Vet

I had to leave Mr. O'Malley with the Vet this morning, to be neutered. I'll be able to pick him up this afternoon, and there's no cause for concern ― but I know this will be a frightening and unpleasant experience for him, and for some reason I'm feeling his discomfort all the more keenly.

Gears

The robot costume has all come together, remarkably well, at that. All that remains is the application of a few coats of clear enamel to seal the head piece, and other minor details.

I had been keeping, or had been trying to keep, a running account of costs in the back of my mind — but I somehow spent twice what I was expecting. (Those small, inexpensive packages of rubber o-rings seem to add up.)

Vanished

How is it possible that an e-mail message I spent a half-hour composing last week, and thought I had sent, could have vanished completely, leaving no trace whatsoever?

Robot Under Construction

I wasn't even sure they'd still have it, and I didn't really want to drive all the way to Ikea, but it was the only place I was reasonably certain I could find that lightweight ribbed plastic tubing I want. You know, for the robot costume. (I've been wanting to use it on the rocket I built, too.) Not only did them have it, it was available in two shades of grey, which means I don't have to paint it.

The electronics have been disassembled, the lights have been removed, and the plastic gears have all been spray-painted a metallic silver, though somewhat dulled by the clear coating applied after. The box has been constructed, and spray painted, too. I'm sure it will sound ridiculous, but I actually built a separate prototype box so I could try it on my son, and make minor adjustments to be sure it would fit comfortably. (I don't usually do design work in three-dimensions, and cardboard isn't all that forgiving as a medium.)

This afternoon, I have to find a switch and rewire the electronics, just slightly, to use it.

Patience

A problem I often have, particularly when I'm just starting on a project, is patience. I have so many ideas in mind, and I'm anxious to see them brought to fruition. I want to start working — now.

Gershwin

You really shouldn't have done it
you hadn't any right
I really shouldn't have let you kiss me
And although it was wrong
I never was strong
Though as long as you've begun it,
and you know you shouldn't have done it

Turn out the light
And hold me close in your arms
All through the night
I know tomorrow morning
You will say goodbye and amen
But until then, please do it again

Costume

This weekend, I'll start work on my son's Halloween costume — he has it in mind to be a robot, complete with lights that will light up and gears that spin. I can make it out of cardboard boxes, plastic tubing, silver spray paint, and a particular toy I have in mind that will (hopefully) be easily disassembled. I've had a sketch and thoughts and ideas for a few weeks, but I've been preoccupied — then again, these projects are always the most fun when put off until the very last minute!

The Man Of Tomorrow

A lawsuit has been making its' way through the courts over the past several years, an attempt by the family of one of the creators of Superman to take advantage of changes in Copyright Law to reclaim part ownership of the character. It's a long, and not particularly interesting story (unless you find a discussion of the minutiae of Copyright Law interesting) but a surprising aspect that has been uncovered as part of the process is that one of writer Jerry Siegel's abandoned ideas for the origin of the character was that he should have come not from the doomed planet Krypton — but from a doomed future Earth!

What I find so fascinating is that this seems to go so much against the very spirit of optimism and hope for tomorrow the character has always represented. (For me, anyway.)

Above: unpublished art from artist Russell Keaton's interpretation of the origin of Superman. Keaton was approached by Jerry Siegel to collaborate with him on developing the character, several years before the feature was eventually published. Siegel and Keaton eventually parted company, and Superman would come to be known as created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.

Do Not Call

I may be personally responsible for Nina Totenberg receiving an unwanted phone solicitation.

Caterpillar

My son has adopted a fuzzy caterpillar, found outside in the yard yesterday afternoon. He feeds it green leaves and gently strokes it's fur, and ignores it for all but a few minutes each day. (From the caterpillar's point-of-view, this is probably all for the best.) He knows we can't keep the caterpillar inside in a plastic container forever, but I'm more than willing to indulge his interest for a few days.

Ashley

Have I ever mentioned that I know someone who made the cover of Cosmopolitan — twice? She's the daughter of my mother's best friend from college. I haven't seen her in almost thirty years.

A Google search turned up the usual assortment of photos and videos from her modelling career, along with something curious: she had run for political office in Second Life. Or rather, a fourteen-year-old girl using Ashley's name for her avatar had run for political office. (She lost, amidst claims of electoral fraud.) From what I gather, the real Ashley teaches ballet in Boston, among other creative endeavors.

Temporal Mechanics

I've spent an entire afternoon trying to restore the data on a corrupted hard drive. And I'm not entirely sure why.

I only use it for Time Machine, to keep my computers backed up — at worst, I won't lose anything more than files that had been discarded over the past several months (and even then, that's only if I should suddenly need them).

But it's been comforting, somehow, to know that should the need arise, I could travel back in time.

I must have spent an entire other afternoon trying to preserve the back-ups that had accumulated from my previous iMac when I set up the new one. I never did get that to work, despite detailed instructions — what I lack in expertise, I more than make up for in following detailed instructions — and I finally had to just give up and start from the beginning.

My ability to move backward in time stopped at precisely that point. I would be able to go no further.

A Week Ago Thursday

Last week, having somehow missed a note on the school calendar, I didn't take my six-year-old seriously when he insisted there was no school on Thursday. At first, I thought he was just kidding — but he was very insistent, and he even got a bit angry and upset when I wouldn't believe him.

But he was right, I was wrong, and he was able to enjoy his moment of triumph over a parent. (The first, I'm sure, of many to come.)

This morning, energized by the success of the past week, he tried to convince me that there was no school today. (He didn't try all that hard, though.)

50 Days, 16 Hours, 48 Minutes

For what it's worth, according to iTunes, at this moment I have 19,089 songs, which would take 50 days, 16 hours, and 48 minutes to play.

Pushing Daisies

I'm catching up with Pushing Daisies, a series I highly recommend — even having seen only one episode. (I was completely enchanted by the pilot when I watched it last year, but I don't have much patience for watching network television these days, even with a DVR and my twitchy fast-forward button finger. So I've borrowed the recent DVD release.) It's smart and silly, whimsical and magical, bigger than life, and deeply appealing to my romantic nature. I'm still not sure how far they can go with this premise — but it's such an offbeat premise and such a charming series that I cannot help but be intrigued.

I found it curious that the DVD offers a bewildering range of language choices: you can watch the show in English or Portuguese, or see subtitles in English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, two different Asian languages, and one other I didn't recognize. (I looked it up — it's Thai.)

Tedious

I've been doing more legal research during the past several days — you can probably guess at how interesting this has been. I don't (much) mind the work, but it has a tendency to swallow up my days, leaving everything else undone, and a disheveled pile of papers on my desk.

Bloom

I may, in fact, be the only person who has ever looked at this blog on an iPhone, so I'll offer only this brief recommendation for Bloom. It's described as "part instrument, part composition and part artwork." Taps on the screen generate different tones, appearing as colored circles that expand like droplets of rain in a puddle, then slowly fade. The series of tones then plays as a loop, creating a unique piece of music that changes gradually on its own once left alone.

It's very satisfying — and very relaxing — to tap out a few notes, and watch the colors as the mind wanders.

I have a few different music-based applications on my iPhone — I've tried to select the ones that will encourage my son to play and experiment. He adored Bloom, for the many of same reasons I think most adults would, because it simplifies (perhaps even demystifies) the process of making music, and puts it within the reach of anyone.

Recorder

A girl in my son's after-school class, who has entered third grade this year, mentioned to me that she had been given a recorder, and would be learning to play. This reminded me that I had been given one, as well — probably at about the time I entered the third grade.

I remember it was red — dark red, I think — though I don't remember ever learning how to play it. (If I did learn, it didn't take.)

Working

I spent the most of the day doing legal research. It's not a particularly compelling job, though I can have something interesting on television in the background (so long as I can follow it mostly by listening), and the cats seem to appreciate the long stretches of my sitting still. But it can be surprisingly exhausting, somehow, when done for four or five hours at a time.

Keeping me company, it seems appropriately enough, has been Tony Robinson, host of (and not entirely willing participant in) The Worst Jobs In History. If you've never seen this series (it turns up from time to time here in the US on History International), it's the story of 2,000 years of ordinary life, told (in part) through wretched, often dangerous means of employment from different periods of British history. How wretched? You might have been a "Gong Scourer" (a Tudor-era cesspit cleaner), a "Pure Collector" (a Victorian-era collector of dog and cat excrement to take to tanners), or a "Resurrection Man" (a Georgian-era body snatcher). "Toad Eater," "Vomit Collector," and "Spit Boy," are, I think, all fairly self-explanatory.

Not all the tasks are so unpleasant, though — many are just arduous, backbreaking labor. (You could be a "Bridge Builder," for example, or an "Asphalt Pounder.") Robinson demonstrates each of them, albeit reluctantly. You can find several segments from the series on YouTube. (Robinson has also compiled a few books on the subject, drawn from the series.)

This legal research doesn't seem quite so terrible.

Separate

I had to run an errand this morning, to drop something off for my son at school. As I watched him amble back into the cafeteria full of children, it occurred to me — his day is filled with people and activities only he knows. I have a general idea of his day at school, of course, but I've never experienced it with him.

He has his own separate life, outside of this house — at six years old.

It seems like only yesterday I was with him for his entire day. Or was that the day before yesterday?

Search

Google is making available, for a limited time, a version of its' search index as it appeared at the beginning of 2001, the earliest index that was readily accessible. (The service had already been available for a few years by this point.) Much as I appreciate the novelty of this idea, I cannot for the life of me think of what to search for.