The world has them.
But you have to go to Japan to get them so it might not be worth it.
Cool!
Technically you can make them yourself… When the watermelon is still small, put a tempered glass container around it (you want sunlight to be able to get through) and it will fill whatever shape it’s in. You can even do things like heart-shaped watermelons.
Maybe not worth it, but it could be a fun hobby I guess.
That’s wonderful.
My hives are coming back. Less wonderful.
My husband also had some kind of post-viral reaction (he couldn’t breathe so well - almost went to urgent care.)
His doctor said it could have been a cold but after hearing about my hives thought it might be COVID. Not that it makes a difference any more. The symptoms of the illness are gone, leaving only allergic reactions in their wake.
We are both allergic to dust mites so I have my suspicion that maybe I should vaccum our bedroom.
Conjunctivitis. Again. I got it in late December and it lasted 6 weeks, till February. Now it’s back. I’m on different meds this time; hope they work better.
The good news: My new Mac has been delivered. First one in nine years.
I pit the old fool who nearly was turned to meat jelly by the Hiawatha yesterday afternoon at Deerfield station.
The outbound Metra I take home is usually long gone and everyone at least across the tracks before the southbound Hiawatha hurtles through. Last night, my train was a bit late. But only a bit, and only one person was on the wrong side of the tracks when the crossing bells and lights and the strobes of the approaching engine signaled that it would be a very bad idea to cross then. It was the older gentleman with a large rolling briefcase who rides my homebound train every day, sometimes needs to be helped off the car, and whose walk is a sloooow amble.
So surely he’ll stay where he is and not try crossing before the Hiawatha arrives, right? It’s clearly not a slow freight, a mobility-limited person knows how slow they cross the tracks, and an older person usually gets that way by exercising some level of prudence. Old pilots, bold pilots, and all that.
Nope, nope, nope. He went for it like an immortal teenager or impatient fratboy daytrader. I winced, I muttered oaths, I walked farther from the platform edge. When his rolling bag momentarily caught in the tracks, I didn’t just mutter an oath. The engineer sounded the horn as the train crested the slight hill north of the station and he or she saw the man shuffling across the line.
Finally, the man stepped onto the platform about five seconds before the train wooshed over the crossing. And he walked on without the slightest sign of recognition or turning of his head, even when I shrugged broadly to signal “WTF was that?!”
How this man got to the better part of four score years on this earth pulling such stunts, I cannot fathom!
Egad. Your story had me on the edge of my seat.
He probably figures it would happen any day now regardless. If it happened from a train splatting him at least it would be quick.
I have two stupid mini-rants:
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Kids and shitty timing. Without fail, I tell my kids, “We’re leaving at 4:30.” Without fail, 4:15 rolls around and all of a sudden, they decide it’s time to go outside. But! Before they go outside they need to get water. Oh, wait. Wrong water bottle. They find the right one. Then they get water. Oh, wait…they need a backpack to carry the water for some reason. Takes about 5 minutes to find one. Their shoes aren’t on. So they get their shoes and tie their laces so slowly a glacier could outrun them. They remember something unexpectedly that is completely irrelevant to bike riding, then insist on talking with me (while I’m working) about it Right Now. Finally, they’re about to leave and the husband shows up from his work cave. “Overlyboy, overlygirl,” he says in his best Stern Dad Voice, “Have you done ? Do it before you go anywhere.” Gah! I’d been thiiiiiis close to blissful quiet and now I have two complaining kids folding laundry in front of my desk and a husband standing about attempting to make googly eyes at me while I’m doing my best to ignore him and get work done. Finally the kids leave…only to leave overlyhusband standing in front of me trying to talk to me. Maybe I should’ve entitled this “Will everybody please piss off.”
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I wish employees would stop asking me to tell them exactly what to do. I understand if I haven’t provided sufficient direction on what I need the end result to be. But “What title should I give my slide” should not be an agenda topic you add to our touchbase.
Ahhhhh, shit. Kids are back again. One of them forgot a water bottle. Annnnd, I hear overlyhusband running up the stairs. I would kill for a room with a door right now.
Waiting for 60 Minutes to start.
STILL.
Bloody golf. It’s as bad as football.
Sounds like chaos, and also like trying to get my husband out the door on time. He doesn’t care about being late. It gives me anxiety.
My hives are back. I went to urgent care, had trouble finding it because my GPS quit working. Finally got there only to be told they are by appointment only. So I found one where I could walk in. More meds plus they told me to see an allergist. Fine.
I feel fuckin’ weird today. Keyed up and hard to focus, almost to the point where I thought I shouldn’t drive. My best guess is that sleep deprivation, stimulants and Benadryl don’t mix. (Story fuel, at least. I have an MC abusing stimulants and alcohol.)
Well that just sucks. I normally love Scalzi books.
Hope it’s just a temporary thing and not terminal burnout.
Baseball is the worst for that. Each game has an indefinite length.
Now I understand why my Euro-pals complain about American sports. Soccer has a set time frame. The game’s going to be over in 90 minutes (+ a few “stoppage time” minutes).
I can only imagine how they feel sitting with us in a bar watching Double Extra Super Overtime, or (in the last Twins game we watched) the 12th inning at 12:30am.
On the other hand, there’s something to be said for transparent rules as to when American sports games end, as compared to arbitrary decisions about soccer “stoppage time” made by refs.
“Ultimately, the final amount of time given is completely at the referee’s discretion. No matter the method used to track stoppages, the amount of time announced is decided by the referee, and he can announce more or less time than “needed” as he sees fit.”
Up until 1996 they didn’t even announce the length of stoppage time beforehand, so soccer teams played on until…whenever.
Hmmm… how about a running total of stoppage time that a ref can add to (from his wireless pocketwatch), so the game clock would show “77 min (+2 min)”?
I’ll add that to to my long list of “Changes I’d make to soccer to get Americans watching it”…
(Number 1 is “Score Some Goals!”)
I am hot. (Pacific NW: maybe there’s another thread on this somewhere.)
Yesterday is was 42 °C / 107 °F.
Today will be the same.
My beloved spouse doesn’t want to run our (already inadequate) room air conditioner at night because… not sure. We won’t be able to hear burglars or something. My feeling is that anyone willing to carry off our stuff in this weather has probably earned it. It was 90°F in the living room when I got up at 6 this morning. Inside my uninulated garage it hit 100 °F yesterday afternoon.
My sister and her family in Happy Valley, OR, are going through the same thing, PLUS their house is one of eight on their street that’s been having a power outage for the past couple of days. She’s on FB asking her friends to bring over ice, and charging her phone from her EV (a Chevy Bolt).
The pool opened on Friday so evidently the condo association found their lifeguard(s).
Or they could just…stop the clock during celebrations, extracurricular activities, players flopping due to pseudo-injuries etc.
Seems to work for (U.S.) football.