Over the years I have become a complainer.
If it was Winter and it was cold out, I would complain about it. I would hate dealing with driving in the snow and the worry of getting stuck, or in an accident or cleansing the ice or snow off the windshield. I would complain about the bitter cold. And I would complain about the electric bill.
If it was Spring, I would complain that I had to be inside and working… or inside and studying. Or inside driving. Or inside fixing something that was broken.
If it was Summer, and it was hot out, I would complain about the heat. I would complain about the bugs, and the mosquitoes. I would complain about mowing the grass, and how quickly my ice cream would melt. I would complain that the pool was closed, or that my air conditioning wasn’t working well enough. And I would complain about the electric bill.
If it was Fall, I would complain that I had to be inside and working… or inside and studying. Or inside driving. Or inside fixing something that was broken.
I was a complainer.
…
Now, with the time constraints removed, I’m not so much in a rush. And I am starting to enjoy the moments.
Don’t rush—enjoy the journey
So we start with Decker…
Rick Waiting * Relaxing Blade Runner Blues Vibes
Today…
What is the strangest and most surprising computer bug you have come across?
ICL was a British computer company, established in 1968 (incorporated into Fujitsu in 2002).
ICL had a few innovations. One was hardware indexing of data on a disk pack. This allowed searches to be performed much, much quicker. For example, searching the big database on the standard database would take a minute or more, but the hardware indexed DB search would be complete in a couple of seconds.
The other thing of note to me was the ability to plug in new hardware in the fly and have it automatically configure. New tape drive? No problem? New printer? Name assigned and available to print.
Obviously such a new idea had to have a good name. After literally pints of beer to think, they came up with General Reconnesence Of Peripheral Environment. Well, they were computer engineers. What did you expect?
All was fine, but then Head Office started receiving packets of print out from the Sydney office. They couldn’t work out or. Nobody was deliberately doing it, so why was the print routed there?
It took a while, but then they worked it out. There was a satellite link to Australia from London. Sydney had plugged in a new printer. The printer was on the network that was attached to the satellite link. So when the head office sent out an attached peripheral request, the printer in Sydney responded and was configured. Someone in her office saw the available printer, which was on the London network, so stayed using it.
It turned out that the timeout on the ping was set too long. They reduced the response time to something a lot shorter and it worked as designed.
This incident was called The Interstellar GROPE.
I was contacted to help a company set up a new accounting system interacting with SAP. They had a problem in that they had a six hour overnight window to load a few million rows of transaction data, but testing showed it was running very slow and would take at least 10 hours to load production volumes. 10 into 6 doesn’t go. The project was in danger.
The application was a series of nested routines, so they could reuse pre-written and proven code. Everything looked fine.
Then I found it.
One program, about 3 levels deep, was opening and closing a queue to get the next transaction. But the top level program had already opened and populated the queue.
I made some minor changes to the program queue to inherit things from the higher level programs and removed the queue open/close.
I then tested it. It finished too quick. So i tried with a production volume file to try and work out where it was failing.
It wasn’t failing. It was completing production volumes in 15 minutes.
Just shows that the coding can be fine, and individual modules can work well, but it’s the integration where the devil’s makes his playground.
One other for now.
Had a COBOL program written by another member of the team. Every now and again it went wrong and output wildly invalid results. Nobody could work out what was wrong, so they dumped it on me saying it was a grade 2 error (grade 1 would be the end of the universe in heat death or an alien invasion) and it had to be fixed by the next day.
The code looked fine. It was mostly doing what it should. But every now and again it threw it’s toys out of the pram. But there was nothing wrong with the record it was looking at. Hand executing the code showed that record should be fine.
So I worked backwards. And found the error five records before. That record had a condition that set a flag, which changed behaviour later in the code because of specific financial requirements. Which it correctly set.
But…
The flag wasn’t reset for the next record. So when another condition arose, with that flag set from before it caused an “undocumented feature” to occur (we don’t have BUGS. Bugs are insects. Modern computer rooms don’t get insects. Nor do we have bad code. Just “undocumented features” to delight and amuse our users).
I added a line to reset the flag group of variables when the next record was read. The problem never occurred again.
The boss bought jam doughnuts. Any other form of doughnut is an abomination and an affront unto god and should be cast into the firey pits of hell!
I jokingly said to the waiter he’s in the friendzone & not my husband, but he took it serious & left
https://youtu.be/3TwP-MF0Enc
Dream Traveler (or Just a Cup Dear Boy)
Submitted into Contest #287 in response to: Start or end your story with someone being soothed by a hug or words of comfort.… view prompt
Patrick Huber
The car continues around the small wooded area and through an underpass by a train station. George walks towards the station. The area looks familiar, but his mind is foggy, and a lot could have changed. On the track a large sign noting, Glen Ridge. At least he was in the right town. Now he needs to get back to Alfie’s house.
He doesn’t much remember agreeing to this plan, rather he was conscripted quite forcefully. However, avenging his mother while also saving her, and becoming wealthy is more than he has ever wanted in life. What do you do when you finally get what you want? It’s scary, for now George was going along with it.
The incredible situation has been hard for George to process. No less than an hour ago, he was packing up for the night at the home office of his employer and longtime benefactor Alfie Harrington. He had settled his affairs for the evening and, out of courtesy, asked if anything was needed. Most nights the answer is a ‘No thank you, Good work today, have a pleasant evening.’
This from Mr. Alfred Harrington, his elderly, industrialist employer, whom he’d been acting as Personal Business Associate for the last 15 years. And prior to that he was an intern at Harrington, & Co. following undergrad and grad school, all paid for by The Helena Mae Foundation, the philanthropic arm of Harrington, & Co..
But this night Mr. Harrington had asked him to stay for a cup of tea.
“ Just one cup my dear boy, We have much to discuss.” said Harrington.
“Sure thing Mr. Harrington.” replied George
“Oh my dear boy, this is an informal discussion, please call me Alfie.”
Alfie invited George to have a seat in the empty wingback chair opposite his that sat in front of the large lit fireplace. A small table sat between the two chairs, a tea serving set. A cane leaned against Alfie’s chair. George took a seat and Alfie poured him a cup.
“ Might want to let this one steep a few minutes, it’s a strong herbal blend my good friend, Dr. Ferdinand D’Souza, brought it back with him on one of his trips abroad. It’s transformative but needs time” Alfie says , just as Dr. D’Souza makes his entrance. Alfie grabs his cane and gets up to welcome his longtime friend and physician. He introduces George and tells him that in addition to keeping him healthy, Dr. D’Souza has been working on a private research project for many years now.
Alfie asks George to confirm details about his childhood. That the identity of his father was unknown. How he never knew his mother, she was killed when he was a newborn, something drug related as the story goes. He was passed around different foster homes and orphanages, each one more abusive and neglectful.
Alfie then asked about the essay he wrote when applying for the scholarship. How in it he wrote that the one thing he dreamt for most in the world was to spend one day with his mother. George could only check his emotions in front of his employer and shrugged it off.
“Well, I was an idealistic and sentimental child back then.” George says.
The drudging up of painful memories made George anxious so grabbed the cup of tea, taking a big sip, ignoring the scolding heat.
This unexpected drink got Alfie and Dr. D’Souza acting, and Alfie laid out the plan. Alfie had been funding the doctor’s research into a theoretical phenomenon known as Quantum Cognitive Temporality. Whereas shifting one state of consciousness could allow them to interact with past events.
“Traveling through time through our dreams.” Alfie summed it up.
Alfie then tells him that he is offering George the chance to stop his mother’s killer. George was incredulous to this and the notion that Alfie knew the identity of his mother’s killer.
“Oh I know a lot more than that I’m afraid.” Alfie says.
Alfie’s face went dark as he begins to explain the secret he has been keeping from George all these years. He had known his mother, she worked for him at the Harrington Estate. He took a liking to her and advantage of her. It continued and she grew attached. Alfie fired her and through her out. Months later she shows up, with the picture of a newborn
“It was you George, only 2 days old. My god you were gorgeous, you had my mother’s eyes, still do.” Alfie recalled.
Alfie had been injured earlier that day and was stuck in bed. He told her he would call later and discuss an arrangement. Instead he hired men to beat and kill her, and make it look like the robbery of a drug addict. Alfie then used his family’s influences to push the investigation to the drug story George had been told.
Standing there now, forty years in the past, George was conflicted. Alfie Harrington has been the supportive father figure he always needed, and turns out that was for a reason. But he murdered his mother, robbed him of a childhood. Was that enough to kill him? He would have to decide that.
In the moment, George was speechless at Alfie’s confession. His body went numb and the room began to spin. The tea was taking control of his mind. But Alfie’s next instructions slapped him in the face.
Alfie’s plan instructed George to get back to his house, make contact with the younger Alfie and kill him before he murdered his mother.
How could Alfie want such a thing, George asked.
Alfie explains, he has led a despicable life, and he’s tried to buy back his soul by throwing money and opportunity at George, but it wasn’t enough, he owes George his mother back. And this was the only way. He was dying old man, he wished this above all else.
Alfie grabbed his cane, hobbled over to his desk and came back with an envelope. He shows George a revised a will naming his mother Amelia Carter and George Carter sole executors of his estate and all Harrington Family holdings. He instructs George to swap this for the one locked in his safe. George should already know the combination.
George’s mind detaches from reality. Dr. D’Souza straightens him up and says to him, “If you need to come back or find yourself in mortal danger, swallow this pill, it’s a concentrated dose of the tea. You will wake up back here.”
The doctor’s final instructions were the last thing George heard before the world went black.
The mental fog wore off and George made sense of his direction. He must be five or so miles from Alfie’s house, he could get a taxi. He goes for his phone before remembering there is no cellular network yet.
A red sedan sputters and revs its way around the trees.
George makes it to the corner just by the underpass. He hears a whistling coming from the other corner under the tracks. It’s a well-groomed, gentleman, middle aged, reading a magazine completely in his own world. It was Alfie.
Alfie steps off the curb into the street, magazine held high in front of his face. The red sedan hits a burst of speed at the last turn before the underpass. Alfie doesn’t notice.
George yells out for him, “ALFIE WATCH OUT!”
He puts himself between the car and his Father and takes the hit. For the second time in just so many minutes, George was unconscious.
“Hey dear boy, you gonna make it?” Says a muffled voice.
George opens his eyes to meet the younger version of his long time employer.
“You ok, that bastard came out of no where.”says Alfie. He helps George up and he sees the owner of the red sedan, a kid not more than twenty, scared at what just happened.
“Wait until the police arrive kid, then you’re really in a world of shit.” says Alfie to the open mouthed young adult.
“ No it’s ok, I’m ok, we don’t need to involve the Police.” George says, not wanting to have to answer for his existence to any form of authority. He waves the young kid off. Alfie asks if he’s had lunch yet, he’s buying.
“I could eat” says George.
“Splendid, you’re going to love Simone’s cooking.”
George had made it back to Alfie’s house, and gotten in good with Alfie all rather easily. He was feeling optimistic this could all be over soon.
Would my Mother be waiting for me when I woke up?, he thought.
George, now relieved of his winter coat, sat out on a small patio area just beyond the living room. An area he and Alfie would share many afternoon teas in good weather years from now. The feeling of ease washed over him with the thought of seeing his mother, but evaporated with the reality of what needed to be done.
“Didn’t I tell you she was a good cook.” Alfie says coming out through the glass doors. “Now my dear boy, you still look a bit woozy from the hit, I suggest you spend the rest of the day here, I called my personal doctor to come check you out.”
“Oh thats too kind of you but I don’t think I need a doctor” replies George.
“Nonsense” says Alfie “I have him on retainer. You relax here…Please excuse me though I have some business calls to make, I’ll find you when he arrives.” Alfie gives a crooked smile and heads back inside.
Could I really kill him? he thought. He’s my father, and he’s given me everything, but he’s also taken away everything. George was torn.
Yes he wanted his mother to be alive, and yes he wanted to unleash the rage that’s been building in him, but never did he think it would be because of Alfie. George hears a car on the gravel driveway out front. A moment later the doorbell. George goes into the living room and listens at the door leading to the hall. He can’t see, but he can hear someone, a female voice asking for Alfie.
That’s my mother! She’s here to tell Alfie about me? This is the day he kills her! The shadow of his reality grew around him. In the very near future he was going to have to commit murder.
The voices grew louder. His mother was yelling,” Look at him, His name is George he is your son, you have to acknowledge him, please.”
Alfie invites his mother inside.
This isn’t playing out like Alfie said. He was going to have to be careful. He hears footsteps rapidly approaching the door he’s listening behind. It opens and he’s staring into the stone face of Alfie.
“Sure gave me a startle there George, If you’re’ feeling up to, I have a guest I’d like you to meet, shes over in my office.” Alfie leads George to his office. A room he was last in, 40 years in the future. The anticipation of meeting his mother is overwhelming But he can’t shake this bad feeling, after all why was Alfie introducing a stranger, to a woman with whom he’d fathered an illegitimate child .
Could he know the truth? Does he know I’m here to kill him?
Thats nearly impossible, but something was off.
They enter the office and his mother is sitting in one of the two chairs opposite the desk.
“Amelia you must know my friend George don’t you?” Alfie says, forcing his mother to turn and look up at him.
“No I can’t say I do.” Amelia replies.
George takes the empty seat, Alfie stops at the table holding a bar and a tea set.. He arrives at the desk with three fresh cups, he places one in front of George and Amelia, and holds onto the other.
“You look like you need a cup dear boy. Well, it has been a strange day to say the least. First a stranger saves me, and then a former bedmate shows up with a baby. Oddly enough they are both named George. Hardly the workings of a conspiracy, however there is the matter of this.” Alfie says holding up the revised will George had traveled with. He had forgotten all about it, everything happened so fast, he didn’t think to check. His coat lay on the floor next to the desk.
“Now what I can’t figure out is how you two know each other. What’s your scam? A couple of lovers needing a chunk of cash to skip town.”
George looks over at my mother and their eyes meet. He can’t look away.
Alfie snaps his fingers and again demands to know their connection and their plan. He points out that both names are on this new “phony” will, as Mother and Son. Amelia is left speechless but George tries to find an explanation. He nervously takes a healthy sip of tea and fumbles for words.
“Now look I can be a reasonable man, if I get reasonable answers. We can have a reasonable cup of tea and talk this through. ” Alfie says coldly, taking a sip, George instinctively follows, while Amelia leaves hers untouched.
“What’s wrong Amelia? Don’t you like how I make it?” Alfie asks.
“I know better than to accept a drink from you.” Amelia replies
Alfie chuckles “You are wiser than your cohort here. I am a man of action, your tea has been laced with a rather effective and untraceable poison Now George my dear boy, you have less an half an hour to come clean if you hope to see tomorrow.”
George looks at this tea, then Alfie, then his mother. He is unable to speak as the truth is so incredible neither would believe him. Alfie plays another card.
“Well, I need to resort to more aggressive tactics. “ Alfie pulls out a small pistol from the desk drawer and points it at Amelia.
“Bullets take effect so much faster than poison, wouldn’t you say. Someone talk. NOW.” Alfie demands, and after a second of silence he pulls back the hammer of the gun.
“I’m from the future, I was sent back to stop you.” George blurts out.
“ I should kill you just for wasting my time. Stop me from what?” Alfie replies.
“It’s true, forty years from now, we are sitting right over there by the fireplace. You sent me back here to stop you from killing Amelia.” George says this turning to Amelia. “ Because she’s my mother, the baby is me. This was all your plan, you regretted killing her, so much so that you have been caring for me most of my life. I work for you. Your last wish was to give me back my mother. You said I had your mother’s eyes!”
Amelia can’t believe what she just heard but the harder she looks at the face of this man sitting before her, she knows its true. This is her baby boy. She puts her hand on his heart, and takes his to her chest. Forgetting the world for a moment, the two share a heartbeat.
This moment is shattered by the explosion from the revolver, Alfie had shot into the air. He has lost what little patience he maintains. He holds the gun squarely at Amelia’s head. His eyes cold and still. He pulls back the hammer. George leaps over the desk and dives at Alfie.
The two crash on the floor, the gun falls away. They struggle, George is on top of him fighting as best he can to keep him down. Alfie lands punches down on Georges back trying to force him off. Just beyond the length of Alfie’s right hand is the gun. He reaches out for it. George sees this and pulls his arm back, and they struggle more. Off to his right, is a gold letter open, George reaches and grabs hold of it. Alfie takes the advantage and shifts his weight to roll on top of George. The two roll several more times before again George lands on top. Alfie no longer fighting, the rolling forced the letter opener deep into his chest.
George shaking with fear, lets go of the opener and looks into the eyes of his father. Alfie looks back, eases, and gives a smile.
“You do have my mother’s eyes.” Alfie says with his last breath.
The combination of poison and emotion again sends his body into overdrive. He tries to stand but can’t find his balance. Amelia runs to grab her son as he falls to the ground.
“Easy my boy, my big baby boy.”Amelia says, unable to contain the emotion. She cries and wraps her arms around her son.
“Pill…in my jacket…hurry.” George gasps.
Amelia finds the pill and puts it in his mouth. He swallows it and pulls his mother in for another hug.
“What mother in the world gets to see her baby’s face grow up all in one day. You’re more handsome than I ever wished. ” Amelia cries.
“And you’re more beautiful than I could ever dream. I love you, mom. I’m not sure what’s about to happen but this isn’t goodbye…I’ll see you in the morning.”
George’s world distorts, then shuts down to black.
What was the most unexpected personal note you ever found on your windshield?
This was 28 years ago. I had just finished working the late shift so it was about 1015pm. There were maybe 10 other cars in the employee lot.
I get to my car and I see a note on there.
It said the following:
“Hey Dickhead!!
You don’t know me but my friend that you slept with last week is pissed off that you never called. Well I told my dad you raped her and he’s a district attorney. He’s going to file charges against you and he’ll make sure you go to prison. You’re fucked…..I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
I had no clue what that was about as I was in a huge slump at the time.
Two weeks later my friend, Ruben, got a similar note on his windshield saying he got her friend pregnant.
It turned out a psycho coworker of ours had the hots for one of us. Not sure who but neither of us were interested. Still have no idea what her endgame was by putting these on our windshields….She was fired a week later for something unrelated
Clueless Girl Thinks This Men’s Job Are Easy?!
Cajun Lasagna
Lasagna leaves Italy and heads to the Bayou with the addition of shrimp and spicy sausage.
Prep: 30 min | Bake: 50 min | Yield: 8 servings
Ingredients
- 10 uncooked lasagna noodles
- 2 (14.5 ounce) cans diced tomatoes with green chilies, drained
- 1 (12 ounce) bag frozen cooked deveined peeled miniature/tiny shrimp (tails off), thawed, rinsed and drained
- 1/2 pound smoked spicy sausage (andouille or kielbasa)*, cut into 1/4-inch slices
- 1 (16 ounce) jar Alfredo pasta sauce
- 2 cups (8 ounces) shredded mozzarella cheese
- 1/2 cup (2 ounces) shredded Parmesan cheese
- 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley, if desired
Instructions
- Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
- Cook and drain noodles as directed on package.
- Spread 1 cup of the tomatoes in ungreased 13 x 9-inch (3-quart) glass baking dish. Top with 5 noodles, overlapping slightly as needed. Layer with half each of the remaining tomatoes, the shrimp, sausage, Alfredo sauce and mozzarella cheese.
- Repeat layers. Sprinkle Parmesan cheese over top.
- Cover dish with foil. Bake for about 30 minutes or until center is hot and bubbly.
- Uncover; bake for 15 to 20 minutes longer or until cheese is melted.
- Let stand for 15 minutes before cutting.
- Sprinkle with parsley.
Notes
* To reduce the spiciness, swap the sausage with 2 cups of cut-up cooked chicken instead.
Save preparation time by using mini lasagna (mafalda) noodles and stirring the ingredients together to make an oven casserole.
Nutrition
Per serving: Calories 510 Calories from Fat 260 Total Fat 29g Saturated Fat 17g Trans Fat 1g Cholesterol 175mg Sodium 1370mg Total Carbohydrate 31g
Dietary Fiber 3g Sugars 6g Protein 32g
% Daily Value*: Vitamin A 25% Vitamin C 8% Calcium 45% Iron 15%
Exchanges: 1 1/2 Starch; 0 Fruit; 0 Other Carbohydrate; 0 Skim Milk; 0 Low-Fat Milk; 0 Milk; 1 Vegetable; 0 Very Lean Meat; 0 Lean Meat; 0 High-Fat Meat; 2 Fat
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2,000 calorie diet.
So many visitors with valid visas have been detained at the border, not just denied entry but literally detained for days sometimes weeks, does anyone have an estimate of how much the loss of tourism is going to cost the United States economy?
Well, the tariff tantrums already cost the US about $20 BILLION in Canadian Tourism.
It’s estimated that before F’Elon 47, the US “earned” approximately $155 BILLION per year from foreign tourists.
But that is only as it is related to tourist spending on tourism related goods and services.
There are other types of foreign travelers who also spend a ton of money in the US. Business people, students, medical patients, educators. They are not coming to the US merely for funsies, but they also spend a ton of money in non-tourism related industries.
The US, pre-47, saw about 1.1 MILLION foreign college students per year. Those weren’t “tourists” but they spent a ton of money on college tuition and fees, housing, food, medical care, etc. Any parents who care about their children would prevent them from coming to the US for college. Which will result in BILLIONS of dollars removed from many college area communities. Student rentals, college tuition, college based local economies, etc. will all feel the loss of that money.
The medical field will also be hit. Between the number of foreign college students who attend medical programs in the US, to those who work in medical facilities to those who come for medical care, there will be losses.
But the issue is far deeper than just how many BILLIONS of dollars will be lost.
It’s how many lives will be worse for the ICE deportations and detentions? How many industries, employees, medical patients, professors etc. will be lost because of the current practices (not “official” policies)?
These detentions and deportations will cost jobs, homes, lives. It’s not just about the dollars, but the human lives it will cost.
Hope the non-voters, third party voters, and MAGAts are proud of themselves for choosing this.
Have your neighbors ever called the cops on you for something ridiculous?
When i first bought my house in 1997, there was an older woman living next door. She had wanted the 2/3 acre lot to expand her yard.The house she planned to tear down.
-Cleaning brush out of the yard one day( house sat empty for about 10 years), the cops come up to me wanting to know what I’m doing on private property. I told them i was the new property owner and i was clearing my yard out. Showed them my sales contract , no problem.
-Moved my old car into the yard and threw a tarp over it. Came home to find a 5 day tow ticket on it.
“Abandoned vehicle in empty lot”
Took my title, deed and ID to police station. Asked them wen they were called about the car. She watched me leave and then called thinking they’d tow it immediately.
-Cops come to my door, “complaint of indecent exposure” I was working in my yard in a bathing suit top. —- -Complaint about the rain from my gutter got her sidewalk wet.
-The wind blew my leaves onto her laundry.
-The dust from my yard got on her http://grass.So i put up a 7 foot tall stockade fence( good fences make good neighbors)
I finally got her to shut up. I was laying out in the sun and i hear the by now familiar knock. They asked if i was walking around my yard nude. Nope. Neighbor says you are. How did she me over a 7 foot tall privacy fence? She was up in her bedroom and looked down over the fence. Apparently not certain, she came downstairs, got a kitchen chair to stand on so she could see over the fence. Cops told her if she called them ONE more time about me minding my own businwss on my own property, they would charge HER with violation of my rights to peaceful enjoyment of my property.
Old hateful bat finally moved away
What is an experience you had at a buffet that you’ll never forget?
I took the wife and kids to a buffet in Sioux Falls. My wife disliked the place but myself and the kids loved it. We went in, had more than our fill, went to Wally World and drove 50 miles back home.
Later that night, my wife, myself and our two boys felt horrible. Since we all felt bad on Monday (next day), I went and made a clinic appointment. Went in and sure enough, I had food poisoning. I did some research and my boys, wife, parents, and myself all had the lasagna. Everyone but my daughter. She felt fine.
I called the buffet and no one answered and everytime I tried calling, got no answer. Almost immediately after eating, the buffet shut down and their building is no longer a buffet.
I’ve heard horror stories about the Canadian healthcare system. As an American, I’d like to clear this up, are you helped immediately if you have a stroke, heart attack, or any form of cancer, even at a public hospital?
My wife (at the time), and myself, took my younger daughter to the hospital when she was an infant.
She was ill, and it was impairing her breathing a little.
She was probably 10 pounds at the time. Tiny.
I dropped my wife, and daughter at emerg. I went and parked the car on the side street, free, it was night-time.
I went to emerg.
Parking the car had taken less than a couple of minutes.
My daughter was already in a room, hooked up to stuff, with at least 6 or 8 people doing things.
She wasn’t in a severe state. Only at risk of becoming severe.
And they swarmed to aid her. (I am thinking it was a slow night in emerge, but still).
It was like a crew in the pit at an F1 race.
I don’t know if they even took the time to ask names.
It was nothing short of “impressive”. And heartwarming to see, as a dad with a sick kid.
Sir Whiskerton and the Tangled Yarn: A Tale of Stretching, Patience, and Feline Wisdom
Ah, dear reader, prepare yourself for a tale of tangled threads, overeager kittens, and one very wise cat who taught the importance of taking life one step at a time. Today’s story is one of patience, perspective, and the beauty of slowing down to enjoy the journey. So, grab your knitting needles (or a ball of yarn, if you must), as we dive into Sir Whiskerton and the Tangled Yarn: A Tale of Stretching, Patience, and Feline Wisdom.
Ditto’s Overeager Ambitions
It all began on a quiet morning, just as the farm was waking up to the gentle clucking of Doris the Hen and the distant mooing of Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow. Sir Whiskerton, the farm’s resident detective and philosopher, was perched on the barn roof, stretching his sleek black body in the sunlight. His movements were slow and deliberate, a perfect example of feline grace.
Ditto, his ever-eager apprentice, watched from below, his tiny paws twitching with excitement. “Sir Whiskerton!” Ditto called out, his voice filled with enthusiasm. “What are you doing?”
“Stretching,” Sir Whiskerton replied, his voice calm and measured. “A cat’s stretch is a reminder to take life one step at a time. It’s a moment to pause, reflect, and prepare for the day ahead.”
“Ahead!” Ditto echoed, his eyes wide with curiosity. “But there’s so much to do! I want to do everything at once!”
Sir Whiskerton raised an eyebrow, his tail flicking with amusement. “Everything at once, you say? That’s a tall order, even for a cat as ambitious as you.”
But Ditto was already off, bounding across the barnyard with boundless energy. “I’ll help Doris with her eggs, then I’ll play with Rufus, then I’ll help Porkchop find truffles, and then I’ll—”
Before Sir Whiskerton could stop him, Ditto tripped over a ball of yarn that had been left in the barnyard. The yarn unraveled, wrapping around his paws and tangling him in a colorful web of threads.
“Oh no!” Ditto cried, his tiny paws flailing as he tried to free himself. “I’m stuck!”
The animals gathered around, their eyes wide with concern. “Cluck!” Doris squawked, flapping her wings. “What in the name of cluck is going on here?”
“Cluck!” Harriet echoed, tilting her head.
“Yarn!” Lillian added, fainting dramatically onto a pile of hay.
Sir Whiskerton leapt down from the barn roof, his tail flicking with concern. “Ditto, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Ditto looked up at Sir Whiskerton, his eyes filled with frustration. “I was trying to do everything at once, but now I’m all tangled up!”
Sir Whiskerton sighed, his tail flicking with a mix of exasperation and affection. “This is precisely why I told you to take life one step at a time. Rushing leads to chaos, while patience leads to clarity.”
The Farm in Chaos
As Ditto struggled to free himself from the yarn, chaos erupted on the farm. The ball of yarn continued to unravel, snaking across the barnyard and tangling everything in its path.
Rufus the Dog, ever the curious one, bounded over to investigate. “Ooh, yarn!” he barked, sticking his nose into the tangled mess. But as soon as he did, the yarn wrapped around his paws, sending him tumbling into a hay bale.
“Yelp! Yelp! Yelp!” Rufus cried, his tail wagging furiously. “Help! I’m tangled too!”
Porkchop the Pig, drawn by the commotion, waddled over to the yarn. “Mmm, yarn,” he said, licking his lips. But as soon as he tried to nibble on the threads, the yarn wrapped around his snout, leaving him snorting in frustration.
“Oink! Oink!” Porkchop squealed, rolling on the ground in a desperate attempt to escape the yarn. “This is worse than the time I ate too many acorns!”
Even Bessie the Tie-Dye Cow, usually so calm and collected, found herself caught in the chaos. As she tried to help Ditto, she stepped on the yarn and slipped, landing in a heap of hay and tangled threads.
“Moo!” Bessie groaned, her mood ring turning a deep shade of purple. “This is not groovy at all!”
Sir Whiskerton, observing the chaos from the barn roof, knew it was time to intervene. “This has gone far enough,” he said, leaping down to the ground. “The farm cannot function under such disorder. I shall restore order and teach Ditto the importance of patience.”
Sir Whiskerton’s Solution
Sir Whiskerton approached Ditto, who was now a colorful ball of yarn with a pair of wide, pleading eyes. “Ditto,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “this is what happens when you try to do too much at once. Life is not a race—it’s a journey. And like a cat’s stretch, it’s best taken one step at a time.”
Ditto nodded, his tiny paws twitching with frustration. “I know, Sir Whiskerton. I just wanted to help everyone.”
Sir Whiskerton placed a paw on Ditto’s head. “Your enthusiasm is commendable, but it must be tempered with patience. Now, let’s untangle this mess together.”
Under Sir Whiskerton’s guidance, the animals worked together to free Ditto from the yarn. They moved slowly and deliberately, carefully unraveling the threads and restoring order to the barnyard.
As they worked, Sir Whiskerton explained the importance of stretching and taking things slowly. “A cat’s stretch is not just a physical act—it’s a metaphor for life. It reminds us to pause, reflect, and approach each task with care and intention.”
Ditto listened intently, his eyes filled with understanding. “I see now, Sir Whiskerton. I was so focused on doing everything at once that I forgot to enjoy the journey.”
Sir Whiskerton smiled, his tail flicking with satisfaction. “Precisely. Life is full of opportunities, but it’s important to savor each moment and take things one step at a time.”
The Moral of the Story
As the farm returned to normal, the animals reflected on the day’s events.
The moral of the story, dear reader, is this: Don’t rush—enjoy the journey. Ditto’s overeager ambitions led to chaos, but his willingness to learn and slow down showed the importance of patience and perspective. The tangled yarn served as a reminder that life is best approached with care and intention, one step at a time. And through it all, Sir Whiskerton’s wisdom reminded everyone that even the most tangled situations can be resolved with patience and grace.
A Happy Ending
With the yarn untangled and the farm back to normal, the animals gathered for a celebratory feast. Ditto, now wiser and more patient, sat beside Sir Whiskerton, his tiny paws twitching with excitement.
“Thank you, Sir Whiskerton,” Ditto said, his eyes filled with gratitude. “I’ll remember to take life one step at a time from now on.”
Sir Whiskerton smiled, his tail flicking with satisfaction. “I’m glad to hear it, Ditto. Remember, the world is full of possibilities, but it’s important to savor each moment and enjoy the journey.”
As the sun set over the farm, the animals laughed and chatted, their bond stronger than ever. Sir Whiskerton lounged on his favorite sunbeam, content in the knowledge that he had once again saved the day. The farm was at peace, and all was right in the world.
And so, dear reader, we leave our heroes with the promise of new adventures, new lessons, and the enduring importance of taking life one step at a time. Until next time, may your days be filled with laughter, love, and just a little bit of feline genius.
The End.
Shorpy
Two Choices
Submitted into Contest #287 in response to: Start or end your story with a character making a cup of tea for themself or someone else.… view prompt
C.B. Tannon
‘Still,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen what’s out there. They’re rabid, barely human. Something’s wrong with them.’
‘Like demons in human skin-suits, as Conor put it.’ Dod chuckled at the silliness of such an idea. ‘I don’t think it’s merely a matter of minds lost to depravity, though. Something’s done this to them, whether by nature or human intervention.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, when those cataclysmic events converged on our planet all those years ago, the world was rebalanced in the aftermath. There’re forces out there we don’t understand, something’s…fundamentally changed. You mightn’t even know what I refer to, being born in this time.’
I nodded. ‘My father spoke of something similar. But still…how will we possibly fight them if they find us? There’s so many, and they fight with no care for self-preservation.’
‘They fight mindlessly, so we must use their mindlessness to our own advantage. The complete opposite of their approach shall be ours. We will be wily and cunning, striking only the shrewdest blows to their operation while minimizing risk to ourselves.’
I sipped on the pleasant tea as I rifled through a multitude of questions that came to me. ‘How much do you know about them? How do you plan to do that? And who are they?’
‘Well, someone is surely directing these attacks. Someone who is not mindless, someone with a desired outcome. This country is still very much a free-for-all. It isn’t a bold leap of logic to assume their goal is simply to gather and hoard supplies, while eliminating those who they would otherwise have to share those resources with. They want power.’
He had sidestepped my questions. I fixed my eyes on his. ‘I asked how you know about them, not what you assumed.’
‘You’re sharp, Seamus. You don’t suffer much bullshit, do you?’
I didn’t really know what he meant, so I stayed silent, inviting him to go on talking.
‘A sharp mind and a sharp hand, too. I’m guessing you can use that knife on your belt.’
‘To skin a hide, yes. Not for much else.’
‘You’re different, Seamus. All you’ve known is this world. There’s no sense of mourning for what was with you. Sorry, that was a poor choice of words.’ The grief for my father was a dormant resident in the pit of my stomach, but it had risen up and lodged in my throat in an instant. Swallowing it was like a swallowing a jagged rock.
‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that you don’t miss what you never had. The only other here born in this time is Conor, and, well, I think you understand why I wouldn’t ask him to help me in this. He’s younger than you, in age, yes, but even more so in maturity, and dare I say, intelligence.’
‘Help with…what?’
His lips curled into a surreptitious grin, his eyes aglint. ‘You understand, Seamus, that we must strike at them in our own way. I’m asking you to help me, Tom and Twitch too. I have to think tonight, refine my ideas, but tomorrow morning, meet us in the gardens by the glasshouse, and I’ll share my plans.’
I awoke refreshed, having slept more soundly than I had in some time. Dawn was still swamped in grey when I found the gardens, a series of plots separated by trellises. Some were hung with fruits, others were dense with flowers, roses I think, though their vibrant colours were muted by the pervasive fog. I didn’t have to wait long for the others to show up.
‘You found it!’ Dod said, coming down the path through the feathery vapour.
‘I did.’
Twitch, a surly bulldog of a man, strutted after him, a crooked rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like a limp appendage, hairy tobacco sprouting from the end of it, a mug of steaming black tea sloshing in his hand. His cigarette wagged as he greeted me with a sharp nod and a customary, involuntary twitch of one eye. Tom was taller and more graceful, but then anyone looked graceful next to Twitch. He was cupping a mug of green-hued tea between his hands and against his belly, like he was revering some holy chalice. ‘Mornin,’ he greeted me, though his thick accent made the word come out more as marnin’.
I nodded to them, and was saved having to engage in menial conversation by Dod’s brusqueness.
‘C’mon, into the glasshouse,’ he bid us eagerly.
At a table under hanging vines and surrounded by plant-beds, he talked to us of his plan. He went on avidly at some length, covering different outcomes and problems we might encounter at each step, and any contingencies he had thought through. Tom made some useful insights and suggestions, Twitch mostly grunted, and I remained silent. Dod assigned us various responsibilities. While he spoke, I debated and assessed the necessity of his plan. An overarching theme overrode all my concerns and negated them; I had seen the animalistic work of these half-men on the roads. Their aim was not merely to rob and threaten a beating. They sought to destroy, to ravage, to violate human life in the vilest manner. What they left in their wake, they burned. And regardless of whether they were inculcated, brainwashed, or somehow intentionally shorn of their connection to humanity, one thing was clear to me. They were evil. “Shorn”, I’d heard others refer to them, shorn of empathy and morality. The thought of them out there, in numbers, sent ice down my spine. I shuddered.
‘Are you with us, Seamus?’ It was Dod.
‘Yes.’
‘Not a bad plan, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Okay, so. Seen as I have the necessary quantity of tea already, we only need two more things; we need a boat, and we need to practice our best Saxon accents.’
Four days later I found myself on my knees on the slick deck of a boat. I swayed with the sea’s choppy motion and stared at the blood on my hands. Rain poured down relentlessly, washing the blood to streaks of pink. Twitch and Tom had brought Dod into the cabin and were treating his wound as best they could. Everything had been going smoothly, too smoothly. After a swift three-day hike across the countryside, we had come to the coastal town of Dunmore East, and there took our pick of several blue fish trawlers. All the while on our journey, Dod did his best to train us to speak with the cadence and ridiculous lilt of a Saxon. He assured me mine was good, better than the others’, even though I’d never heard the accent before. We talked only like that to each other for long stretches of each day, much of it spent mocking Tom for his attempts. We boarded our chosen vessel and set off up the coast without a hitch, never encountering another soul.
Once, my father and I had gone years without coming across other people, and we had lived in a sort of effortless flow of routine doing. He had said to me, ‘Enjoy every moment of this fine stretch of time we’ve had lad, however long it lasts. You know, before, to live as we do now was impossible. Life was a tangle of unwanted problems, and almost all of them, meaningless at their core.’ Then he had looked at me sadly. ‘But even in this world, no life so clean and orderly can go on forever. There will always be change, some disruption that will come bidden or not to our orderly little world. It’s an inevitable fact of life, in this time and the time before.’
I feared he would be right again, that our luck would change. My fears manifested less than an hour after we had set off up the coast. Another boat followed us. Then night came, and with it a thick fog set in and hovered above the sea, and the boat that followed us disappeared from sight. We had hoped ourselves saved by the darkness, but no, quite the opposite.
Men came clambering up onto our boat in the pitch of night, seawater slewing off them. They weren’t the shorn men we knew, and they spoke in a language I’d never heard. Not that I needed to in order to understand their intentions. They came at us wielding slick gleaming knives, yet in the end we defeated them much more easily than I thought we would, even after one of them stuck Dod with a knife. For they were fatigued from a long and freezing swim, and Twitch was not.
He went at them a safe distance from their knives with a length of rusted chain, the metal links in it each bigger than a man’s fist, lashing it at their legs to knock them down and then unleashing relentless repetitions of arcing whips on them. I had managed to extricate Dod from that furious onslaught, dragging him to safety. The last man had struggled to his feet, his face pulped and glistening black with blood, and Tom picked him by the scruff and launched him over the side of the boat.
‘Bloody Spaniards on the east coast of Ireland,’ Tom muttered disbelievingly, coming out of the cabin to join me under the slewing rain. ‘Come on, hup with ya lad,’ he said as he put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Dod’ll be fine.’
I looked up from my hands as the last of Dod’s blood flowed off them. ‘But what of the plan?’ I asked. ‘Dod’s part is yet to be played. What’ll we do?’
I did the maths in my mind even as I asked the question. Dod had the most convincing accent. Tom the least. And Twitch…well Twitch wasn’t meant for a more discreet task such as this. I gulped. That left me.
‘Let’s get inside and talk.’ He had a note of urgency in his voice, and I looked where his gaze roved, squinting into the ominous bank of mist above the dark turbulent water. The blurred shapes of Dublin Port were emerging.
My accent had held up as we’d pulled into the port and our goods were inspected. We were four Englishmen delivering tea, among some other items, from England. Dod had made whatever mendacious prearrangements were necessary so that our arrival was expected, and so far I’d gotten by saying no more than a few words. As we had known, there was just enough cargo that an extra man was needed to deliver it all in one trip. The others waited on the boat while I helped lug the goods to a warehouse. And then we would hope that our plan unfolded from there over the coming weeks.
One of the workers motioned to me with his hand to stop as I went to unload my trolley. He picked off the top box of teabags and put it into my hands. ‘Bring it inside, main building. Upstairs.’
I tried not to panic. ‘Aw’right. Why’s that?’ I asked, cutting the ts from the ends of my words.
He glared a moment. ‘Left out the door. Follow the main path.’
I bobbed my head obeisantly and left the warehouse, trying to mask the pounding of my heart. Everything would be fine, I reassured myself, as I strode through cones of white light. I walked for what seemed like an age when finally a three-story, grey-bricked building became visible. I took a breath before I entered and shoved through the door. There was an empty reception desk and an aura of quiet in the building that suggested the air had been undisturbed for a while. I walked around the wide desk and looked left and right down a dimly lit corridor. There were stairs to the next floor up and one below directly behind the desk and across the corridor, and I made for the flight going up.
I stopped at a sound and tilted my head. It took me a moment to recognise it, and as I did, a curdle of dread rose in my gut. Another less faint scream floated through the air. It came from below, again and again, tortured and raucous, each scream more desperate than the last. I somehow found the will to move my body and left the muted shrieks behind. The second floor was completely dark, so I kept going to the third and there I saw a faint light emanating from a room down an otherwise unlit corridor. I arrived at a door with a pane of mottled yellow glass set in it, light from within spilling out in a turtleshell splatter on the wall.
‘In y’come,’ a woman’s voice drawled.
Surprised, I entered.
The room was a simply furnished office, and a grey-haired woman sat behind its desk, lit up in a flaxy glow of lamplight. The desk was littered with papers and a map.
‘Finally, some tea that isn’t fifteen years out of date.’ Her voice was deep for a woman’s, the gravel of a frequent smoker baked into her accent. I approached with the box, placing it on the desk. She inspected me with dark eyes.
‘You’re d’youngest soul I’ve seen in years. You must be innocent still, without pain.’ I didn’t think anything in my demeanour changed, but she said, ‘Oh. Or not perhaps.’ As I pulled back from the desk her hand suddenly darted out, quick as a lizard, and snatched my wrist in a vice-grip. I yelled as something sharp and unseen nicked my palm. Then with another sharp yank she pulled my hand in and licked the oozing blood from my palm. I recoiled with a jolt, horrified.
‘What are you doing!?’ I yelled, backing away clutching my hand.
‘Now you’re mine,’ she said huskily.
She wiped her mouth. She opened it and took a teabag, held it under the light.
‘Ah. A cuppa tea and a smoke. Nothing settles the voices in my head so well.’ She worked a cigarette from a pack, a neat white stick, not like Twitch’s hand-crafted abominations. She lit it and sucked on it while she stood and went to a side table where she opened a flask and poured hot water into a cup over the teabag. She set it on the desk to brew and sat down again, looking at me with an unreadable gaze.
‘So young,’ she muttered approvingly. ‘I’ll give y’two choices, lad. Stay of your own volition and next time you wake up, all your pain will be gone. The power to do such a thing for another was bestowed on me when the world was rebalanced. I may enter another’s dream, and there, smote their fears, eradicate their pain, their grief. You join us, help us remake the world.’ She ashed her cigarette and sipped tea with a sigh. ‘Or, you go,’ she gestured towards the door, ‘but know that I’ll come to you in your dreams anyway, with different intentions. You’d do things, things to your own kin, things you couldn’t live with. But live on you would. This I promise you, is within my power.’ She took another swig of her tea, and despite the thundering of my heart, I felt my lips curl into a grin.
‘Not yet convinced, I see. Do you think people allow me to lead out of respect? Nay, lad. Fear. Fear.’ She nodded, exhaling, smoke streaming from her nostrils and purling around her face. ‘Most come to realize, I can…unburden them. If only they let me rove their minds freely while they sleep, without resistance. So you see, you can gain a lot, or you can lose everything. A simple choice.’
She drank deeply, and at that I managed to stop myself shaking with anxiety. In a way, our plan was unfolding right before my eyes, just not in a way we could have predicted. The woman coughed. The last third of her cigarette fell from her fingers as she grasped at her throat, great heaving breaths suddenly seizing her. Her eyes came into the light, bulging at me as she clawed her neck bloody. Her face went purple and then her features froze in a rictus. She wheezed a last time and slumped to the desk.
I ran.
Down the stairs two at a time, down the spotlit path, heedless of who might see me. I waved frantically at the boat as I came down the jetty, the walkway tilting under my scamper.
Tom helped me onboard and grasped me by the shoulders.
‘What’s wrong? No one’s comin. You’re grand.’
‘Need to go,’ I panted.
‘Alright. Twitch! Get us gone! What happened Seamus?’
I slumped down on the deck as we pulled out, and relayed everything to Tom.
He looked at me, dumbstruck. ‘What’in the good fuck.’
I’d hauled myself inside the cabin and there on the harsh wood floor I’d slumbered. I’d dreamt I’d been walking a winding country path in dusk, mist coiling in. A figure appeared on the path and a familiar rasp wafted to me.
‘Two choices I gave’ya lad. Two choices.’
China’s actions in the South China Sea have unsettled leaders in Australia and New Zealand, but what actions can they take in response?
Likewise, Chinese leaders are uneasy about Australia and New Zealand’s actions in the Tasman Sea, so the PLA will regularly conduct live-fire exercises in the Tasman Sea.
I think Australians and New Zealanders will get used to Renhai-class cruisers launching Changjian series cruise missiles in the Tasman Sea.
The money that the Qing government paid to Australia is enough to buy Australia. As for whether Australia has received it, you can ask the British federal government and ask the British federal government to give you Australia’s share.
Are there any significant discoveries that were discovered by accident?
Andrew E. Smith and Mas Subramaniam were working in Oregon State University on synthesizing Multiferroics for electronic applications, while they stumbled upon something that hadn’t been observed in 200 years.
This something had nothing to do with the electronics industry though.
They just created this …
They created a new pigment for the color blue….
… while trying to create an oxide solid solution between YInO3 (a ferroelectric material) and YMnO3 (an antiferromagnetic material) at 1,093 °C (2,000 °F).
In case you’re thinking that it was nothing major — let me give you a few tidbits.
- Blue pigmentations don’t occur naturally, unlike red, yellow, brown, or green. In fact, blue pigments are so rare, that throughout the course of human history we only managed to create it a few times.
- The prehistoric Egyptian blue (kind of lost)
- Ultramarine (extremely rare, as it can only be mined from Afghanistan)
- Cerulean (Miranda told us, that it isn’t blue)
- Prussian Blue (discovered in 1704)
- Cobalt Blue (discovered in 1803)
- THIS, discovered 200 years later. (2008)
- This was such a rare discovery, various outlets recognized the discovery and incorporated it in their publications:
- This material, later nomenclated as YInMn blue, is
- Non-toxic
- Can be industrially produced
Crayola incorporated this new blue into their box-set of 12 Crayons, in 2017, they named the shade Bluetiful.
It earned the research group and Dr. Subramananiam a fortune, and OSU a lot of accolades.
All … by chance. Unexpectedly.
EDIT: Since, a lot of people have mentioned indigo…
here’s the issue with indigo. Its frequency falls outside of what scientists call blue. The dominant wavelengths of the reflected blue light must fall between 450 nm and 495 nm. For Indigo, the wavelength is 425–450 nm. Close, but not technically blue..
One of the BEST Movies EVER!
What’s the most “life works in mysterious ways” experience you’ve ever had?
One of the best “life works in mysterious ways” stories I’ve heard is:
About a man who lost his wallet while traveling. It had cash, credit cards, and important IDs, and he assumed it was gone forever.
Fast forward 5 years, he receives a random package in the mail—inside was his old wallet, untouched except for a note. The note simply said:
“Found this years ago. Finally had time to return it. Hope life’s been good.”
No name, no return address. Just a silent reminder that some people do the right thing, even years later. 😅
Cajun Chicken with Penne Pasta
Ingredients
- 1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
- 1 whole chicken breast
- 4 tablespoons Cajun seasoning, divided
- 1 cup whole milk
- 12 ounces dry penne pasta
- 2 tablespoons white wine
- 1/4 cup Parmesan cheese
Instructions
- Cut the raw chicken into bite-size pieces and season with 3 tablespoons of the seasoning.
- Melt the butter in a heavy saucepan.
- After the butter has melted, grill the chicken in the saucepan until fully cooked.
- Meanwhile, cook the pasta until almost done, about 12 minutes.
- Add the milk, cooked pasta, Parmesan cheese and white wine into the saucepan with the butter and chicken.
- Reduce heat to medium-medium low. Cook until the pasta is fully cooked and the sauce is thick enough to coat a spoon. Continue to slowly add more milk if you want to make the sauce more white.
- Serve in pasta bowls and sprinkle the top with the remaining seasoning.
Why did Albert Einstein refuse surgery before he died?
In 1948, Albert Einstein was diagnosed with an abdominal aortic aneurysm.
This is the main blood vessel that supplies blood to the abdomen, pelvis, and legs. In this condition, it swells, increasing the risk of rupture and internal bleeding, which is potentially fatal. Surgery was recommended, but he refused despite the seriousness of his medical condition. The doctors respected his decision.
He died at the age of 76 on April 18, 1955. His refusal to undergo surgery is a testament to his firm beliefs and values. He was an advocate of nonviolent conflict resolution. He had witnessed the atrocities of World War I and World War II and believed that violence begets more violence.
When asked why he did not want to undergo surgery he replied:
” I want to leave when I decide. It is in bad taste to prolong life artificially. I have done my part, it is time to go”