We have this little cold snap parked overhead, which certainly beats being on fire. Nevertheless, it leads to dreams of visiting deserts where the temperatures are a little more in line with what leaps to mind when one hears the word “desert.”
“Why, yes, I could eat. …”
Alas, it is Herself’s January to be elsewhere, and someone has to mind the store. Miss Mia Sopaipilla needs assistance with this and that, refusing to learn how to open the cat-food bin, refill her water fountain, or use a toilet.
At the moment Miss Mia and I are enjoying a light snowfall. Well, I am, anyway. Miss Mia just roused herself from a nap to have a bite to eat and a sip of water, after which she will be headed straight back to the sack.
And to think some people call them “dumb animals.” They may not possess the power of human speech, but they certainly manage to get their point across.
A script from the Before-Time, possibly written by Dr. Eleven. Or that “Mad Blog” fella.
I always liked science fiction. Science, not so much.
Science always seemed rigid and impersonal. But science fiction, or speculative fiction, if you prefer — especially of the apocalyptic variety — spoke to the gloomy bog-trotter in my DNA.
So I studied the fiction instead of the science, with predictable results. When it came time for me to go to college, there was only one in the state that would accept me with my miserable GPA. However, the institution excused me from freshman comp because I was a fool for words, as long as there were no equations to solve.
SF seems best to me when the future isn’t pretty, but people manage to muddle through somehow. “A Clockwork Orange.” “Alas, Babylon.” Or “Station Eleven.”
We watched the “Station Eleven” TV series on Max, recently watched it again, and afterward I finally got around to reading the book, which as usual is considerably different. Author Emily St. John Mandel was gracious about the changes, though, saying she thought the series “deepened the story in a lot of really interesting ways.”
I doubt that I’m adding any significant depth with this latest episode of Radio Free Dogpatch, but the notions contained therein have been taking up space in my head for a while now and the Voices would like them to leave. They’re your problem now.
• Technical notes: RFD favors the Ethos mic from Earthworks Audio; Audio-Technica ATH-M50X headphones; Zoom H5 Handy Recorder; Apple’s GarageBand, and Auphonic for a wash and brushup. NASA noises, starship flyby, countryside ambience and appreciative audience come from Zapsplat.“Wernher von Braun” is the work of the inimitable Tom Lehrer. The Celtic tune is from Freesound. And the outro clip is from The Firesign Theatre’s “I Think We’re All Bozos On This Bus,” which remains all too relevant. All other evil racket is courtesy of Your Humble Narrator.
Thanks to Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke for “2001,” Gene Roddenberry for “Star Trek,” Emily St. John Mandel for “Station Eleven,” Pat Frank for “Alas, Babylon,” Stephen King for “The Stand,” and The Firesign Theatre for … well, for everything.
We’ve unwrapped a solstice present a wee bit early.
Herself recently stumbled across a chainsaw sculptor hawking his wares and he delivered this lovely fella to us yesterday. We’d long admired another owl sculpture in Sandia Heights and she thought, “Why not?”
I immediately named him Archimedes for the owl in T.H. White’s wonderful “The Once and Future King.”
But we dassn’t call him “Archie” for short. Remember your Merlyn, young Warts:
[O]wls are the most courteous, single-hearted and faithful creatures living. You must never be familiar, rude or vulgar with them, or make them look ridiculous. Their mother is Athene, the goddess of wisdom, and, although they are often ready to play the buffoon to amuse you, such conduct is the prerogative of the truly wise. No owl can possibly be called Archie.
