March 7th, 2016

Star Wars - Fly away...

Your occasional reminder that you can hear messages for spies, if you know where to listen.

"Whatever the language, wherever the broadcast, the numbers stations all sound the same. Men and women, usually with impeccable diction, methodically rattle off codes that almost no one will comprehend. On many stations, the sequences consist of pre-recorded numbers spliced together. Others use computer-generated voices. Some numbers stations have used children, whose higher-pitched recitations might be easier to hear over the bristling shortwave frequencies.

"The numbers stations have been all around us for decades, equally disturbing whether in English, Polish, or Mandarin. And they have endured, despite advances in electronic communications and encryption, because although they’re accessible to anyone, numbers stations are one of the most secure forms of clandestine communication ever devised."

I find it fascinating: that numbers stations existed in the first place, and that they still exist.
Portland Timbers

I'm sure I could lift a log slice cut by Timber Joey at a Timbers game, but about other lifting...




...hi. My body is currently reminding me of the truth of those first three lines. I had a quiet weekend — a boring weekend, honestly — but I also quietly helped a friend move. A few things. Just a few things. On Sunday, said friend was in the final stages of moving items out of the house she's leaving (she's bought a place in another part of the country), and the person who'd planned to help her with a few large items was too sick to get out of bed, let alone move around bookshelves or futons. Luckily I was available, and I drove up to my friend's place.

By "just a few things" I mean we were done moving stuff after about 10 minutes. Huh. I'd expected that to take longer.

If it had taken longer, I'd really be feeling it this morning, but no, there's mainly a little ache. I felt a little ache later that night — after driving further into North Portland, hanging out at a library to pass time, having dinner at a theater-pub, briefly visiting with other friends who came to that theater-pub for a film, then heading back to East Portland, stopping along the way for groceries — and had to remind myself I'd moved a few big things. I'm allowed a little ache.

I've ached much, much more, trust me. And a little ache would be worth it to have more upper body strength...more strength in general, in fact and of course.

I'm writing this here to remind myself. I hope Future-Me is glad I did.
Oregon Coast 1

The warmth approaches.

I say this fully aware that Portland has had a mild winter: I am indeed going to enjoy more warmth once we get it.

We've had spells of warmth, here and there the past month or so; today felt at first like it might be one of those spells, but that was wishful thinking. I was out and about in it, and knowing it was my fault I hadn't gone out with one more layer. One more layer and I'd've been fine.

And this afternoon a good sign of Ha, yer not gettin' warm JUST yet: while I sat comfortably in Papaccino's, a coffee shop on SE Woodstock, we were treated to a cloudburst of rain and hail. Which is hard to do in warm rain, heh. It was made more striking by the rain coming from one direction and sunlight from a cloud break coming from another. Looked like the ghost of director Tony Scott was directing the weather.

I didn't take a picture of the glowing rain and hail, as people were in the way of that potential shot and I didn't want to be rude, but when the rain and hail subsided, I took this image instead:

We don't quite have real warmth yet, but obviously we have enough warmth for the blooms. And that's a good sign.