Note: This blog has been deprecated, because the system it's built upon (MovableType) was comment-spammed to the point of destabilization. This URL now exists for archival purposes. Trying to add a comment to an old entry will not work here; however, the entries do exist at my blog's current manifestation, here, and comments do work (and I'm still very happy to read them, if you're so kind to leave them).
Well, it's that time of the house's life cycle...it's gettin' painted. Sky blue (Or Marlberry, or whatever the heck H.D. calls it...) is the color of choice. To get this particular shade of blue, however, I had to try to match it with the paint on the garage in my backyard.
So, after many a camera->computer->printer failure of recreating the color to bring a sample to Home Depot, I just opened up good ol' Photoshop and got numbers. I got the RGB ratio and the CMYK -percentages-, which any computer would be able to read and also make a 5-gallon can of paint of that color. However, upon arriving at Home Depot's paint department, a lovely little teenage chap with blond spiked hair named Kevin was the first to hear my request. I showed him the card, telling him that it contained the CyanMagentaYellowblacK percentages (51,26,17,7). He took one look at it, then looked at me and told me:
"I'm sorry, but it's impossible for me to do that, because the computer doesn't read those numbers. It'll only read ounces."
The Chemistry student in me was disappointed. It wasn't lifting, or efficient-seeming, to encounter someone who didn't have the Units Method in Chemistry, nor in any high school math class either. He never learned enough about numbers to know that to get from a percentage to an ounce, all that you have to do is multiply 5 gal by Z Oz/gal (a conversion that at least the paint hardware would have) and then by P%, P being one of four entries on the card in front of his face.
While the "Marlberry" can was mixing, I looked for a Home Depot Suggestion Box. None was to be found, and I didn't feel anal enough to ask someone who works there if one exists. Ah well...the painting process continues, if only set back about forty minutes.
Current music: "The Math Song," by the Animaniacs
My truck used to be called Tank. I was going to drive it, and only it, around because if I was to get into an accident, the truck would take the damage and not me (soo my dad thought, anyway). Right now, he's called the Moldy Oldy, since he sits underneath a hundred-foot high maple tree and is subject to every piece of green that sprinkles down from on high. Moldy Oldy was white, but now he has a very very slight green shade.
Moldy Oldy's been on such adventures as me trying to find a NON-METERED parking spot downtown on a French field trip (damn capitalists), and hauling many dead birch branches to Hawk's Prairie. He also surprised the pants off of a guy at Oly, because the guy didn't believe the truck was me at all.
He was wrong, though. Moldy Oldy, like myself, is a vehicle of -anything- but elegance.
Alex, tip-toeing off into the sunset, falling, then skipping off into the sunset, then landing on face, then just walking off into the sunset, then trips on nothing and lands on ass, then frowns as the sun is finally set...
...They're gonna kill me, Savannah...
Allergies are a strange quirk of genetics. Some people are allergic to antibiotics, some are allergic to grass clippings...
Me, I'm allergic to bananas. One natural source of K gone.
My childhood didn't yield too much that was useful...I did learn how to swim. That does me little good, however, since after twenty minutes in a pool, one of my feet will cramp. Some have told me that it's because I don't have enough potassium in my body...
Unfortunately, I can never follow their advice of munching a banana. While swimming freely in a lake would be nice, I find that breathing far outweighs the hydro-benefits.
Swimming would be nice...especially at Ward Lake, where I can swim from the Holiday Hills dock to the floating dock and sun-dry myself in the midle of a body of water.
Hey, since I haven't talked about math in a while, how about a little geometry...my body is a natural function machine. It can tell the exact two-dimensional midpoint between the dock on the shore at Ward Lake, and the dock floating in the lake. All I have to do is follow a straight line from dock to dock, and one leg will cramp once I reach the exact midpoint.
The Wretched Mathematical Monkey Wrench involved here would be the banana...it would destroy the positional indicator that is my left calf, among other abilities...
Praise [and my quiet, singular curses] to the WMMR, prime ingredient to the banana split.