Dead as a...

Okay, today it’s not found on the road dead. It’s found at Metro Center, dead. And I just thought it was interesting because I’ve never before seen a dissection of an escalator.

But here you go.

Proving once again that I have a low bar when it comes to amusement.

Have a good weekend.

Lost at sea

Twitter is like a box o’ choc’lates; you never know what you’re gonna find. This came across my feed yesterday, and even though it’s on the Internet and therefore de facto true, I did a bit of digging.

Also on the Internet, but still…

So, it turns out that, yes indeed, there was a ship’s cat named Red Lead serving on HMAS Perth at the start of WWII. This was not an unusual circumstance, as—aside from providing purrs and other morale emoluments—cats were often a very practical addition to a ship’s complement, because they kept the vermin down.

But evidently after his first foray into a battle on the light cruiser, off Java in February 1942, Red Lead rethought the seafaring life and tried several times to abandon ship when Perth pulled into port for resupply. He was put back aboard, as it was considered bad luck to lose your ship’s cat, but he definitely wasn’t happy about it.

The ship’s log noted, “Red Lead, ship’s kitten, endeavoured to desert, but was brought back on board, despite vigorous protests.”

Sadly, both the crew and Red Lead were right, because shortly after Perth put back out to sea in the company of USS Houston, the Allied ships engaged with the Japanese fleet off the coast of Java, and Perth was sunk. More than half the ship’s company went down with her, including poor little Red Lead.

Well, I don’t know if there are ship’s cats any more, in anyone’s navy. But I do like that the Aussies have added tributes to Red Lead on every ship that has borne the name HMAS Perth. Viz.:

So thanks for an interesting bonbon, Twitter. I’ll just have a poke around and see if you got any Bordeaux in that box.

Found on the road

‘Kay—y’all know how I like to wonder about the stories behind what artists refer to as objets-trouvés, right?

Well, here’s a for-example, in the parking lot of the Park-and-Ride:

I mean—what do you suppose? Because even if they fell off the roof of a car when the driver drove away, you have to wonder how they got up there. Or maybe the driver (or a passenger; coulda been a passenger) pulled them off to change into something a tad more fetching, and forgot about them. Or maybe they were left there on purpose because…well—lotta places to go with that one.

Pods redux

Oh, dear—we still got trouble on the ninth floor. Only last week I reported on the passive-aggressive explosion around the Keurig coffee machine in the kitchen.

Well, there’s more.

Late in the week, apparently the miscreant responsible for the 11x17 full-color display on the wall re-offended, because there was a used pod left pointedly beside the machine, which also had a used pod in it.

But it got worse:

Here’s what I saw when I went into the kitchen yesterday morning:

And I did not see signs of anyone attempting to use the manual methodology all day. 

Seriously—there is no joy anywhere near Mudville.

Gratitude Monday: Minor saints

Yesterday was Saint Joseph’s Day, which—if you are not Italian, Korean or trying to buy or sell a house—you may not have been aware of. Poor guy is always losing out: in the Nativity, it’s all the Madonna and the kid; in cursing it’s always Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph; in March it’s always Saint Patrick.

Well, it’s a tough job, but Joe was not the type to complain.

I’ve always liked Joe for precisely that reason. If you want flash, you go to your Bernadettes, or Patricks or Nicholases. If you want the job done, you go to Joseph.

Also, I like Saint Joseph because the 19^th of March is the day the swallows return to Capistrano (más o menos). It’s a big deal where I come from.

And last week, in the run-up to Saint Joseph’s Day, I had occasion to just wallow in birds returning to my life

First there was the snow day on Tuesday, when a fairly steady stream of all sorts showed up to eat the seed I tossed out. But then on Thursday, as I was engaged in a 30-minute conversation with Philip at Comcast technical support, I looked out the patio door and—even though there was not a fresh supply of Fine Tunes—there were more robins than I’ve ever seen at one time in my entire life.

Seriously—more than 15. Just all hopping around the patio, jostling and milling about, like I’d hung out some kind of flashing robin-diner sign. It was absolutely amazing. Philip thought I’d lost my mind, but I did not care. Because robins.

So today I’m grateful for Saint Joseph—I’ll be needing his patronage of various home improvement projects—and for the joy that birds showing up around his day brings me.