A font site with a sense of humor.

(Thanks Mimi)

This weekend I discovered the pleasures of SMS (text messaging on cellphones) when a co-worker contacted me that way. I started contacting people I know who are techno-savvy the same way. Among those was lightspeeddad. “When are you free this week? I’ll visit one night”.

To my mild surprise, I got an SMS reply from him. He said, “Great! But who is this? Call me”.

With mild annoyance that he wouldn’t recognize the number, I replied, “Your child!”.

This morning I received a message from DADCELL, “I have two children. Which one? Call me”.

Being an only child, I did call lightspeeddad. You guessed it, I haven’t been corresponding with him at all. I have his number wrong by one digit. Heh.

So, to DADCELL: I’M AN ONLY CHILD! SORRY WRONG # LOL

How to fold a shirt.

Read people’s confessions. Horrible in a way, but I can’t look away…

The location of the Death Star has been found.

On the very day that Blork’s scooter got stolen, I got a letter from the cops saying they were watching our neighborhood closely, after a round of burglaries. They said we should be wary of people looking into houses and cars while taking notes or speaking on cellphones.

The next day, while getting into my car, I noticed a guy across the street, looking up at our place and talking on a cellphone. I distinctly heard him say “well, if we concentrate on the second floor…” (and guess what floor I live on). I drove up and parked in front of him, looking disobligingly like I wanted him to finish the conversation so I could address him.

However, I bored of waiting before he got off the phone, and got out of the car to get T. T ran out just in time for us to see the guy get back into his car and drive off. We called the cops and gave a good description of the man and the car, including the license plate. The cops said they’d send someone to take a statement. I secretly wondered if I could put in a request for one of those Longueuil cops Martine mentioned.

Anyway, two days ago, I got a call from my landlord, saying he might be selling the place and asking if I could show the prospective buyers my apartment. Who doesn’t show up to see the place, but - you guessed it - mystery cellphone man himself.

As soon as he was in my living room, I said “Wait a second, I know you! You drive a burgundy Subaru with the license plate 000 XXX! I called the cops on you two weeks ago!”

And they say I’d be good at sales.

When I was about 21, I changed the wiring, plugs and distributor cap on my 87 Sunbird. I just couldn’t afford to pay someone to do it at the time. Later that summer, I sanded all the rust off the body and repainted that car to a nice, like-new condition. Again, necessity was the mother of… well, of doing it myself.

I’m now amazed I once did those things, because it’s been so long since I’ve actually looked under a hood. Nowadays, I’m in awe of people with basic home ec skills, who do and make the things I now think nothing of simply paying for. My mother can design patterns and make her own clothes. My father can make furniture, or routinely build a cabana or sundeck in the backyard. How did those skills not make it to my generation?

After thinking about this for a while, this weekend, I bought a book and basic materials, and learned to knit. It’s surprisingly addictive. Laugh and you’re off my Phentex slipper list.