An "Ask Auntie Lowan" Digression.

Er - I live in an apartment! No back yard!

deb

It's possible there's a simple fix...possible, the man says. Is the water leaking from the supply or the tank?
More details the better.

LOL! I have had me fingies in there playing wiv the ball cock (blush) and stuff - to no avail - I think may be some sort of seal.

It is leaking from the cistern into the bowl - infinitesminally at first - became noticeable not so long ago. Sigh.

Dear Miss Wabbit:

Has Spring sprung in the Antipodes? If so, what does this mean for a Clever Coney?

yes

hayfever


and evening walks!

and LIFE after work!

yes, DEATH after work is a grievous misfortune. Death before work is infinitely preferable -- provided, of course, there is no work after death, a point that is very much in debate among thelogical circles. (Those of us who don't subscribe to such notions believe that after death comes increasing entropy -- that is to say, disorder -- which is an unworking of our life's work, which is, until the age of 18 or so, and there is some vain hope to maintain this endeavor afterowrd, to increase order. Thus, after death there is unwork -- which, being the opposite of work, could aptly be termed vacation. In all likelihood, then, after death we depart for Tahiti for a much-needed breather, even though we can't. For us atheists, then, there are many frequent-flier miles to be got in death. Ironically, these could only be redeemed upon reincarnation, and we don't generally believe in that, except metaphorically.

Sigh.

LOL! have you read the article in "The Journal of polymorphous perversity" about IQ testing of the dead?

They are underachievers - but get marks for remaining in the test situation.....

Hmmm. Are there scores indexed compared to their similarly antiquated living analogs (that is, people who aren't dead), or are the indexed among themselves. Also, do those buried in nice clothes score higher than those buried in rags, or do they just look smarter?

I believe these are pre-burial tests. they are compared with the living - and with their own either tested or inferred abilities. They often appear depressed - don't move much.


I can't sleep - I am watching some weird SF thing - wiv a wee monster the size of a rat - but with a tail like a centipede - the body shape of a T Rex - but gothic looking - and the ability to tap into computers. Weird stuff happens, clearly, on YV after I go to bed - not as weird as those infomercial shows though...

It is strange seeing my avatar in its true colour- it has had a blue bow tie ever since I have known it...

I can only conclude, then, that those who scored lower in life score higher in death, as their post-mortem performance is referenced against their post-partem/pre-mortem performance. That being the case, certain of current presidents of the United States of America* would score rather higher than the rest of us -- and might, in fact, approach unprecedented levels of genius, at least on paper.**

* Out of courtesy to the subject of this conjecture, I have kept his or her identity a secret. Mr. Bush wishes to remain anonymous. Or eponymous. When the self is denied (or nonexistent to begin with), untitled and self-titled represent the same state of affairs. Da-da.

** Part of one of Steven Jesse Bernstein's poems is about -- and here I paraphrase, as his is truly lyrical poetry, in that it must be read aloud, and so I own it in it's spoken rather than written form and don't, anyway, have access to it at the moment, and if I did I wouldn't listen to it because it is, in addition to being highly amusing to the morbidly-minded, also quite depressing, especially when one recalls that Mr. Bernstein committed suicide by stabbing himself in excess of forty times with a large knife -- a man who counts to a thousand to himself and writes it down and counts again and walks away with millions on paper. This amidst some reveries about damp basements and child pornography and naughty landlords or some such, and has forever colored my perceptions of eastern Oregon as I listened to it the first time I passed through that landscape, homeless and alone and gassy.



Just read about color perception in birds. In addition to having 3 or 4 or more different cones in their ball-eyes, the light that passes to these cones is filtered by a variety of colored oils, so that a bird can distinguish between many different subtle shades of colors. Methinks, perhaps, that coneys don't see so many colors at all, being all preyed-upon and mammalian and all. Hell, South American monkeys only have two different cones, how many could a rabbit have? Mmmm, atropine...

Dear Miss Bunny Wabbit Lady:

Is the tragic deteriorative condition evinced in Mr. PeppermintPatioDog's disjointed, rambling discursus curable, or will we simply be obliged to smile and nod, as though nothing were wrong?

.god draobratrom bmud .gnihton yletulosba. gnorw si gnihton

eerga I

I got the mortarboard 'cause i proved i ain't dumb . . . if ya can't play with the big dogs (or the smart little ones), stay on the patio . . .

oddly, digressory prolificity is inversely proportional to diarrheal prolificity. perhaps the corporal body maintains a constant amount of flow, and the stopping of one outlet must be concomitant with the opening (or the rupture) of another.

or perhaps its just related to being able to sit in one place for a significant period of time.

i suspect the best way to determine between the two (and surely these two are the only two) possibilities would be to install a terminal in front of the toilet. excuse me while i pop over to the NSF site to write up a proposal.

foow
Setanta, FOOW!

Too late PD . . .

I hope that things got parental controls or something, or the damn iLoo could be tied up for hours on end...