August 16th, 2008


Paying tribute in the oddest ways

I've told you (more than once) about the late, great Mike Pearl, my best friend during high school. I think about him a lot.

I just made myself laugh when thinking about him.

This morning I received an e-mail saying a payment I'd made via PayPal had been refunded to me because the money recipient didn't exist...because (it turned out) I'd spelled a word wrong (by one letter) in the recipient's address.

After "argh"ing to myself over the mistake, I redid the transaction, spelling very carefully. I then sent an explanatory e-mail to the (correct!) recipient saying why the payment she'd expected from me was hella late.

Here's the thing: one thing Mike wasn't good at was spelling. He knew it, and we'd joke about it. He started to refer to "speeling." (To be exact, he'd write "speeling errrors": "We'd get this issue out on time, with no speeling errrors. (Maybe a few...)")

In my explanatory e-mail just now, I wrote
Usually I'm good at spelling. (I first thought of writing "Yusuly Im gud at speeeling.")
Oh, what sweet irony that I misspelled "speeling"... ;-)
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My tribal name is "Yells At Goats"

"NO! Go! Go!" wakes you up just fine, even if the voice is coming from a floor below you.

It was Mom's voice. Welcome to the country: there were goats in the backyard. Recently, a herd of goats from a neighbor has been getting into Mom and Dad's yard, eating weeds and whatever else. They started in on the "whatever else," meaning landscape plants especially planted by Dad. These plants look...sad now. So if the goats get up near the house and thus the landscaping, we have to yell to get them away.

I was drifting off when this last happened, then plenty awake because of the needed yelling. Mom called up that the goats were right behind the house, and she was shooing them away. I joined her in sort-of-herding the goats, walking outside myself and using the more booming version of my voice, until they were in a far corner of the yard.

Then I realized I didn't know exactly where they'd come from. Where do I herd them to now?

Mom walked out as well, and that's good because she knew which way the goats needed to go now: down a slope to a ravine (and past where Dad was doing fence work to, you know, KEEP THEM OUT FROM NOW ON IF AT ALL POSSIBLE). We kept up the yelling and the clapping until they got to a low spot in the ravine and squeezed through a hole that I could barely see under the fence, and headed back to a flatland behind this place where they can graze alongside cows. (Welcome to the country, there are cows.) And Dad set to work to figuring out how to block that hole, too.

I'm not Babe the Gallant Pig yet, but I wasn't planning to be.
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Good Omens

Singhiozzo Dellamorte

See Fatboy Roberts suffer for his art, all Bruce Campbell-being-abused-by-Sam Raimi style! A weekend ago Fatboy and Aaron "Geek in the City" Duran and others whose names I don't know helped create this short, Singhiozzo Dellamorte, for the 48-Hour Film Festival:

Duran describes it as "the James Whale meets Chuck Jones antics of a crew raised on too many Sam Raimi films. (As if there is such a thing.)"