Current Entertainment

 I'm currently reading a newish edition of Algernon Blackwood stories, rewatching (with Jeanine) Lars Von Trier's The Kingdom Season 2 in preparation for watching the relatively newly released Season 3 and listening (as I type) to Xasthur's "Inevitably Dark" double CD. 

For old time's sake, here's a picture of a subtly beautiful Northern Pacific Rattlesnake, found in a shed by a coworker. At the request of our garden coordinator, it was released into the big pile of unused decorative landscaping rocks near our garden so it can continue the good work of eating voles and other miscreants.

 

Two stories Relating to Body Parts Being Made Into Something Greater Than Their Sum

 Recently, I learned interesting things about a couple of friends.

A friend of around 40 years is in the final stages of making guitar picks out of his own skull. He just needs to dip them in resin. The backstory is that a few years ago he had a massive stroke which necessitated the removal of part of his skull. Said part was replaced by bionic parts (or, a 3D printed replacement, if you want the boring version) and he got to keep the original bits. Part of me wants one, but I'd feel awkward asking. 

A newer friend revealed this weekend that he's literally Dr. Frankenstein. Sure, his last name is actually Frank, but his family name used to be Frankenstein until his first ancestor to emigrate to the U.S. was warned that he should change his surname due to its association with the titular character in Mary Shelley's novel, not to mention the fact that politicians at the time were using the name to insult their opponents. And yes, my friend has a PhD, so he's a doctor, just not one of medicine. 

A Sudden Surge of Words

I've noticed that I have a waning urge to create as I get older. I think this draining of the creative reservoir is something that affects many of us as we age. Notice that I seldom write here anymore, although whether this really counts as creativity is open for debate. This post comes courtesy of a conversation had while coming back from birding yesterday. One could argue that there is a creative aspect to birding. The taking and processing of photos is somewhat creative. The drive to improve on one's best photos is similar to the drive fueling other types of creativity, but to my mind it's not quite the same. Our conversation centered around writing, so here I am, writing. I formed some half-assed idea that once again I would try to post here regularly. It seems counterintuitive to write here (as opposed to social media, ha ha) where very few people will ever read it, but being a relatively private person, I like the idea of allowing my train of thought to follow the weed-obscured rails into the vast empty spaces of what may or may not be still known as the blogosphere.

I'm currently listening to Mozart's operas, which are at the tail-end of a 170 CD box set of his complete works. I'm still not really an opera fan, but I can appreciate his musical genius a bit more than previously. The man operated on a different plane than most of us. 

It's only May, and already this year I've been to Virginia, Illinois, and Arizona. Work chugs along as usual, although I'm becoming increasingly aware of the prospect of retirement. It's a good thing I've got my retirement hobby sorted out early.