Sturgeon’s Law

Ninety Per­cent Of Every­thing Is Crap


Derived from a quote by sci­ence fic­tion author Theodore Stur­geon, who once said, “Sure, 90% of sci­ence fic­tion is crud. That’s because 90% of every­thing is crud.” Oddly, when Sturgeon’s Law is cited, the final word is almost invari­ably changed to ‘crap’.

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A Decade Ago

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50,000 Trick or Treaters

Because all the kids in our neigh­bor­hood are grown and gone, the grow­ing pop­u­lar­ity of church, city and busi­ness spon­sored high den­sity candy give­aways, to serve 50,000 trick or treaters at our house it will take approx­i­mately 10,000 years.

Skull Head Mask Update: I did get the screen­ing in and it did serve its pur­pose, but then I couldn’t drink my morn­ing DD cof­fee with it on. Also, the mask didn’t fit over my reg­u­lar glasses, so I couldn’t do any work with it on either. Although I really like the look of the Win­ter­croft masks, I’ll prob­a­bly work on an actual cos­tume for next year instead. I might just buy the pump­kin one, not to wear, but for entry in the company’s carv­ing con­test.

Just inside the town lim­its of Barn­well, SC the Pur­ple Whale crossed the 50,000 mile mark.

Made This For Friday

The Skull

Get your own skull pat­tern (and many oth­ers) from here: Win­ter­croft

(I may try and put some screen­ing in the holes to darken them all up)

On The Beach In Puerto Rico

Beach Scene

Donna and her fam­ily lived on Puerto Rico for a cou­ple years in the late 60’s because her dad was a sea plane pilot fly­ing a Grum­man Goose for Antilles Air Boats. The fam­ily would often take advan­tage of the nearby beaches. Here is a photo show­ing Donna, her sis­ter Sandy, fam­ily friend Frank and big brother Steve play­ing in the sand. What’s that in front of them, did they build a sand cas­tle? No, wait a minute, that’s lit­tle brother Scott’s head, they’ve buried the poor kid alive.

I know they dug him up before the ride came in or crab plucked his eye balls out because we vis­ited him and his fam­ily in Wash­ing­ton state back in July of this year.

I Sprained My Blogging Muscle

Eclipse

I’ve got/had a bunch of sto­ries I kinda want to write about, but can’t seem to get them from my head to the key­board, so I’m going to start small:

When I fin­ished my rollerblad­ing route this evening I remem­bered that there was sup­posed to be a par­tial solar eclipse today. It was sched­uled to start in our area about 5:30 and con­tinue until sun­down when there would be 40% of the sun’s face cov­ered by the shadow of the moon. It was already after 6:00 PM and the sun was already so low in the sky that because of our tree filled neigh­bor­hood, I had no clear view. The “photo” above was taken from in my dri­ve­way and shot through the big mag­no­lia in the yard across the street.

49,000 Orange Skinny Plastic Posts

Not My Photo

Not My Photo

That is all that sep­a­rates us ple­beian I-95 dri­vers from those that are will­ing to pay extra to travel in the Express Lanes in the cen­ter of Miami. The lanes run for about 10 miles from cen­tral Miami to Exit 12, Miami Gar­dens Drive. What they have done is take two exist­ing lanes and seg­re­gate them from the other 4 or 5 with plas­tic poles and charge your Sun­Pass device 75¢ to $1.50 for the priv­i­lege of rid­ing in these spe­cial lanes. Trou­ble is that dur­ing busy times, and I saw a cou­ple of them last week, these “express” lanes are no bet­ter than the reg­u­lar lanes.

About the time I was watch­ing a car squeeze through two of these poles to go from the Express Lanes to the reg­u­lar ones dur­ing Fri­day evening rush hour, the Pur­ple Whale was pass­ing through the 49,000 mile mark on his odometer.

Like A Virgin, Touched For The Very First Time

Every Thurs­day for the last few months Donna’s sis­ter Sandy, her hus­band Paul and Paul’s mother Dot­tie have had a masseuse come to their house to give each one of them a mas­sage. Because Sandy & Paul are in Miami right now leav­ing Donna and I to “babysit” 99-year old Dot­tie, Donna took Sandy’s place and I got Paul’s spot.

Back in the day when I was cycling a lot, a few of the guys in the bicy­cle club swore that after doing a long ride a mas­sage was just the ticket to work out the kinks. After every Aiken Bicy­cle Club’s yearly cen­tury rides and at most other 100 mile fund raiser rides offered by other cycling clubs there was a masseuse avail­able. I was only mildly curi­ous as to what a mas­sage would accom­plish, plus I’m kinda cheap, so I never took advan­tage of the offer.

As pay­ment for our “babysit­ting”, Dot­tie offered to pay, so I was finally get­ting that mas­sage and I wouldn’t have to ride a bicy­cle 100 miles to get it. This was noth­ing like the 20 minute long con­cen­trate on the legs post cen­tury mas­sage though, but a full 1-hour deep tis­sue mas­sage. Well, what did I think? It was not unpleas­ant. It was not the be all to end all in mus­cle relax­ation either.

It is eight hours later and I still feel a lit­tle beat up in a few places. Maybe it is because Kelly used the same amount of pres­sure on me, a clas­sic ecto­morph that she uses on Paul, who is more of a meso­morph and 30 pounds heav­ier. Or maybe I am just like Mac from that old Charles Atlas body build­ing ad that was on the inside back cover of the comic books of my youth.

Trailering the Purple Whale

Trailer

Donna flew down last Sun­day to spend some more time with her sis­ter. I drove the Sonata down to Florida yes­ter­day. This is a cou­ple of firsts (for a while) as we can’t really remem­ber the last time Donna flew on a com­mer­cial air­plane* with­out me sit­ting next to her and the first time we have spent more than 5 nights apart since 1983. This is also the first time I’ve dri­ven that far with­out her sit­ting next to me since way back when we first knew each other back in 1976.

Kids, don’t try this at home, some­where on I-95 I caught up to a shiny trailer haul­ing who knows what and thought that maybe I should take one hand off the steer­ing, root around in the cen­ter con­sole, find my cam­era, pull it out and press some but­tons while dri­ving at 80 MPH.

*She did fly on a cou­ple of mil­i­tary hops to visit me once while I was on Guam before her (back in 1976 too.)