I was reading the comments on Dr. B’s brief query on ethical lines in response to a horrific story about the feeding of a live puppy to a large snake for the “entertainment” of teenagers, and I could not help but recall a conversation I had with my children a couple years ago about the feasibility of a pet snake.
Category Archives: Passing thoughts
Playmobil imitates life.
Quoth the younger Free-Ride offspring, “The rabbits are mating because they want to have bunnies.”
While I would not presume to know the volitional states of rabbits, whether real or plastic, I agree with the child’s assessment of the activity in which the rabbits are engaged.
A project for the genetic engineers.
One of the Free-Ride offspring (which one? who can tell; it was last week) brought home a plant grown from seed as part of a school project.
“We planted the seeds in yogurt containers,” said whichever child it was, “except they didn’t have yogurt in them anymore, just dirt.”
“Well, that’s good,” one of the Free-Ride parental units said (which one? who can tell; see above). “The seeds wouldn’t have germinated in yogurt.”
Of course, that got us thinking …
Seeking advice on a rental that might be a risky call.
Because I know some of you are better acquainted with late 20th century science fiction movies than I am, I’m asking for your input on this.
Today, I find myself possessed of a serious hankering to track down and watch Flash Gordon — not the Buster Crabbe version from 1936 (which I watched on public television when I was a kid), but the 1980 motion picture.
Why you shouldn’t marry your preschool sweetheart.
My better half dropped a comic strip conspiracy theory on me last night. Usually I don’t lend any credence to such theories, but this one has the ring of truth to it.
You know the one-panel strip “Love Is …” that’s been syndicated since 1970?
The one that Homer Simpson described as being “about two naked eight-year-olds who are married”?
Do you ever wonder what might have become of those married former eight-year-olds?
(For that matter, did you ever notice how much alike those naked eight-year-olds looked?)
Brace yourself.
My better half’s theory is that the “Love Is …” kids grew up to be …
Please don’t tell my chemistry profs.
I fell prey to another silly internet quiz, which deigned to tell me which science I am.
It wasn’t chemistry, but …
Is it a law of nature?
Today the soccer team I coach (on which the younger Free-Ride offspring is a player) had its last game of the spring season.
“Yay! Trophies!!” screamed the players at the end of the game. So, off we all went to the traditional end-of-season pizza party and trophy distribution event.
At the pizza parlor, as the players were running around and shaking down their parents for quarters, it hit me: All the pizza parlors in our area have quarter-gobbling arcade games. The one with the fewest has no fewer than four. The one where we were today had at least a dozen.
Now, we eat pizza at home without needing to play video games or foosball, let alone trying to navigate a claw to pick up some little plastic toy that will break, end up underfoot, or both within 48 hours. Why must every “dine-in” pizza experience occur against a backdrop reminiscent of the slot machines in the terminals at the Las Vegas Airport? I’m pretty sure it doesn’t enhance the flavor of the pizza.
I suppose I should be thankful that at least there were no giant singing rats.
I wonder if I can beg off of the elder offspring’s end-of-season pizza-and-skeeball party this evening.
Commencement LOLdrums
I want to lay this at Julie’s feet, or maybe John Lynch’s, but I’m starting to think the LOLcats are taking over! My kids speak to each other in LOL dialect, and I’ve been mentally captioning … well, everything.
My internal dialogue from part of commencement transcribed below. If you know a good deprogrammer, please email me!
A commencement story.
Ahem.
Beach ball here! Kids, I’m not going to march myself into the stadium!
That’s better. Thanks dude!
After this Saturday, it’s all gravy!
This post brought to you by my intense desire to avoid grading any more papers.
More than a dozen years ago, when I earned my Ph.D. in chemistry, I made what many at the time viewed as a financially reckless decision and purchased academic regalia rather than just renting it.