“Yessir, the new logo for Her Majesty’s Office of Government Commerce is nearly complete, eh? Certainly fetching, if I do say so meself. Mmm-hm.”

“A quite fine job, Baskins. Your mum should be quite proud, you’ve – ‘allo ‘allo ‘allo… what’s this?!? What’s this all about? Baskins, did you take at look at this, you know, as they say, ‘on it’s side?’ ”

“No, sir, I ‘aven’t… what do you OH BLOODY MERCIFUL HEAVENS!!”

“Do you mean to tell me that we just spent £14,000 to develop this… this… low-go, and that you intend me to provide this to Her Majesty’s office on monetary oversight with a straight face?”

“Well, sir, it certainly conveys that the council has a grip on wasteful spending! Haugh!”

“Mm. Quite right, quite right. Maybe they won’t notice.”

“Oy! Of course not! Let’s celebrate with a warm pint, shall we?”

Link

In this era of space telescopes, satellites, and Photoshop, it’s easy to forget that only a few decades ago, we had no idea of what space actually looked like. The task of communicating the wonders of space was left to the dreamers and artists, and we depended on them to stir our imaginations and passion for the universe.

Men like Chesley Bonestell and Jack Coggins took paint to canvas and created worlds and vistas that existed at the limits of imagination. Some of their art was eerily prescient, some of it was dead wrong, and some of it seemed to make no sense whatsover. Occasionally space was presented as a terrifying place. Occasionally, it was presented with whimsy. Nevertheless, these artists were the first space explorers, and they don’t get enough credit for it. Their work influenced a generation of young children to grow up and become scientists, engineers, explorers, and dreamers.

This wonderful collection of pre-space age art was gleaned from children’s books going all the way back to the late 19th century. Take a look and see if any of these look familiar to you. Even I was able to find a bunch that I owned as a young spaceMonkey.

UPDATE:
Donald Davis, an artist commissioned by NASA in the 1970s, has now graciously placed high resolution versions of his imaginative paintings into the public domain. Make sure you take a few quiet moments to peruse these as well.
H/T: Paleo-Future

H/T: Wil

Step two – Immolation. Merciless, petroleum-fueled immolation.

Step three – Realize that buying your kid new swings costs $$ too, but at least you got to burninate stuff.

I’ll bet you his neighbors NEVER complain about loud music or tall grass ever again.

Link

Feel free to accept or reject this advice, but don’t deny it’s way more practical than “til death do us part.”

The 25 most important rules of marriage – in no particular order:

1. They must never wallpaper together.
2. She gets unlimited access to his t-shirt drawer.
3. She gets an extra alcoholic beverage when out for dinner (if he’s driving). He must not complain.
4. She must not talk during the fourth quarter of the Rose Bowl. At all.
5. She must not act aggressively to strangers/bad drivers. He must still defend her if when she does.
6. The decision to have a child comes with a commitment that the parent of the same gender must accompany said child to the toilet. An exception shall be made if the child is less than two years old.
7. He must use a bathroom on the other side of the house for his daily constitutional.
8. There shall be two closets. Both for her.
9. He must respond instantly to a call of “Spider!”
10. He must pull all dropped earrings out of the toilet.
11. Whichever spouse has had the worst day gets the last bit of wine from the bottle. If both have had an equally worse day, she gets the remainder (he’ll probably be drinking Scotch anyway).
12. She shall not complain about his scruffy beard, if she has shin stubble so stiff that it could be used to scrub the rust off a grill.
13. He must not complain about the way she mows the grass. She must not complain about the way he vacuums.
14. He must hold her hair when she vomits.
15. She has fancy china. He has remote controls. Both must be respected.
16. He is allowed to have a crush on Monica Bellucci. She is allowed to drool over Brad Pitt. Both shall be secure enough to not let this bother them.
17. The first one awake brews the coffee. No fair cheating pretending to be asleep.
18. Both must take turns hollering at the kids being the “bad parent.”
19. One shall enjoy a back- or shoulder-rub without the expectation of having to return the favor immediately. Up to one day may pass before “re-backrubbing” the spouse. Only one day, however.
20. She must at least pretend to be interested as he excitedly explains (for the 37th time) the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey, or the NHL’s 2-line pass rule, or why Mikey had to hide in Sicily.
21. She parks in the garage, he parks in the driveway.
22. She must inform him immediately if any lights appear on her car’s dashboard. “Immediately” does not mean a week or two.
23. She gets the last piece of chocolate.
24. He gets the last piece of pizza.
25. She has shoes. He has caps. Leave each other alone about it.

Nights are now longer than days, and it’s dark when I wake up in the morning. If there’s a pretty morning sky, I will sometimes take my morning brew outside and watch the stars disappear in the changing colors of the morning twilight, hissing steam in the frosty air, listening to the squirrels chirp to each other as they dance across lawns, tree limbs, and power lines, frantically searching for nuts to store for the dreary winter that’s just around the corner.

I tried to sleep in a few days ago – a beautiful, lazy fall weekend morning – but one of my kids crawled into bed with us, had a dream about Splash Mountain or something, and whizzed all over the sheets. Yay parenthood.

I used to whizz outside, now I make sure the seat is back down before I leave the bathroom. I used to scrub engine grime off of my hands, now I scrub fingernail polish stains out of the carpet. I used to eat cereal over the sink. Last Tuesday I caught myself wondering if I was using the right fork for my salad. I used to wear boxer shorts around the house on lazy mornings. Now I wear sweats or pajama bottoms, so that I don’t hear “ewww, Daa-ad!!” every time I cross and uncross my legs.

I used to make beer runs. Now I make tampon runs. I shudder to think what life will be like when all four of them start cycling at the same time. I figure I’ll just hide in the bathroom, while they scrape their claws down the door and chant “daaaadeeeee….. coooommme oouuuttt….” like that chick from the Exorcist.

Most of my money goes to jeans and earrings and boy-band CDs. Most of my time goes to killing spiders.

Have you seen me?

I used to be comfortable being a little chilly. Now, I wage a battle with the girls over the thermostat. No matter what the actual temperature is, to a girl, it’s always too cold. Like guerillas, they lay in wait, biding their time, just waiting to pounce on the thermostat and jack the furnace up to 80 degrees. Sometimes they’ll get crafty, and outflank me on a distraction maneuver. “Keep him away from the thermostat for a minute. I don’t care how; cry or something.”

I once rushed the stage at a Cinderella concert. The last concert I went to was a piano recital. I was thinking about rushing the stage, but one look from my daughter told me, “do it, and I’ll cut you in your sleep.” And that was the middle child. The older one would have helped to get rid of the body.

So you can imagine how I jumped at the chance to go away for a weekend with the guys. The four of us – who I’ll call XOJoe, BackDoorBoy, CheeseStache, and yours truly, theMonkey (known to the guys as BigBoyBlue) – loaded up a truck and headed into Beverl – er, Appalachian country, specifically, the Monogahela National Forest in northeastern West Virginia.

Autumn in West Virginia.
Clicky for the big picture (2 MB) – you’ll get lost in an explosion of color.

You know you’re headed into the wild when one of the guys in the back says, “Crap! I forgot to bring my bear mace!!” Go figure. He’s worried about bears, I’m worried about coming across Lonny the Banjo kid.

Packing was light. Lots of firewood, white gas, adult beverages, and the poker chips.

And no girls.

Seneca Rocks – an outcropping of sandstone and sedimentary rock.
Clicky for large.

For four days, we slept in the woods. We ate deer meat, using only our fingers. We drank whisky. We let ourselves get really cold, then poured white gas directly onto the campfire. We passed gas, and the fire blazed even brighter. We hiked. One of our hikes was to the top of Spruce Knob, the highest point in the Chesapeake Watershed, about a mile in altitude.

Looking east from near the summit of Spruce Knob.
Clicky for large.

The only trees that can support the constant, strong gusts at the summit are red spruce. They wrap their bony roots around huge boulders of sandstone, anchoring themselves tightly. Over the decades, the branches get deformed by the strong winds, only growing on one side of the trunk.

Red spruce, deformed from the winds.
Clicky for large.

Back at camp, we lazed around, and talked about sports, cars, and whether to allow a four-flush to play in between one and two pairs. BackDoorBoy, the experienced hunter in our group, taught us how to recognize different animal trails. We slept when we felt like it, with nobody complaining about how cold or hot it was. Each was responsible for his own comfort. One evening, as he was digging through his pack, Cheesestache exclaimed, “Crap! I forgot to pack my gloves,” and the collective response from the other three was something along the lines of: “Doofus.”

During another hike, XOJoe and I ventured out onto the five-foot wide knife edge of sandstone that makes up Seneca Rocks, recklessly ignoring the sign at the end of the trail that said “DANGER!! You are responsible for your own safety!”

XOJoe not being safe or responsible from the 5-foot-wide knife edge of Seneca Rocks. He is standing at the highest point visible on the rocks seen in the image three pictures above. Clicky for large.

We returned home as a group of dirty, smelly guys, still a bit lightheaded from the altitude and alcohol, scratching our chins and necks from scruffy beards. We unpacked, shared a last beer, then headed back to reality with our families.

My girls rushed me at the door, but were stopped by the invisible wall of odor that enveloped my body. A comfortable cocoon of stink, as it were.

After the greetings, I took my boots off and checked the thermostat. Yep. 78 degrees. I dropped it to 68, then headed upstairs to scrub and shave the week away.

More pictures:
Spruce Knob Lake: (Med | Large – 2MB)
WV meadow: (Med | Large – 2MB)
Shadows play across moss and sandstone: (Med | Large – 2MB)
View from top of Seneca Rocks: (Med | Large – 2MB)
Panorama from the summit of Spruce Knob: (Large | Very large – 4MB)

In this era of space telescopes, satellites, and Photoshop, it’s easy to forget that only a few decades ago, we had no idea of what space actually looked like. The task of communicating the wonders of space was left to the dreamers and artists, and we depended on them to stir our imaginations and passion for the universe.

Men like Chesley Bonestell and Jack Coggins took paint to canvas and created worlds and vistas that existed at the limits of imagination. Some of their art was eerily prescient, some of it was dead wrong, and some of it seemed to make no sense whatsover. Occasionally space was presented as a terrifying place. Occasionally, it was presented with whimsy. Nevertheless, these artists were the first space explorers, and they don’t get enough credit for it. Their work influenced a generation of young children to grow up and become scientists, engineers, explorers, and dreamers.

This wonderful collection of pre-space age art was gleaned from children’s books going all the way back to the late 19th century. Take a look and see if any of these look familiar to you. Even I was able to find a bunch that I owned as a young spaceMonkey.

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Sleepovers; cool aloe on sunburns; the gentle breeze of a long bike ride; sweet, tart lemonade from a lemonade stand; leaning as far back on the swings as possible, staring at the clouds; violent thunderstorms with gusty winds that make the trees look angry; bathing suits, water sprinklers & wet grass between the toes; the deafening sound of a nearby cicada; skinned knees; scratching mosquito bites; running from the sultry, sweaty outside into the cool of the basement; the sharp smell of fresh-cracked peppercorns sprinkled on the hot charcoal; how good it feels to step into the soft grass after walking barefoot on the blazing heat of the patio brick; the smell of the lilac bush in May, and the lavender in July; the wonderful hot juice from a ripe tomato; corn so sweet your hands get sticky from shucking it; still playing tag at 9 o’clock; fireflies in jars; taking long afternoon naps in front of an oscillating fan; and the Milky Way stretching overhead like the backbone of the night.

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