…the crabapples drop.

This is the path I take to work, which is bracketed by some crabapple trees on either side, and at this time of year it is covered with little red crabapples.

It gets swept occasionally, but those are extraordinarily productive trees, and my walk is through that squishy, slippery mess. I tend to step in the barer spots, so I kind of dance my way across it, but bicyclists go straight through the middle, leaving a trail of flattened apples. What you can’t see in this photo is the sickly-sweet smell of rotting sour apples, or the tremendous swarms of flies and wasps gorging themselves in a gluttonous orgy.

It’s not pleasant, but soon enough it will be replaced sheets of snow over ice. I prefer the rotten apples.

It’s Labor Day. I got 100% caught up on my work yesterday, so today…I’m going to hop into bed and read a book or two.

Later. Go away.

As I threatened:

I don’t look like I like it very much. I think it’s because I’m about to go teach a class and a lab.

Also, I compared it to my great-great-grandfather’s hairdo (photo from some time in the mid-1960s), and I can see my future fate.

All I need now is a pair of overalls.

As a sop to the monstrous ego of our president, the US Mint is issuing a Trump coin this fall. It’s ugly, even if they used artistic license to clean up his decaying face.

Of course it’s a fake gold color.

Daniel Phelps informs me that the only president who had his portrait on a coin while he was alive was Calvin Coolidge; ominously, the Great Depression hit shortly after he left office, so let’s hope that’s not predictive. Julius Caesar was assassinated shortly after his ego prompted him to issue a coin with his face on it, so maybe that’s the correlation to hope for.

If I somehow got one of these things, I’d immediately turn around and ask for a dollar bill instead. If I couldn’t get a quick refund, if I’d have to hang on to it for a while, I have access to all kinds of acids and a Dremel tool. It would not return to circulation unmarred.

What would you do if given one of these abominations?

It’s been a bad couple of days. Tim Curry is dead.

He was 80, just like Dolly. Also like our president. They say death comes in threes — we need this pattern to continue until it hits someone who deserves it.

I have received a long-winded, weasely, vague threat from someone demanding that I confirm receipt of his fuzzy undefined accusation. This is that confirmation.

Hi, id: 2026-08-26-02:05:21:987t
I’m reaching out directly in connection with content posted on your channel. I’ve found content that appears to originate from work I created, and I wanted to get in touch with you first before making any decision to raise the matter through the platform’s formal process.
I haven’t submitted a report at the moment. Before moving forward, I’d like to hear what you have to say and better understand your position about the use of this material.
When I hear back from you, I can give you the specific information regarding the material and explain what concerns me regarding the content I’ve noticed. If there’s additional context or an explanation from your side, I’ll take any relevant context into account.
My first preference is to address the situation directly and see if we can resolve it without using the platform’s formal process. From my perspective offers both of us enough opportunity to consider the matter before taking additional action.
If we can’t find a reasonable way forward, I may then consider raising the matter formally and including the appropriate information for consideration through the platform’s review process.
Before anything further, please confirm that you’ve seen my communication and are prepared to discuss the matter. When I hear from you, I’ll provide the information I’ve identified so we can determine how best to proceed.
Thank you for reading this. Hopefully we can work this out directly.
All the best.

I dread the moment he explains what the fuck he wants to complain about, because if this is an example of his circuitous writing style, it’s going to be painful to read. I think he thinks he’s a lawyer, a bad lawyer, who can’t be forthright.

I’ll let you know when he manages to shake the soggy cornmeal out of his head and tells me what he thinks I’ve plagiarized, since that’s what he’s actually accusing me of.

She was a genuinely good person, a real humanitarian, and now she’s dead.

She was 80.

You know who else is 80? Can we arrange a trade?

I woke up a 2am last night, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I also didn’t feel like getting up. I know the reason: today is the first day of classes, and I always feel some low-level anxiety before getting up in front of 30 strangers and talking for an hour. The one thing I’ve learned in 45+ years of this business is how to hide it.

I’m really good at concealing the fact that my guts are writhing and my brain is whirling and I’m sure I’ll forget what I’m supposed to say as soon as I step up to the lectern. I just refuse to let it show.

Also, don’t you dare tell me to imagine my audience naked — these are 19-20 year old students, the thought of that would send my anxiety through the roof and also would be morally wrong.

J. Jonah Jameson got his way and Minneapolis Spider-Man was unjustly arrested, alongside arch-criminal and career racist Jake Lang. Fortunately, there is a friendly neighborhood GoFundMe to support him!

I am raising funds for SPIDER-MAN, a Minneapolis antifascist superhero! On August 22, 2026, Nazi provocateur Jake Lang came to our city to rally fellow racists to his cause. Community members showed up to protest, and SPIDER-MAN was among them. Bravely defying a phalanx of MPD officers, he taught the Nazi a lesson he will not soon forget. But then! After letting the Nazi get away, the MPD officers tackled SPIDER-MAN to the ground and arrested him!

Minneapolis, let’s stand up for SPIDER-MAN the way he stood up for us. This money will go directly to him to defray the costs of bail, legal fees, or whatever else he decides to use it for.

I bet they’ll take your donations even if you aren’t from Minneapolis.