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Blame the intern.

p19, 'How To Change Absolutely Anything' by Damian Hughes

Not content with twisting a passage that talks about using the gifts we are given in a responsible manner into a 'proof text' for negotiating your arrival at home, he then muddles Mark with Matthew, despite the rather large clue in the name of the 'effect' he is explaining.

Cabinet card portrait likely of Cora Adah Noud [later Rebuschatis] (1868-1918) by George W. Davis, Washington, D.C., likely c. 1881. She is holding a hoop and stick.

Noud was born in or near Wenona, MI to Ermina Jane and James Noud, who ran a liquor store. Her father apparently died shortly after her birth, and her mother, a Scottish immigrant to Canada who had relocated to the US, was living in Washington by 1878, the owner of a "fancy goods" shop on M Street in Georgetown.

In 1897, Noud married a Russian immigrant, Wilhelm (later William) W. Rebuschatis, a printer and proofreader at the Government Printing Office. They had a daughter, Marion (1899-1978).

Per a notice in the 11/26/1918 Evening Star, Cora died of a "lingering illness" at 3228 Hiatt Place, NW. She is buried with her mother, siblings, and daughter at Oak Hill Cemetery.

Written on verso: "Cora Ada Noud".

November 19: At midnight a SAR page chimed: a lost hiker at Pat Springs, out of Bottcher's Gap. I debated responding for various reasons (the book I'm supposed to be proofreading, my fitness level, the fact that I'd just gotten into bed and was snuggling in with great pleasure). The last time I hiked to Pat Springs, I collapsed just at the campsite there--and back then, I was in better shape. I should probably have resisted responding. But I felt a duty. And so.

We set off hiking at 1:30 or so. (It's a bit of a drive from Monterey to Bottcher's Gap, up at the far end of Palo Colorado Road.) It is then a four-hour hike to Pat Springs--about 9 miles. Waxing moon didn't shine much light, so it was all headlamps. The trail was clear, though (unlike last time, when a middle section was navigable only thanks to pink flagging tape judiciously positioned), and we powered on. It was Alain--a machine; Dave Flower, who started out at a breakneck pace; Joe Moses; and me. Joe is certainly stronger than me, but we kept each other company. (Thanks, Joe.) I didn't hydrate well enough, and the Chinese I'd had at 6 p.m. had probably worn off by 11 p.m. So I depleted myself fully, and had to stop. I was stuttering along, holding them up.

I listened to their progress--first, by hearing their shouts ("Eric! Can you hear us?"); then by MCSO Red tone communications (an open channel); then by MoCo1 communications (more private)--though it took me a bit to figure out I had MoCo1 on my radio (it's called HLS Cmd1 on my unit--good old Homeland Security). I rested on my backpack on the trail, up against a big log; drank small sips of water, had half a power bar; dozed; shivered a bit; got up and walked around, swung my arms, tried to keep my thighs from cramping, sat down again; dozed. Eventually the sky lightened, and I started hearing chatter about helicopters. (Thank goodness yesterday evening's rain went away.) And then I heard that our subject had been found. Yay! One helo was waiting for fog to clear in Watsonville and would come down to pick us up. I was feeling more myself by then--7 a.m.-ish--and wandered back down the trail to the campsite, then up the far hill to locate an LZ. My phone has GPS, so I communicated coordinates to Center (clumsily--I'm not used to radio communications--but she got it).

And then Alain and our subject, Eric, came marching down the trail, followed shortly thereafter by Joe and Dave. I started to breathe easier then. (I'd gotten a little worried when Joe told Center that there were four people needing to be flown out--when in fact there were five of us, with Eric.) It's always good to be in company.

By 10:30 J.F. had arrived with his four-seater helo, and he started ferrying us back to Bottcher's Gap. So very nice not to have to drag ourselves the 9 miles back--because it probably would have taken us 9 hours, as opposed to 9 minutes.

So: this view--it's from the Pat Springs LZ, looking toward the ocean. Bottcher's Gap is to the right, behind that first ridge. The landscape here is rugged, challenging. Our 9-mile hike involved two grueling uphills, and then a lot of down (which: think of the reverse if the blessed bird hadn't spirited us back to the truck). I may have "suffered," but to be in this country always fills my soul. At night, in daylight. (During the night, I'll just mention: the rain yesterday had left big drops of water on all the vegetation, and whatever light there was--moonlight, lamplight--would send those droplets shimmering, making the trees and shrubs into ghost trees, ghost shrubs. It was stunning.)

By 11:15 we were out and headed to a revivifying brunch in Carmel. Coffee, frittata, good company. Life is good.

三里屯北路81号那里花园4层, 5208-6188

4.438 miles (approximately) from the office, 18 minutes the way the scooter flies.

Only have Mahou (a horrible beer from Spain I wouldn't drink even if dying of thirst) and Duvel (good but priced at 62 kuai and I'm sick of paying US$10 for a bottle of beer).

Have ice in the urinal so you know you're dining at a Finer Establishment.

Waitress snatched away menu that was sitting on table; she explained it was their Groupon-style deal menu, apparently from a site called Diningcity.com which she kindly wrote down for me (I'll never use it).

Bread comes with salt and olive oil (Salt, you say?)

Nice variety of muzak, Spanish flamenco followed by Ella F. I approve.

Mushroom and spinach quiche with parmesan shaves and salad. Real men do eat quiche. Real nice men also teach the waitress how to pronounce it.

Beef tartare served with three kinds of mustard and chips (they means crisps). Otherwise known as the salmonella special (just kidding, fingers crossed).

Fresh fruit for dessert.

Misspelled capers on the menu. They need a proofreader. Should send the firm's over, that guy appears to have nothing to do all day long.

One waitress wearing blue jeans, didn't match the others who had black skirts and tops. That's a no-no.

Good about re-filling Mr. Cheapo's water glass.

Not a large lunch crowd, but ok, plenty of space among us.

Resto invaded by pack of Yummy Mummys, four strollers, one pack-a-poose. All British, posh accents, sunglasses propped on head with hair pulled back. Look expensive to maintain. Babies remarkably well behaved (i.e., they're sleeping).

Can see chefs at work behind smoked glass thingie and there appears to be a large foreigner in charge back there which is comforting.

No Chinese on the menu, might be intimidating for Chinese people to eat here?

Boy told me they now have eight set lunch menus so they rotate them every week.

Boy gave me coupon for free coffee or dessert next time, must have seen me snapping pics of food.

Accept credit cards, of course.

Instant fapiao, of course.

Probably my favorite place in the Nali Patio ... if I get e.coli my opinion will change of course, but for now this place gets the thumbs up.

Would I return? Yes.

3 course set lunch, 99 kuai, or US$15.60.

Day 248 of 365: a year in songs and photos

Song: Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Tonight, major league baseball's all stars will take to the field at Yankee Stadium. It will be one of the last big events held at the stadium, before it's torn down and the new Yankee Stadium is erected.

Some time in the past few years, my love of the game has dissipated. There was a time when my life was ruled by the Yankees schedule, when I lived, breathed and slept baseball. I have the most wonderful memories of Yankee Stadium and I'll be sorry to see it go.

This is my baseball story. I wrote it in March of 2003. It's one of my favorite stories to tell and I'm ever so grateful for the opportunity I had to spend so much time inside Yankee Stadium.

So, I have a baseball story for you.

It was the summer of '86. I had gone back to college the previous spring after an extended hiatus. 21 credits crammed into one semester after not being in school for a while was exhausting, so I passed on taking any summer classes. I was working nights at the time and thought I would spend my summer days sleeping until noon and lounging around the house. And then my Dean made me an offer I couldn't refuse - a summer job that would entail driving to The Bronx every morning, not getting home until midnight most nights, working a few weekends, all for no pay except a few college credits.

I almost laughed at him until he explained who I would be working for. The New York Yankees. Not as a hot dog vendor or ticket-taker. I would be working inside the vaunted walls of Yankee Stadium. Hell, I would have paid them to let me have that job.

I was to spend my days as an editorial assistant for Yankee Magazine, cropping pictures, proofreading stories and doing advertising layout for the magazine. At night, if the Yankees were on a homestand, I would stay for the games and run errands. If I wasn't needed I was welcome to stay for the games, anyhow.

I spent a lot of time that humid summer in the cool confines of the archives room, poring through photos of Yogi Berra and Joe Dimaggio, reading scorecards from games played long ago and generally living in a baseball time warp. The room was stuffed with trophies and plaques and mementos of the greatest baseball team that ever existed. And here was all this history, all this fame right at my fingertips. Ticket stubs, game programs, yellowed articles and dusty photographs were my companions that summer. Each time I left the room - usually after a futile search for whatever memorabilia or picture I was sent for - my fingers would be coated with the dust and grime of the legacy of legends.

I watched plenty of games from the press box. Sometimes I helped keep the scorecard, sometimes I just chatted with reporters or players who were on the injured list and joined the press to watch the game. I ate lunch in the third base seats, legs stretched out, sun beating down and Yankee Stadium seemingly to myself. I parked in the player's lot, sometimes walking in with the players themselves. I was the original George Costanza.

Late that August the pennant race was heating up and the summer nights were cooling down. I knew my days as a part of the New York Yankees staff were drawing to a close. In a way, I was relieved that I wouldn't have to make that miserable morning drive on the Grand Central anymore. But I hated give up the perks of a job where I mingled with Don Mattingly and had my name in the Yankee Magazine.

It was close to my last night there when I was invited to watch a game from the General Manager's office. There I was, in this huge office full of baseball impresarios, sharing drinks and glad-handing each other. I stood quietly in the corner, too overwhelmed by the presence of baseball greats to move out of the spot.

A Yankee employee I had become friendly with dragged me over to the huge picture window that overlooked the playing field of Yankee Stadium. I was watching the game from an office behind home plate, surveying the game as if I owned the team. I looked at the outfield bleachers where I had sat so many times before. I was mesmerized.

My friend excused himself to go get a drink and I stayed at the window, watching the game.

Then a voice from beside me, "Great view, isn't it?"

I looked up to see Mickey Mantle standing next to me, grinning. I nodded, unable to speak.

Me and Mickey, watching a Yankee game from the office above home plate.

That, my friends, is a King of the World moment.

Farewell, Yankee Stadium.

3D molecular structure (Jmol) of remdesivir (RDV). RDV is an antiviral compound with a broad spectrum of antiviral activities (e.g. SARS-CoV and MERS-CoV) and currently being used in clinical trials against the novel coronavirus SARS-CoV-2 to test its clinical efficiacy against COVID-19. Chemical formula C27H35N6O8P. Legend: carbon atom grey; hydrogen, white; nitrogen, blue; oxygen, red; phosphorous, yellow. IUPAC name (2S)-2-{(2R,3S,4R,5R)-[5-(4-aminopyrrolo[2,1-f][1,2,4]triazin-7-yl)-5-cyano-3,4-dihydroxy-tetrahydro-furan-2-ylmethoxy]phenoxy-(S)-phosphorylamino}propionic acid 2-ethyl-butyl ester. The molecule contains several aromatic rings with delocalized π bonding.

RDV is a prodrug which is metabolized to the nucleoside analog GS-441524 that targets viral RNA polymerase. An effective nucleoside analog must evade proofreading (by 3′-5′ exoribonuclease) to successfully interfere with CoV RNA synthesis for better clinical efficiacy.

She was pretty good too... sharpened her "pincers" before starting work..and wow! she was very quick...very meticulously double checked her work too ...never seen this bug crane out its neck :) [last photo]

I had nothing green, so I stole this sweatshirt from my daughter. It's REALLY green. She got it at a Sweet Sixteen, hence the initials that are not mine.

Yes, I have St. Patrick's Day story, thanks for asking. I am running really, really late for work so I grabbed this out of my files without editing or proofreading. I'm sure I'll be sorry about that later.

The last time I went to the city (New York City, of course) on St. Patrick's Day was in 1980, with a few of my closest high school friends. We were in the home stretch of our high school careers; June would bring graduation, separation and higher education. We decided to make the most of our final months as high school juvenile delinquents and wreak as much havoc as possible.

So on March 17, 1980, we found ourselves on a westbound train at 7:30 in the morning instead of on a bus on our way to school. There was no other place to be on St. Patrick's Day besides New York City.

I don't think we saw much of the parade. Mostly we walked around the streets acting like idiots until lunch time, when we parked ourselves inside the Steak & Brew, a restaurant that gave out free beer with meals. Those of us who were only 17 showed fake ID, which the waitress barely glanced at. We stayed for a couple of hours, drinking and laughing, until the waitress said if we weren't going to order more food, we should leave. It had been a couple of hours.

We decided to walk over to Central Park. Drunk, perhaps a bit stoned, and surrounded by a massive crowd of other drunks and perhaps stoned people, we made our way through the throngs of Irish-for-the-Day revelers. We sang Danny Boy and some other Irish songs that everyone but me - the lone non-Irish person - could sing. We worked the crowd, not caring what anyone thought of us. We introduced ourselves to strangers, shared cigarettes with a homeless man and drank green beer with a bunch of firemen. Kevin shook hands with anyone and everyone, using his signature greeting of "have a nice life!" Man, were such geeks. Such idiots. But we had so much fun.

We closed out the afternoon pretending to scale rocks in Central Park. When we tired of that, we stretched out on one huge boulder, the five of us spread out, staring up at the gathering clouds. And we talked. We talked for what felt like hours about hobbits and pinball machines, about Todd Rundgren and the Grateful Dead, about the Yankees and the Islanders, and all the other all the things that bound us together through four years of high school, things that seem insignificant now, but were so important to us then.

I was the only girl among the five of us. It never felt odd to me, though I know it looked odd to other people. Those four guys were the best friends anyone could ever ask for. I had the greatest times of my life as part of that group of geeky kids. We weren't the jocks, we weren't the burnouts, we weren't the honor students or drama crowd. We were just us, the kids with no single identity, the kids who appeared to be friends with everyone, but were really only friends with themselves.

We talked about life, too, laying on that rock in the park as the sun started to disappear and the day turned cold. We guessed what our futures would be like. We wondered how long our friendship would hold. We made plans, laughed at our own far-fetched dreams of fame and fortune and stayed on that rock until our fingers and ears went numb from the cold. It was as if we knew that we were experiencing one of our last great days together. We hung onto it for as long as we could, and then we made an impossible promise to each other. We promised that no matter where life took us, no matter how far we roamed, we would come back to that very rock on St. Patrick's Day in the year 2000. Twenty years. We'd share our stories, show off pictures of our families, give each other autographed books and albums since we were all destined to be famous authors or musicians. We spat on our palms and gave each other wet high fives to solidify our vow. And then we headed for home.

I haven't seen them in quite a few years. I think it was 1999 when an old high school friend had a bunch of us over to reminisce. Only three of the five of us showed up, and it just wasn't the same without the other two. It wasn't right. And we forgot about our promise - not one of us mentioned it.

St. Patrick's Day, 2000 came and went. I didn't go to the rock, but I swear, I did think of my four friends that day. I wondered if any of them remembered our promise to meet there. I wonder if they still think about hobbits and pinball machines, if they still think of all those parties at my house when they watch Islander games.

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!

Why buy from a company that can't spell? Or afford a proofreader? (or should that be Poofreader?)

I picked up a little point-and-shoot canon A85 on ebay so I could have a camera to carry around in my daily travels... since I've got a new job that has me running all over Manhattan, those travels are gonna be extensive and I might as well have some fun, eh?

So, here's my application for The Producer, since I did say I would upload it and all. God, I'm SO excited to get started.

You could say I'm... PUH-PUH-PUMMPED. Yeah, I've had quite a lot of soda today. YEY, WAHOOO, YIPPEE.

--

The wind gently caressed her pallid face. The soft breeze toying with her long blonde locks, teasing the curls as it touched them. Her eyes, glued shut from the rays of yellow light emitting from the sky above. Veiled was how they hid from the world, ignoring the sun. However, as her eyes remained closed, the brilliant sunlight would kiss them ever so softly. Keeping her entire body covered in a sweet blanket of warm, calm security. As the sun's energy entered her body, it filled her with a foreign hope. Hope she had never been exposed to previously in her short, innocent life.

--

Well, hope you guys who've read this enjoyed it. Special thanks to my friend Erin who proofread and make some nice little suggestions here and there. SHE RULEZ.

p.s - Fuckin' English exam tomorrow at 9:30 AM. FUKMAHLYFE.

Our kingdom for a CMS!

Experimentation was at the heart of this newspaper project. A chance for us to remind ourselves of the process of creating copy for a deadline, without the luxury of a CMS and theoretically movable deadline.

We had to meet the 2pm, Tuesday 25 January deadline with Newspaper Club in order to get these papers in the post in time for delivery on 1st February.

In the rush and as expected, some things were missed and exist here, all marked up for all to see, as a sobering memory of a legacy of print which digital, theoretically, can help us hide.

Thank you to Sarah Castleton for the mark-up.

And the The Grauniad for the solidarity.

Moved a message in Outlook while it was still open in Fireworks.

Proofread you sign!

Our kingdom for a CMS!

Experimentation was at the heart of this newspaper project. A chance for us to remind ourselves of the process of creating copy for a deadline, without the luxury of a CMS and theoretically movable deadline.

We had to meet the 2pm, Tuesday 25 January deadline with Newspaper Club in order to get these papers in the post in time for delivery on 1st February.

In the rush and as expected, some things were missed and exist here, all marked up for all to see, as a sobering memory of a legacy of print which digital, theoretically, can help us hide.

Thank you to Sarah Castleton for the mark-up.

And the The Grauniad for the solidarity.

www.ambushentertainment.com/projects.php?pid=6

I found this today outside the library where I spent the whole day proofreading.

Proofreading the dissertation... long nights! :)

Description: A cabinet card group portrait of the Burbeck family and two unidentified teachers from the Perkins Institution and Massachusetts School for the Blind. Mary Ellen Burbeck, a teacher at Perkins, is located in the front center of the portrait in between two other Perkins teachers. Mary Ellen is facing the viewer with a slight smile. She has light curly hair that is pulled pack. The teachers beside her are facing to the right, both wear glasses, and wear their hair styled in tight buns. The teacher on her left has one hand resting on Mary Ellen's shoulder. Behind them is George Burbeck, to the right, and his young daughter Ella on the left. George wears a dark suit and has a bushy mustache. Ella wears a dark dress, her long hair pinned back at the sides. Both are staring directly a the viewer. Handwritten note on verso, “August 5, 1897." Handwritten Note on verso (on post-it note), "Mary Ellen (534), George (531) and his daughter Ella (625)."

Creator: Bushnell, Grand Floor Gallery, 115 Washington St., Oakland, Cal., photographer.

Date: 1897 August 5

Format: Photographs

Genre: Cabinet photographs

Language/Script: Materials entirely in English.

Subjects:

Blind--Education--United States--History

Perkins Institution and Massachusetts School for the Blind

Music in education

Teachers of the blind

Women educators

Place of Origin: Oakland, Alameda, California

Historical Note: Samuel G. Howe, the first Director of Perkins, considered music as important as intellectual and physical education. By 1873, Perkins had established a department for special instruction in music. The music library was vast, much of it in braille music notation. In 1907, Edward E. Allen became the Perkins director, and soon thereafter reorganized the music department, with a focus on the practical educational benefits of music study. The program continued to train aspiring music teachers, piano tuners, and a few exceptional musicians with professional potential. However, for the majority of Perkins students, the study of music mainly brought the cognitive and social benefits of a well-rounded education.

Biographical Note: Mary Ellen Burbeck (1861-1954), a graduate of the New England Conservatory of Music, was a teacher in the music department at Perkins from 1893-1936. In 1912 it was noted that Burbeck was happy to translate music to braille by request for 6 cents a page, paper included. In 1933 she was placed in charge of the school's music library where she also helped proofread braille translations of music for the music library at Perkins.

Sources:

Allen, Edward E. Letter to John A. Jeldrum. 1912. Sent Correspondence vol. 130: May, 1911-May, 1913. AG53 Perkins Correspondence Collection. Perkins Archives, Watertown, MA. Internet Archive.

Gardiner, Edwin L. “The Department of Music.” Annual Report of the Trustees of the Perkins Institution and Massachusetts School for the Blind, 1932, p. 30. Internet Archive.

McGinnity, B.L., Seymour-Ford, J. and Andries, K.J. (2004) Music. Perkins History Museum, Perkins School for the Blind, Watertown, MA. Perkins.org.

“The Music Department.” The Lantern, 12 September 1933, p. 7. Internet Archive.

Collection: Staff Photographs and Educators of the Blind

Series: Staff Photographs and Educators of the Blind

Extent: 1 photographic print cabinet card mount.

Physical Collection: AG129 Photographs in the Archives Collection.

Location: Perkins Archives, Perkins School for the Blind, Watertown, MA

Notes: Title supplied by cataloger. Provenance: digital copy donated by Burbeck family member in 2021.

Terms of Access and Use: The Perkins Archives does not provide physical access to materials available in a digital format. This image is property of Perkins School for the Blind and use of this image requires written permission. For more information, please visit www.perkins.org/history/archives/about/image-licensing. No known copyright.

Digital Identifier: AG129-44-0079a

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The story of the email:

The favorite mst3k season moments lists came from the mst3kinfo.com website.

The email is this nightmare this girl sent to everybody at my community college. It's hard to see in the middle due to my scanner, so here is the story lifted from one of my blogs:

This was an email my ENTIRE community college got last year. I ran across it today while being bored:

We the Student Government and the Science Club and the Lidauary Club have joined together to sponsor a trip to Christerfer Newport to see S T O M P. we are encoraging everyone to sign up and go. We are going to have a stomping good time. The Trip will be on Friday April 11,2008 and we will be leaving the Suffolk Campus at 6:45 pm the coast will be 25.00 per person. we have sign up sheets all around the campus so sign up now seats are going fast.and keep a look out here on the black board for up coming trips and events. For more infomation you can contact Me...(rest edited out)

-----end of email-----

Seriously. That atrocity got sent to everybody on all three campuses.

I went to work the next day, and the lady I was working for at the time was an English teacher at the school, and she told me that one of the English teachers forwarded that girls' email to all the English teachers with this message:

The email below went out to all our students from a student from the SGA. I am very appalled and in awe of the caliber of writing in this email. We, the Literary Club, will send a letter of apology to our students. WE had absolutely no knowledge or relation to this email, and I have since spoken to [student activities lady] about the freedom of students have to send out letters of "mass destruction" of this nature. First, I thought it was an April Fool's joke, but then I realized it went out to all of our students, some of which have contacted me regarding the contents. I do not mean any harm toward this student or anyone else connected to this matter. I am just heartbroken and greatly disturbed...greatly.

------end of the mail-----

She also emailed the student, which was also included in the email to the English teachers:

[girl who wrote horrible email],

Please accept my sincere apologies for anything that I am about to write, but please prior to sending any emails to all the student body, please check very thoroughly all of your words. I do not want us to send the wrong message to students about our writing. I do thank you go graciously for what you are doing; pulling everyone together, but we want to be as excellent in what we do as how we do it. The Literary Club has several officers what would proofread anything you want to send out if you would like their help. Again, please do not take this personally. The only reason I am sending this email is to just one, commend your efforts to have us working together, and two, to suggest you proofread your emails before sending them to all of PDCCC students. Most importantly, if I have offended you I apologize, but I wanted to share this information with you. I will be glad to sit down with you and talk about this if you desire.

[new English teacher]

English Instructor

PDCCC Literary Club - Founder/Sponsor

How prepared are you and your resume for today’s job market? Get information: bit.ly/1vZMcEo

it says(I think):

SEE BEAUTIFUL

ROCK CITY

LOOKOUT MT.

Chattanooga, Tenn

although I can't see it, usually there's a "Atop" before Lookout Mt. and a "near" before Chattanooga, tn

My wife and I were driving North from Nashville to Louisville and we both loke country driving off the interstates. One good section of highway we'd never taken was U.S. Highway 31W north of Cave City, Ky into Louisville. In the past, we had driven 31W from Cave City to Bowling Green as there are some Rock City barns there.

Most drives between two big cities have one major highway, but Nashville to Louisville have 2: 31E and 31W. Both are very old routes. 31E goes by Lincoln's Birthplace as the Lincoln's lived on that route which became 31E. Dixie Highway, which was the major tourism route from Chicago to Miami in the dawn of auto travel in the 1920's in this area has become 31W.

Since we were driving North, if we were to spot a Rock City ad, we'd have to turn around to see it as they would only be useful for people going in the right direction. Most Rock City barns I know about before we get to it, based on other people's pictures online. There's also the most thorough collection in the Rock City Barns book by David Jenkins. However, if a barn appears in that book from about 12 years ago and it's doesn't appear in someone's online collection, that often means it's gone.

When I drive down a highway like this, I always have a tendancy to look behind me at every prime location of a barn we pass just to make sure we aren't missing anything. Occasionally, I say "That would make a good one" when I see a barn with a big side that faces oncoming traffic, as my wife humors me and nods. For the first time, I was right. I noticed the huge roof on the north side of the barn, which make for the perfect sign for southbound traffic.

This barn is in Hardin County, KY, but 31W through here serves as the border between Hardin and Larue counties. I-65 runs very close to 31W through here and can be seen not far away. This barn is about a mile south of the intersection with KY Highway 84

If you read all that and it didn't bore you, I invite you to my blog where I seemingly ramble nostop about such topics, albeit with better proofreading.

see-rock-city.blogspot.com/

Somebody made a boo boo. What have I told you a billion times in the last decade and a half? Proofread, people! If you can't do it, get your mom!

Before tattooing, the tattooist goes over the outline of the design on a purple ink pad thingy, and then transfers that ink onto my freshly-shaved leg which has been moistened with whatever the heck it is in the spray bottle. I proofread the tattoo while he's prepping the gun and ink, and notice that the "i" of "animal" is missing its body, and that there is also a missing "o". In this photo, the "o" has already been hand drawn in pen, but the "i" is still just a dot.

The font is penshurst, which I chose because of the spirally curliques on the h, n, m, v, and y. The original art was done by the_ogre (yay for boyfriends who are artists and tattoo geeks and able to put my ideas into pixels)

DMV offices are busy with appointments catching up with driver license and ID issuance, while DMV Headquarters employees are tackling the biggest mail backlog in agency history. These photos from Oct. 13, 2020, are just one stage in the process of receiving, opening and processing mailed-in transactions. Extra staff are working in multiple locations to maintain safe physical distance to tackle the backlogs in all our services. Title processing, for example, can take as long as a month in a busy summer because it involves submitting a secure ownership document, verifying ownership, verifying removal of a lender or lienholder in some cases, processing registrations as well, printing of a new secure ownership document, proofreading and mailing it from a secure facility. This fall, DMV estimates that the title backlog is about 10-12 weeks, but that is just a guess – we don’t know how many transactions and how complicated each one is until we open the envelope. We’re grateful for Oregonians’ patience as we catch up.

A pair of anti-abortion billboards popped up along I-5 in Woodland in both directions which read like a more poorly proofread Dr. Bronner's bottle if it catches your eye at 70mph and you double back and pull over to read it.

They were paid for by Dr. Richard D. Rasmussen, apparently a dermatologist with a practice in Grants Pass, Oregon, who suddenly became very spendy in support of the crackpot wave rising within the Republican Party suddenly in 2008 for some reason (Thanks, Obama!).

There are some weird leaps of ill-logic in this billboard, beginning with the contents of a dialog bubble from the mouth of a young Lizzie Borden, appropos of nothing. The chief point being made here is protesting abortions publicly funded through Medi-Cal, but there's a lot of muddying the message. If you're half as loopy as Rasmussen, you might believe he's okay with abortion if the embryo-daddy or fetus-daddy pays for it. The "Lizzie's AXE worked" blurb seems to suggest abortion is okay if a pregnant woman does a DIY hatchet job. The bilingual sign's messages in Español are the most unmoored missives of all; e.g., "Lentejuelas para malo o' [sic] para bien" means "sequins for bad or for good."

Text of billboard:

Foul play suspected in disappearance. sister, Tonya, thinks her...

brother has been killed and buried somewhere,,, The Del Norte "BRADY BURIAL GROUNDS"?

DA Katherine Micks , Del Norte County please DO NOT CONTACT DISTRICT ATTORNEY.

DA RESIG RESPONDS. Does NOT meet threshold to be considered criminal

LAW FIRM IN SAC GOES DOWNEY TUBES. FRAUD ON COURT? (Judge Gutierrez Solano)

LIZZIE BORDEN TOOK AN AXE GAVE HER FETUS 40 WHACKS WHEN SHE FOUND WHAT SHE HAD DONE, Gave the fetus 41.

ABORTION FREE in CALIFORNIA IF YOU HAVE MEDI-CAL. AND ARE California RESIDENT. Otherwise, Lizzie's AXE Worked.

Medi-Cal AND RESIDENT. EASY ABORTION.

CHOOSE LIFE GET AN ULTRASOUND FREE @ PCC's

DUDE WHO IMPREGNATED YOU? Pay Up U Slug.

California... Y BABOSA ERES TU...

HOLD the men in California who impregnate responsible.

THE CALIFORNIA Fact ACT DENIES WOMEN

REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS.

CALL SENATOR HARRIS & call N.O.W.

RICO accepts this as their CHOICE. Rico is a non-resident of California, a non-citizen of California and Rico dice Gracias Dios for los dos todos los Dias.

26 week fetus by ultrasound.

Paid for by Richard D. Rasmussen MD PhD. Non-citizen of California Lentejuelas Para Malo o' Para Bien

Up in the top right of the billboard is a scan of a letter on official letterhead from the office of Yolo County DA Jeff Reisig addressed to Rasmussen's vacation home address on Wollam Road in Brookings, Oregon.

Doesn't anyone proofread ads anymore? I'm sure using this sign isn't cheap.

Today's theme in We're Here! is something about books... sorry, I can't remember the exact theme. So, here I am in my FroKnowsPhoto I shoot RAW T-shirt and under my signed copy of Drop Dead Gorgeous by Wayne Simmons (that I helped proofread before publishing).

I had a wonderful day. I went to Bristol to take some photos of the "Gear and GARB-age Sale" (where Friends of Faire members have a sort of yard sale with all ren-faire related items. Garb, accessories, that sort of thing). While there, I talked to a shop owner about taking product photos for her. And, I handed out the Film Noir photos I had printed for the models (ya see, because the models are on cast at the faire- that's how I'm so lucky to know them and get included in their reindeer games). And I got hugged. A lot. By everyone. It was awesome.

I'm still in this ever-going flareup that has been irritating me for over a month. I've had a few days where it was even worse and I had trouble sitting upright for very long. After I got home from Bristol, my body went into some freak-out mode of pain that I was not expecting. It was all over and agonizing. My left wrist/hand is screaming. My lower back is shrieking in harmony. And my left foot wants to detach itself and run away. And I don't blame it. On top of the all-over pain along with the focused-area pain, my skin feels like it's on fire. I'm hot and clammy. And even though I ate dinner, I'm starving. It seriously feels like I didn't eat dinner at all.

Welcome to fibro hell.

But still... I wouldn't change anything about today. Except maybe more hugging.

I had some time to kill at the Sunport while waiting for the bus, so I got some tea at the Black Mesa Coffee Company and did some proofreading.

Year 2, Day 133. "As you transcribe, so shall you proofread"

I am proofreading the edits to my book on digital scholarship (using iannotatePDF on the ipad), and seeing the CC licence on the indent page brought a smile to my face. More of this!

Our kingdom for a CMS!

Experimentation was at the heart of this newspaper project. A chance for us to remind ourselves of the process of creating copy for a deadline, without the luxury of a CMS and theoretically movable deadline.

We had to meet the 2pm, Tuesday 25 January deadline with Newspaper Club in order to get these papers in the post in time for delivery on 1st February.

In the rush and as expected, some things were missed and exist here, all marked up for all to see, as a sobering memory of a legacy of print which digital, theoretically, can help us hide.

Thank you to Sarah Castleton for the mark-up.

And the The Grauniad for the solidarity.

DMV offices are busy with appointments catching up with driver license and ID issuance, while DMV Headquarters employees are tackling the biggest mail backlog in agency history. These photos from Oct. 13, 2020, are just one stage in the process of receiving, opening and processing mailed-in transactions. Extra staff are working in multiple locations to maintain safe physical distance to tackle the backlogs in all our services. Title processing, for example, can take as long as a month in a busy summer because it involves submitting a secure ownership document, verifying ownership, verifying removal of a lender or lienholder in some cases, processing registrations as well, printing of a new secure ownership document, proofreading and mailing it from a secure facility. This fall, DMV estimates that the title backlog is about 10-12 weeks, but that is just a guess – we don’t know how many transactions and how complicated each one is until we open the envelope. We’re grateful for Oregonians’ patience as we catch up.

Probably should have proofread the slogan before putting it on the wall. Stoners!

You are free to use this photo under its Creative Commons license. For the attribution, please link back to either one of my websites: DIY Genius or Unified Stream.

@davidjayharris: "Not sure how this made it through proofreading, peer review, and copyediting. Via t.co/sWaswaM2X4 #addedvalue" Thanks!

Lesson learned: Let someone with grammar skillz proofread the menu before you print several hundred copies.

Our kingdom for a CMS!

Experimentation was at the heart of this newspaper project. A chance for us to remind ourselves of the process of creating copy for a deadline, without the luxury of a CMS and theoretically movable deadline.

We had to meet the 2pm, Tuesday 25 January deadline with Newspaper Club in order to get these papers in the post in time for delivery on 1st February.

In the rush and as expected, some things were missed and exist here, all marked up for all to see, as a sobering memory of a legacy of print which digital, theoretically, can help us hide.

Thank you to Sarah Castleton for the mark-up.

And the The Grauniad for the solidarity.

Our kingdom for a CMS!

Experimentation was at the heart of this newspaper project. A chance for us to remind ourselves of the process of creating copy for a deadline, without the luxury of a CMS and theoretically movable deadline.

We had to meet the 2pm, Tuesday 25 January deadline with Newspaper Club in order to get these papers in the post in time for delivery on 1st February.

In the rush and as expected, some things were missed and exist here, all marked up for all to see, as a sobering memory of a legacy of print which digital, theoretically, can help us hide.

Thank you to Sarah Castleton for the mark-up.

And the The Grauniad for the solidarity.

"You don't need a proofreader, you need a full-on developmental editor!"

Carly is a harsh critic. But she's pretty good with the grammar thing, so we put up with her.

Maybe not proofreading signs. Children's hospital 12/2/07

Diane thought I had bought her the yellow and white DOTW panties many years ago. She has worn them many times, as has her cousin Laurie, but when I let Diane proofread all my stories now, she found out whose panties they were. Since she knows, she told me she would wear them starting tomorrow.

In this "Wash dried and folded," the black VF panties on the left were her Aunt Freda's, while the panties on the right are from Laurie's roommate, Brenda.

1′-Cyano-substituted adenine C-nucleoside ribose analog GS-441524 that targets viral RNA polymerase, and is a metabolite from remdesivir, currently in COVID-19 clinical trials. Jmol visualization, showing electrostatic potential surfaces. GAMESS 2016 PM6 energy minimum (no imaginary frequencies). R-PM6 heat of formation = -62.61 kcal/mol. Legend: carbon, grey; hydrogen, white; nitrogen, blue; oxygen, red. O-C-C=C torsion angle = -12.1 degrees.

An effective nucleoside analog must evade proofreading (by 3′-5′ exoribonuclease) to successfully interfere with CoV RNA synthesis for better clinical efficiacy. It is enzymatically converted into the triphosphorylated active form.

February 9, 2011

astormysky.com/ephemera/flog-down/

Was I duped by a fake permit or the BIR needs the proofreading skills of Peachy Paderna? Take a look at this transcription:

---

Always Ask for Receipt

This will ensure that taxes on your purchases will be remitted to the government. It will ultimate be used for development of the Philippines

The bureau of Internal Revenue authorities [blank space] with TIN [blank space] the use of this machine with MIN [blank space] under Permit No. [blank space] issued on [blank space]

Legal Duty of CRM & POS Users

Under RR No. 5-2005, you are required to report on or before 10th day of the following month, the gross sales recorded at the end of the prior month each and every CRM and POS. Under Section 255 of the NIRC, anymore who fails to do so shall be subject to imprisonment of 1 to 10 years, among others

For instruction on how to submit your report via SMS, type CRM HELP and send to 2699 for Globe & Smart Network subscribers, or call BIR website at www.bir.gov.ph and click eSales icon.

---

I love looking out for amusing typos on restaurant menus, but these guys were making it too easy.

The Chandi Kaliyan owed little to the Kama Sutra, but it was really, really good.