still inside the box
Give Us Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Every Dead Thing
the third-world skull I want for my cabinet of curiosities
Countdown to March
I’ve a long-term plan for the front walkway that will in two to three years time be so awesome you may be compelled to smack you mama. Here is the recipe:
smackyoumama frontwalk cocktail
300 tulipa rococo
200 tulipa black parrot
125 lilum alba
50 allium sphærocephalon
6 single white pæonia
Blend the rococo and black parrot tulip bulbs on either side closest to the walk. Next to those plant the six peonies. Behind the peonies blend the lilies and the allium.
It’ll be a nice height progression from the 12-18″ tulips to the 18-24″-ish peonies to the 24-30″ allium mixed with the 4-6′ lilies. Plus the smell of the lilies along the walk for the majority of july may compel you to kiss you auntie on the mouf. I’ll plant basil seeds among the tulips so when they die back the basil will take over. 2-3 years for the peonies and the lilies to get to a good size, but it won’t be anything to shake a stick at in the meantime.
Washington Beaches Are State Highways
It’s true. You can drive for miles on the beach in Washington, go from town to town to town, as far as the sand will let you.
There are rules however. This taken from the Long Beach Peninsula Visitor’s Bureau website:
“All drivers and vehicles must be licensed and insured just as on any other State Highway (Sorry, no ATVs). The speed limit is 25 mph, with extra caution to be taken for other vehicles, pedestrians, sunbathers, and beach debris. The beach is patrolled frequently and all laws are strictly enforced. Reckless or careless driving is not tolerated and can result in expensive tickets and even license suspension, so please, play it safe! Parking is allowed.” (emphasis mine)
So no donuts! This means you!
The Stephen Warrington™ Method of Name Retention
Here’s one they don’t teach in Dale Carnegie.
I am not just horrible with names, I am abyssmal. Consider, if you will, the following actual encounter (note: this is not the actual encounter. this is a dramatic re-creation):
Mise-en-scène: I miss the first and arrive for the second weekly meeting of the birth class. After a brief lesson in pelvic floor care we are separated into gender-specific groups. I sit down next to two of the other five men who comprise the male half of the six (including Courtney and I) couples in the class. We are all wearing name tags.
Me: So have you guys already met?
2nd guy: Yes, but not officially, we all said our names last time.
Me: (eying his nametag) I’ve got that much on you already.
………
Me: I’m Steve
2nd guy: Hi, Dave (I think it was Dave)
3rd guy: Craig (I think it was Craig)
Another guy sits down.
4th guy: Have you guys already met? (he must have missed the first class too)
Me: We were just talking about that. I’m steve. (I don’t remember his name).
We shake hands: me-guy 4. They shake hands: guy 4-guy 3, guy 4-guy 2. Guy 5 sits down, the name-exchange process is repeated, without the handshakes: me-guy 5, guy 5-guy 4, guy 5-guy 3, guy 5-guy 2. I don’t remember his name. Guy 6 sits down. His nametag says Roel.
Guy 4: Roel? Is that…
Roel: Dutch.
I have forgotten all four of the other men’s names already, but I will never forget Roel’s. Not because he’s dutch, not because he was wearing the brightest pinkest shirt I have ever seen on a man, not because he designs software, but because he wasn’t just one more dave or craig or steve.
When I meet someone for the first time, I am thinking a hundred other things besides their name. In fact, the name is probably the least important of all of the wash of particularities that flow from one person to another in a first encounter. Are they a threat, are they attractive, are they intelligent, are they deceptive, are they warm, do they have style, etc etc etc.
But Roel! Tall, blonde, pink-shirted Dutch Roel. All I can think to ask him is if he has seen “The Limey”, with it’s Luis Guzmán Eduardo Roel character. He hasn’t of course, being Dutch, so I don’t. Even more, why do I remember the name of a supporting character in a movie I saw three years ago? I will tell you why: because it’s a super sticky name.
Courtney and I are in the midst of choosing a name for the boy that will be delivered in January. This is no small task. It is, in fact, an awesome responsibility, and as such has me tripping over every name I like to think I like. But this I learned last night with the guys: whatever it is, it better be sticky.
I pretty much every time joke when someone asks what we’ll name him: Ichabod. Cleetus. Malachi. Pervis. Etc. But what’s not funny about those names is that I guaraneffingtee you you would remember Cleetus’ name when you met him. You might laugh about it later, but you would never forget.
To Collect Something or Everything
I like lots of pretty things, but I don’t officially collect anything. Not seriously at least. I often think it might behoove me to get serious about something, except that I am bad at being single-minded for long. I am great at short intense bursts of interest, but the idea of studying the esoterica of philately or the ephemera of numismatics for the rest of my life seems dreadfully boring. I just don’t consider any one thing important enough to warrant my attention for so long, and prefer to live a collage of assembled shells and books and rocks and plants and bones and vegetables and websites and foods and cetera.
I’m not sure that breadth of knowledge trumps depth however. Is there an objective answer to this one?
This Is An X-Ray Of A Pregnant Dog
It’s kinda blowing my mind right now.