New Name Needed, Apply Within

Big news soon.
That’s all I’ll say.
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Dogs can smell fear.
Sharks can smell blood.
Children can smell deadlines.
In all three of these cases, an attack mechanism is triggered. The unsuspecting victim, helpless to resist, is quickly set upon and destroyed.
In other words: once the kids leave me alone, SD will be ready.

SoBig.f occupied a good part of my day today. Thanks, virus makers!
But enough about me. How are you?

Behind on the Snappy Dresser relaunch, behind on the redesign for this here site, behind on my list of priorities at The Big Place I Work.
All because the chickens demand Lebensraum.
The wife convinced me yesterday that what was most needed on the estate grounds was more room for the chickens to run about. So I dragged some power tools out into the driveway, bought some cheap wood at the local lumberyard, and started the job of expanding their outdoor pen over 200%.
This sort of construction allows one to call upon deeply buried knowledge across many disciplines: physics (“How hard to I need to smack this mosquito to kill it?”), trignonometry (“at what angle is the circular saw least likely to cause a major arterial wound?”, biology (“will a mosquito attempt to drink blood spewing from a major arterial wound?”), and so on. I wisely ignored all attempts at an analytic approach, however, and applied more useful collegiate knowledge by quickly opening a beer before starting.
Framing, cutting, drilling — I was like Jimmy Carter on a Habitat for Humanity project, except that I didn’t give away any strategically important canals before I finished. And also, much like everything Carter was involved with, the project is incomplete. I still need to add some fencing to the frames, the gate needs a support crossbar and hinges. And I’m thinking about moving the barbecue next to the pen as an added incentive for good poultry behavior.
So the redesigns will finish tonight, and the birds will enjoy conditions far better than they deserve.

The voters have spoken. By a nearly 4-1 ratio, it has been decided that my new song should be about “the love between a man and a sandwich.” I’m not sure how many of you sandwichophiles have been stuffing the ballot box, but let it not be said that I am a despotic beast who ignores the people’s wishes. Come Monday or Tuesday, your hoagie-lovin’ song shall be unveiled.

When the Teenage FBI is on the streets of Bar Harbor, you know that some serious stuff is going down on island. Usually they come around for my protection — after the incident earlier this summer, The Island doesn’t like to take chances with its celebrities. But I didn’t get a call from the bureau before their most recent appearance, so I’m guessing the A-List tourists have finally descended en masse, and the Agents are out scouting quality parking and outrageous deals on manually-powered transportation. Which means I’m undefended, ladies, so your quarry will remain vigilant against your wiles and charms.
Or maybe I’ll just hunker down at Cold Comfort Farm until the leaves change color, and catch up on my projects and those of my dear compatriots. Greg has deigned us worthy enough for his Web presence, returning with an updated Devil’s Dictionary for these trying modern times. Dan has dropped some serious cash on a new Moveable Type installation to bring you the scientifically awesome Beer-Movie Rating System — let’s see that clown Ebert come up with such a useful system!
And while most of the major websites are taking their summer break, lolling about on some unwarranted vacation, I’ve been working night and day (literally: one night and one day) in preparation for Monday’s Tuesday’s return of Snappy Dresser. There’s not a whole lot to do up here in the winter, so I find it worthwhile to ready my virtual canvas for the painting of all things trivial and polemic. There’s a clean and simple new design to serve up the questionable content in which SD specializes. So please do me the good and honourable favour of visiting http://www.snappydresser.org on Monday Tuesday morning and sharing your tales of joy and disbelief at its return.

A horrifying story to report today: The Maine Chainsaw Massacre.

MOUNT DESERT—Police responded to a complaint about a party in a cottage off Main Street on Aug. 9. The caller told police that the partygoers were not being loud but that he heard what he thought to be a chainsaw started up every few minutes. Police met with some people who said there was no chainsaw. They believed the sound could have been coming from a mixer they were using to make frozen margaritas.

My God: I own a chainsaw and a mixer. What if I get them confused some day? O, the carnage!

A sign has appeared in my upstairs bathroom. It’s a folded piece of 8.5″ x 11″ copier paper, on which my wife has scrawled the following:

Did you……

• …lift both lids?
• …wipe the seat?
• …remember to flush?
• …wash your hands?

I’m pretty sure this sign is meant for the boys.
But on second thought….I did live in a fraternity, y’know.

Some things don’t need words to explain them. Below is one of those things.
John Edwards’s campaign headquarters in Portsmouth, New Hampshire (click picture for larger image):

An imagined conversation:
“Did you get my email?”
“Yeah, I wiped my ass with it.”
Link courtesy of Boing Boing