It is June 6th, just two weeks from the start of summer. Here are the current weather conditions:

• The temperature is 10 degrees centigrade (or 50 degrees fahrenheit for those of you in Oregon City).
• The wind is from the south at 18 miles per hour, with gusts up to 28 miles per hour.
• The sky is completely overcast. It looks like a winter’s day at the Oregon coast.
• There’s a 90% chance of precipitation. Translation: it’s going to rain off-and-on today. Mostly on.

What I’m trying to say is that it feels like November, not June. I am cold. I am sick of the rain. It’s bad news when even life-long Oregonians are frustrated by the weather.

While working a future post for Get Rich Slowly, I stumbled upon this photo by chuckp at Flickr. It’s entitled “Patti’s Wedding 1982″. I find it surreal:

The first thing my eye goes to are the power lines, which seem to be toppling in slow motion. Then I go to the children in the weeds. Then the array of cars by the side of the road. It all seems so…strange.

The photo is tagged: Wisconsin, countryside, wedding, guests, presents, highway, truck, station wagon, wedding guests, and landscape. I’d also tag it “alternate universe”.

For my birthday, Mom gave me a gift card to Land’s End. (Thanks, Mom!) Because my five-year-old slippers are dirty and stinky, I ordered a pair of mocassins. I didn’t expect them to be crafted by Native Americans, of course, but it was a little surprising to find that they were made in China.

I wore them for a couple of days with an annoying tag sticking out of each slipper. Finally, I tore the tags out in frustration. Before I threw them away, I checked to see if there was any important information. Turns out, it’s hard to tell. The tags are cryptic.

“What does this mean?” I said, showing a tag to Kris.

“I don’t know,” she said. “The slipper is made out of waffles?”

Anyone have a clue?

On a whim, we met Celeste & Nicki and Rhonda & Mike for dinner at Gino’s last night. It was a damn fine meal with damn fine friends. Gino’s can be hit-or-miss, and last night was definitely “hit”. The food was hot, the portions were enormous, and the conversation was hilarious.

The highlight of the evening wasn’t actually the clams, as one might expect, but a brief departure into Dead Baby Jokes. Kris loves Dead Baby Jokes, and I can’t say I disagree. She told our two favorite, and they had me gasping for air.

Q: What’s the difference between a truckload of bowling balls and a truckload of dead babies?
A: You can’t unload the bowling balls with a pitchfork.

Q: What’s sadder than a dead baby nailed to a tree.
A: A dead baby nailed to a puppy.

That last joke brought the house down. Or at least our little corner of it. “It’s hilarious on so many levels,” Kris said on our drive home. Just thinking about it made me laugh again.

I’ve been trying to decide what makes Dead Baby Jokes so funny. I think it’s because they’re just so wrong on so many levels. They violate taboo. They shock. They provide unexpected juxtapositions.

The real problem with Dead Baby Jokes is that they’re difficult to craft. There are thousands of these on the internet, and maybe one-percent of them are funny. Most are just dumb. Some go for intentional gross-out, which is not the same as humor. I can’t believe that of all the Dead Baby Jokes I’ve read, these are the only two that I really like, but it’s true.

The best way to generate new Dead Baby Jokes? Set the dingoes loose!

Bonus joke:

Q: What do vegetarian dingoes eat?
A: Cabbage patch kids.

Yeah, I know — it’s more of a groaner than a laugher, but still…

Recently Kris shared some strange recipes from her father’s side of the family. Kris’ mom, Claudia, phoned to share a strange recipe from her side of the family. I promised that I would post it if she sent me e-mail. (Claudia is a technophobe — she refuses to touch a computer.)

Well, she didn’t actually write me an e-mail, but she did dictate one to Kris’ father. I guess that’s close enough. Here, then, is the top-secret McGee Family Hemorrhoid Remedy.

This hemorrhoid remedy came from Kris’ great-grandfather on my side of the family.  He was Charles Isaac McGee who was born March 25, 1882 in Wellsville, Kansas [J.D.'s note: that's exactly 87 years before I was born] and died October 22, 1965 [J.D.'s note: that's exactly 1250 days before I was born] in Alhambra, California.  I received the recipe from my aunt, Lorraine McGee (Charles’ daughter) who died December 15, 2000.  Lorraine was one of seven children born to Charles and Eva McGee.  My father, Claude W. McGee, was the middle child. The recipe:

Hemorrhoid Remedy
Combine one teaspoon of Sulfur, 1/2 teaspoon of Vaseline, 2 or 3 grains of Salt, 3 drops of Mercurochrome. Do not use a metal spoon for mixing.
 

One has to wonder: if this mixture is not safe for a metal spoon, how on earth is it safe for your ass?

Here’s an eye-opening presentation that Dave forwarded to me the other day. I considered posting this at Get Rich Slowly, but couldn’t figure out a way to really make it “stick”. Still, it’s excellent stuff, and I want somebody to see it:

This presentation was originally developed by Karl Fisch, a grade school teacher. Here’s what he writes at his blog:

My administration asked me if I wanted to speak at one of our beginning of the year faculty meetings. I often provide updates on what’s new and different with technology in our building and what teachers need to know to get the year started. But this year I’m really focused on staff development and the “vision” of where we should be headed, so I wanted to do something different.

[...]

I put together a PowerPoint presentation with some (hopefully) thought-provoking ideas. I was hoping by telling some of these “stories” to our faculty, I could get them thinking about — and discussing with each other — the world our students are entering. To get them to really think about what our students are going to need to be successful in the 21st century, and then how that might impact what they do in their classrooms.

Mind-blowing stuff, this. It makes you think about where we’ll be in a hundred years. Speaking of which, over in the Get Rich Slowly forums, kgazeette posted a fun article from 1900 predicting what the world of 2000 would be like. The author actually did a fairly good job (except that he completely missed the advent of airplanes — but then how could he know?).

Here’s a sample:

Automobiles will be cheaper than horses are today. Farmers will own automobile hay-wagons, automobile truck-wagons, plows, harrows and hay-rakes. A one-pound motor in one of these vehicles will do the work of a pair of horses or more. Children will ride in automobile sleighs in winter. Automobiles will have been substituted for every horse vehicle now known. There will be, as already exist today, automobile hearses, automobile police patrols, automobile ambulances, automobile street sweepers. The horse in harness will be as scarce, if, indeed, not even scarcer, then as the yoked ox is today.

In the forum thread, I made my own predictions for one hundred years from now:

A lot of science fiction arbitrarily constructs technology without any regard as to its plausibility. However, I’m a fan of Kim Stanley Robinson’s series about colonizing Mars: Red Mars, Green Mars, and Blue Mars. I think he does an excellent job of extrapolating current technological trends and looking at where things might head in the future.

Here’s one prediction I feel pretty comfortable with: In 2100, the internal combustion engine will be a thing of the past. Oil reserves will be essentially depleted, so that only certain uses will exist for modern vehicles as we know them. (I don’t know what those uses will be.) Depending on whether you are an optimist or a pessimist, you might believe that we will have developed a replacement technology, or you may think we’ll revert to a more agrarian way-of-life.

I happen to be an optimist, so I think that some other form of fuel will be developed. I don’t know if it’ll be sufficient to power the sort of transportation system we have now, though. Maybe everything will be mass-transit. Maybe we’ll have some strange hybrid of atomic-powered trains moving thousands of people at a time, while individual transportation is horse-based once more.

I do believe humans will be living on Mars by the end of the century. I just don’t know which country will be the first to reach it and to set up a base.

I don’t think the U.S. will be the dominant world power.

What do you think life will be like one hundred years from now?

Here’s an awesome video that conveys the power of the web as a communication tool:

This clip was produced by Michael Wesch of the Kansas State University anthropology department. I found it via blogarsay, though I suspect it’s been making the rounds. (I’m very out-of-touch with the blogosphere lately.)

Pam will be pleased to know that I sprang forward my clocks today. That’s right — for the next month, I’ll be living a world that’s one hour ahead of yours. I’m a time traveler.

Speaking of the Proffitt-Smiths: Happy birthday, Mackenzie! Mac is 33. He’s getting old.

I’m having a hell of a time deciding what to pick for book group. I need to announce my selection on Saturday morning. We’re discussing Undaunted Courage, which is, in part, about the Lewis and Clark expedition. I love this real-life adventure stuff, and am fascinated by history. It would be great to find a similar book, but for the periods 1810-1850 or 1870-1900. (Note how I’m intentionally avoiding the Civil War.) I’m considering The Devil in the White City, but I’m afraid that maybe it’s too strong for Lisa. Lonesome Dove is another possibility, but it’s l-o-n-g. I know that Kris, Bernie, and I would finish it, but I don’t know how many other members would. Any suggestions?

In a dark, secret corner of the internet, Tammy has dug herself in deep by choosing to rate her siblings in order of intelligence. Naturally she rates herself first on the list. I will not be so brazen, but I will rate my children cats in order of intelligence: Toto, Meatball, Simon, Nemo.

I believe one of Toto’s problems (and lordy does she have problems) is that she’s too damn smart. Ever since she was a kitten, she’s shown signs of extraordinary cat intellect. At one time she would eagerly play fetch. I had never seen a cat do this, though I’d read about it. It was great fun. Once or twice she was able to open the bathroom door while shut inside. She’s always had an uncanny ability to guess our intentions, and to convey her own.

Nemo’s at the opposite end of the spectrum. He’s a dopey, cross-eyed freak, but he’s a sweetie. He’s so dumb that the birds and the squirrels mock him. I once watched three squirrels torment him around the base of the walnut tree.

I think it’s dangerous to start rating how smart you think people are. We each think in different ways. There are different sorts of intelligence. I’m smart about some things, but woefully ignorant of others. I believe that my brothers and I are of roughly equal intelligence, but I doubt we’d test out as such. We each have different strengths. One of mine happens to be standardized tests. But Tony’s better at dealing with people, and Jeff’s better and dealing with space and numbers.

I have a tendency to think of others as brilliant who are capable of performing feats of which I am incapable. For example, when I first met her, I thought that Pam was the smartest person in the world. When I met Joel, I thought he was. Both are smart, but I came to realize that what I really admired was their ability to think and act in realms that were foreign to me.

I used to love to get together with Andrew and Dana. (Sadly those days seem to be gone.) Each of us is pretty bright, but each of us is borderline autistic in our his way. This leads to some entertaining discussions and arguments as we’re each convinced of our rectitude, unwilling to yield to another’s viewpoint. (Dana, in particular, is set in her ways. In our more than fifteen years of friendship, I’ve never seen her alter a viewpoint.) We each recognize that the three of us are pretty smart. It’s just that each of us thinks that he’s a little smarter than the other two.

Ultimately intelligence is overrated. Which would you rather be: dumb and happy, or smart and miserable?

After reading even a little nautical fiction one is impressed by the brutish qualities of life aboard ship. This is especially true during the battles at sea, during which heavy lead balls were flung across the water, hurtling into air, into ship, into rigging, and into men. One of the most memorable passages in Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey/Maturin series occurs during just such an engagement. Captain Aubrey is on deck, giving orders, and he turns to speak to one of his men, only to find that the man’s head has just been taken off by a cannonball. Not pretty.

But one gets the impression from these tales that even more deadly than cannonballs was the shrapnel they created. These “splinters” of wood (it seems odd to call a large hunk of jagged wood a splinter, yet such is the case) were reportedly a common source of injuries.

Apparently the show Mythbusters recently attempted to answer the question, “What hurt more people, cannonballs or the splinters they made?” From what I can gather, they weren’t able to produce satisfactory splinters, which led the hosts to conclude the splinters weren’t as dangerous as many people think. (This paragraph is all based on third-hand accounts, but I think I have the gist of things correct.)

This led to a fascinating AskMetafilter question regarding cannonballs, splinters, and the Mythbuster methodology. (The thread features a response from one of the show’s hosts, Adam Savage.)

All of this is prologue, however. What this entry is really about is showing Dave and Joel and Andrew (and all my other pirate buddies) the keen Fighting Sail Exhibit page. It’s awesome, particularly for the video of cannons being fired into a reconstructed mid-section. I’ve mirrored the video here in case the original page goes away. Watch and enjoy!

[I wouldn't have found this without Matt pointing it out]

I’ve been a busy little beaver at Custom Box lately. Or maybe I should say a busy little elf.

During the holidays, I get to put on my Santa hat (literally) and drive my sleigh from customer-to-customer delivering goodies. Time is tight this year. Jeff is leaving for vacation tomorrow. Nick’s taking Thursday off, too. That means today is the last day I can be out slipping down chimneys. I’ve had to rush the deliveries this year, but I think I’m going to get them all done.

So far I haven’t had any mishaps: no slugs of whiskey with clients, no smoking my pipe in the car before going into an office. In fact, I’ve had some downright pleasant conversations with clients. They’re uniformly pleased with us, which is good to hear.

Shockingly, doing actual work at work means I have little time to write. So, my evenings have been filled with weblog stuff. (I’m taking next week off from Get Rich Slowly, so I’m scrambling to prepare content now.) It’s all rather hectic.

I’ve made time to watch a couple movies with Kris, though. Over the weekend, we watched the fifth James Bond film (I’m watching them all in order), You Only Live Twice. It was terrible. This far into the series, my order of preference is: From Russia With Love (which is vastly superior to the others), Dr. No, Thunderall, Goldfinger, and You Only Live Twice. Look for a huge recap entry in a couple months, when I’ve finished watching them all.

On Monday, we watched an early Jodie Foster film: The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane. Even at the age of fourteen, Foster was a great actress. But this is one strange film. (It features President Bartlett as a pedophile.) Last night we watched the much-lauded Little Miss Sunshine. I’d heard a lot about this film. It’s received almost unanimous praise. Yet Kris and I were both left feeling underwhelmed. The jokes had no depth. (The joke about the Proust scholar is simply that he’s a Proust scholar? Come on. Get a little deeper than that.) The film had no depth. It’s not a bad movie — I just don’t get the universal praise.

Oops. Customer with an emergency in Salem. Time to leave.