2008 - with 100% more geekiness

Well, the New Year is upon us (hm, I suppose it's landed on most people east of here already), and, recovering from my slice of the Christmas Donut, I have a few seconds to reflect that I come by my science-geekery quite honestly.

A non sequitur, you say? Well, yes, but I have to exercise some sort of literary device in order to get me to the rather irrelevant observation that, upon visiting my parents this holiday season, I came across the following reprints from Scientific American, perched on their rather elegant bureau. Four articles, provocatively entitled:

1) Checks on Population Growth: 1850-1950,
2) The Tool-Sharing Behavior of Protohuman Hominids,
3) THE BLACK DEATH, [yes, the all caps are left sic]
and
4) The Ancestry of Corn.

Can you believe they read this stuff, for fun? And the source of these articles, of course, was my brother. There, the whole family's involved in one convoluted mess of scientific trivia, from the prehistoric through the medieval to the (almost) modern.

The sad bit is, I'm kind of interested in numbers 3 and 4 myself, and Mrs. Ricardipus would definitely read number 2. Sigh.

Now, off to read a much more sensible article that I have on hand, entitled Large-Scale Pyrosequencing of Synthetic DNA: a Comparison With Results From Sanger Dideoxy Sequencing. None of that dorky stuff from the parents' bureau here, oh no.

Happy New Year, everyone.

The Traditional Christmas Donut

The Traditional Christmas Donut
Originally uploaded by Ricardipus.

In this part of Eastern Ontario, it is traditional to serve an enormous donut on Christmas Day. It is frosted with white icing to resemble snow, but is otherwise unadorned so as to avoid adulterating the donut with any other decoration. It is also traditional to serve it outdoors, typically on patio furniture, to remind us that what is fun in summer can also be enjoyed in winter.

This shot is just before the whole family tucked in. There's nothing left of it now.

Guerrilla Christmas Post

Deployed during a break in the action, from a remote location, using alternative technology.

MERRY CHRISTMAS to all of you who celebrate/observe/enjoy this kind of thing.

Now back to the regularly scheduled chaos that is Christmas morning around these parts.

Saturday Morning Blogging

Just sitting in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for the kids and typing on the computer. You know, multi-tasking. The Junior Ricardipi are playing upstairs, Mrs. R'pus is sitting in bed marking grade 8 assignments, the Christmas Tree is lit up, and the budgie is, for once, perched quietly in the living room.

Oh, and I'm listening to a Bruce Springsteen CD I just bought, one of those discount "Greatest Hits" packages that doesn't come with a) liner notes, b) a proper jewel case, or c) half of the artist's greatest hits.

Now, like Coldplay, I'd normally not have a lot of use for Mr. Springsteen, but as it turns out there are quite a few songs I like, mainly of the gentler, ballad-y type. Like Al Pacino's acting - when he's not shouting or mumbling, he's really quite good.

Which reminds me that the last time I was on a plane, I watched a movie featuring Mr. Pacino - Ocean's Thirteen. The verdict: they probably should have stopped at twelve, unless you're a fan of Ellen Barkin, who does a creditable turn as the not-particularly-nice corporate lackey to Pacino's character. Or if you like all that beefcake - Pitt, Clooney, Damon, the less annoying Affleck brother, and about a hundred others in various roles.

But this post isn't about travels, or movies, or music, or even cooking breakfast. It's not the usual whining about the weather, nor complaining about being busy. It's not really about anything, because it's Saturday morning, the Christmas holidays are on their way, and I'm at home with my family. And that's just right, for now.

The things we do to amuse our children

A pair of swim goggles. Your gateway to hilarity.





The above antics prompted these comments:

Junior Ricardipus #1 (age 7):
"You look cool!"

Junior Ricardipus #2 (age 5)"
"I don't think you look good at all."

Junior Ricardipus #1 again:
"YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'RE GOING TO PLAY GUITAR!!!"



Astute fellow, that boy. Spotted the closet rock star in his dad, no problem.

Three Seasonal Fragments

It has snowed here. Again. And I've had no time to go outside and take pictures of the Winter Wonderland that is the back yard (or the front yard for that matter). Mrs. Ricardipus is stringing lights on the tree, the classic Anne Murray Christmas album is playing on the stereo, and the whole family spent the day at a nearby mall shopping, going to see Santa, and enjoying the snowy countryside between here and there, horse farms and sheep and Christmas tree farms and all. The photo is a taste of last year, but it's beginning to look like that again.

In a snarky mood, as I am once again plowing through a large grant application (not ours this time, but one I'm reading through for various reasons), so for the remainder of the post you get some ancient, recycled poetry. Standard disclaimers apply, of course - these were written at least twenty years ago, trying to capture the bleakness of a winter far, far to the north of here.

Recycled picture, recycled words, recycled ideas. A veritable hat-trick of blogging.


Three Seasonal Fragments

i.

the knives
in the winterstorm
tear

shreds of flesh
deer meat
in cracking
ice-snow




ii.

in the darkness
of peace

the inner length
the knife
lies




iii.

I am suffering
heat-death
I am experiencing
combustion
I am a moss-fire
slowburning

Thrashed to Pieces

Two hours at Chuck E. Cheese on a Saturday night will do that to you. Especially after a full day of Junior Ricardipus wrangling while Mrs. Ricardipus hid out at home, writing her last essay of the term.

Oh, the fun... including:

- taking Junior Ricardipus #2 to a gymnastics lesson, with JR#1 in tow
- doing homework for most of an hour with JR1 during said lesson
- picking up lunch on the way home
- taking JR2 to her swimming lesson later in the afternoon
- and then hauling both JRs to the aforementioned cheesy establishment for a full-on barrage of noise, chaos and general birthday party anarchy.

At the end of it all, I felt like I'd been beaten with a stick. I don't know how Mrs. Ricardipus does this kind of thing on a regular basis, I really don't.


P.S. The last time I was at a Chuck E. Cheese was circa 1984 in Rochester, New York, on a school trip. I didn't like the place then, either.