Guerrilla Art

There's an artist from England who calls himself Banksy. Recently he snuck his art into the major New York City museums, including this faux insect specimen he added to the Museum of Natural History.

This image is from a great collection on Wooster Collective.

I thought this was funny. I first read about it on MetaFilter this afternoon. This evening, the artist was interviewed on NPR's All Things Considered.

At least, it may have been him; the artist known as Banksy did admit that the interview might just be one more prank.

Sin Tax Time!

This will get interesting. Governor Minner announced some of her legislative agenda today. A major part of the story is a proposed hike in the cigarette tax (News Journal). According to the story, it's "not to raise more money but to further discourage teenagers from smoking."

I have to admit, I was a smoker. I started smoking as a teen. I started smoking because as a 17-year old I was mature-looking enough to buy cigarettes for a young lady I wanted to impress.

Seven years later the young lady was long gone from my life, but I was still smoking -- two packs a day before I finally quit. I quit in the fall of 1986. It was hard to do but entirely worth it.

So I think I can support the idea of a sin tax; it might have made it a little harder for me to get started. Maybe I would have not started. That would have been good.

Coffee With Linda

Karen and the girls and I assisted this morning at two church services at the United Methodist Church in Rehoboth Beach. Karen, of course, is a key member of the Church Bell Choir. Colleen, a favorite stand-in was on hand to fill-in for one of the choir members who was absent. Christina filled in for a missing Kids Choir member. The four of us provided percussion for an African-themed hymn. Great fun.

We played at the early service, then had an hour or so to kill before the late service. Christina went to Sunday school. Karen, Colleen and I wandered over to Brew-Ha-Ha for chai tea, hot chocolate and a mochachino. A small clatch of bell ringers and choir members was there; Linda, John, Gail, Aleta, and Ken. Bill, Cathy and Lindsey Shook were at another table.

We pulled up chairs and had a pleasant hour catching up with friends, gossiping, and laughing.

Church is about community. Community is about friends. Friends are about laughter.

It's a great way to spend a Sunday morning.

I Do Enjoy A Good Freudian Typo!

How long before they find this and fix it?

Update: By 1:00 p.m., on 3/18/05, they'd found and fixed it.

One of Those Things That Ought To Mean Something But Probably Doesn't And Yet I Figured I Should Report On It Anyway

Putting on my uniform shirt this morning (regulation blue, button-down, Oxford cloth), I found myself once again pushing one of those drier sheet thingys out of one of the sleeves. This isn't the first time this has happened.

There are four of us in the house, but the drier sheet thingy always seems to settle comfortably into one of my shirts when it manages to hide among the laundry. Maybe it's because I'm the largest person and there's more room in my sleeves.

But why is it always in my right-hand sleeve? That's just troubling.

Driving Back From A Meeting in Annapolis

Here's an odometer reading you don't see very often.

Giving new meaning to the idea of a "perp walk"

This is a photo by Jim Cresson, from the March 11 edition of the Cape Gazette. It's for a story about the return to Delaware of dog that was part of a pack that attacked a local boy. The owners had apparently tried to hide the dog in Virginia. It was found and has been sent back. I was really struck by the expression on the dog's face in this picture; it's like he knows the charges he faces.

On Reynolds Pond

Sunset, Reynolds Pond, on Route 30 north of Milton, Delaware. March 10, 2005

What Do They Think We Do Around Here?

This is the bulletin board across from the elevators on the first floor of the Thomas Collins Building, in Dover, where I work.


Something about this has been bugging me as I pass to and from my humble office.

The Calvary Assembly of God's flier is to be expected, as is the Longaberger Basket Bingo party that's set, in Camden, for the Ides of March.

There are the usual cards from the Masonry Contractor, from Handyman Sam, and from the Party Planner.

There are memos from the Building Management people telling us why we're too cold in the winter and too warm in the summer. And someone has posted a news brief on donating coats to the needy.

All this I understand.

But, the card that has caught my eye each time I use the elevator is the card from ASAP Bail Bonds. That one puzzles me.

Of course, I am certain that when one needs a bail bondsman one needs that bail bondsman as soon as possible indeed. But what possible need is a building full of state employees likely have for that no-doubt valuable service, soon or late?

Lawyers? Possibly. Psychologists? Maybe. Massage therapists? Definitely.

But a Bail Bondsman? Man, I hope not.

My Own Subdivision!

Welcome to the Woods of Mahaffie, a new 34-lot subdivision in Olathe, Kansas.

I was expecting this new neighborhood to be closer to the Mahaffie House and Stagecoach Shop, the historic site in Olathe that several generations ago was an inn run by some of my forebears. It turns out to be somewhat north of that site (see the neat google map). The subdivision site is on the east side of N. Nelson Rd., across from W. 122nd St.

I used the Olathe city web site's on-line map system to nail down the location. A nice Internet Map Service, by the way.

I shared the plot map with some of my colleagues at the State Planning Office.


"Kinda cookie-cutter," was the reaction. I guess I have to agree.

Still, there are 34 lots in this thing. The branch of the Mahaffie clan that I'm part of numbers just about that now. If Karen and I and our kids and my siblings and siblings-in-law and parents and nieces and nephews each bought a lot, we'd just about fill the place up (with maybe one lot left for a clubhouse?).

Then we could rename it: "The Woods (Full) of Mahaffie(s)"