Hints and innuendoes

Dearest readers,

I owe you an explanation.

Which, unfortunately, I am not at liberty to provide. At least not with respect to naming Names. But I hope to convey, through hints and innuendoes, the reason for my prolonged absence.

My prior post on lib spex drew attention from an unexpected corner. A Very Unexpected but Important Corner. People far beyond my humble scientific purview recognized my talent for finding eyewear for women who like to hunt.

Further conversations were followed by investigation. The People in the Very Unexpected but Important Corner (PitVUbIC) want to know a lot of things. I suggested a visit to Dr. Schwarz, but they had a different vetting process in mind.

They confiscated my computer. Of course, my records are immaculately organized and beyond reproach.

However, the issue of funding for my research also came up. If you'll recall, my primary funding source has been Dad.

Dad is a great guy. Regular with the kibble and handy with the poop bags.

However, in investigating my financial ties to Dad, the PitVUbIC uncovered a couple of less-than-propitious findings. They questioned poor Dad extensively about his familiarity with illegal substances of the roll-up-and-smoke variety. Having attended college in California, Dad was a goner.

What really put the kibosh on my new career as eyewear consultant to the PitVUbIC is the second fact they uncovered. Seems that Dad has had an enduring penchant for tabouli, falafel, baba ganoush... all foods Middle Eastern. He's spent thousands of dollars on the food of infidels, all told. Not that he ever passed a morsel along to moi.

"The surest path to a man's heart is through his stomach," said the PitVUbIC. "And home is where the heart is."

Dad was deported.

Of course, his new mailing address in Baghdad puts me completely out of the running for the prime gig, which would have paid extremely well. The kibble train would have been completely derailed if I hadn't found some freelance work.















I just got my computer back this week. Funny, I didn't remember playing that many games of Bejeweled.

Lib spex

Dear Hattie and Berta,

Knowing that your access to a selection of diamante librarian spectacles is limited, I took the liberty of doing a little shopping.








Figure 1. Red











Figure 2. Black










Figure 3. Blue (sans diamante, but still quite fetching)




Here's how they'd look on une fille rouge who has one ear attuned to the winds of fashion.










Figure 4. Hmm. I'm thinking a little more contrast with the red of yourselves would be better.












Figure 5. Oh my. A bit on the manly side, despite the lovely accents at the temples.














Figure 6. Voila!




Only my opinion, though. Perhaps we should have a vote.

Apropos of absolutely nothing

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Further adventures in operant conditioning

Figure 1. What I want more of.

My tool:

Figure 2. The Stairs

My strategies:

• sudden refusal to climb them
  
• whimpering in a manly way
• occasional whole body tremors

The outcome:

Figures 3 & 4. Success

They are mere pawns.

Scientific reincarnation

The love of my life and I share an uncanny resemblance to an extremely well-known husband-and-wife scientific team.

Figure 1. Pierre Curie

Figure 2. Yours truly


Figure 3. Marie Curie

Figure 4. Kira

I don't know how much time Marie spent au-dessous d'une chaise, but they do share a certain intensity of gaze, don't they? I love serious women.

They also share an obsession for things that glow in the dark. In Marie's case, of course, it was the polonium and radium that eventually did her in.

Figure 5. A girl and her Glo-Ball

Who ended up with the babe?

Ha.

Kira is coming today. And she's going to be chez moi three whole nights.










Figure 1. Kira and The Tongue


(It doesn't all fit in her mouth when her jaws are closed.)

Eat your heart out, Skippy.

Skippy reappears

Remember Skippy, my evil twin who appears intermittently and coerces me into scandalous behavior?

Well.

He came back.

Just this morning, my lab assistant and I walked to the Other Park, the one near our house. The park where you're supposed to be on leash at all times unless you're an attentive listener.

But Skippy didn't read the signs. (Honestly, I don't think Skippy can even read. Else he'd pay attention to the warnings on his cigarette packages.)

My lab assistant tossed a nice new tennis ball into the air and, accurately calculating the speed and trajectory, I snagged before it hit the ground. At that precise moment, Skippy whispered in my ear.

Hey. Mr. Science. You think this is fun? I've got something to show you.

So I followed him. Right past my lab assistant and over to the picnic tables. And then to the bleachers by the baseball field. Then to the garbage cans. Then back to the picnic tables again.

Oh my. Skippy pointed out all kinds of delectable molecules on the ground. In the background, I could hear someone calling my name.

"Hey, wait," I said to Skippy. "That's my lab assistant. I'd better go."

What are you, a real dog or a weenie nerd? First we eat, then we go find some babes.

Before I could finish explaining that 'real dog or weenie nerd' is a continuum, not a dichotomy, Skippy interrupted me.

There! Over there! The mother lode!

Oh my. It was. A different set of garbage cans. With large amounts of Leftover Picnic Things on the ground beside it.

We were there long enough for my lab assistant to catch up. Of course, Skippy vanished, leaving me to explain.

I imagine he's found some babes by now.