a weapon that turns on its wielder or a catastrophic reversal of fortune.

Anyway, I was very impressed by the building skills alluded to in this story. I'm told that the author of the book of Esther may have telescoped events for dramatic effect, but I don't know. I'd prefer to think that those Persian carpenters (International Association of Death Machine Workers, Local شش هفت پنج) just knew how to get things done. You want to hang a guy? Such a gallows they'll build! One night, no waiting!

More old drunks than old doctors?

In 1953, American businessmen and civic leaders began an anti-littering organization called Keep America Beautiful, which persists to this day. It got a large boost in the sixties, when First Lady Lady Bird Johnson began a campaign called the Beautification Project. The whole ball o' wax probably hit its zenith when a public service ad -- probably the most famous ever -- featuring fake Indian Iron Eyes Cody made everyone feel guilty. 

And yet the litter keeps showing up all the same. 

Usually the stuff I see by the side of the road includes fast-food wrappers and cigarette butts. Sometimes there are soda cans, but more often beer cans, little airplane liquor bottles, and other open containers that would get you in trouble with the cops if they pulled you over. 

So this surprised me. 

I was walking Izzy early in the morning, and he was poking at something on the ground. I wasn't surprised to see it was a bottle, but was surprised to find it was a bottle of Ensure, the nutrition shake generally used by the elderly and other populations who have trouble getting adequate calories. We were on a stretch between houses, so it wasn't likely to have rolled out from someone's garbage. But who would pitch this out of the car?

Ultimately I decided it was an old drunk, a guy whose doctor told him he needed more nutrition and also needed to stop drinking vodka. Well, our drunken driving friend decided he would meet the doctor halfway, and mix vodka into the Ensure while tootling about, making a Poor Old Man's Black Russian. (I guess if he wanted a White Russian he'd use the vanilla.) Having consumed the cocktail, he pitched the vodka-scented bottle out the window and hid the remaining vodka for his next drink. 

That's my story and I'm sticking to it. But if you're abiding out there, Dude, please remember, you're too old and weak to go to prison for killing someone driving drunk. You wouldn't like it a bit. Save your POM Black Russians for home. And please: Keep America Beautiful. 

(NB: The bottle was not actually tested for vodka scent; I pitched it in the trash when I got back home, just in time for the garbage collection.)