It seems like the BBC is always offering New and Interesting studies that fail to be either. I don’t know if science in the UK is so devoted to AGW that there are no resources for anything else, or if the BBC can no longer tell what’s news and what isn’t. Of course, I have that complaint about almost every major news organ, and the science of every country, so please don’t infer criticism of Brits as such.
But I don’t know who thought it would be a good idea to study weather people were any happier on workdays other than Monday. Of course they aren’t. Dragging yourself from bed to commute to desk does not become more pleasant by repetition. It becomes more tolerable on Friday only because you know you’re getting a break.
And what a break it is. Frankly, I’m tired of Saturday, the Domestic Workday. I can’t recall the last time I didn’t ask my wife, “Do we have something to do this weekend?” Because even if you aren’t Running Around, you’re grouting the thing and mowing the other thing. The only good thing about Saturday is recovering from sleep deprivation.
Which is what I’m suffering now. School ramped up again, and my mind has been un-writerly of late. I have projects, but the narrow sliver of time granted to them rarely seems long enough to get a good look at the problem, let alone accomplish anything. Which is no doubt just laziness rationalizing itself. In any case, I missed some sleep last night, and will likely again tonight. I’m only blogging this out of guilt. So maybe I’ll just cut to a video of some puppies:
The Convention. Feh. I can’t even sit through pep rallies, and they’re only an hour long. Nothing that happens at a convention matters. Sarah Palin had a perfectly fine speech in 2008; it availed her nothing. John McCain’s speech was okay, if kind of a wet fart at the end. But he was still doing fine in the polls until the economy tanked. I don’t remember what the hell Obama said at his convention; does anyone? Everything Obama has ever said could, if you were only interested in the content, have come out of the mouth of any Democratic politician from the last forty years. It was the feeling of Obama that mattered, the Presence, that MLK-light timbre in his voice. The voice is still the same, but the Presence seems diminished, and the feeling, well…
Thus Do We Meme, says the people who have nothing to do but fill the internet with joke versions of paintings in the fashion of an 80-year-old woman’s botched restoration of a Spanish fresco that was only 40 years old when she was born.
This is going to be funny for about 15 minutes, and then it’s going to go down deep in the earth to sleep until revived for VH1’s “I Love the Teenies” webcast in 2032 (incidentally, how odd is it going to be then when talking about The Twenties, and not meaning the 1920’s?). What I want to know is, who authorized the restoration, and what bishop is chewing him out right now as a result? There were times in the Spanish past where this would have been prima facie evidence of the need for an auto-da-fe.
Frankly, I don’t know why whoever decided to “restore” The Scream bothered:
And let’s have that image cap this long and rambling post. Happy Tuesday.