Wordjanitor Strikes Again

TG likes to explain things. All sorts of things. And he likes details. Lots of details. Like today, he didn't have a level in Soquel because he didn't bring one from home so when he went to the store with J, B, and the kids he bought a new one. I made the mistake of making a pun about "taking things to a new level." And somehow that jump-started a very detailed discussion of cabinet installation. And about 17 other things.

You'd think I had a crapload of cash hanging out my back pocket. I had neither crap, cash, nor a crapload of cash in my pocket. I checked. The safest lane for a motorcycle is the far-left lane. Not today. Apparently, a lot of people were in a "20 miles over? meh" hurry. I stopped counting after the 97th car tried to crawl up my, err... tailpipe. (OK, I didn't count. It's just a low estimate.) And the guy who tried to read the label on my jeans for 40 miles, but refused to pass until I actually pulled into a turnout? Charmer. "Perhaps you were riding too slowly," you think. Reasonable assumption -- after all, I'm a girl on a giant tricycle, right? I checked that too. My speedometer was quite clearly in the "this could be pricey" zone. Maybe if they realized I was in the midst of a 310-mile killing spree, they would have backed off. Shown a little patience. Evidence of many satisfying splats.

Blueberry is dead. Finally. Blueberry may have been the longest-living betta fish in the county for all I know. I searched "betta fish life span" and Google kindly told me "2 y on average (In captivity)" with a picture and everything. Yeah, Blueberry doubled that estimate. At least. Even after spending her first couple years in a pickle jar after she and her former neighbor fish called bullshit on the "females can be kept in the same tank" myth. Or maybe we just had particularly bitchy fish who missed the sharing lesson in school. (School. Fish. Yeah, I went there.)

First, let's be clear. I am not one of those people who has all of the holiday decorations staged and ready to put up immediately after the T-day turkey carcass has been turned to soup. Yet, there's a somewhat crazed looking eight-foot inflatable T-Rex on my lawn, complete with Santa hat, sweater, and a nifty little tree. Why? Because I wanted the Saint Bernard. As soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted it. Really, really wanted it. A nine-foot tall inflatable lawn puppy. Nine feet of awesome. Nine feet of cute. But I didn't want it because it's cute. Within minutes, maybe a few dozen seconds, I had a plan. I had it all figured out. I had a three-step plan.

My day job is in marketing for a technology company. I've worked on a lot of projects, both as a content creator and as a reviewer. I'm sure we're not the only company that calls our "brand identity" team, the "brand police." And this video is so flippin' on the mark, it hurts :-) The video is a fantastic visualization of a post (or is it a poem?) by Kendra Eash on McSweeney's . The brand-approval process often feels more like cattle branding than I'd prefer. There's something to be said for creating a consistent image, but sometimes that effort goes further into the generic void than creative minds can stand...

     Dear Triker Chick:      What is the appropriate bridal attire for a backwoods wedding?       Signed,      Wondering in the Woods Dearest Bambi, Wouldn't you know, this is a question I've oft asked myself. (Actually, I haven't. In fact, until tonight I didn't even know I had an answer to this question. But I thought if I demonstrated some understanding and affinity, you'd feel better about my answer.) Fear not, we have discovered a fabulous resource. Accidentally, of course. I must commend my fabulous friend Kristin for accidentally twirling me in the direction of what may be one of the raddest bridal websites ever. Ever in the history of the interwebby thing. Ever!

(Disclaimer: I work for Cisco.)  Big news! Dick Tracy has announced Microsoft’s next product . In a promotional launch event, tough, but trustworthy spokesperson Inspector Tracy demonstrated the 2-Way Wrist Phone. Welcome to 1946 everyone! Don’t worry, you can upgrade to a 2-Way Wrist TV in 1964! You’ll just need to find Sherman and Mr. Peabody for a little ride in the WABAC  machine. Recently seen on Facebook: If 17 technology vendors announce a new smartwatch by the end of the month, my pet rock will quit smoking. It’s one of the latest examples of follow-the-leader among technology vendors. Or maybe it’s not even follow-the-leader, because no one is really leading a category for an amazing device everyone no one actually seems to need. As Emmy, my neighbor’s three-year-old, might reasonably ask: “Why?” Granted, plenty of success has come from lack of need. Cue Seinfeld , a show about nothing. Enter stage right: the pet rock . And stage left: the chia...