May 2004

Plot your own murder *
Cicadas are Evil *
Urban Murals *
Rodeohead *
Non sequitur
Eric Idle's FCC song (not work-safe) *

In which Richard B. Hoppe asks Paul Nelson to provide support for his Intelligent Design claims about Ontogenetic Depth:

Paul Nelson's "depth" tales sounded tall.
Richard Hoppe thought, "it's past time to call
Nelson's ontogenetic-
clad apologetic."
Quoth Richard, "So where's the beef, Paul?"

I doubt that he'll find satisfaction,
nor even a lucid reaction.
Behind the smoke screen
there's an ID machine
building weapons of media distraction.

A meal of Intelligent Design
when served with the fruit of divine
is lacking in beef,
which supports my belief
that it's tripe marinating in whine.

View More Limericks

I've been looking at the search strings that bring people to my journal. "Love limericks" and "Birthday limericks" are popular choices. It seems like there is still an unmet need for limericks.

Although the limerick form is most often associated with ribald humour, I think it should be possible to write amusing limericks that express emotions like love. I like a challenge, so I'll take as my topic:

The Practical Guy's Love Limericks

Listen now to my limerick of love,
with the moon as my witness above.
As a practical guy
I declare that I'll try
to be yours 'til you give me the shove.

You wanted a guy who's in touch
with emotions and feelings and such.
Let's sit down and share,
lay our deepest thoughts bare.
Is it all right if I don't say much?

Of course, babe, you know that I care.
I was paying attention, I swear.
Didn't I say before
how I really adore
that new thing you've done with your hair?

View More Limericks

The new solar hot water system we ordered hadn't arrived, but the plumber and his sidekicks were there ready to install it. That wasn't why WifeOfVirge called me at work and asked me to come home. Something was wrong. Sometimes a story doesn't ring true, and the story being pushed by the plumber was tingling her spider senses.

We'd planned to have the new hot water service installed on a west-facing roof section. It's not as efficient as north-facing but on any of our north-facing roof area it would have stood out like a bubo on a barbie doll. In fact we'd already decided to order a three-panel instead of a two-panel unit to compensate for the sub-optimal placement.

When I arrived home I got the story straight from the plumber's mouth.

"It won't work in that spot. It's still in shade."

"What? Shaded by the front roof section?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I climbed the ladder. I looked. "How tall did you say the solar panels are?" I called down.

"About 1 metre and a half," the plumber replied.

"And how low can the panels be mounted? How close to the gutter?"

"The bottom can go as low as that row of screws there," he pointed.

The proposed roof area wasn't in shadow. We would miss some of the pre-noon sun but I suspected that he may have had an ulterior motive. Then he mentioned that there was an extremely remote possibility of an inspection from the energy authority and a reduced rebate on the unit cost if the inspection found it wasn't installed in the best position. That's when I knew there was more than just our energy-efficient, hot showery bliss in his thoughts.

We wandered around the back of the house.

"It's going to be a bugger getting the pipes to it," he grumbled. "Can we get access to the roof-space?"

"I don't think so," I said.

"We don't usually run pipes up over a roof. It's usually just up a wall."

A couple of neurons high-fived each other in my head. These guys were probably on a fixed-price contract from the solar heating company. HouseOfVirge was not an easy job so they were looking for a way to make it easier.

I pointed to the sub-floor door. "There's plenty of space under the house. Why not go straight through underneath then straight up to the unit?" I said.

"That could work... apart from the extra distance" he said.

Tinglissimo. The bullshit detectors were firing again. I explained what the plumber must have already known. The pipe length needed to go across then up would be approximately the same as that required to go up then across. I left him to work it out.

I'm not too worried if he decides to take the hard route up over the roof. The salesman who signed up the contract was a senior estimator. He knew the distances when he quoted on the job and agreed to waive the installation cost. I will just have to hope our prevaricating plumbers are better at doing the work than they are at spinning a believable tale.

As I did last year, I've taken this opportunity to be uncompromisingly unmushy. One can recognise the devotion of one's mother and her pivotal role in one's nurture without resorting to gushing sentimentality. Instead of a Mother's Day message that canonizes any practitioner of motherhood, I've focused on the perils of the motherhood journey without reference to the presumed piety of the traveler.

Here it is. (In the printed card I attributed the poem to a fictional character -- Phyllis Steiner-Writes. Should you wish to reproduce this poem under my Attribution-NonCommercial license, it must be attributed to either Virge or Virgil Keys.)

The Trials Of Motherhood

It starts, as morning gilds the skies and springtime blooms unfurl,
With rushes to the littlest room to lift the lid and hurl.
Then after months of stretching gut, of heartburn and back strain,
You "come to term" with pure, protracted, pulsing, pelvic pain.

Just after labour's sapped your will of all its frail reserves,
Your parasitic creature's screaming shreds your sleepless nerves.
Your toddler learns to speak and finds the whining words "But why?"
Then schooling bites with books and bills to bleed your bank-book dry.

Your teen gawks down from gangling heights, regards you with disdain,
Then leaves the roost rejecting all the truth that you retain.
For all your years of sacrifice, the years your children scarred,
You might expect some sympathy--instead you get this card.

Update: I printed the text in a greeting card format on glossy photo paper using one of my flower photos (a different cropping of this one) for the front page. I gave the card and a gift to MotherOfVirge today. She chuckled at the verse, but gave no hint of having realised it was a home made card. FatherOfVirge picked up the card later, glanced at it outside and in, then put it down with a non-commital nod. He never reads the messages inside cards--and who can blame him given the usual glurge.

I suppose I should tell MotherOfVirge it was made for her, but it would feel like I was saying "Look what I did in school today!"