Each morning in advisory and homeroom, I read the “This Day in History” listings from the New York Times. I particularly enjoy reading whose birthday it is. There is a “dead” column and an “alive” column. A name in the “dead” column really caught my attention yesterday, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Yesterday was Tycho Brahe’s birthday.
How do I know this man? His name is extremely familiar to me. I spent way too much time yesterday trying to figure out why I already knew his name. He’s a Danish astronomer who lived from 1546 – 1601. Did I study him in school? Did I know of a public school named after him? Did I know someone else who was named Tycho Brahe? All day long I couldn’t figure it out. And it’s still bothering me.
How do I know Tycho Brahe?
Yesterday was Field Trip Day for the Middle School. I went with the seventh graders. We went to downtown Baltimore for a visit to the Maryland Historical Society and the Science Center. Both places were great. The MHS has one of three remaining original uniforms from the revolutionary war. I stood mere inches from it, separated from it by only a simple pane of glass. It was cool. It was also tiny. People were so small back then. The Science Center was fun, too, but it was tiring. I didn’t have a chaperone group to watch, so I circulated. It was a lot of walking.
The bus trip was okay, but I was nervous. The bus driver was displaying the Clinging Gecko sigil. That sign is almost as obvious as the Standing Lion: it marked the driver as Japanese Illuminati. They haven’t shown their faces around me for a while. Why now? What are they up to?
Yesterday we had a longish break for lunch, so a few of us went out to eat. We went to “El Salto”, which is an awesome Mexican food place near school. It was Angie, Michele, Brady, and me. After being there for a while, Brady commented on how all the other customers were men. I had noticed it too. All men in their late 20′s or early 30′s. All dressed in polos or in button down shirts with no tie. And all of them had similar mannerisms. The only women in the restaurant were at our table or were waitresses.
After noticing it, we went back to our conversation, but uneasiness hovered at the edges of my mind. What was going on? Where were the women?
Attempted spam comments are a regular occurrence now. I remember being excited the first time I was hit with it. Now it’s just a regular part of life for a famous internet personage like me.
I’ve noticed an interesting trend lately with the spam that hits me. It’s almost all directed at a single post. It’s called Cutting Rosebushes, Hair. I don’t know what makes it so attractive to spam robots, but I’m clearing spam comments away from it on a regular basis. I wonder if I closed the comments on that post, would the robots would stop posting to my site or would they find another entry to fix on?
Have you ever wondered where telephone poles come from? I think I might have found out yesterday.
I once again went to Badolato Stone Supply to get some Pennsylvania field stone for a garden project. Badolato is in a twisty place that has a lot of roads that look like alleys. I turned a little too soon and found myself in an unfamiliar area. I turned again and saw something quite peculiar. The sign said “Comcast Pole Farm”. Behind a chain-link fence and coils of razor wire, there was a forest of telephone poles, some taller than others. It was as if they were growing there. Risking the wrath of the Comcast SS, I took a picture.
Behold, the (possible) origin of telephone poles:
