Stormchasing

It continues to be--to use the technical term--darn hot in Cincinnati.
My friend Charlie has been trying to convince me for some time to listen to Mr. Rhythm Man's show on WNKU, which goes from 6-9 on Saturday nights. I can't get 89.7 in my house, so I decided to go out driving and tune in on the car radio. There were dark clouds off in--well, I don't quite know my directions here yet, let's call it "the southwest." They were clearly rainclouds, and there was clearly rain in them, and they were clearly passing my neighborhood by. So I decided, having no particular place to go, to follow the storm--with the hopes of feeling even just the most incremental bit cooler.
I learned a few things. One, Charlie was right, Mr. Rhythm Man does him a mean show. It made an excellent stormchasing soundtrack. Two, Cincinnati is not the sort of city where you can say "I think I'll drive southwest tonight" and have your desire reach fruition. One road I followed for a while terminated in a park. Another steadfastly refused to permit me a left-hand turn. There seem to be a great many parts of the city that are only accessible from one street, and if you don't happen to know exactly where that street is, well, too darn bad.
So it was an informative as well as an entertaining evening. Never did catch up to the storm, but I got to watch the steam rising off the asphalt in thick clouds.

Phone Conversation

Me: So what's your brother teaching?
Other Person: Arthurian Legends.
Me: What?
Other Person: Arthurian Legends.
Me: Oh! The phone reception was bad; I thought you said "Art Theory and Weapons"...but that's the same thing actually, isn't it?

Confidential to S.B.: Welcome back to the States, Sotha!

Easily the winner in the "Most Inappropriate Comment To Make To A Child" contest

I was sitting in a cafe the other day when a mother with two young sons came in. The younger, who was maybe 1 1/2 or 2, was at that stage where running around and making random loud sounds is what a good time is all about. His mother tried shushing him once or twice, but not in any way that proved effective. Then he went over to her and presumably tried to get something out of her pocket (I didn't see exactly what happened), because she said to him, "Stay out of my pants, unless you have dollar bills."
...
I just...I can't even count the number of levels where that's so wrong.

The Nylons make me happy.

Lookee what I just found: The Nylons' guest appearance on the short-lived record company sitcom Throb.
Go. Watch it and come back and agree with me that this is great.
After finding this, I went on a spree, looking up other Nylons songs on YouTube. Couldn't find much actually by them, but heard plenty of a cappella groups, collegiate and otherwise, singing songs in Nylon arrangements--"Up the Ladder to the Roof," "Me And the Boys"...That last one's a curious case, because it was a song written by The Nylons (or just Paul Cooper I think) about being Nylons. So it's bizarre to hear another group cover it, especially when they get to the lines "Where we're coming from/We're born to run/We run, we run like NYLONS!"
But hey. Anything to keep the Nylon spirit going.

Not quite a month between posts, so that's good.

Got word of the passage of another good dog--Robbie, a sweet and sincere floppy-haired fella who lived for two things: to be loved and to torment his big sister. In my prayers I am entrusting him to the intercession of St. Puppy-Pants.
I also tried to be extra kind to both Cori and Chili the night of Robbie's passing, in his honor. I took them both out for walks. Normally I only walk Cori, and Chili gives me the look of utter devastation only boxers can give as we leave. But this time I came back for Chili and hooked him on the leash. (I had to walk them sequentially--there's just one leash.) I was naive in thinking I could make both dogs happy this way, however. As soon as Cori saw we were leaving without her, she started snapping and growling at Chili something awful. Never mind she had just returned from a walk some .5 seconds ago; another dog was getting a privilege she wasn't! They crack me up.
Did I ever tell you about Maay-BEHH's nun friends who wanted a biblical name for their dog? They named him Moreover. (Just pretend "dogs" is singular in that citation.)