Mon., June 14, 1999 (Fahrenheit)Mon., March 15, 1999 (Celsius)
"To convert any given date from Fahrenheit to Celsius, find out what number day of the year it is, subtract 32, then multiply by 5/9."
- Basic Concepts of Physics, page 714
That's just one of the interesting things my private investigators turned up last night as they were helping me prepare to fight that plagiarism suit brought against me by those calendar companies charging me with stealing their dates for use in this journal.
An even better find: It seems that these calendar companies have themselves stolen countless scenes of flowers, forests, beaches, and clouds from Mother Nature - quite possibly after slipping Her one of those date rape drugs.
The air here is now heavy with the sweet smell of Settlement. :)I realize that I shouldn't be counting my chickens before they hatch - in fact, I realize that I probably have better things to do with my time than count chickens of any sort at any time - but I just couldn't help myself last night. Sure victories always intoxicate me, and so it should come as no surprise when I say that last night found me out giddily looking for a chicken - any chicken - to count.
Not satisfied with counting the ones found in my grocery's meat case - no, not even after reassembling all the various parts in order to guarantee an accurate census - I headed off to a local non-grocery store and did something I've never done before.
I bought a T-shirt with writing on it.
No, the writing said nothing about a chicken, but by then I was too giddy to notice or care.I'm not sure why I've never bought one of these shirts before. Fanatical reader that I am, I guess I thought they'd be an irresistible distraction to me as I attempted to go about my day. Happily, I have it on right now and I'm finding that I can go 30 minutes or more before succumbing to the impulse to read it again. Just goes to show you that we never know what we can achieve until we get out of our comfort zone and challenge ourselves a bit.
Not that my beautiful gray shirt says much. Just "Ohio State Athletic Department - O - OSU Buckeyes." Oh, there are three ®'s thrown in there, too, and one big TM, but I have to really grab the material and pull it up to my eyes to see 'em, and that tends to expose my unathletic belly, so I'm trying to refrain. Don't want to shatter the illusion that I'm a star player for the Buckeyes any sooner than I have to, after all.
I got a large. I probably could have fit in a medium, but I wanted to be sure that it would completely cover up the fact that I've never attended Ohio State. In fact, I've only been on campus about twice in my life, and then never for anything remotely connected with the athletics department. As I may have mentioned before, I don't even know the rules for football or basketball.
Maybe I can pass as a coach?
No matter. As I sit here now my body is being bathed in the reflected glory of Ohio State and its teams exactly as if I were the dean of the Department of Bovine Diseases himself.
I could just kick myself for waiting so long to experience this thrill - if only I could recall from first grade PE class how to work my leg!But of course no day is all fun and reflected glory, and today is no exception....
I got word on Saturday that Star Trek's Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy has died and the news is still sinking in. It would have been sad news anytime, but it's especially sad since I'd just opened an entry with a quote from him a week earlier. And it's especially especially sad because now the police think my quoting him may have had something to do with his demise. Seems the vast majority of people I've quoted (from Socrates to Orson Welles to Russia's Victor Chernomyrdin) are now dead, too, or nearly so. I've been told that some folks think this is a mite fishy.
I'm not worried, though. I already have my investigators checking out a report that Socrates is actually alive and well and living in a Florida trailer park.
And so long as I'm wearing my new shirt, I know no copper would dare lay a hand on me.Unfortunately, that shirt is not helping me any with the phone call I've been trying to place since midnight. Today - like every Flag Day - I've been spending hours trying to reach Old Glory, just to wish it health and happiness, make small talk about its stars - I'm sure you know the drill.
But - just like every Flag Day - I can't get past the receptionist.
*Sigh*On the bright side: The Ohio strawberry crop is now at its peak. I'm really looking forward to getting to one of the many pick-your-own berry farms soon. True, I've been looking forward to this every year since I was about 12 and have yet to actually pick a single berry, but this year might be different. This year I've been preparing myself by picking a great big basket of juicy first names out of my newspaper using the very same fingers strawberries require.
I now have far more names on my desk than I can use before they go bad, so, if you've ever wanted to upgrade your own name to something memorable, free free to choose from the following plump selection:Alaysia, Alefare, Aljit, Anitra, Arnis, Aundra, Awanda, Chavar, Darzell, Dezo, Gulzaz, Helenia, Ishaun, Janerio, Jevin, Karis, Karthick, Katernia, Keiyonda, Laqueen, Lekresha, Lino, Luebertha, Lyndal, Moin, Nikiiah, Olus, Pariss, Quida, Satish, Tahara, Tamicca, Tannis, Teck, Tomeka, Tonyer, Torina, Vary, Wakil, Wladyshaw, Yarmila, Zina.
And special thanks to India Parcher for putting a big smile on my face just for making her way into print!
But I gotta go. The police seem to have discovered the body of the recently quoted George Bernard Shaw and they want to know if I knew he was still a virgin at age 30. I'm not sure what they're trying to imply, but I'm ready for them.
I've now pulled my shirt out from under the waistband of my shorts and am ready to display its full length.
Home To Grin At The Similarities
Between Buckeye Leaves And Marijuana Leaves
(All Material © 1999 by Dan Birtcher as cheerleaders prance and the crowd goes wild)
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