todayiamadaisy | Entries tagged with news

I had one and a half days in the office this week, which felt a bit weird. I had to work on something with one of my colleagues, so we got permission to go in and work in one of the meeting rooms, sitting on either side of a meeting table and connecting the laptop to the projector screen on the wall. The meeting room is amply stocked with hand sanitiser and cleaning products, so we were able to maintain distance and hygiene while working on the biggest spreadsheet you've ever seen.

Unlikely to be repeated, though, as cases in Melbourne are going up again (twenty-five new cases yesterday and nineteen today), so our lockdown restrictions are being tightened again. For the first time, they're talking about regional variations, as the City by the Sea only ever had five cases, all people returning from overseas travel, and none in the last two months. But for now at least, another month at home.

I forgot to say last week that Alistair had his annual home visit from the vet. Vaccinations up to date, and he's lost 100g since last year, so the vet was pleased with him... or was pleased with him right up until he bit the vet's finger. In fairness, the vet had just poked his finger in Alistair's mouth, so it was more of a reflex action than a vicious bite, but there was a lot of blood. So I think both cat and vet are glad that trauma's over for another year.

This week brought a letter in the mail from an old LJ friend, who is sending out little pieces of art to brighten people's days. It certainly made my day. I've pinned it to my work pinboard.

Also, I bought a new toothbrush this week. It's fine. It does the job. But the packaging was over the top. All caps and random bolding telling me the toothbrush offers:
- 4 ZONES OF BACTERIA REMOVING ACTION
- <0.01mm CHARCOAL DUAL CORE SLIM TIP BRISTLES GENTLY REACH 7X DEEPER BELOW THE GUM LINE
- INNOVATIVE TONGUE AND CHEEK CLEANING DESIGN
- RUBBER POLISHING CUPS
- 300% HEALTHIER GUMS

Finally, a headline from the local news:

DAIRY FARMER WRITES POEM

Page three, that was. High importance.

Although it is still spring, bushfire season has already started. Far, far north of here, New South Wales is on fire with a catastrophic danger warning, which wouldn’t normally affect me, only that’s where my work’s other office is. Lots of people off or working from home. The accounts officer came into work at 6am so she could finish early, and she said on her way in, workers were out blocking off entry to hiking trails.

I had this conversation many times today when a colleague rang for something: “You’re working? Are you safe? Oh no, we’re fine. It’s 10 degrees here, but feels like -2*. And it’s raining.” Depending on the colleague, the response was “bloody hell” or “send some up here” or slightly crazed laughter.

Sitting under grey skies, talking to someone whose world is bright orange.

* That’s about 50F, but feels like 28F, for the Fahrenheit-minded reader.

1. About one-thirty on Friday afternoon I hit send on the year-end reports, and that was that. Hell week over.

2. Today I read this headline —

Mark Beethoven's 250th birthday

— and I was bewildered. Baffled. Befuddled. And then I realised that "mark" was a verb and not, like, Ludwig's lesser known cousin.

3. Today Next Door's son, Ben, came round to fix our windowsill. I mean, not on a whim. The windowsill was perishing and Ben is a builder, so it was all planned. Anyway, because the living room windows were open, Alistair had to be shut out in his garden enclosure and he was Unhappy about that. He sat at his window and mewed. He sat at the door and mewed. He sat in the potted bay tree and looked sad. He came back to the window and mewed some more.

4. And now that Ben has gone and the living room windows are closed and Alistair's window is open... he is asleep outside under the potted bay tree. Sleep finally overtook indignation.

5. Last night I took him for his bedtime walk and all he wanted to do was sit on the footpath in front of the house and stare at the house opposite Joan Next Door's. Which I wasn't thrilled about because (a) it was cold and (b) it is generally agreed that the residents of that particular house are a bit dodgy (the police were there a few weeks ago). I couldn't see the attraction, until I realised that there were three half-grown kittens playing under, over, around the car parked out the front of the house. I don't know if he wanted to play with them or chase them, but he was so cross that I wouldn't let him.

6. Someone recommended these little sock things for doing yoga, so I bought them. They're good, but....they're called toe gloves. I never thought I'd own something with such a stupid name.

7. An actual news event: a local site, Budj Bim, about an hour from the City by the Sea, has just been added to the World Heritage List, for its aquaculture and dwellings dating back 6,600 years. So that's nice.

8. No knitting photo this week. I've been too exhausted to knit. Back to normal next week.

I have just spent half an hour trying to find out why I couldn't log in to Evernote, where my list of titles is kept. It was something to do with it doing an update and then thinking my laptop was already logged in. It was a simple fix in the end, but it took a stupidly long time to work it out. I spent longer than that this afternoon trying to work out how to fix something simple in our payroll software, so all up I've spent way longer than desirable battling with software today.

Anyway, it was another quiet and not particularly newsworthy day, fortunately enlivened when I got home and read the local paper. There was a court report of a young man who was charged with doing something naughty, ending with this sentence:

His criminal history includes an aggravated burglary and trespassing in Portland with no pants on and painted blue.

So that's... both quite an image and a very awkward sentence.

LiveJournal sent out that ten year challenge notice last week, reminding me that ten years ago I was (wait for it) complaining about the heat. So... not much has changed. Today's paper reminded me I had good cause to be complaining about the heat ten years ago, this being the tenth anniversary of the Black Saturday bushfires, the most fatal fires in Australian history. Ten years. Kevin Rudd was still Prime Minister then, so that's five Prime Ministers ago. And now I'm second on the list at the library for a book about them.

The fires were much further north and east than the City by the Sea, but a local couple — actually a woman my mother used to work with — had family in that area and lost their son, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren. Kevin Rudd made a secret visit to the City by the Sea to meet them in private afterwards. My mother's friend described him as really lovely, which is not something you often hear about Kevin, so good for him.

Late last year, I read an interview with an executive from Amazon, wondering why Australians hadn't taken up their Black Friday sales in the sort of numbers they expected. Well, one, we don't celebrate American Thanksgiving, so Black Friday sales have no historical meaning for us; and two, days labelled as Black tend to signify to us that something terrible happened occurred on it. Disaster, not bargains. I mean, learn your local market, dude.

This week I watched an episode of Grand Designs New Zealand while I was making dinner. The couple was attempting to recreate some historic 1800s homestead the wife had admired as a child. Well, that's what the wife was doing. Her husband was just going along with it. Anyway, they recreated this house and filled it with period furniture and did it all well under budget. And it was nice. Not to my taste, but it looked exactly like the house they were copying and it was what they wanted, so good on them, right? No. Not at all. The host asked them if they were happy with it, and the husband was, but the wife... not so much. What's the problem?, asked the host. She was unhappy with the local building restrictions that meant her ceilings weren't as high as the ones in the original house, and the left wing of the house had to be several metres shorter, and she wasn't allowed to use the heritage-listed wood that the original was built out of. So they had bought another block of land and were going to build the same design all over again. That's when I added her to my mental list of "irritating people on Grand Designs whose houses I hope fall down". And they live in New Zealand, so that actually might happen next time there's an earthquake.

This weekend I have been struck with some sort of minor bug. A sniffly nose and heavy eyes that just won't stay open. Not sick exactly but aware that's something's not quite right, and I can't remember what it's like not to feel like this. I feel like I'm going to be mildly peaky forever.

Something I enjoy very much is being in places that are closed. One of my favourite things about my new job happens on Thursday and Friday afternoon, when I am often alone in the building. To get anything off the printer I have to walk through the empty call centre, as the support line is diverted to another office. So it's just me, walking through a long, empty, high-ceilinged room full of silent phones. Queen of a lonely kingdom.

This Friday past was my last for the year, as we have closed up until 2019. So that's nice. As I locked up on Friday, a stream of people flowed past, all in the same direction, all heading to the sound of music. They were heading to Carols on the Green, it turned out. I didn't go, but it sounded nice as I passed by. That seemed to mark the start of the summer holidays. When I went for my weekly beach walk this morning, the foreshore carnival had set up at last. It only operates at night, so that was another place that was closed. I walked the perimeter, checking out the dodgems neatly lined up, the back of the spooky castle, the rows of pink fluffy monkeys waiting to be won as prizes.

Also at the beach this morning: the farmers' market. It's their off-week, but I suppose they did an extra one as it was close to Christmas. My mother bought some mince pies from the all-mince-pie baker's stall; I bought some fresh blueberries for the pavlova. We were going to buy some strawberries as well, but the queue for the strawberry farm lady was twenty deep and there were whispers that she was going to run out of berries soon. Supermarket strawberries for us then.

Speaking of the supermarket, it's that time of year again, when shelves are swept clean of all but one lonely example of whatever was on them. One lonely example that looks at me, willing me to buy it and give it a home. In other words, I now own ( this ceramic cat piggy-bank )

This week in Australian politics: We have had a sex scandal! A government minister went on a work trip to Hong Kong, where he had dinner with a young lady he met on a sugar daddy website, who then told her story to a magazine, thus treating us all to this amazing text-based flirtation. ( Brace yourselves, this is a bit racy (and also a bit blurry, sorry) )

The wonder is he met anyone at all with banter like that.

Hello, f-list. I hope you can hear me OVER THE RAIN. It is fairly bucketing down at the moment. I've just dragged our potted Christmas tree from under the patio where it lives all year to get a bit of rain before we bring it in and decorate it. I hope it doesn't get too wet.

This week: I ran into a friend who is a chef. He had just catered for the Christmas party of one of the City by the Sea's largest employers. "Fifty-two bottles of Pimms on the hottest day of the year," he said. "It was like taking a bath in sugar."

This morning: My mother and I went for our regular weekend walk along the beach front. "They're putting the summer carnival up early this year," my mother said as we approached the green. But it wasn't the summer carnival. It was some sort of emergency services fair. Fire brigade. Ambulance. Police. Coast Guard. SES (they do natural disaster assistance, including tsunamis, according to their website, which may be true if one ever happened here, but I don't think they get a lot of them). Rapid Relief Team, whom I have never heard of (they do mass emergency catering, it turns out). It was the safest place in the City by the Sea, although if you had an emergency anywhere else this morning, you were presumably out of luck.

Also this morning: Further along our walk, part of the Lake Pertobe Adventure Playground was fenced off. They were putting up a summer holiday attraction: thirty life-size dinosaurs. Replicas, I assume. I don't think they're building Jurassic Park next to the mini-golf. (Although if you hear news of a T-Rex running amok in southern Australia, that'll be us.) Anyway, we could see some sort of velociraptor-thing peeping out from the trees, so that was a different sort of wildlife spotting.

Later: A visit to Bunnings revealed knee-high cement garden ornaments in the shape of Star Wars characters: Darth Vader, a storm trooper, Han Solo, R2-D2. All the same size. I mean, one of those things is not the same size as the others, is it? But in cement garden ornament Star Wars, it is. In fact, R2-D2 is the biggest of them all, because once you bring him up to the same height as the others, he is proportionally wider. He could have crushed them all. What a different film that would have been.

Here is a thing: Melbourne has set up email address for its public trees, so people can email if they see a problem. Instead, people are emailing the trees. Just for a chat. Here is an article showing pictures of the trees with some of the emails they have received.

This week: I have struggled, nay, soldiered on with a cold. Monday and Tuesday I was the sickest person in the world. If that was a real competition, I'd have been given a trophy. A bronzed box of tissues, say, or a giant perspex lozenge. Thursday and Friday, meanwhile, were wretched filthy hot: aggressive dry furnace heat that knocked you down when you opened the door. I am glad the cold didn't coincide with the hot, else I'd have just had to lay down and die.

Pertinent to both having a sore throat and needing to cool down: I am not a huge fan of frozen ice-creamy things, but these are a treat, f-list. I recommend them for both illness and hot weather.

My mother is a subscriber to the local theatre, and on Thursday night she had two free tickets to the launch of the 2019 season. There will be some interesting shows next year: Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, Bell Shakespeare, a few small independent plays. She was late booking her tickets for the launch, so we had to sit in row S. Row S, f-list. The ignominy! She was determined not to suffer that fate for 2019, so Friday, my day off, we braved the heat and went back to the theatre to book our tickets for next year's shows. I thought this was very eager of us, but we weren't the only ones. We had to queue.

That done, we headed back outside. In front of the council office was parked a car with fishing rods poking out at various angles, all dangerous. A man in a ranger's uniform was taking photos of it, and he had to step back to let us pass. "Oh, say," he said to my mother, "have you caught that little cat yet?" He, it turned out, was the ranger who had failed to catch Tojo a few weeks ago. My mother filled him in on the Tojo news. "Aw," he said, "that's too bad. He looked like a sweet little fella."

Things I regret doing this week: I saw a knothole in the magnolia tree, a little nub of wood that looked loose, so I poked it. It fell out, followed by a torrent of big shiny ants.

Things I learnt this week #1: Lemon, lime and bitters is an Australian thing. I am genuinely surprised. What does everyone else do when they need "a mildly sophisticated drink that could be served to people of all ages"?

Things I learnt this week #2: A man coughed up a blood clot the shape of his bronchial tree. (He later died. I mean, obviously.)

Targeted advertising update: Thanks to searching for garden products, I've seen less of the hairy chest hoodie this week and more retractable hoses. Also, mysteriously, ads about a man called Josh, who paid too much for his business insurance. Poor Josh.

This is the last thing I see before I go into my new office and the first thing I see when I leave. So that's nice.

Still no luck catching Tojo. Well, no, that's not right. He's easy to catch. He doesn't mind being picked up at all. But no luck getting him in a cage, because he's given up coming round in the mornings. He only appears in the afternoon now. Tricky. Especially as he doesn't seem all that well, with a little cough and grimy eyes, so he really needs to see a vet. So my mother is going to talk to the shelter this week, to see about borrowing their trap. We'll see how that goes.

This week I had to go to the doctor to get a new prescription for Ventolin. In the waiting room, I caught up with the latest news from That's Life magazine from July 2017. Best headline:

My cat dialled 000 to save my life.

Triple 0 (or 000) is Australia's emergency phone number. But, I mean, come on. How did it turn the phone on?

My mother went on holiday a couple of weeks ago and came back with a cold, which she gave to me. Now there's a souvenir. My sickest day was last Monday which was, oh no, my first day at the new job. I came home exhausted and went straight to sleep. Still, after the first week, I can say the new job seems okay. It feels a bit weird after (a) so many years at the old job and (b) six months of not working at all, but I think I'll settle in. Unlike the old job, this place has an actual policy about social media use, including prohibitions on discussing people and workplace problems, so that's the end of that fertile source of LJ entries for me.

Despite being at death's door with my cold, I had quite a busy week. I went to the cinema twice. Twice in one week! What a gadabout. Two Australian films about attitudes to refugees: Ladies in Black, set in a ladies' dress department in the 1950s, and The Merger, set in a country town in the present day. Then on Thursday I had the last of my annual theatre subscription tickets for the year, being the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra's annual regional tour. The conductor came out at the start and greeted the First Violin, only instead of the handshake she was expecting, he gave her a very awkward hug. When he turned back to his rostrum, she gave the audience a "no idea what that was about" shrug. It was an odd little moment.

Here is a really big turnip. I mean, REALLY BIG. I just looked up a growth chart and it's heavier than an average five-year-old. That's a lot of turnip mash.

I found myself in something of a quandary this morning. The City by the Sea is in the news, the national news. My mother is on holiday interstate. She doesn't normally follow the news when she's away, so I didn't want to spoil her day by telling her FIRE! IT'S ALL ON FIRE! On the other hand, if she saw headlines about fires near the City by the Sea, that would probably also spoil her day. So I emailed her that there are fires, but people are evacuating TO the City by the Sea, so no need to worry about me and/or Alistair. There's no impact on us other than the heady sweet smell of eucalyptus smoke.

A magazine headline I saw today:

My wife sent her clown lover to torture me

Some people lead interesting lives, don't they?

A slightly off day today. Just small things going wrong. Mostly the washing machine breaking. And the washing machine repairman not turning up as he said. Will he come tomorrow? Who knows? Waiting in case he does will throw tomorrow off too. Grr, tradesmen.

I saw two interesting jobs advertised the other day. For a given level of "interesting". One was an accountant for a small not-for-profit, very much up my street. The only problem was that it is in a small town about forty minutes from here, which I'm not really keen on. No harm in finding out more, though, is there? So, as requested in the ad, I emailed them on Monday to get a position description. I haven't heard back. Everything is about to shut down for year-end (charity places like this and my old work will close on Friday and not open again until 2 January), so I should chase it up, but I've decided to take it as a sign from the universe that it's not for me.

The other advertisement was for an accounts payable clerk, which would be something of a comedown, but, eh, work's work. Only the employer was (dun dun DUN) my old work. In fact, it's the job I started at thirteen years ago, re-created. So... maybe not.

Update 1: It turns out asking the public to name machinery doesn't always result in Boaty McBoatface. This tale of a competition to name two gritting machines is absolutely gripping.

Update 2: Today's "what I'm buying my loved ones for Christmas" advertisement outrage is that the woman selecting the gifts is buying her husband a book about gardening for $59.99 and her brother-in-law a cosy blanket for two for $129. "There's a story there," my mother announced, tapping the page meaningfully.

Weekly knitting update: ( A capelet! )

The man in the pink tie
Uncle B (my mother's older brother) died on Monday, and I went to his funeral on Thursday. There was a man in a black suit with a pink tie wandering around out the front of the funeral home, and my mother and I couldn't tell if he was an employee or a mourner. At the end of the service, when they called for the pallbearers, Pink Tie was one of them. Mourner, then. Later, at the finger food buffet, I saw him chatting to my mother's cousin. I said to her, "Who's the man in the pink tie you were just talking to?"

Cousin Sanny, who always uses her outside voice, said, "Oh, he once buried a dead horse for me when the meat works were closed for Christmas." So that clears that up.

How to watch football
The bathroom is nearly finished. Everything is functional. The builder will be back on Monday to do the finishing touches: a new screen in the bathroom window, new security doors for the front and back entrances (to the house, that is, not the bathroom), new door handles for the front and back doors, a new bench in the laundry. The electrician has been and done his bit, but he couldn't sign off his work as the house wiring is too old, so he's coming back next Wednesday to upgrade whatever it is he has to upgrade. The painter will also be in on Tuesday to do the final coat. And that will be it.

The painter decided ours was a little job he could do alone over the weekend. He spread out his drop sheets and got started. "Can I get you anything?" my mother asked.

"Oh, no, thanks," he said. "I'm all set. I'm laughing like a hairy spider."

He has just finished a job in Mortlake that involved wallpaper. "Horrible stuff to work with. Horrible stuff. And they wanted it on the ceiling!" He also had strong thoughts on the house behind ours, as featured in my photo a few weeks ago. "Look at that! They hadn't painted it when I was here a couple of years ago, and they still haven't. Tch."

The electrician, meanwhile, had the front door open while he worked at the meter box, so he had a good view of the houses across the street. "They're a couple of dodgy looking lads in the house behind the hedge," he said. "That car in their driveway hasn't got a number plate." Tradies: they are in other people's houses, judging you.

Last week was the AFL (Australian Rules football) grand final. The builder was very excited in the lead up to it, as his team, Richmond, made the final for the first time in thirty-seven years. And they won, so he was chuffed on Monday. "Yeah, I've got a TV in my workshop, so I sat and watched the game out there with my chicken sat on the chair next to me," he said. So there's an image.

You made the wrong decision, Colin
New people have moved in to the house across the road (next to the dodgy looking lads). They had a few friends help them. The last friends left about two o'clock in the morning, arguing. I woke up as they drove off, the woman shouting, "You made the wrong decision, Colin. The wrong fucking decision, Colin. The wrong decision!"

God, Colin. Get your act together.

A headline
This happened a while ago, but I haven't got round to mentioning it before. A state politician was accused of having a meal at a seafood restaurant with a man alleged to have ties to organised crime. How did one newspaper sum that up in a headline?

LOBSTER WITH A MOBSTER

That is genius.

In these dark times, here is a nice story. Basically, a school was having an out of uniform day to raise money for a charity that helps educate girls in Africa. They were hoping to raise about $900 from the kids paying a gold coin (meaning one or two dollars) to wear casual clothes for a day. One of Australia's nuttier right-wing politicians got wind of it and tweeted his disapproval of it being called Do It In A Dress Day. I mean, encouraging boys to wear dresses! The apocalypse is surely nigh. Anyway, his tweet didn't get quite the response he was after. People started donating to support the kids instead. When I started writing this, they headline said they'd raised $150,000. I just refreshed the browser when I got the link, and the headline was up to $175,000. And that is good.

Of course, it is hard to tell if people are donating because they really care about educating girls in Africa or because they just want to spite a particularly irritating politician or maybe a bit of both. Whatever works, I suppose. Imagine what a difference that sort of amount would make to small charity.

Wheezy cough aside, I am more or less recovered, so yesterday I took myself off to work for my one day a week. They have had another bout of moving offices, so I was in a different room again. Back in my old room, in fact, where I sat for five years. "Oh, Alicia," said Jenny/NA. "Back where you belong." Temporarily, I told her several times. Like a specially flavoured Kit Kat, available for a limited time only.

I told her I'm really only here because we're renovating the bathroom and I haven't had access to a loo for three days. (Three days, f-list. THREE DAYS.) She said, "Oh, have a look at my renovations!" and got out her phone. She said, "Look, I made the curtains myself last weekend," and it was lovely, f-list, but there was something... odd about it. I have been to Jenny/NA's house, and this was not it and this was not her furniture. And the proportions were strange. She must have been standing on a ladder to get the angle of looking down onto her new white Eames chair. I said, sincerely, that it was really nice, and then: "Have you been playing with tilt-shift photography to make it look toy-sized?"

She laughed and said, "It's a doll house! It's my new hobby! I've stopped working such stupid hours and I'm using the evenings to make my dream house in miniature."

I said that it was much nicer than my actual house. And you know what, f-list? It really was.

(When I got home, the new loo was installed. Huzzah!)

Two headlines I read on the cover of That's Life magazine while in the supermarket queue this morning:
1. Help! I'm afraid of CRUMPETS
2. Mum's shock: Doing the laundry PUT ME IN A COMA

One question from a meme I saw on my f-list (the rest were too boring to bother with):
1. When was the last time you saw a duck in person?
Yesterday. I saw two ducks on the grassy area in front of Simon's on the Waterfront. Also: Three pelicans sitting on one of the boats at Lake Pertobe Boat Rentals.

Weekly knitting update: ( So close! )

A sentence from the news: He has been released and is expected to be charged on summons with assault, weapons, public order and disguise-related offences. I did not know there were such things as disguise-related offences. (He was dressed as a clown.)

I was all set to have a bit of a grizzle about our local council elections, which are done by postal ballot. If you don’t get the papers by Wednesday, you’re supposed to go and pick up a set yourself. And today is Tuesday and my papers haven’t arrived and I’m going to have to find out where to go and then I’m going to have to go there and it will be so much work… and then they were in today’s mail, so I filled in the form and it’s ready to post back tomorrow. Phew, hey?

I now only have seven days to work. It's starting to be a bit real now. What I am going to do? Will I starve? Will I have to sell my teeth? Will I have to live on the streets with Alistair? Last week I was thinking, you know, perhaps this job isn't so bad, it is all I have known for eleven years, maybe I am making a huge mistake. And then I spent three hours talking to our help desk trying to get the time changed (to daylight saving time) on my desk phone, and I thought, actually, yes, I'm over this. Also, I didn't get the time changed because it can't be done. Apparently no-one has ever made this outrageous and unreasonable demand before. Which is nonsense, obviously.

Weekly knitting photo from Sunday: ( Second sleeve finished )

I went for my usual Sunday walk at the beach this morning, and found it coincided with the monthly farmers' market. I bought some organic cucumber seeds, but I am not allowed to plant them for another month. The woman I bought them from was most insistent about that.

These last few days there has been much coverage here about a news story. I say news story, but it is more of a news hint. The news is teasing us with the palest wash of watercolour of a story about something that happened. Something happened, but no-one knows what or why. Does that sound vague? Honestly, it's no less vague than the actual story. What to make of that?

Knitting! ( The second sleeve continues )

I received an email from the university today, to tell me that one of the subjects I'll be doing next year, Project Management, has changed its name and will now be called Strategic Project Management. Noted, thank you. But the email had more to say. Strategic Project Management is not to be confused, it said, with another subject called Strategic Management Project. Honestly. The subject numbers are only one digit apart too. Why would they do that to themselves? It's just asking for trouble.

Here is a photo from the medical newspaper at work. It is of a 57-year-old Canadian man who worked at an electronics company, in a job that involved dipping circuit boards into chemical baths containing isocyanate-based resins (and inadequate protective equipment, clearly).

( What do you think happened to him? )

There was an article in today's newspaper about a group of low-rent hitmen who referred to each other by nicknames. There was Batman and Cookie and one remarkable gentleman who was known as both Satan and Lug Nut. Those are two very... different names, aren't they? I amused myself by imagining those two names were interchangeable in other contexts. That bit in the Bible where Jesus says, "Get behind me, Lug Nut." All those heroes in romantic novels who ride black stallions called Lug Nut. People who make a pact to sell their souls to Lug Nut.

Here is a nostalgia machine. Put in a year and see what music people were listening to. I tried 1978. Five of the top eight songs are by people surnamed Gibb.

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