TGIF

I have grown to dread Fridays of late. It never so much seemed to be the case before, but now it is as if all the hardships and calamities choose this day to disembowel themselves and loose chaos on the impending weekend. Already here I've noticed that some people take the better part of the work day to warm-up and have a thought, request, demand not before 1600. The real professionals do one better, taking almost the whole week to plot what disasters can be unleashed when everyone's expecting and sometimes deserving of a quiet end to the week. I remind people that it is Friday and kindly calm the fuck down, but I shouldn't look toward the end of the week with trepidation--too often said, it becomes an affirmation that can spoil the whole day.

unicorn chaser

Last week or so in a sort of Rear Window moment, I found myself watching the old lady with a nice, pedicured patch of green lawn looping bright and colourful ribbons around a frame. I speculated as to the purpose of this project--maybe as a part of belated May Day celebration. I decided (to my personal amusement but I doubt to any one elses') that she would don this fantastic mane, prance about the living room and proclaim herself a rainbow unicorn. She brought the ribbons inside from the balcony, and I thought we'd never witness the ritual. Yesterday, however, the ribbon reappeared, not in some interpretive dragon dance or prayer-banners constantly wafted on the steppes of the Himalayas, but tossed and strewn on to the narrow patch of vegetables, which I can see from the office window. It seemed a rather extravagant and labour-intense swath to just throw on the cabbages as a scare-crow, especially when not propped up like some demented partyicoloured jester but just gently discarded between the furrows.

tuffet

H had no idea that I could be styled quite the pillow affectionado. I was never so fond of having them around myself, stuffed into cornerns and cupboards and kicked off the bed, but I had aquired a few over the years and no good cause to really thin the ranks. Of course I had the occasion to use them as a bit of extra padding while packing, and I suppose they are always useful as insulation, cushions for the clumsy or for the seraglio and don't seem to harbour fleas or moths. Despite the virtue of a cache of pillows, there is the sheer number of them, which seem to multiply given a minute's privacy and will breed anywhere--boxes, cabinets, closets.

we're painting the roses red

US agencies are fronting novel and simple ways to help combat global warming and possibly reduce energy consumption, including the promotion of soft colours. There's a bit of targeted ridicule and scepticism that posits the notion of just painting roofs in cool, reflective white will salvage the polar ice caps, but that's just part of the proposal and it is sound science--though it is sometimes difficult to speak of "sound science" to the lobby that would doubt the veracity of global warming and man induced climate change. Months ago I thought about this modest proposal when learning about the rapid acceleration of the melting of icebergs: white ice reflects back around 90% of the sun's heat beating down on any given area while dark sea water absorbs about 90%, only conflating the problem. Watching vast stretches of Autobahn, I wondered what the impact would be of adding a portion of gympsum to lighten up the asphalt mix, or toting mirrors on the roofs of cars. I personally would like to leave a whiter footprint when I am out and about.