Come on…

This last week, we visited the family cottage.  Specifically, it’s my wife’s mother’s father’s, who bequeathed it unto two of his daughters upon moving into assisted living.  It’s up near Wausau, WI, which means it’s a looong way to drive.

But 10 hours in a car left me plenty of time to pontificate on how much the radio stations in Midwestern states suck.  Interspersed amid the 24/7 bible and country stations are a selection of oldies, but not good classic rock oldies–random oldies.

What I found interested was the ubiquity of these random oldies, as if DJs everywhere had attended an annoying music summit and agreed upon a selection.  For example, as we approached the western border of Ohio, on came Dexys Midnight Runners’ “Come On Eileen”, a song I feel is safe to classify as a one hit wonder.

We seem to have a mixed relationship with British music

This time, it made me smile briefly.  I commented to Liz that the song was an odd choice, and we discussed it for a moment, for as I stated, the car ride was long, so conversational topics tended to arise out of any minor stimuli to break the tedium.

Later, somewhere in Indiana, the song came on again.  I thought that was unusual, since by then we were cruising different radio stations.  Then we heard it again in Illinois.  At that point, we were in the heart of the Midwest, and though the nation might hate Ohio as a whole, at least we have a more diverse culture.  But in Illinois, we didn’t have more than one rock station available, so we endured it.

Then we heard the song again in Wisconsin, and at this point began to debate why this song was suddenly so popular again.  All I can conclude is that, since it released in the 80s, and music in the 80s was terrible, it’s a song for which the aging disco-era weirdos feel nostalgic.  Who knows?

–Simon

Certificate Renewal #2

In accordance with Lets Encrypt’s 90-day certificate expirations (as mentioned previously), here we go again.  Fear not, the Certificate Mismatch warning is normal.  But again, for the paranoid, here are the fingerprints to verify:

SHA1 Fingerprint:

16:CA:65:79:A6:D5:44:3E:5C:9D:39:1D:34:E3:5C:57:F7:09:13:F7

SHA-256 Fingerprint:

F7:90:29:3F:04:0D:F2:A4:87:A3:9A:12:FF:3D:CA:EE:F4:23:04:64:2B:EA:0B:08:5B:AB:74:8E:94:84:BA:EE

The new expiration will be 10/4/17.

–Simon

A Lubbock County Almanac (October 28, 1994)

Note: For an explanation of this post, see the introduction.

As we finished packing up to go to Copper Breaks State park we got into the car and left.

About 15 minutes later, we arrived a Texas Tech [I actually used the official symbol here] university at the Biology building where my dad, Daryl, works.  We parked the car in our space and my mom, Carol, ran in the building while the rest of us waited in the car.

A minute later, my mom came out.  She got in the car and we left.  Kyrie and Leigh were fighting and screaming for a reason I did not know.  After a little while, Carol, and Daryl I guess got pretty sick and tired of it and yelled at them.  That settled it.

Later, we drove down into a canyon that I thought was the edge of the caprok.  But I looked at my watch and only one hour had passed so I settled down in and relaxed and looked out the window.

A while later, mom threw on me some star Burst [I included the registered trademark symbol] and Leigh decited aloud in which order she was going to eat them.

Soon, we stoped, moved up a hill and read a hick starical marker [this may have been an intentional misspelling–a Moorheadism], then off we went.  I decided I would go to sleep.

Remember these?

–Simon

A Lubbock County Almanac (Introduction)

I dug out my old journal from basement purgatory.  23 years ago I wrote it, in an old spiral notebook.  It has rudimentary algebra scribbled on the back, and the cover–a racoon in a hollowed log–has long since vanished.  So as an ironic nod to this blog’s title, and in parody of a book my dad read to me long ago (A Sand County Almanac), I concluded that I would preserve the troubles of an adolescent by digitizing them.

True to this title, it chronicles approximately one year, from the fall of 1994 to 1995, with some sporadic entries thereafter.  To preserve its meanings, whatever they might have been, I intend to not edit it for grammar, although I will add asides for context.

–Simon

Wild Thing!

Liz was out landscaping, AKA planting bushes, and noticed this little guy back where the honeysuckle hedgerow had been ripped out:

It’s only a weed if you don’t want it.

–Simon