No Ribs

 I realize not everyone is a fan of Shakespeare's Hamlet, but everyone is entitled to their opinion--even a wrong one. So, if you don't find that message above highly amusing, you'll need to read the play or the posts I've done about adaptations of the play--and then read the play. If you would rather watch it, I can recommend both Brannagh's and Mel Gibson's. The former if you have 4 hours and the latter if you only have two hours to dedicate to the task. I do have the version with David Tennant, but I haven't been able to get into it yet.

We went out last night. The plan was to get barbequed pork ribs at a local place. When we got there, it was closed for the big party in town celebrating Byzantium Days. So we drove to the party and saw the trailer of savory meats behind the fence, but decided the venue was too crowded to turn around and park and walk a mile to get in and order. There was also the risk that they might be sold out. Unwilling to return to Xanadu without comestibles, we headed south to Delphi for automobile go-juice and a meal from a highly touted new eatery near the freeway. The gas was great - cheaper than in Byzantium and 5% cash back. The praise I had heard from my colleagues about the food turned out to be puffery. The food wasn't terrible. I classed it as average but with the bonus of being overpriced.

Speaking of Xanadu, the movie came up as a recommendation on the not-the-Nile streaming service, so I launched it as the workout movie. I'm not done watching it yet but I have seen it two or three times over the years since it came out in 80 or 81. So far, I have two opinions: 1. Jeff Lynne is a musical genius. 2. I never remember the plot of this movie because it's only marginally coherent and entirely forgettable. Olivia Newton John and ELO are the only reasons to watch this show. The music is fun--most of the time. The story lacks cohesion as well as adhesive tension. One minute the two leads are having a romantic moment and the next they're cartoon characters who turn into fish and then birds and then the next scene jumps abruptly to sometime later in the story without any segue. At least there was chemistry between the leads when they were cartoon characters; there isn't any between the actors. I can see why Gene Kelly indicated some frustration with the project. I won't say any more. Perhaps, I'll return to the subject next week when I will have finished watching it.

 

 

 

Refitting Xanadu

The good ship Xanadu, as I'm currently calling it, complete with stately pleasure dome and caves of ice but no sign of Olivia Newton John, possesses no dearth of dings demanding attention. Yesterday repairs to the vessel consumed most of the day. I don't quite remember where it began, but I recall correcting a faucet nozzle early in the process. The main task was a minor matter by most standards: a sheet rock and insulation issue where water had damaged it under previous ownership. 

I had the foresight to pick up a roll of insulation during the week. I didn't have the prescience to pick up a utility knife. I knew that I had such a tool, so never thought about getting one. The removal of the bad gypsum was mostly accomplished by gravity before I touched it. A good jerk and the rest of it came down. I removed the remaining nails, measured the hole, and transferred the measurements to the replacement sheet rock that was already on hand. During the course of these events, I did trash the ruined drywall and swept the area multiple times. Gravity was the culprit. The hole was horizontal rather than vertical and up rather than down relative to the floor. The insulation that had been blown in would sometimes catch a gravity wave and make the less than 2 foot fall to the floor upon which I had to lay to accomplish many parts of the task.

With the replacement marked, I looked for my utility knife in vain. I still don't know where it is. I know where it used to be. I kept it on the bench in the garage - of course, that place is over 300 miles away, and I know it's not there now, what with it getting packed when we moved. One would expect the purchase of a utility knife to be a quick and simple affair. Mostly it was. There were many to choose from, but I selected one that already had my name on it. With a slightly arched handle, it felt good in my hand, like some deadly ninja device, and promised not to cause more pain to me than to the target material. 

It was the assembly that gave me troubles. No blade had been loaded. There were blades inside; I heard them rattle when I shook the tool. They were cleverly hidden within the device that was as easily cracked as a Herring Hall & Marvin. I managed. It would seem like an easy matter to install the new blade into the knife. It wasn't. I tried about 30 times to get the blade to seat properly in the knife so that it could be properly extended and retracted with the thumb-operated control. The two pieces of hardware refused to cooperate. I don't know what I did differently, but on the 30th, or perhaps I exaggerate and it was only the 28th try, the planets aligned and must've I held my mouth just right.

The knife cut very well, and I didn't make a mess of the drywall or the insulation that I cut with it. The planets really had aligned, and I kept holding my mouth just so. In only slightly less time than they took to build the pyramids of Egypt, I had the gypsum sheet cut and screwed in place. I followed that job with replacing the 8 foot long florescent light tubes--having discovered the replacement tubes being concealed beneath the fallen sheet rock--and again demonstrated my ninja-like proficiency with the utility on the remaining gypsum board to cut a cover for the attic crawl space.

The storage room shelves required a supporting actor for their monotonous performance, so I auditioned a 2x2 for that role. The actor required some attention in the form of measuring, marking, and cutting with the circular saw before final casting. Upon completion of those actions, it seemed like a decent match. A few pointers from the screw gun made it fit the role perfectly.

I experimented with refrigerator and freezer options as well as parking options, finding success with the former but not the latter.

Meanwhile, the co-captain of the ship pursued her own agenda. She got a lot of boxes unloaded, and drafted me for a preliminary rearrangement of the furniture, during which we discovered that pianos are not very flexible. If only it were an accordion.

________________ 

 Here's the latest AI copy from the persons or scammers contacting me about Accidental Pirates:

What makes this novel compelling is the immediacy of its premise, two brothers, a simple summer outing, a crack in the rock, and suddenly the Caribbean of the 1770s. Pirates, dragonlings, flintlocks, and a fire-breathing Green Lady create the kind of high-stakes wonder that hooks young readers quickly. But beneath the swashbuckling energy is something equally important: brotherhood, courage under pressure, and the quiet transformation that happens when ordinary boys are forced to become heroes. 

It's not bad.

 

Rocinante and the Volcanic Slag

 

I saddled up and loaded the steel steed with requisite equipment and bags, including a sandwich for the road. We passed the first brief leg of the trip racked with doubt and trepidation. If everything went as planned, it would be our longest ride together. Of course, if things went other than as planned, the ride could be our last.

We both took fuel, burdening the visa and lightening the lunchbox. With a half sandwich to fortify my commitment to a potentially rash decision. I revved my buttercup Rocinante onto the open road. Although all the apps augured sunshine, the dark clouds foretold differently and with greater authority. We discovered rain within the hour. It was but a taste of the adventure to come and barely wet my helm.

When we left the busy thoroughfare for the mountain passes, our course attracted nature's eye. On the ascending trails it seemed the storm had already passed, but when we mounted to the high plateau we rode straight into nature's wrath. She struck with increasing ferocity, attempting to sweep Rocinante from the way, forsaking rain in favor of gale force blasts.

Onward, ever onward we rode until at last we reached the mountains of the moon. My buttercup Rocinante rolled against the blast in a high desert of volcanic slag. Heaps of cinders and stately lava domes were decreed in this forsaken landscape above a sunless sea. The dark domes bulged and cracked as if from the force of monstrous aliens arising from the basalt confines with death and destruction for humanity.

At last we escaped the gale of nature's wrath and the valley of the shadow to complete the ride to Eldorado. Fortunately, the weather for the return trip was much better. I met a traveler in Carey, who rode a Bonneville Triumph, and had a nice conversation with him. I saw no maids with dulcimers and I had seen some years before the cave of ice. Nevertheless, you may want to close your eyes with holy dread for I on junk food have fed and found it all very high priced.

"Gardens bright with sinuous rills"

In Compiegne did Louis XV
a stately residence decree:
Where l'Oise, the sacred river, ran
through regions so dear to this man
in the land of Picardie.

We got off the bus in Compiegne at the palace, or Chateau de Compiegne. I had been there many years before. The chateau is tremendous inside; it is fabulous. I like it even better than the palace at Versailles. (There are a lot fewer people for one, and it has a lot of 1st Empire stuff which I enjoy, for another. Napoleon had the place restored and made it an imperial palace). We had hoped to be in time to tour the palace and then visit the beautiful and expansive gardens.

And we nearly did. Did you ever notice that if you add the word "nearly" to a positive statement, it turns the statement into a negative. It's really just a softer way of saying something failed. For example, saying that a ballplayer nearly caught the ball, sounds much better than saying that he missed the ball. "Nearly" creates the illusion of success, or very nearly does, almost. (For a discussion of the effect of the word "almost" please see "nearly."

We went inside and found the usual metal detector with the requisite inspector-of-all-things-carried. 
"Is this the way to see the chateau," I asked. 
"Yes, but it is closed," he said. "But you can still see the gardens."
"I understood the chateau was open for another hour, until 1800."
"It is, but it's too late to enter now. But you can still see the gardens."
"If it's still open, why can't we go inside?"
"Because it closes at 1800. But you can still visit the gardens."
"Well, then. We'll go in for a quick tour and then see the gardens."
"It's too late to visit the chateau. But you can still visit the gardens." He seemed noticeably frustrated at this point in trying to explain the situation. He wasn't doing a very good job of it.
"But it's open until 1800. We'll see the chateau and then visit the gardens."
"You are too late to come in the chateau, but you can still visit the gardens."

We spoke a little more to get some clarification. The bottom line was that we were not getting into the chateau. Apparently the rule is quite firm that if one does not arrive more than an hour before the closing of the chateau, one does not get to enter the chateau, even though the chateau does not close until 1800 (which is 6:00 p.m.). It was 5:15; we weren't getting in. Missed it by that much.

Much to the amusement of the other chateau workers who were witnessing our conversation, I finally informed the good man that we would skip the chateau and just visit the gardens. The whole conversation was worth it just to see them enjoy the frustration of their colleague. 

The gardens are truly remarkable. We walked around the side of the chateau and enjoyed the view down the great alley that joins the palace gardens with the great forest. We admired the statuary and got some pictures of them. I particularly liked a secluded Grecian gazebo (I'm sure there's better, more architecturally correct word for it, but I don't know what it is). There were a few people enjoying the great grassy expanse in the middle of the gardens, but not many. We nearly had the gardens to ourselves (nearly, see: almost). A quiet peaceful walk with my wife in the gardens of the imperial palace; what a great day!

...

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, 

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; 

And here were forests ancient as the hills, 

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.