Odious and Peculiar

Philology and esoterica: scribblings, ravings and mutterings.

O&P's Current Pick:

Forging the Sampo

Odious' Links:

The Little Bookroom
The Pumpkin King
Larissa Archer
Inverted Iambs
Eve Tushnet
Pamela Dean
Kambodia Hotel
Pen and Paper

Charles Darwin's Beagle Diary
Deep-Sea News
NASA's Mars Website
Classics Online
Perseus Digital Library

Nine Scorpions
The Blithe Kitchen
Letter from Hardscrabble Creek
Arts & Letters Daily
About Last Night



Chas Clifton's Nature Blog
Rock Art Photo Blog
Girl on a Whaleship
Nature Lyrics Languagehat
Jabal al-Lughat
Laputan Logic
Strange Maps
Vladimir Dinets: Polymath Russian Adventurer
Virtual Tour of Almaty, Kazakhstan
Aerial Landscape Photography
USGS Earth As Art
Panoramic Aerial Maps of the American West

The Internet Bird Collection
Bird Families of the World
Ancient Scripts
The Aberdeen Bestiary Project
The Cephalopod Page
The Ultimate Ungulate
The Red Book of the Peoples of the Russian Empire
USGS Streamflow Data

Worthy Miscellany
Finno-Ugrian Music
Boojum Expeditions
American River Touring Association

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Thursday, June 05, 2008
Common courtesy. Having fed and watered the animals, I'm headed back to the house when a certain need makes itself known. Mindful of Ed Abbey's maxim, I wander over to a friendly tree, and am well into the matter when up the driveway I see a pickup coming. Behind the wheel is a teenage boy with that particular stretched look that sets in around eighteen, and sitting next to him is a very pretty, and at the moment very red, seventeen year-old girl.

Well. There are, in this situation, two primary sets of vectors. First, there are the physical ones: hydrodynamic pressure is a bit much for any sort of hiatus. Wind velocity is at present to my back, aiding flow. I'd sort of like to keep it that way, since I like these pants, but the second set of vectors (societal) kicks in its share of torque, and I perform a quick volte-face and finish up before they're out of the truck. It's the little thoughtful details that make the host.

It turns out they're the son and daughter of friends of ours, here to get the co-op order which we picked up last night. The boy is Tom, the girl somethingsomethingmumbleVal (blush). I introduce myself, after a moment's thought about becoming our neighbor Bob Du Pont, as [Odious]. Nobody offers to shake hands.

Boxes loaded, they drive off with a wave from Tom. I can see Val's shoulders shaking before they're halfway down the driveway, but she's polite enough to wait until they're out of earshot to start really giggling.

"Honey," I say to my wife once I'm back inside, "we're living too close to town."


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