Woke to the beautiful snow that makes Winter here worthwhile.
It’s been snowing all day, but it’s light and wet.
On the way to work, I snapped the tree over at the 333, our rival building. Different from last year. Thinner. Not sure what I think. No, I am sure. Eh. They still haven’t switched the ceiling LEDs to holiday colors, and I wonder what they’re waiting for. I’d ask Ishmael, but I’m sure they don’t tell him.
Well, let’s see what the week has brought us in the way of unusable detritus.
Apparently I paused the TV and found this amusing enough to get out my camera:
Such an awful show. It came up in the “Recommended for You” panel, and I wanted to revisit the first ep, since it’s actually different from what it turned into being. Hard sci-fi, practically. Had a huge set for the control room:
Dr. Smith was eeeevil, too, not the campy ninny he turned into. Obviously a Russian agent, but in those days you could never say that. I don’t know why. They made up countries, talked about “Foreign Powers,” but never came out and said Commies from Russia. Why? Were they afraid of offending them? Scotching the overseas sales?
Oh look, a new word
There is no such thing as “dragphobia,” unless it falls under coulrophobia, or fear of clowns. From the Cleveland Clinic:
Coulrophobia brings on feelings of fear when you see clowns or clown images. It’s a specific phobic disorder that causes anxiety, a racing heart, nausea and profuse sweating. Most people can avoid clowns. Some need exposure therapy, a type of psychotherapy, to help manage their reactions to clowns and clown images.
Most people can avoid clowns. Not these days.
“Dragphobia,” like all the faux-phobias, is meant to delegitimize dissent. If you have a specific objection to a behavior, an idea, a means of practicing one’s religion, you are reacting irrationally.
. . . and here the power went out. I was unable to complete my absolutely essential thoughts about why this vegetable would not make you shed actual fat overnight.
It’s back on now, late. We had a nice time in the glow of the emergency lights, though. I have prepared! I have lights strategically located around the house in secreted spots, ready for moments like this. Why, I’ll just read a book on my iPad . . . oh look at that, the battery’s down to ten percent. No problem: I recharged all the portable electronic batteries last week, as part of the fortnightly housekeeping. (Breathes on fist, rubs knuckles on pectoral muscles.)
What I don’t have is much in the way of below-the-folk, partly because it’s late, and partly because the Audio Lint feature has run its course. It will be replaced by a new Friday feature that’s just . . . well, you’ll have to see. It’ll totally change Friday around here. Unless I decide to run it on Thursdays.
Anyway, scant week, but as I warned you, that’s December. It was a good week, though - wrote five pieces, bumped up all my weights (still hitting the gym five times a week), wrote a krepton of 2023 website stuff (I discovered a folder with 127 quasicomics I hadn’t used: yay! Also, yikes), took a lot of pictures and shot a lot of video of the quotidian details, made good meals for my wife, and had a long late-night text conversation with Natalie about art and technology. I felt good and happy and reasonably strong and clear-minded, unhampered by boxes and chains, to add a seasonal reference.
I do believe I’m ready for some holiday songs now. Hello, Mr. Kringle.
It's been a few weeks since we checked in with the Stadium Apartments. Up and up:
The entrance to the hotel across from my building is finished. It's a bit underwhelming. Last stage:
The final product:
Wall, okay. Odd how the image preview for the first picture showed up:
It's like there was the HORRIBLE TRUTH embedded in the image somehow.
Makes Lance's job easier when they crumble on contact: