June 29, 2009

Today, I thought it would be nice to take Baby Kael outside.

I took him outside.

I sat on the ground.

I put him on my lap.

Otto, the dumber of our two German shepherds, walked up to us. He sniffed Kael in greeting.

He spit something on Kael’s foot.

Upon initial examination, all I could think was “crushed olive.” It looked just like a smushed black olive. Except that there was some mushy white stuff oozing from it.

And then I saw the legs.

Otto spit a chewed beetle on Kael’s foot.

I had to pick it off bare-handed.

Why do these things happen to me?



We went to the Portland Rose Garden this fine evening and watched a bunch of enormous guys beat the stuffing out of each other with sticks. Apparently this is called “Lacrosse.” It was full of manliness.

At one point during the game, I pondered the fact that it would take a huge number of catfish to completely fill the Rose Garden. I really don’t know why I thought of that, but now I’m curious, so…

The Rose Garden has a roof that is 210,000 square feet and is 140 feet tall at its pinnacle (source). I’m not going to make this overly complicated because I’m feeling pretty lazy, so I’m just going to take 210,000 and multiply it by 140 to get an internal volume of 29,400,000 feet cubed. Then I’m going to make that an even 29 million, which is still quite a bit too high, to account for the rounded shape of the roof which makes the surface area of 210,000 considerably greater than it would be if it were flat.

Catfish vary greatly in size, but on average are between 3.9 and 5.2 feet long (source). I’m going to be lazy and use 4.5 feet as the length of a catfish. I’m going to be even lazier and say that catfish are approximately cylindrical in order to more easily calculate the volume of one, and guesstimate that the diameter of a 4.5-foot-long catfish would be about 1 foot. Therefore, the volume of a catfish in cubic inches is pi times r squared, or 36 pi, times 54 (4.5 times 12 inches is where that number came from), for a total of 1944 pi, which is 6104 cubic inches or about 3.5 cubic feet. (Why did I convert to inches first? I have no idea.)

29,000,000 divided by 3.5 is 8,285,714.

Given my extremely high estimate of the Rose Garden’s volume, plus the fact that I didn’t account for any solid objects (walls, seating, etc.) within the Rose Garden, 8,285,714 is too many catfish. A round 8 million is almost definitely still too many… But in any case, I think it’s safe to assume that completely filling the Rose Garden with catfish would require, well, a lot of catfish. Millions of them. Certainly over nine thousand.

If I did something stupid when calculating stuff, let me know. It’s midnight and I didn’t double check things.


Note: The following post is going to be extremely image-heavy, because it’s preferable to walls of text.

On Sunday, we went to the zoo.

We saw some bears.

A bear.A polary-bear.

The second picture is of a polar bear. I was disappointed that we didn’t see any covalent bears. (This is funny if you remember high school chemistry. BEHOLD MY WIT.)

There was a bald eagle. I love birds – I wonder what I’d have to do to legally own an eagle or a hawk or two. Also, a mom and baby elephant.

Hello, I am an eagle.Ellie-funts.

Finally, this is a picture of my dad being manly. Check out that sweet hat.

Such a MAN.

After leaving the zoo, dad kindly decided to treat us to dinner at a fancy-ish Moroccan restaurant in Portland. I forgot the name, but it was a pretty neat place. We sat on cushions around low tables and ate saffron rice and spiced lamb and beef and chicken with our fingers. OM NOM NOM NOM.

I’m now switching to the topic of destruction, as promised in the title.

It seems as though an inordinate amount of stuff is being broken recently. My sister’s bunny decided to sever the cord of my mouse in two places with her big rodent-y teeth. The next day, we were packing up our Christmas decorations and started bringing boxes downstairs, only to discover that a combination of Otto’s digging activities (he’s our sort-of-dumb German shepherd, not the pretty one) and a huge amount of snow managed to flood the basement. Of course all my dad’s irreplaceable racing posters and artwork and the family photo albums were down there, among other things. We’ve been spending the last few days peeling lumps of photos apart and laying them out to dry wherever there’s room; the house is a disaster zone. Most of the family pictures are thankfully salvageable, but dad’s racing stuff is pretty much beyond repair. Really disappointing.

It's messy.

Other recently broken things include:

  • A lot of my coding, because other people who do not code try to change things and fail. I mean, they don’t fail at changing things. They do fail at keeping things functional. Codemonkey is displeased.
  • Our trees. Nice going, weather.
  • The shower curtain rod. It didn’t actually break, but it did decide to let go of the wall and land on my head. Then I had to turn the water off to put it back up while being all cold and wet. It was sad.
  • My sister’s heart, because her bunny has been in a rotten mood ever since the basement flooded and keeps trying to bite her.

I shall conclude with “cuteness,” again as promised in the title.

While peeling apart lumps of photos, my mom came across a ton of my baby/toddler pictures. Here are two. (The gray patch on the first is the lighting since I took a picture of the picture. I wasn’t turning into a zombie or anything.)

Mini-Cait 1AWWWWW

Even when I was a toddler, I had seriously great hair. True fact.

“Aww, you were so cute when you were little! What happened?” –My Dad


Mom’s German Shepherd, Tagg

He’s such a ridiculously beautiful dog. He also likes romping in the middle of snow forts, which unfortunately makes them quite flat.


A Female Finch

I think she was a finch, anyway, because she looked a lot like a picture of a finch on the internet.

My siblings and I were watching a high-quality, thought-provoking program on television (Spongebob) when I heard something crash into the window. I went to investigate, and found a dazed finch lying in the snow and twitching a bit. I scooped it up and brought it inside to dry off and hopefully recover. She was sitting comfortably and calmly in my lap and looking much more alert when my chubby little brother decided it would be a swell idea to stampede past my chair and yell. The finch took off and immediately flew out of reach in a futile attempt to escape through our extremely high windows. Around 45 minutes later, after clambering all over stacked furniture in a rather unsafe manner and accidentally tearing a curtain, we managed to re-capture her and release her outside. We then returned to our television-watching activities, secure in the knowledge that we’d helped a small feathered friend in need.


My Sister’s Bunny, Muffin

The following is a short excerpt of the result of allowing my sister’s bunny to type.

],=68.7 nnnnng10:03 AM 12/22/2008/o lm5=ik88,6esssH=Ns\4]\VC1C
51441 bUXAZYaaaIOPU [Vy1yt9v?”))^”?Tf7g

She isn’t very literate yet, but she does her best.

Fun fact: To litterbox-trained bunnies, stacks of holiday cards waiting to be sent out apparently closely resemble litterboxes. (Source: The massive yellow puddle I had to clean up. The bunny will no longer be allowed to type.)