We’re slowly easing into the fall routine around here.
Arise, make coffee, scan the news, shriek, “Jesus Christ!” and run away. Maybe play with the cat for a while. She doesn’t know what to make of it all either.
“Cold, cruel world, isn’t it?” she murmurs.
“Well, not that cold,” I reply. “The weather widget says 52°, which is not bad for 7:50 a.m. on Oct. 11 in The Duck! City. Still, I take your point.”
We should spend more time talking to the other animals. I’m guessing you could walk into any primate house in the world, and if you understood the language you might hear something like: “You hear what the hairless ones did this time? And yet we’re the ones in the cages. Go figure.”
Mad Blog Media 
At least it isn’t 100 degrees plus anymore. And the news, well, it gives me the 12 bar blues.
God picked the wrong monkeys, it seems. Maybe next time go with the varsity and leave the JV on the bench, where they can watch and learn? Assuming there’s still a playing field, that is. …
Meanwhile, I see the Repuglican cockups in the House of Reprehensibles are pitching David Duke (R-Carryon Baggage) as the new Squeaker. Expect a brisk market in jackboots and armbands.
I’ve always thought that calling ourselves “Homo SAPIENS” was the height of egocentricity, arrogance/hubris, and “benign narcissism”.
Of course, AI may be our self-created downfall, eh?!
The lesson here is, I think: “You don’t get to pick your own nickname.” Imagine what the passenger pigeon would call us, if it could.
Meanwhile, do you ever wonder if scientists read science fiction? There’s been a lot of speculative fiction about how things can go pear-shaped when the eggheads get to tinkering with this, that, and the other. I don’t think the new models are going to come equipped with a full install of Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics.
Passenger pigeons and, soon, horse shoe crabs.
Well, there’s the story about the sudden jump in subscriptions to both Amazing and Astounding SF mags when Oak Ridge TN was made the home of the Manhattan Project, so… Mayyybeeeee?
Just think,
An overworked energy physics post-doc will be working on his breakthrough micro-fusion project one evening, when his AI maintained confinement field is disrupted by an errant coffee cup set too close to an actuator arm. The overflow condition that occurs is designed to be controlled by a secondary containment vacuum shell surrounding the lab, but earlier in the evening, the AI controller was running a self-diagnostic and a control diode overheated and failed. While the primary system was down, an AI maintenance robot was in process of retrieving a new diode. The backup operation system had been controlling confinement until the primary signal connection with the confinement shell was damaged by a failed support wheel on an AI maintenance robot that had been on its way to the supply warehouse. A sudden rapid expansion of energy and the post-doc along with the lab was gone in milliseconds. Within a couple tenths of a second the University was gone and before half a second elapsed, the city was gone. There was no time for comprehending what was happening. The planet was consumed in an energy hungry monster before any life was capable of understanding what happened. All problems, all cares, all beliefs, history and memories was gone in an instant. The new star that was created absorbed the nearby star and any sign of a solar system vaporized. Alas, the galaxy witnessed a new star formation and time went on.
Dern those ol’ Chinese diodes anyway. We’da made ’em here in the US of A woon’t nothin’ like that hap. … (poof)
Like Guy says, The Monkey Speaks His Mind
Thing#2 woke up at 0500 this morning, came into our room, gave me a good shake, then immediately stepped back and out of the backblast area until my eyeballs took in enough info to convince my brain that I hadn’t croaked and was talking to St Peter.
“So, since you’re already awake, and I seem to have woken Bruno up, wanna go for a walk with us?”
How can you say “no” to that?
But Thing#2, having grown up in mild not wild Colorado, wasn’t ready for 50º temps already, so we got about a block before doubling back for her gloves and toque.
The thing is, my days of short sleeves and Tevas when there’s a foot of snow on the ground are long gone. I’ve been “hood up” for the better part of September already, with only Bruno to see my shame. Is there something magic about hitting 60 that makes 50º feel like 20º?
I hear ya, bruh. I used to live for cyclocross, dashing through the snow in my one-dog open sleigh. Did nationals in Golden back in 1992 when it was like 14° on the course. If I wasn’t huddled shivering in some car wash while hosing off bike and kit postrace, why, it wasn’t winter yet.
But that was back when I was a man, instead of whatever it is that I am now.
I was gonna go for a run yesterday, but then decided: “Hm. Weather looks to be worse tomorrow. I will ride today and run tomorrow.”
And so I did. Today, when I toddled out the door 10-ish for a leisurely three-miler on the trails, it was just 54°. Great John God!
I didn’t pull on the tights, long sleeves, tuque, and gloves, though. Shorts, short sleeves, and a bandana. Still won’t put on the long johns until that first snow, dagnabit! Ninety-two nationals me would’ve been proud.
“One dog open sleigh” is too good, a classic O’Gradyism! Chapeau mi amigo.
Thankee, matey. Even an old dawg can sniff out a Milk-Bone now and then.