Here, Have A Multilingual Earworm

I have so many posts that I want to write that it’s kind of overwhelming, and my brain starts spinning, and then no posts come out. For one, I have accumulated over a year’s worth of sleep-talking in the comments that I need to get written up. And then there are the other posts that take lots of time and thought and I think about them and my brain runs away. So I thought I might do something small to maybe at least have done something.

Last month, we went on a trip to celebrate Sukie’s 10th birthday. Yes, that kid is 10. On our way there, we rode with my brother, his wife, and Kliks and Bricks of course. So we listened to some very kid-centric playlists all the way there and back. At least my brother has good taste, so they didn’t drive us bonkers.

There was this one song that he played a bunch that has stayed in my head, and whenever I hear it, I smile and it makes me all warm and fuzzy.

I can’t even put it into logical words. I had first thought it had been written for the World Cup, but it appears it was not. And they left out a few countries, but the point is there. I just like the concept that all around the world, when we get down to it, we’re not all that different. We speak different languages, but we’re not a bunch of aliens. “How are you” may be said in different ways, but it’s still the same question.

There was another part of me that thought about how many places use a similar version of the question and made me think about colonies and that influence…because even warm fuzzies can still be tinged with realism, I guess. Or maybe I’m a great big Debbie Downer.

I had to laugh at one point because a crazy part of me was trying to memorize the whole thing, taking in all the different how are yous, and Steve either knows me too well or sensed what I was doing because he said “There’ll be a quiz on this later.”

Anyway, here’s your sappy song. Enjoy. And don’t be surprised if it follows you around.

Somebody Hire This Man, Because This Was A Home Run

I don’t know how much Lewis Kalb paid to win this call an inning of baseball on the radio auction, but judging by how well he did, I think the Phillies ought to be paying him. It’s hard to believe that it is, but if this really is the first time he’s ever done commentary, it’s amazing. Other than using the word “delivers” too often for my taste, he was pretty well perfect. He’s got the voice of an old school baseball announcer. He knew stats. He described everything like you’re supposed to because it’s the radio. He went back and forth between answering the questions the other announcers were asking him and calling the pitches without missing a beat. Seriously, he nailed it. If he wants one, some team somewhere could do a whole lot worse than giving him a job.

Thankfully, Today Is August 10, 2026

When I was in high school, I read a book called the Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury. It had a lot of really deep stuff that I don’t think I truly grasped until I read it a second time. There was one story, though, that freaked me out even the first time I read it, although what really made me think was my mom’s reaction to hearing it. It was called There Will Come Soft Rains. It was all about a smart house, the only house still standing, even though none of its inhabitants had survived a nuclear disaster. Even though they were all dead, the house kept trying to live, continuing the routines that had been programmed into it. When I read it the first time, I just kept waiting for the happy ending that never came. When there were certain details described, mom knew exactly what was going on, and stopped what she was doing to listen. That’s how you know it’s a good story.

When I read it the second time, only a few years ago, two things jumped out at me. The first was how his idea of a smart house is a lot more plausible now with our devices linked and things that can be set on timers, with our robot vacuums and other robot appliances, with our thermostats that also can monitor the weather. But the second was the date. August 4, 2026. I was going to live through a date set in a sci-fi story.

When I realized this, I had a silly idea. I was going to create a blog post and schedule it to be released on August 4, 2026. I thought about saying something about how I hoped that Ray Bradbury’s envisioned future had not happened, and that everyone is still doing fine, but in case they’re not, here’s a small message from the past. I would sum up what was going on at the time I wrote the post, and wonder to myself how much will have changed by the time it was published. But life was a lot of crazy chaos, and the idea of the post completely slipped my mind, and now the day has come and gone.

I am happy that we are not living in a nuclear war…but with all the war going on overseas, the fear of something developing is not an unreal one. Ray Bradbury was creepily accurate in his electronics predictions, but also in his predictions of how no matter how many years go by, we still have so much conflict and struggle, and such potential to bring so much oblivion.

IDK

Remember back five years or so ago when the Ontario government was making people sign up to receive health card and driver’s license renewals electronically because they were no longer sending out print notices? Well, it came time for me to renew my health card, and not an electronic peep was heard. I did get my question answered about whether this applies to Ontario Photo Card holders. The answer is nope. I got a big ol’ paper notice telling me my purple card needed to be renewed. This was lucky for me because my health card renews at the same time as my Ontario Photo card, so I just did them both. But I wonder how many people didn’t get the texts they were promised.

There is a small part of me that wonders if the system was so smart that it knew the two pieces of ID were synced, so since I was already receiving a notice for the photo card, it just decided not to send the text about my health card. But I have many many doubts about that.

Maybe I’m the only one this happened to, but I’m just not sure. If it happened to more than me, do they know about it? Are they going to fix it? And if it happened to me because of something I’ve done wrong, I’d love to know what it is so I can fix it before the next renewal.

You Again!

That title likely won’t make sense to anyone but Carin, but it works and it’s the best I’ve got, so we’re going with it.

Speaking of Carin, any of you who know her, do yourselves a favour and picture this in her voice. Take it from me, it’s at least twice as amusing that way.
WE’RE HAVING A GET-TOGETHER. COULD YOU BRING YOUR MASSIVE, POORLY TRAINED DOG?

A few especially Carinesque snips to get you started:

Hey man, we’re having a little get-together in the park this weekend. I would love it if you could make it. We’ll have snacks, and you can bring a six-pack or something if you want. We’ll probably throw some tunes on the portable speaker, catch up, and just enjoy the afternoon.
Oh, one other thing, almost slipped my mind: Could you bring your massive, poorly trained dog?

As soon as you arrive, could you immediately take his leash off and then, after the fact, ask us if we’re cool with it?
Could you reassure us that—despite his size and general demeanor—he’s actually very friendly?

Once the spread’s been laid out on the picnic blanket, could he run across it, stamping one muddy paw in the open red pepper hummus container, and another squarely on our son’s face?

When your big, stinky mutt chases after another dog in the park, could you meekly call his name and say “come,” a request you may as well be making of the moon, for all the effect it will have, as your dog’s atavistic predatory instincts overwhelm what perfunctory efforts you’ve made to train him to live peacefully in a large, urban area?

Could you wait until the other dog’s owner starts calling out “Excuse me? Whose dog is this?” before you sheepishly amble over? When you return, could you make an offhand comment about how unreasonable the other owner is and how they shouldn’t bring their pup to the park if they’re not ready to “play” with other dogs, even though any definition of play that encompasses the depraved behavior of your gigantic, ungovernable hound would necessarily also include a spider’s “play” with a fly, a lion’s “play” with a gazelle, etc.?

Just Because He’s Dead Doesn’t Mean Her Life Has To Be Over

It’s not every day that being found dead next to a life-sized sex doll isn’t the most embarrassing part of such an event, but here we are.

Investigators say Ryan Smith, 41, and a colleague were dispatched last week to a home at the Rock Creek Apartments in Omaha to collect the body of an individual who died there.
“Near the body on the bed was a very real life size” sex doll, an investigator reported.
Police allege that Smith subsequently called the property manager and claimed that the local sheriff had asked him to remove the sex doll “to collect swabs for biopsy.”
Smith’s “strange request” was denied by the manager, who later returned to the apartment to discover that Smith was inside the unit (which had been locked with a deadbolt and chain).
After Smith exited the home with his shirt untucked and his pants in “disarray,” the property manager called cops, who later busted Smith on a felony burglary charge.

Something, probably the whole pants in disarray thing, prompted cops to take a closer look at the doll, which they described as “sticky”. They also observed that it appeared as though something had been rubbed on its inner thigh area.

That second one seems a little dubious to me since that’s kind of her whole thing, but it turns out there was more than enough evidence for a Judge Cox of all people to send Ryan Smith away for 90 days.

Okie-Dokie, I’ll Go Ahead And Post This For You

I remember the first time I heard about those AI services that could summarize your inbox and send emails for you.

“What a stupid idea,” I recall thinking. “I’d spend more time cleaning up after it than I would getting anything else done, and I’m sure it would wind up missing a bunch of important shit that I’d just have to go back and read anyway.”

That was years ago, and my opinion has changed 0 percent since then. Granted I don’t have your average business person’s boring ass inbox, but even if I did, I still care enough about what I’m putting out into the world that I’d never be able to not handle that stuff myself.

Plus there’s always a chance that this could happen.

Come ON! Piss And Tell Is Right There!

But I understand why they may not have wanted or been allowed to use it. Had they asked me, I’d have suggested Dripadvisor.

Kidding aside, Flush and Tell: Waterloo Region sounds like it could be extremely helpful. And it’s nice to see that there appears to be an emphasis on accessibility. So often those concerns don’t come up at all, or if they do, it’s…well…an accident.

“I wanted to create a space where people could talk about the public washroom experiences that they’re having in Waterloo Region,” she said.
Perry launched the group at the end of April. Members can post pictures of washrooms as long there are no people, or anything they’ve left behind, in the image.
“We really discourage photos of really gross toilets,” Perry said. “No one needs to see that as they’re just scrolling through their feed.”
Perry has a history of chronic illness and a child with autism. She said for her, finding a suitable bathroom is more than a convenience – it’s critical.
“I just know that I’m not the only person walking around with some anxiety around bathrooms,” she said.

I don’t know if there are thoughts of taking this beyond a Facebook group, but I hope there are. There are plenty of people (myself among them) who aren’t on Facebook and have no plans to be there. It would be nice to be able to browse and submit reviews on an actual website that’s open to everyone.

He Was A Hardened Criminal, According To His Arteries

It’s often said that the wheels of justice turn slowly. but sometimes they sit there idling while you die of a heart attack during a murder.

Segrest said the investigation by local and state law enforcement, combined with autopsy results, determined that Folds “was strangled” – and “it appears [Robbins] was attempting to dispose of [her] body in a remote location” when he died.
Segrest said the truck near the bodies of Robbins and Folds was still running and the driver’s side door was open when deputies arrived to find them.
The tailgate was down, he said to AL.com, and there were drag marks in the dirt into the woods where the couple were found.
Segrest told the outlet that investigators suspected Robbins killed Folds as an act of domestic violence. The prosecutor added that he believed everything had happened the previous night, citing the fact that the truck was still running.

According to Folds’ obituary, she had a “heart of gold”. Robbins, meanwhile, should have maybe been more mindful of his heart of Kerrygold.

Bro. I’m Fried

Given this fellow’s apparent condition and the results of the subsequent police search I feel like the presence of the potato might be some kind of drug thing, but I don’t know. I don’t know and I kind of don’t want to. It’s so much more fun to imagine that buddy just happened to have a potato handy.

According to Guelph police, they responded to a crash just after 4 a.m. on Tuesday in the city’s east end.
When officers arrived, the man was sleeping behind the wheel of his SUV after crashing while pulling a trailer.
Police woke him, asked him to hand over his keys, and he handed the officers a potato.
After obtaining the keys and getting him out of the car, they also found multiple narcotics pipes in the vehicle.