Back before I distracted by the shiny new car and purchasing of same, our own George W. had a post up that really forced some thinking. And it’s all because he was up at 4 in the morning thinking about bolts:
Where’s the nickel (which plates the bolt) mined? What’s the state of mine-safety technology? Do mining companies pay lobbyists to keep the laws lax? Or more likely, does the manufacturer just buy the nickel salts for plating from some third-world country where the government doesn’t protect the workers or the rivers or the children who live along them? Is that why the bolts are so cheap? What’s the external cost of the carbon output from manufacturing the bolt? Maybe that’s the reason I saved the bolt that was left over from a project of years ago. Or maybe I’m just really cheap.
Read the whole post. It’ll make you think about bolts, politics, change and resources all in one go, which is damned impressive for a short post brought on by insomnia. This is why I love George’s blog so: when I leave there, it’s not with the same eyes as when I arrived.
Woozle has been a cherished patron of this cantina since very nearly the moment it opened. Whilst I was away viewing non-flaming geysers, he left this note:
…and on a completely different tack, some geological humor for you.
I clicked the link. I viewed link. I read the link. A giggle grew to a guffaw, and then an outburst of laughter that left the cat rather disgruntled. I would have screamed, “I love you, Woozle!” but the neighbors might’ve objected, seeing as how it’s after midnight.
My darlings, you must go read
As if Woozle wasn’t enough, Karen made me blush, shuffle my feet, mumble “aw, shucks,” and want to give her a hug fit to crack her ribs. Mind you, this was after I’d jumped up and down screaming “She’s alllliiiivvvveee!” Worried about my Bay-area readers after that whole San Bruno thing, y’know.
Now, since I was off chasing after mythical flaming geysers all day, I didn’t visit so much as one political blog, therefore no Dumbfuckery du Jour. However, when I got to my intrepid companion’s house, I found he’d taken care of the situation for us. Let’s just say that, although I’d nearly gotten squished by a couple of idiot drivers on the freeway and had just discovered my camera was safely home over thirty miles away, I still ended up laughing my ass off. Cujo does an excellent job trivializing the trivial, so consider his post our Dumbfuckery du Jour.
And, finally, I missed #womeninscience. Whoops! Allow me to make some amends by pointing you to Anne’s post at Highly Allochthonous, and this old post o’ mine celebrating some unsung women of science.
So, raise a glass to all the wonderful women in science, and then raise another to yourselves. You all make my day, each and every day.
My dear heart sister NP is expecting her first bebbe roundabout August. Q: How much blogging can a new mother do? A: Bugger-all. So she’s seeking a few good writers to help out:That said, I’d like to appeal to you, my dear coffee-stained readers, and ask if any of you would like to step in and post a few guest posts for while I’m preoccupied cuddling my precious little Bean. Dana of En Tequila Es Verdad already has access as a co-blogger, so I’m sure you’ll be able to enjoy at least one tequila-stained post from her over the course of my absence, but surely there are others of you who have contemplated writing about writing? Or about your faith? Or coffee, for that matter?Well, this is your opportunity to chime in!Not only will you get the chance to share your thoughts here, but you’ll get great linkage to your own blog/site, which is always good. Cross-promotion is fun, isn’t it?
If you’re interested, please let me know. Even if you’re not sure exactly what you’d write, but you know you’d like to participate, let me know. Over the next few weeks I’ll be collecting posts from readers and will schedule them to go up on my blog.I’ll be doing my duty. This is my heart-sister we’re talking about. She shouldn’t have to worry about blogging on top of caring for my new nephew. But I can’t shoulder the load by myself, not with a cantina to run. So, you writers in the audience, here’s your chance to babble about writing, the universe, and everything (which, of course, is writing, right?).
Blocked? No need to be. NP’s got plenty o’ topics for ye:
- Do you “write what you know”? If not, what do you write? Regardless of whether you write what you know or not, how much research do you do in a given writing week?
- What do you think makes a book worth reading?
If you had a DeLorean, what book (or books) would you snatch away before it made it to bookshelves? Why?
- Where do you write? An office? Your living room? On your bed?
- What do you convince yourself is not a distraction in an attempt to not feel guilty?
- If you have or will have a digital reader, will you still peruse brick-and-mortar bookshops? Will you still relish the weight of a book on your lap, or the smell of ink and paper when you open your favorite paperback for the thousandth time?
- And while you’re at it, let me know what you’re reading these days.
That’s the random stuff. There’s the crafty stuff – talk about your genre, your take on POV, myth and metaphor, adjectives and adverbs, or whatever else strikes your fancy. Post a poem, or an excerpt. Tell us about your favorite characters. If you’re a blogger, talk blog. Give the advice you wish you’d had to newly-minted scribblers. Talk about your life as a writer.
This is your prime opportunity to yammer about writing (or faith, or coffee) to a willing audience for once. Don’t let this opportunity pass you by!
I surely don’t plan to. Come join me for some coffee-stained writing, and do a new mother a kindness to boot.
(Postdated for stragglers)
Things I’ve learned about abdominal surgery this week: no fart, no food. It’s not often you see a collection of commenters rooting for farts. But there we all were, holding our breaths not from self-preservation, but from anticipation.
And on the seventh day, George farted.
With that, he’s on his way to solid food and a more enjoyable recovery. Congratulations, George! Good to see ye getting better!
Elitist Bastard extraordinaire and friend of the cantina George W. just had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad birthday. Last thing you expect is to end up in the hospital.
Kudos to Mrs. DoF for getting him to the ER, the doctors and nurses who are getting him better, and all the lovely science that made it possible.
We’ll keep your chair empty and your glass full until you’re ready to belly up to the bar again, mi amigo. Let us know if you need anything in the meantime.
It’s a banner day, my darlings. This is the first time on this blog that a thread’s filled up to the point where it has to be closed and a new one opened. They’ve requested a new forum, and their wish is my command.
Of course, I’m sure neither of them will object if anyone else wishes to join the debate. They’re currently discussing reality vs. fantasy in sex ed.