“Hey Sqig,” I said to my son as I was planning breakfast, “what would you say to a waffle?”

He considered the question seriously for a moment and then replied, “hello”.

Me: Sorry, what’s your name again?

Him: You’ve forgotten my name?

Me: Yes. But don’t take it personally. I mean, I totally remember you. I am just terrible with names. The worst.

Him: Okay.

Me: And not only the names of people, either. Geographic names. Street names. Can’t remember them, any of them.

Him: Okay.

Me: And also figures. Like, if you were to ask me the population of Seattle, I would probably be off by an order of magnitude. No good with them. And also dates.

Him: So: facts. You are unable to remember facts.

Me: See, this is why I remember you. Your perspicacity.

Conversation with a friend, as we walk to the elevators:

Friend: So, what are you up to this weekend?

Me: Saturday we are going to the Chihuly museum.

Friend: Oh, you know it’s not just Chihuly, right? It’s devoted to glass in general.

Me: No, I hadn’t realized.

Friend: Yeah, they even have a glass blowing room, where you can see people making art and stuff.

Me: Cool.

At this point the elevator arrives containing two people. We enter.

Friend: The last time I went they were blowing a squirrel.

Me: A squirrel?

Friend: Yeah, it was like this three-foot high squirrel, and there were two or three people blowing it. Like, taking turns.

Me: That’s kind of strange.

Friend: Not at all what I was expecting to see, that’s for sure.

We arrive at the next floor. The two other people exit looking perplexed and creeped out.

The Queen, observing the crowd demographics as we arrived at the Seattle Cinerama for the premiere of Iron Man: “Well, at least there won’t be a line for the ladies room …”

Guy 1: What have you been up to?

Guy 2: Looking and lots and lots of pictures of gunshot wounds.

Guy 1: What for?

Guy 2: I’m studying. Pre-med.

Guy 1: Ah. Going to be a doctor, eh?

Guy 2: No, I meant premeditated murder.

The Queen IMs me at work:

Queen: hey

Me: What’s up?

Q: Bored

Q: I called our insurance company, and have been on hold for like five minutes

Q: They are playing classic rock. Right now I am listening to “Can’t Get No Satisfaction”

Q: OH THE IRONY

Being married to a professional botanist has its ups and downs. It’s nice on day hikes, for instance, having someone around who can instantly identify every plant we see. On the other hand, I don’t need to be notified of every ecological incongruence in the films we watch. The Queen spent much of the Lord of the Rings trilogy leaning over to me in the theater and whispering, “pfff, I can see why they call this a fantasy–they have polystichum munitum growing in a tropical upland climatic zone.”

Last night we went to a wreath-making party last night. Our host provided us with wire frames, fir boughs, holly, and pine cones; before dinner, while I read stories to Squiggle and put him to bed, everyone else got all elfy in the garage.

At the end of the evening we collected our wreath. Ours, while beautiful, was the least ornate of the bunch, consisting only of boughs. As we carried a sleeping Squiggle out to the car, I asked The Queen about this.

Me: Why didn’t you put holly in our wreath?

Queen: Because holly berries are poisonous, and when Squiggle saw them he pointed excitedly and yelled “cherries!”

M: Ah, good call. But what about the pine cones? You could have put a few of those on there.

Q: No I couldn’t. They were the wrong kind.

M: What do you mean?

Q: The boughs were from one species of tree and the pine cones were from another. It would look weird to have them on the same wreath.

M: What, seriously? Nobody would know but you.

Q: Yes, it would look weird to me. That’s what I’m saying.

M: Oh, come on. What’s the big deal?

Q: Let me put this into terms you can understand: imagine if you went to a Star Trek convention and saw a bunch of people dressed as Jedi.

M: Oh, god. Right. Gotcha.

Overheard:

“It’s weird how Beethoven’s good symphonies are the odd-numbered ones, but the good Star Trek movies are two, four, and six.”

I am on jury duty today. Again. Third time in five years. Random selection my ass.

As I walked through the metal detectors at the King County Superior Courthouse this morning, a security guard beckoned me over.

Guard: Is that a keycard on your waist?

Me: Wha-? Oh, yeah. It’s from my work. I just kind of habitually clipped it on this morning.

Guard: May I see it?

Me: Sure.

{I hand him the keycard. He examines it for a moment.}

Guard: Is there a knife in here?

Me: A what? A knife?

Guard: Yeah.

Me: No, it’s just a keycard.

{He hands it back to me.}

Guard: You can buy these keycards now that have little concealed knives in them.

Me: Oh. Well, uh, thanks for the tip.

I was with a bar with a friend and, after a few beers, attempted to describe the Shepard Scale to her.

It was difficult. Eventually I pretty much gave up and resorted to Lovecraft-like allusions. “It’s like a color that shouldn’t exist,” I said. “Or an angle that doesn’t add up.”

Here is is: The Shepard Scale. Note: ogg file; profoundly unsettling; may induce insanity.

* This was Alan Taylor’s attempt at describing it.