I hear voices, too.

Nagging, insistent, they keep yammering, "Write. You're supposed to a writer, so make with some words."

Unfortunately, that's just one voice. Another lately assaults, "Finish the damned floor!"

It has been  half-carpet, half oak for years. Finally the carpet became too toxic even for my relaxed housekeeping standards. Replacing it would have been cheap and easy, but I've come to detest the stuff, especially when sharing a home with a high-shed lab. Besides, I've accumulated a some planking, and I always overestimate how long ambition will endure for any given project. So:

That was Monday. There's been a little progress since, three more planks laid (exhausting the oak inventory), all pegs driven, and 40-grit rough sanding. But between me and elegance lies another series of sandings from 60 grit  down to the (xxx) level of smoothness.*  Then, of course, the miracle varnish, whatever seems most miraculous when I go shopping. And is on sale.

It occurs to me that this report is so far devoid of any public service. Because I really care, let me correct that with a graphic depiction of an invention for tightening the seams between the strips of renewable, natural, recyclable, material. (Another way to describe all that is "not quite straight.")

You screw the block to the old floor and drive wedges to jam the new board tight. Works well, but I believe I am unable to receive a patent.

When it's all done I'll return to keeping an eagle eye on the state of the Republic. No, wait. There's another voice: "Big northerns are biting over at Ingham Lake. Load up the dog and the camper. Go fishing. Go fishing." 

Damned old voices.

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*A professional would go to about 120 grit or even finer. Jimmy the Tweak has learned of the project and established an  over-under of 81. Bet the under. I mean, Hell, I'm  just going to walk on it.

It is true. Global cooling is icing up the Northwest Passage, and Exxon Tankers will have no more luck passing the Bering Straits than Captain Cook's little Endeavor did in 1778.

I wanted to soberly report this for two reasons. One is the smart-alecky post a few days back attributing the same facts to the Mail, a Brit tab best known for overuse of modifiers and some of the best cleavage shots in the business. It later occurred to me that depending on the Mail might mar the TMR reputation for rigorous academic citation.

The other is American public television which is in the middle of a multi-part report on the melting of the Arctic Ocean. It is all in the can, being doled out periodically on the PBS nightly slightly newsish program, so I tend to doubt it will be diluted with the latest from the federal-trough ice scientists who confirm it may be unwise to compete for a Sandals resort franchise near Prudhoe.


The public teevee segment might have gone in one ear and out the other except for the presenter's lead: "Due to climate change...".  She could have just said: "And now, let us beg the question."*

A little more amusement ensued as she focused on a melting glacier and a commercial captain lamenting that this made the "new water" more treacherous to  navigate.

I couldn't resist shouting, "Look, you Queeg ninny, stay in the channels proven safe since, errrr,  about 1788, I guess."  I had to apologize upon learning that his lot in the life of high seas adventuring was to ferry gaping tourists as close to the glaciers as possible so they could get nice cell phone shots of medium blue ice,  highlighted by lighter blue ice. This is yet another dramatic tragedy resulting from your refusal to buy a Volt.

Elsewhere in politics -- young comers division

They may have been the giddiest moments of his life so far. I refer to Julian Castro, the telegenic mayor of San Antonio and a man on the make. When a young pol gets invited to Indianola, Iowa, he begins wondering if there's room for one more on Mt. Rushmore.

In this age of image, he stands a chance because he shared the stage with Joe Biden and Tom Harkin, at Tom's annual steak fry. The event is one of the teasers for that three-ringer known as the Iowa Caucuses.

It doesn't matter what he said, of course, although what I heard was a lukewarm parroting of ancient liberal cant about spending more with the teachers union so we can compete globally.

Julian doesn't rate the CIA full-court press earrned by the other Castro, but if someone wants to put itching powder in his wet suit, I'll probably forget to editorialize against it.

It's a matter of soil balance

His Ineptness goes to the Rose Garden today. The purpose? To tell us all what a wonderful president he really is.  The occasion is the fifth anniversary of the fall of  Lehman Brothers, a one-time leader in organized crime. He will report that his wisdom saved the nation and the world from economic collapse, that he has ushered us to the portal of peace and prosperity. He. Himself.

This speech is good news for the nation to the extent that the National Park Service can cancel it's rose fertilizer orders for several months.