Wednesday, 01/16/2019

The body burns away

The Plate:

Now he has silver in him. When sometime
Death shall boil down unnecessary fat
To reach the nub of our identity,
             When in the run of crime
The skull is rifled for the gold in teeth,
And chemistry has eaten from the spine
Superfluous life and vigor, why then he
Will show a richness to be wondered at,
             And shall be thought a mine
Whose claim and stake are stone and floral wreath.

Anthony Hecht.


January 16, 9:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Future InfoSec Professionals of America

I'm so proud:

Of course, this is the kid who had already engaged in successful social engineering and bricking phones by age 7, so it's not overly surprising (even if he clearly doesn't know as much as Barron Trump).


January 16, 8:36 PM in Family Life, Web/Tech | Permalink | Comments (0)

Monday, 01/14/2019

I hear the train a comin'

All the local crime fun made me forget to post this last night...


January 14, 4:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sunday, 01/13/2019

Clear in the vistas of memory

Remembered Light:

The years are a falling of snow,
Slow, but without cessation,
On hills and mountains and flowers and worlds that were;
But snow and the crawling night in which it fell
May be washed away in one swifter hour of flame.
Thus it was that some slant of sunset
In the chasms of piled cloud—
Transient mountains that made a new horizon,
Uplifting the west to fantastic pinnacles—
Smote warm in a buried realm of the spirit,
Till the snows of forgetfulness were gone.

Clark Ashton Smith.


January 13, 11:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A Momentous Date

Three years ago, in the History Rhymes Category, big changes at the Bog Road Compound really started happening.  Still don't know what I was waitin' for...


January 13, 9:44 PM in Family Life | Permalink | Comments (0)

Saturday, 01/12/2019

Change The Fuckin' Record

Yours truly, Leo "the murderer of Laura Palmer" Johnson.


January 12, 11:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Variations on an Original Theme

Enigma Variations:

The Elgar slipped out of my hands.
Variations that nailed me to a toy chair
Sailed in black spires
Over waxed linoleum. From then on
I knew the meaning of gone.

That lesson, in fact, I had to unlearn.
The tunes get recorded over and over
For music is pattern, not a brittle black plate.
With vinyl and tape and laser to thank,
I hear Elgar and go blank.

Bruce Berger.


January 12, 10:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Forget It, Jake...It's Estacada

The other day, Ericka and I were heading to Once Upon A Child in Salem, OR, because we feed our kids too much and they keep outgrowing their clothes. 

Heading there and back along OR-211, we noticed a strange police presence at various points, with Clackamas County Search and Rescue near Ellwood (home of the guy who brought his mom's severed head into the grocery store where Ericka used to work as a teenager), motorcycle cops giving us sideyes in Silverton, even drones out over fields in Molalla (which made us feel like that scene in Goodfellas).  At first we worried it was another sad incident in the river, but then thought just maybe it had to do with a tweaker who'd been terrorizing a nearby community with break-ins, car thefts, etc.

Yeah, it was he (his parents spelled 'Nathaniel' wrong, I'll note.)

Anyway, now we're building a conspiracy board using social media and public records to connect all this kid's extracurricular activities, along with his aunt's and uncle's, to literal trash and other randos whom we've found along the way.  I swear this will connect to Russia's undermining our democracy if you give us and Mueller enough time.

The family that sleuths together stays together.  More updates unless we've been targeted by a cartel or something...


January 12, 9:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Thursday, 01/10/2019

Pick your path and I'll pray

Do you know how pickup the pieces and go home?


January 10, 11:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dans l'adversité de nos meilleurs amis nous trouvons quelque chose, qui ne nous déplaît pas.

Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift, D.S.P.D.:

As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew
From Nature, I believe 'em true:
They argue no corrupted mind
In him; the fault is in mankind.

Jonathan Swift.


January 10, 10:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After These Messages, We'll Be Right Back

Having experienced a major right-wing boycott of all our sponsors we went off the air for a while, as 3.5 people might have noticed.  But we're under new management, working on rebranding our branding, and expanding our infrastructure in exciting, innovative ways that would put Elon Musk to shame.  We will be back online very soon with erudite analysis of Trump's Wall's moral and legal morass, elucidation of the chinook salmon's breeding cycle, and probably some fart jokes.

In related news, our family has been through significant changes over the last couple years, some of which has been obliquely presented via social media, much of which has been less transparent than has been typical in this blog's extraordinarily long life.  The good, the bad, and the ugly will be revealed in tasty installments.  If all of you tell 3.5 friends, we'll get the readership up to historic levels--YUGE, even.

In the meantime, meet Luciana Vega, America's awesomest astronaut:

Luci's friend, Sadie, has requested a trip to Space Camp for her 7th birthday.  Tighter schedule than Kennedy's, but we'll make it happen by 7/20/2019.


January 10, 9:15 PM in Family Life, Mars, Bitches! | Permalink | Comments (4)