This was last night, just before we went in the house to have some supper.
Done! See below the fold.
I've posted my own answers below the fold of this post (I got a few more last night), so please feel free to fill in the blanks for me (in additional comments), and I'll update the complete list as I get them. Then we can all be done with this. Still, it seems to be a sure sign of the relative intelligence of the folks who come here to read!
These sorts of things bug the heck out of me when I can't finish, so I thought I'd put the link out here to see if anyone else wants to gimme a hand.
I came across a purported IQ test that consists of 33 fill-in-the-blank lines of text, preceded by a simple hint.
The sample they give is:
24 H in a D
And the answer they provide is, "24 HOURS IN A DAY".
Seems simple right? Well, there are 33 additional lines, and I've managed to figure out 21 of them. So that means there are 12 that are beginning to infuriate me. Rather than resort to googling the hints (I'm sure I could), this seems like a more interactive solution to me.
Here are the numbers of the lines I've figured out already:
Getting the answer to some of the questions makes other answers easier, or more intuitive. I'll post my own answers later in a comment or addendum to this post. Please feel free to post answers in my own comments or, if you're feeling cruel, the line numbers of the ones you got that I didn't. Here's the link.
In case you were wondering if I was making up the name of "The Balvenie DoubleWood" below, it is mentioned briefly (near the bottom) in this recent article, where another Balvenie bottle is now on the Canadian market for the pittance of $30,000.
I think I might have a hard time explaining exactly why, but a question was posed to me yesterday regarding what sorts of scotch are appropriate to drink while watching the various Star Wars movies. Both of these being areas in which I am moderately well versed, I felt capable of a cogent reply.
Of course, I immediately thought that everybody else would want to know too.
Generally, for a scotch you can enjoy throughout, I can always recommend a good Macallen. At least 12 years old. Smooth, unassuming, pleasant aftertaste, and timelessly enjoyable. For Empire, I would go with a Laphroaig. It has a stronger, peatier tang (think Dagobah) and is more of an acquired taste, but those who like it will place nothing else above it. For the golden bikini scene in Jedi? The Balvenie DoubleWood. Hands down. As for Clone Wars prequel type stuff, I might recommend a Talisker or Lagavulin. Perhaps an Auchentoshan? Very tasty undertones, but with a smooth veneer that might mask the underlying quality.As for the Christmas special? A full bottle of Johnnie Walker - quickly! - to dull the pain.
During a recent visit to Granny's house for dinner, I discovered that she and Grumpy are in the midst of a bit of a purge. Furniture, photos, art, general bric-a-brac. Stuff that has piled up on them over the past couple decades and generally needs to be let go. Not in the sense that it's not wanted, just that, you know... it's time.
I was given a plastic bag with some mementos to take home. An old pair of my toddler shoes, a baby book with a first haircut clipping, a birthday card from my great-granny in her endearing, feeble handwriting. Neat stuff.
Also included were a whole bunch of photos, some of which brought back some strong memories, and other's I'd never seen. I thought I'd scan and share some of those pics. It's fun to reminisce.
I don't know where this was or who took it, but I think it's a great pic.
Please consider the new banner a substitute for the regular wordless Wednesday thing that normally appears here. (If Tavish still has a hose in his hand, force a 'refresh' on your page and you'll see he's more than filled up the pool.)
I'm having a hard time coming up with new picture content for the expedient reason that there are over 300 pictures on the camera right now going back to the beginning of August. I simply have not downloaded them to the computer. My bad. By the end of September I'm sure I'll have gotten around to it.
I realise I've been sort of Tavish-centric in regards to the banners for the past few months, but I think it's only fair when you consider that Declan had free reign of the whole site before Boy Number Two came along. Balance can be so hard!
Declan starts pre-school this week, can you believe that?!
At first, we figured he wouldn't go this year because Amy had a gig lined up to watch another girlfriend's kids four days a week until Christmas. And since she planned to do the kid-watching at this other gal's house, there really wasn't any way to get Declan to a pre-school a couple days a week.
Then, when those plans changed and Amy had her autumn weeks unexpectedly free, we came to the logical conclusion that it was far too late in the summer to get our boy into any sort of facility. We consoled ourselves with the thought that we'd get him in next year; give him some socialising before he starts kindergarten. We want to make sure he gets some amount of social interaction before hitting the big leagues of grade school.
Unexpectedly, an opening popped up. My wife heard about it, I forget exactly how. (She'll remind me, I'm sure.) The only misgiving I had at first was that it's hosted in the basement of the nearby Lutheran Evangelical church. At least, I think it's a Lutheran Evangelical. Once I get away from the comfortable conformity of my erstwhile Catholic stomping grounds, the rest of the Christian traditions sort of all blur together for me. I couldn't tell you the difference between a Lutheran, a Protestant and a Baptist if you gave me a paint-by-numbers guide. But it sounds like the beginning of a good joke.
Once I conquered my initial misgivings, I realised it'd be a good idea to get Declan into the pre-school. It's only just taught in the basement of the church and it's not like he's going to come back home after his first week complaining of stigmata or anything. I want both our boys to be exposed to different religious traditions, but those choices will be left up to them and not made by us on their behalf.
I felt better after filling in the four page registration form. On the bottom of the first page were a couple lines specifically asking for parental preference or reservations in regards to religious teaching. I had to use a ruler to add a couple extra lines for my answer, but I felt satisfied in the end that I managed to express my inoffensive opposition to indoctrination until such time that Declan is old enough to make his own choices. He wasn't rejected outright, at any rate.
The orientation is this Wednesday and the first class is Friday morning. Regular classes start next week when he'll follow the schedule of Monday and Wednesday mornings. Wednesdays and Fridays when long weekends intervene.
He's very excited.
We've been talking him up for a few weeks, but it seems he doesn't need much encouragement. The mere mention of "pre-school" brings a smile to his face and an enviable light to his eyes. My job - or the one I want to set for myself - is to work at keeping that light there as far into his academic career as I can. The only prerequisite for his admission was that he had to be three years old and potty trained. (Heck, that nearly qualifies him for a job in this current market.)
Between now and May he'll be kept busy two mornings a week with 17 other wee kids aged three or four, doing arts and crafts in the school, reading stories, or taking morning field trips to the library (walking distance) and other curiosity-arousing destinations. My wife and I will be left to wonder where that baby went and how he'll get along with everybody else.
We might squeeze Tavish a little bit harder at times, knowing that there's not much baby left in him either. This is all very fun and sort of agonising to go through at the same time. These are the steps we want our boys to take, and we hope we've done our best to prepare them to begin to face things without us. But it's the not knowing, you know? Better get used to it.
I recently wrote a letter to a whole slew of my local, real-life Superfriends. Most of whom I've known since my first year of university, now 14 years gone. (Holy crap...)
We irregularly get together for what have been dubbed Men's Mental Health nights. A chance to congregate in force as we once did during the heady days of post-secondary freedom. There is frequently good music, bad food, Guitar Hero, karaoke, geeky games and childish behaviour, all of which is lubricated by alcohol. Good times.
Some of these events have descended into quiet, introspective, bullshit sessions where a circle of good friends chat semi-drunkenly about life in general and its various trials, tribulations and triumphs. These have always been my favourite parts, though they are the least frequent.
I've never hosted one, so I thought I'd invite that same group to my place at the end of September. Since I'm hosting, I can steer it a little better. As I tend to do, I got a little long-winded and introspective in the letter, and I thought the bulk of its contents would marry well with some of the sentiments I express here on occasion.
So, in nearly its entirety, I've posted it below. If anyone who reads this is around at the end of the month, feel free to drop by.