Dear [CENSORED]1, MA (Ed.), SLP:
By now you will have received word of the offer of Overlordship to the Serfdom of [CENSORED] Lake, Slavery District (S.D.) #27. Congratulations, domine. We have commanded the peasants to bend the knee in your presence, and most have already begun to comply early, in terror of the rumour of your coming. We are pleased to offer you the sum of 50 talents of gold per annum in recognition of your experience in the application of cruel tyranny, O dispater, and of course any taxes and tariffs you can squeeze out of the local populace are yours to keep. A reminder that one (1) young virgin and one (1) white goat without blemish are to be sent per month to headquarters, in compliance with The Pact. Keep up the good (bad) work!
His Mephistophelean Nastiness,
Argh Grah Gutflinger XIV
Supreme Overlord Coordinator of Overlords, Pacific Northwest Chapter
1. Yeah, well, what if he doesn't get the job because I mentioned his name was Ted Tyrrell2?
2. Oops.
By now you will have received word of the offer of Overlordship to the Serfdom of [CENSORED] Lake, Slavery District (S.D.) #27. Congratulations, domine. We have commanded the peasants to bend the knee in your presence, and most have already begun to comply early, in terror of the rumour of your coming. We are pleased to offer you the sum of 50 talents of gold per annum in recognition of your experience in the application of cruel tyranny, O dispater, and of course any taxes and tariffs you can squeeze out of the local populace are yours to keep. A reminder that one (1) young virgin and one (1) white goat without blemish are to be sent per month to headquarters, in compliance with The Pact. Keep up the good (bad) work!
His Mephistophelean Nastiness,
Argh Grah Gutflinger XIV
Supreme Overlord Coordinator of Overlords, Pacific Northwest Chapter
1. Yeah, well, what if he doesn't get the job because I mentioned his name was Ted Tyrrell2?
2. Oops.
Karyn blogs:
"Henceforth, neither CRUMB nor CAT HAIR shall disgrace the pristine surface of this, my new keyboard," trumpeted my decree.
The cat immediately shed the last of his winter coat upon it, of course, and last night I ate corn on the cob over it. My commitment has not slackened, so much as adapted to circumstances.
Still, I do purse my lips and puff ineffectually at the keys once a while. With the right embouchure you can really convince yourself it's doing some good.
...the keyboard was new. It was shiny. The keys soft. And most importantly, there were no crumbs between the keys. I said, "Self, you are not going to drop crumbs on this keyboard. When eating you are going to slide in the keyboard tray. Slide in the keyboard tray."Ai! I had the same experience when I got my new computer last month.
And then I had a scone for breakfast this morning.
Keyboard: Crumb free for a whopping 16 hours (15 of which I spent at home...)
"Henceforth, neither CRUMB nor CAT HAIR shall disgrace the pristine surface of this, my new keyboard," trumpeted my decree.
The cat immediately shed the last of his winter coat upon it, of course, and last night I ate corn on the cob over it. My commitment has not slackened, so much as adapted to circumstances.
Still, I do purse my lips and puff ineffectually at the keys once a while. With the right embouchure you can really convince yourself it's doing some good.
Deep in the bowels of the top-secret Jet Propulsion Laboratory, scientist D. Trousil, P.Eng, is working feverishly on his newest creation, the Xenon-Powered Ion Propulsion Drive! When suddenly...!
"Oh no! Tie... caught... in solar collector!"
"Must... reverse... ion flow... before..."
"AAAAAARRRROOOOOAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!"
Engineer Trousil is caught in a mysterious blast of experimental hot blue ions!
"Aaahh... my head!"
"Feel... so strange... I'll just..."
"Jumpin' Jetpacks!!!"
Gouts of purple plasma propel from Engineer Trousil's fists, punching a crater through the beryllium-reinforced wall!
"Ion stream must have... given me... powers!"
"I must use them... only for good!"
(And so he has, as far as I know. The blast also had the side-effect of scrambling his engineering circuits. Engineer Trousil has set his sights on becoming Astronomer Trousil, Ph.D.)
"Oh no! Tie... caught... in solar collector!"
"Must... reverse... ion flow... before..."
"AAAAAARRRROOOOOAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!"
Engineer Trousil is caught in a mysterious blast of experimental hot blue ions!
"Aaahh... my head!"
"Feel... so strange... I'll just..."
"Jumpin' Jetpacks!!!"
Gouts of purple plasma propel from Engineer Trousil's fists, punching a crater through the beryllium-reinforced wall!
"Ion stream must have... given me... powers!"
"I must use them... only for good!"
(And so he has, as far as I know. The blast also had the side-effect of scrambling his engineering circuits. Engineer Trousil has set his sights on becoming Astronomer Trousil, Ph.D.)
Yesterday the temperature in the shade reached 32 C. Inside the house it was a breezy 30. This is NOT Victoria. Victoria is temperate. We're in a temperate zone, which my taxes helped pay for.
If only I had not lost the lamp, I would command the jinni to whisk the entire palace to Antarctica. Or at least fetch me a bag of frozen peas I could drop down my shorts.
If only I had not lost the lamp, I would command the jinni to whisk the entire palace to Antarctica. Or at least fetch me a bag of frozen peas I could drop down my shorts.
A web page eleven miles wide
A page showing the distance between the proton and the electron in a hydrogen atom. The electron is 1 pixel wide. The distance between proton and electron at this scale is 50, 000, 000 pixels. Your monitor probably shows 72 pixels/inch, so that's 11 MILES!!!!!!! Clearly, you need a bigger monitor.
Why is that so cool? I don't know, but it is.
A page showing the distance between the proton and the electron in a hydrogen atom. The electron is 1 pixel wide. The distance between proton and electron at this scale is 50, 000, 000 pixels. Your monitor probably shows 72 pixels/inch, so that's 11 MILES!!!!!!! Clearly, you need a bigger monitor.
Why is that so cool? I don't know, but it is.
O scallop in the evening sky
How did you learn to leap so high?
Repair, repair
Come down from there
For ne'er was meant a fish to fly.
And should you prate "a whale's not fish"
Then you had best remember this:
Beware, beware
From upper air
The splayed out earth is hard to miss.
O bivalve, still you spiral on
Thou willful callow fledgling prawn
Regret, regret
The sea is wet
You cannot swim with feathers on.
(Learn more about the real-life vertiginous clam.)
How did you learn to leap so high?
Repair, repair
Come down from there
For ne'er was meant a fish to fly.
And should you prate "a whale's not fish"
Then you had best remember this:
Beware, beware
From upper air
The splayed out earth is hard to miss.
O bivalve, still you spiral on
Thou willful callow fledgling prawn
Regret, regret
The sea is wet
You cannot swim with feathers on.
(Learn more about the real-life vertiginous clam.)
These beautiful and tasty chips were sent to me by a friend in Bristol. The name Tyrrell is as common as cheese over there, methinks.I wish we had flavours like that. Strawberry, Sweet Chilli & White Wine Potato Chips. More class than "Old Dutch Ketchup".
Tyrrells are now available in France, Germany, Italy, Norway, Sweden and Ireland. Which is a long and submarinous drive for North Americans, but worth it for those chips. Or, if you're passing through Herefordshire, be sure to drop by Tyrrells Court.
Dramatis Personae:
Princess Felice - An energetic princess of tender years
Dribble - A housecat of prodigious size
King Bolivar - Named The Fat, a King, and father to Felice
Sir Sned - A Knight in the employ of the Kingdom
Act I, Scene I
Princess Felice leaps around the tower room like a stung gazelle, showing Dribble how to jump. "Dribble, all you have to do is hop on one leg," she shouts, and hops a hop so instructional that Dribble almost pays attention. "Hop, Dribble!" yells Felice, but Dribble never moves. He's been sitting in that spot since nine o'clock this morning, and hasn't moved so much as a whisker in three hours. Princess Felice isn't one to give up easily.
She flings herself around the edges of the room a couple of times, building up speed, and then with a mighty leap she sails like a meteor straight over the unimpressed Dribble, giving him a closeup of the perfect hop. Dribble's tail twitches slightly, perhaps due to the wind of Felice's passing.
The skinny princess tries a few more times to similar effect, and then throws herself to the floor beside the comatose lump of plump. She squoonches up to him and pretends to bite his ear. "I'm getting some cheese toast for lunch," she informs him. "Practice while I'm gone." And she runs out the tower door and down the steps, two at a time.
Choose *your* own adventure!
Adventure #1:
Felice, finding only rye bread and no cheese in the kitchens, takes a bite of a poisoned apple given her by a wicked fairy and falls into a coma beside Dribble, who, never more than half-awake at the best of times, mistakes her for a convenient cushion. She suffocates to death. The kingdom is plunged into mourning, and her father, Emperor His Majesty Bolivar the Fat, is emotionally so crippled that he is unable to mount any resistance to an invasion of cannibal barbarians, and the entire Tin Kingdom is put to fire and sword. King Bolivar makes breakfast, lunch, and dinner for a barbarian family of four, sandwiches the next day, and soup the week following.
Adventure #2:
Dribble rolls onto his back, stretches once or twice, and yawns so wide he turns himself into a Prince. He remains napping in front of the fire until spotted by one of the maids, who screams, drops the milk jug, and calls the guard. They catch the pudgy naked man down on his hands and knees lapping milk, and drag him to the dungeons, where he makes friends with the head gaoler by putting a dead rat in his shoes.
Adventure #3:
Sir Sned, the affable Junior Knight 3rd Class, discovers he is, in fact, narcoleptic whilst charging the maddened two-headed Dragon of Bittertooth. He slackly slips from the saddle and slides to a slow stop in front of the snarling lizard-beast. Which eats his arm off, but otherwise leaves him alone. Embarrassed, Sir Sned tells his senior officer he "must have left it somewhere" when questioned as to the limb's whereabouts.
Princess Felice - An energetic princess of tender years
Dribble - A housecat of prodigious size
King Bolivar - Named The Fat, a King, and father to Felice
Sir Sned - A Knight in the employ of the Kingdom
Act I, Scene I
Princess Felice leaps around the tower room like a stung gazelle, showing Dribble how to jump. "Dribble, all you have to do is hop on one leg," she shouts, and hops a hop so instructional that Dribble almost pays attention. "Hop, Dribble!" yells Felice, but Dribble never moves. He's been sitting in that spot since nine o'clock this morning, and hasn't moved so much as a whisker in three hours. Princess Felice isn't one to give up easily.
She flings herself around the edges of the room a couple of times, building up speed, and then with a mighty leap she sails like a meteor straight over the unimpressed Dribble, giving him a closeup of the perfect hop. Dribble's tail twitches slightly, perhaps due to the wind of Felice's passing.
The skinny princess tries a few more times to similar effect, and then throws herself to the floor beside the comatose lump of plump. She squoonches up to him and pretends to bite his ear. "I'm getting some cheese toast for lunch," she informs him. "Practice while I'm gone." And she runs out the tower door and down the steps, two at a time.
Choose *your* own adventure!
Adventure #1:
Felice, finding only rye bread and no cheese in the kitchens, takes a bite of a poisoned apple given her by a wicked fairy and falls into a coma beside Dribble, who, never more than half-awake at the best of times, mistakes her for a convenient cushion. She suffocates to death. The kingdom is plunged into mourning, and her father, Emperor His Majesty Bolivar the Fat, is emotionally so crippled that he is unable to mount any resistance to an invasion of cannibal barbarians, and the entire Tin Kingdom is put to fire and sword. King Bolivar makes breakfast, lunch, and dinner for a barbarian family of four, sandwiches the next day, and soup the week following.
Adventure #2:
Dribble rolls onto his back, stretches once or twice, and yawns so wide he turns himself into a Prince. He remains napping in front of the fire until spotted by one of the maids, who screams, drops the milk jug, and calls the guard. They catch the pudgy naked man down on his hands and knees lapping milk, and drag him to the dungeons, where he makes friends with the head gaoler by putting a dead rat in his shoes.
Adventure #3:
Sir Sned, the affable Junior Knight 3rd Class, discovers he is, in fact, narcoleptic whilst charging the maddened two-headed Dragon of Bittertooth. He slackly slips from the saddle and slides to a slow stop in front of the snarling lizard-beast. Which eats his arm off, but otherwise leaves him alone. Embarrassed, Sir Sned tells his senior officer he "must have left it somewhere" when questioned as to the limb's whereabouts.
Preamble.
Once I was forced to eat soup from a hose. There was nothing to go with it but stale Post-Its, which are better than nothing according to 9 out of 10 recently disabled hermits.
It was all to impress a female of the species. The species was Pongo pygmaeus. Moving on.
Amble.
1) Leonardo da Vinci 1452-1519. The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci -- Complete. 1888.
To quote:
2) Berenstain, Stan; Berenstain, Jan. Those stupid Berenstain Bear books. Post 1979
Stupid moralizing jerks. Bears in the Night and Bears on Wheels were cool. The Berenstain Bears and the Drug Free Zone? Please.
3) Beckett, Samuel. Waiting for Godot. 1954
This pretty much sums it up:
Po-stamble
That's it. I had some free time and now it's gone. Here's a picture of a monkey.
Once I was forced to eat soup from a hose. There was nothing to go with it but stale Post-Its, which are better than nothing according to 9 out of 10 recently disabled hermits.
It was all to impress a female of the species. The species was Pongo pygmaeus. Moving on.
Amble.
1) Leonardo da Vinci 1452-1519. The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci -- Complete. 1888.
To quote:
WHY MEN ADVANCED IN AGE SEE BETTER AT A DISTANCE.Huh?
Sight is better from a distance than near in those men who are
advancing in age, because the same object transmits a smaller
impression of itself to the eye when it is distant than when it is
near.
2) Berenstain, Stan; Berenstain, Jan. Those stupid Berenstain Bear books. Post 1979
Stupid moralizing jerks. Bears in the Night and Bears on Wheels were cool. The Berenstain Bears and the Drug Free Zone? Please.
3) Beckett, Samuel. Waiting for Godot. 1954
This pretty much sums it up:
Vladimir: Well, shall we go?See Arr Ayy Pee.
Estragon: Yes, let's go.
They do not move.
Po-stamble
That's it. I had some free time and now it's gone. Here's a picture of a monkey.
Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you
0 Comments Published June 15, 2006 at 7:21 PM.
Odd dream this morning.
In a cross between Wind in the Willows, Lord of the Rings, and the "dip dip dip in the new blue Cheer" joke, Frodo dresses up as a washerwoman in order to sneak into Mordor. He succeeds in his deception, and is able to pass successively more difficult laundry challenges as he moves deeper into the plain of Gorgoroth, until he is confronted with Sauron's underpants. Which are horribly scarred and stained, of course, from their proximity to the Crack of Doom.
Gad. I can concoct a lame joke even while asleep.
In a cross between Wind in the Willows, Lord of the Rings, and the "dip dip dip in the new blue Cheer" joke, Frodo dresses up as a washerwoman in order to sneak into Mordor. He succeeds in his deception, and is able to pass successively more difficult laundry challenges as he moves deeper into the plain of Gorgoroth, until he is confronted with Sauron's underpants. Which are horribly scarred and stained, of course, from their proximity to the Crack of Doom.
Gad. I can concoct a lame joke even while asleep.
1. Every one of my desktop icons disappears
2. The toilet starts making hungry sucking slurpy sounds
all in the same second.
2. The toilet starts making hungry sucking slurpy sounds
all in the same second.
I spelled that wrong. Should read: "I HATE Oblivion. I HATE Oblivion."
This game takes boredom to an epic scale. I've never played any game so boring. Huge maps, billions of side quests, and the freedom to go anywhere and do any of it in any order, but all of it so very very BLAND. Imagine being offered a bowl of unflavoured yogurt. Bleh, sez you. Yes, well. This game is an Olympic-sized swimming pool filled with it. Dive in! they say. Sample any of this tasteless goop, anywhere! Deep end, shallow end, stride jump, swan dive - it's up to you!
The lock-pick minigame drove me CRAZY before I googled for an unlock cheat, so what's the point of that? I fell asleep during melee a couple of times, I think, due to sheer klunky repetetiveness - slash bang slash bang bang slash slash bang - oh, it's dead. There were, like, two voice actors doing the voices for all the dullard NPCs, so everyone sounded the same. And looked like goober doughballs too. I took the lizard race just because it was the prettiest. Oh, and the books. The books! The rambling, pointless 25 page books written by 8th grade Dragonlance wanna-bes.
The irony was, in a gameworld that advertised I could do anything, I couldn't slay myself.
Oblivion, meet Recycling Bin.
This game takes boredom to an epic scale. I've never played any game so boring. Huge maps, billions of side quests, and the freedom to go anywhere and do any of it in any order, but all of it so very very BLAND. Imagine being offered a bowl of unflavoured yogurt. Bleh, sez you. Yes, well. This game is an Olympic-sized swimming pool filled with it. Dive in! they say. Sample any of this tasteless goop, anywhere! Deep end, shallow end, stride jump, swan dive - it's up to you!
The lock-pick minigame drove me CRAZY before I googled for an unlock cheat, so what's the point of that? I fell asleep during melee a couple of times, I think, due to sheer klunky repetetiveness - slash bang slash bang bang slash slash bang - oh, it's dead. There were, like, two voice actors doing the voices for all the dullard NPCs, so everyone sounded the same. And looked like goober doughballs too. I took the lizard race just because it was the prettiest. Oh, and the books. The books! The rambling, pointless 25 page books written by 8th grade Dragonlance wanna-bes.
The irony was, in a gameworld that advertised I could do anything, I couldn't slay myself.
Oblivion, meet Recycling Bin.
New template, new banner, same nonsensical posts.
Gardener Proo ate sausages for breakfast. Hot, sizzling sausages, which he speared with gusto, taking great horsey bites from either end until there was nothing but fork in his hand, then he licked that clean and smacked his lips.
Proo's red-cheeked wife sat churning butter in the corner and beamed to see him enjoying his breakfast. "Will you be digging at the turnips today, Proo?" she glowed, giving the butter a right walloping.
"Yuss," said Proo. And he took his battered hat from the wooden peg where it lived next to the door, and stepped forth into the golden morning.
The turnip patch lay a tidy spell from the Royal Gardener's Hut, and Proo enjoyed the fine fresh air as he walked. The castle was awake too. Maids leaned out the windows, beating carpets. Flashes of sunlight glinted off the tall spears carried by the tall Royal Watchmen atop the castle's stone wall. The south gates had just been opened, and a trickle of gaily colored folk were coming in, packs on their backs full of odds and sods.
Proo went on, whistling through the corn.
Some ways past the corn lay the King's turnip patch. Proo emerged from the corn rows and as he did the wind picked up out of nowhere. The turnip tops rustled rustlingly. Proo's whistling faded, and he gripped at his hoe with calloused hands. There, in front of him, rearing out the ground and towering menacingly over the patch, was the biggest. Turnip. Ever.
Choose *Your* Own Adventure:
Gardener Proo ate sausages for breakfast. Hot, sizzling sausages, which he speared with gusto, taking great horsey bites from either end until there was nothing but fork in his hand, then he licked that clean and smacked his lips.
Proo's red-cheeked wife sat churning butter in the corner and beamed to see him enjoying his breakfast. "Will you be digging at the turnips today, Proo?" she glowed, giving the butter a right walloping.
"Yuss," said Proo. And he took his battered hat from the wooden peg where it lived next to the door, and stepped forth into the golden morning.
The turnip patch lay a tidy spell from the Royal Gardener's Hut, and Proo enjoyed the fine fresh air as he walked. The castle was awake too. Maids leaned out the windows, beating carpets. Flashes of sunlight glinted off the tall spears carried by the tall Royal Watchmen atop the castle's stone wall. The south gates had just been opened, and a trickle of gaily colored folk were coming in, packs on their backs full of odds and sods.
Proo went on, whistling through the corn.
Some ways past the corn lay the King's turnip patch. Proo emerged from the corn rows and as he did the wind picked up out of nowhere. The turnip tops rustled rustlingly. Proo's whistling faded, and he gripped at his hoe with calloused hands. There, in front of him, rearing out the ground and towering menacingly over the patch, was the biggest. Turnip. Ever.
Choose *Your* Own Adventure:
- Proo throws the tractor into reverse, knocking over a fruit stand and crushing several serfs, but escapes to the next kingdom where he starts life over again as a male moustache model.
- Proo puts his arm around their waist, and sits right down beside them. Poor pale green pants with nobody inside them.
- Gnaw. Scronch. Slurp. Nibble. Chew. Proo eats a scotch egg while he sits and thinks about this. And the turnip eats a couple of unlucky children.
- Proo, helped by his fairy godmother, becomes king through a series of improbable but hilarious events, in which the hundred or so people in line to the throne ahead of the Royal Gardener contract a mysterious ailment whose symptoms include being crushed to death by a very large vegetable-like object of some kind, according to the sherriff's report.
Joanna Rees is a very cool photographer. Happy to have my face on her banner: http://www.jorees.info/.
I think it's the moment at my wedding where I suffered from a short bout of narcolepsy. The minister threw glasses of champagne at my face while guests took turns kicking me in the ribs until I recovered enough to mumble my vows.
I was approached on a bus by a modeling agent once. Actually got hired by the modeling agency. I'm seriously not kidding. I had a daytime job already, though, and they wanted me available whenever they called. Plus I was scared to death of having to look good in a photograph. So it all went nowhere.
There's something about being photographed that puts me on the spot, and I freeze up and look like a ganglionic hunchback. But on my wedding day I was so happy I somehow forgot to, and Joanna, who I've probably already mentioned is an amazing artist, captured moments that have turned out to be some of my favouritest photos ever.
I think it's the moment at my wedding where I suffered from a short bout of narcolepsy. The minister threw glasses of champagne at my face while guests took turns kicking me in the ribs until I recovered enough to mumble my vows.
I was approached on a bus by a modeling agent once. Actually got hired by the modeling agency. I'm seriously not kidding. I had a daytime job already, though, and they wanted me available whenever they called. Plus I was scared to death of having to look good in a photograph. So it all went nowhere.
There's something about being photographed that puts me on the spot, and I freeze up and look like a ganglionic hunchback. But on my wedding day I was so happy I somehow forgot to, and Joanna, who I've probably already mentioned is an amazing artist, captured moments that have turned out to be some of my favouritest photos ever.
It is my great honour and delight to instruct you, fair reader, where and whenever possible. I feel very strongly that a blog should be a learning experience, and also, I admit, that commas should be inserted as often as legally, grammatically, and humanly possible. One has only to peruse former posts to confirm the truth of the latter. The jury is still out on the former, but they'll never convict me.
Today, let's learn about vanadium.
Vanadium, we are told, oxidizes readily at 933 Kelvin. Thank goodness, you're saying. Did you know that 80% of vanadium produced is used as ferrovanadium? My word. When vanadium was first discovered by a Spanish mineralogist in 1801, rival French chemist Hippolyte Victor Collet-Descotils incorrectly declared the new element was only impure chromium! Oh, Hippolyte, you silly, silly man. Well, history has forgotten Hippolyte Victor Collet-Descotils, while whatsisface is practically a household name.
Let's expand our minds even further. Vanadium was named after Vanadis, another name for Freya, the Scandinavian goddess. And from Freya, we get Frau, as in "Frau Braun, Frau Braun, would you tell your little boy not to play with the wall plug, I'm afraid he might pull it out..."
Freya, as you'll recall, rides in a cat-driven chariot. Or sometimes upon a battle-swine. I don't know which I'd prefer: the pig-wiggly steed, or the cat car. Assuming I could get the cats into their harnesses without losing an eye, they'd probably just lie there refusing to move anyway.
Come to think of it, Freya's husband Odin is missing an eye, and I think, now, I know why. Oh, he tells people he left it in the waters of Mimir's spring to gain the wisdom of the ages. Probably just too embarrassed to admit he didn't think of getting Freya that horse-drawn chariot, or that dog-sled. Or a rickshaw, even. You could get those fat little flying baby things hooked up to a rickshaw, although probably you'd want to procure diapers first.
What is with those cherubic chubby-butts, anyway? They like, infest certain periods of art like cockroaches. The picture of Freya there must have been taken before the invention of the flyswatter. Probably people just took swarms of them for granted, like fleas in the mattress, and mattresses made out of whatever dung you could scrape from the King's Forest. Life was cruel in those days. To make matters worse, the plague was spread from town to town by those dirty dumpling-shaped wing-a-lings, because they consorted with rats and other pests at yearly conventions.
And that brings us back to vanadium, because rats and chickens are known to need small amounts of vanadium, deficiencies of which result in poor growth and impaired reproduction.
There you have it. If you liked this "full-circle" approach to learning, you may also enjoy some of the crap produced by this other guy. Though he's not as good. In my opinion.
Today, let's learn about vanadium.
Vanadium, we are told, oxidizes readily at 933 Kelvin. Thank goodness, you're saying. Did you know that 80% of vanadium produced is used as ferrovanadium? My word. When vanadium was first discovered by a Spanish mineralogist in 1801, rival French chemist Hippolyte Victor Collet-Descotils incorrectly declared the new element was only impure chromium! Oh, Hippolyte, you silly, silly man. Well, history has forgotten Hippolyte Victor Collet-Descotils, while whatsisface is practically a household name.
Let's expand our minds even further. Vanadium was named after Vanadis, another name for Freya, the Scandinavian goddess. And from Freya, we get Frau, as in "Frau Braun, Frau Braun, would you tell your little boy not to play with the wall plug, I'm afraid he might pull it out..."
Freya, as you'll recall, rides in a cat-driven chariot. Or sometimes upon a battle-swine. I don't know which I'd prefer: the pig-wiggly steed, or the cat car. Assuming I could get the cats into their harnesses without losing an eye, they'd probably just lie there refusing to move anyway.Come to think of it, Freya's husband Odin is missing an eye, and I think, now, I know why. Oh, he tells people he left it in the waters of Mimir's spring to gain the wisdom of the ages. Probably just too embarrassed to admit he didn't think of getting Freya that horse-drawn chariot, or that dog-sled. Or a rickshaw, even. You could get those fat little flying baby things hooked up to a rickshaw, although probably you'd want to procure diapers first.
What is with those cherubic chubby-butts, anyway? They like, infest certain periods of art like cockroaches. The picture of Freya there must have been taken before the invention of the flyswatter. Probably people just took swarms of them for granted, like fleas in the mattress, and mattresses made out of whatever dung you could scrape from the King's Forest. Life was cruel in those days. To make matters worse, the plague was spread from town to town by those dirty dumpling-shaped wing-a-lings, because they consorted with rats and other pests at yearly conventions.
And that brings us back to vanadium, because rats and chickens are known to need small amounts of vanadium, deficiencies of which result in poor growth and impaired reproduction.
There you have it. If you liked this "full-circle" approach to learning, you may also enjoy some of the crap produced by this other guy. Though he's not as good. In my opinion.
I am able, for the first time, to see the colour HYPOTOXICAC without the aid of artificial optics. I achieved this by forcing 6 quarters and a length of gold wire into my ethmoid sinus cavity.
Join me:
Coat stacked quarters* in a generous layer of NostriGlide. With thumb hooked under chin for leverage, insert coins through preferred nose-hole with a corkscrew pokey-pokey motion until the "credit-up" sound is heard. Do not remove finger. Using the gold wire, solder the stack to your brain.
Enjoy! Do not remove finger.
* Quarters must be dated and stacked consecutively, e.g. 1986-1991.
Join me:
Coat stacked quarters* in a generous layer of NostriGlide. With thumb hooked under chin for leverage, insert coins through preferred nose-hole with a corkscrew pokey-pokey motion until the "credit-up" sound is heard. Do not remove finger. Using the gold wire, solder the stack to your brain.
Enjoy! Do not remove finger.
* Quarters must be dated and stacked consecutively, e.g. 1986-1991.
Dear Sirs, Madams, or not ungendered Persons,
I wish in no small part to IMMEDIATELY rescind the hardly never non-ridiculous grammatical tenet of the DOUBLE-NEGATIVE, in favour of the not historically unloved convention of NEGATIVE REINFORCEMENT used for emphasis, so that I can say "Nay, you never barely have no time not left" freely and openly in ordinary conversation without a never, what never, no never, what *never*? ...hardly ever, unreasonable fear of brain fuse.
Signed, Your Least Disobedient Servant,
Your name here
I wish in no small part to IMMEDIATELY rescind the hardly never non-ridiculous grammatical tenet of the DOUBLE-NEGATIVE, in favour of the not historically unloved convention of NEGATIVE REINFORCEMENT used for emphasis, so that I can say "Nay, you never barely have no time not left" freely and openly in ordinary conversation without a never, what never, no never, what *never*? ...hardly ever, unreasonable fear of brain fuse.
Signed, Your Least Disobedient Servant,
Your name here
