I stopped into the orthodontist yesterday for a test fitting of new Invisalign trays. I was alarmed to learn I’ve been doing this for almost three full years. I’m probably the poster boy for the extreme edge of what is possible with Invisalign. It’s been a long road, but my teeth have made major improvements. I have noticed that changes have slowed down in the last six months; I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it or not. Meanwhile, our orthodontist recently retired, sold his practice to a new guy, and this new guy is taking a different tack with my final series of trays. He actually re-scanned my teeth and moved a couple of the nubs on my teeth around to better hold the trays to push my front teeth out. The new trays fit my teeth better now than they ever have in the past. I’ve probably got another six months before there’s any chance of me being done, but I will say that I’ve gotten my money’s worth out of this process.

Finn is not a huge fan of chemistry this semester. Her grades have wobbled between “terrible” and “passing” with peaks and valleys along the way, and we’ve had to stay on top of her studies every night to keep things on track. I can understand her indifference; chemistry was never my strong suit (I had no patience, a raging case of ADD, and a terrible grasp of basic math) but the stuff she’s learning is light-years beyond what I was exposed to in my school. She completely surprised me last night, however, when I showed her the latest iteration of my silicone mold project.

So far I’ve done three metal pours after I got a silicone mold to set properly. The first pour was terrible because the metal didn’t find its way down into the cavities fast or smoothly enough before hardening, so I pulled it out after it cooled and re-melted it. The second time I used the sharp end of a file to guide it into the cavities but the fill was still inconsistent. So I pulled the metal and took the time with an X-acto knife to carve out all of the edges of the mold as much as possible to open things up. Then I did a third pour in three stages. This one was much more successful but still didn’t fill the entire mold. I’ve learned it’s very hard to control molten tin before it cools—I suppose I need to get it hotter than I have been—but even then I’m not thrilled with the results. The tin is very malleable when it’s cooled, making it easy to bend, and my design has a lot of small, easily bent details.

Showing this to Finn, she was fascinated with the cast and asked to make some molds and casts of her own. After I mentioned I was thinking about making some kind of small smelter to try aluminum instead of tin, she idly suggested I try using resin instead of metal.

Sometimes she surprises me with her wisdom.

Resin looks to be a much easier substance to work with, is tintable, and the heat resistant variants get closer to the melting point of tin: I found one at 300˚F, which I think would be good enough for something mounted on a metal box in direct sunlight. It’s worth a shot in any case, so I’m going to pivot to chemistry and leave my foundry days behind.

It’s been a week since I went snowboarding and I think this might be the first morning where my rib is feeling better. The larger  soreness and pain in the overall area disappeared on the second day, but I’m still feeling a sharp jab right under my armpit, at probably my fifth or sixth rib. Yesterday morning I woke up feeling really good laying in bed next to a snoring Hazel, and yawned deeply, which seemed to aggravate it almost immediately for the rest of the day. On top of all this, the girls and I went to the local pharmacy and got our Covid shots Friday afternoon. Without thinking about it, I got mine in my left arm, so Saturday I felt sore pretty much all over my body. I fought through it and worked outside for the entire day, because I spent all of last week trapped behind my desk. Despite all of this it felt really good to be outside and moving around, even though by about noon, all I wanted to do was go inside and take a nap. Today it’s sore but not actively reminding me it’s there, so I’ll take it extra easy and see if I don’t make it angry again.

I’ve been working on a new project: pouring a silicone mold of the 3-D printed dealer badges I made. I bought a simple mold kit off of Amazon last week, boxed in a square on a piece of scrap wood, mixed the silicone, and poured it on Tuesday evening. The silicone didn’t set overnight like it was supposed to, and a little reading revealed that that was probably due to the cold in the house, or perhaps my imperfect non-scientific mixing process. The silicone is supposed to be mixed according to weight, which is about as easy as measuring the volume of a sneeze. I put the mold on top of a radiator in the spare bedroom and let it heat up for a couple of days until the top was tacky to the touch—by then it should have been completely solid. To get it to firm up, I put it down on the workbench under a photography bulb and let it sit for a couple of hours. What wound up happening was that the silicone heated up to the point where it started melting the PVA plastic underneath and the whole mold basically fell apart into a sticky glob. So I’ve got to go back to the drawing board. I’m going to make an appointment to go back to the library and spend a good three hours printing a new version of the badge, then remix some silicone and try to set it up for success this time.

Sunday morning the cats and dog seemed to be really interested in the fireplace. Sipping my coffee in the den before the girls got up, I heard a flurry of commotion in the living room and investigated, but found nothing. Nox sat in front of the fireplace, staring into the glass as if he was watching a really good episode on TV. The sound was not a cat sound, and the dog was laying next to me on the couch, so I was perplexed—but saw nothing wrong.

Later in the day the same thing happened, but this time I was in the room. Both Hazel and Nox were glued to the fireplace window. I heard a fluttering and realized there was a bird trapped behind the woodpile. I got my welding gloves from the garage, we shooed the animals away, and I opened the glass to find a very frightened, very tired catbird waiting to be released. He fluttered over to the window and sat on the sill, so I opened the one next to him and gently shooed him outside, where he flew up to sit on a branch on the oak tree. By the time I made it around to the back door, he was gone.

A brief internet search for the symbolism of meeting a catbird brings up as much contradictory information as a horoscope. It could mean good news, it could mean deceit; it could be a harbinger of new relationships or it could warn against manipulation. I choose to believe he was sent as a reminder for me to stick my head into the flue and check on the chimney, which is clean and clear.

Finally, I’ll leave you with this retro commercial from back in the days of beepers. Someone on a video I was watching referenced it, and I LOL’ed just as hard watching it yesterday as I did back in 199-whatever.

I spent four hours on Friday talking to a nice older man about guns. Specifically, we talked about a handgun qualification license, which I’ve been interested in getting for a while now, but have been stalled by for different reasons. This course was very good. He’s been training for forty years, so the class went by smoothly and he filled it with a ton of good information. We went over safety first and he had me handle several different types of actual guns after we talked about correct grip and fit. It turns out my long fingers require a fat grip to get my finger in the right place on the trigger. We talked about the dominant eye in relation to sighting and I learned my left eye is dominant, which made him suggest I learn to shoot with my left hand, something I was not expecting. Then we went downstairs to the range and reviewed range safety before he had me set up and fire three different pistols: a SIG chambered in .22 for target and stance practice, a SIG 365 chambered in .380 and a Glock 48 chambered in 9mm.

The .22 was easy to shoot and got me set up for the larger calibers. He had me shoot 10 with both hands in a combat grip, then 5 with my right hand and 5 with my left. I got the best results with my left hand, followed closely by the dual grip.

The .380 also felt very good—it’s a smaller frame but fit snugly in my hands—and I found the amount of recoil to be just right. I got a good grouping with this one as well, better than the .22, actually. I was very impressed with this pistol, and it’s a modular design which allows for longer and wider handgrips in various sizes, and can be chambered in 9mm. It’s also smaller size, which is good for concealment, but at the end of the day I’m not interested in carrying it.

The last Glock I shot years ago, a 17, I didn’t like so much because the grips didn’t fit me well, but I also found out yesterday that I was holding the trigger wrong. My finger was hooked around the trigger past my first knuckle, when it should have been centered on the first pad. This 48 had a sleeve over the grip and fit much better, and I got a very clean grouping in the 9 ring. As much as the other guns were good, I think I would go with the Glock and get it set up for my hands better.

So next up is a fingerprint card, and then I send in my paperwork to the State Police to hopefully get approved.

• When someone pronounces et cetera (/et ˈsedərə/) as “eggseddera”. We are not making salad with mayonnaise; we are denoting the fact that there are more things in a list we aren’t mentioning. There’s a T in there, friends, let’s use it.
• The word trainings, e.g., “we’re having some trainings on proper use of company credit cards.” I know we talk about meetings, but trainings was never pluralized until I entered the NGO space. Now I’m going to go have a walkings with my dog.
  • Corollary: Learnings. E.g.: What learnings have you taken away from this event?
• When someone talks about being orientated towards something. Especially when it’s a BBC reporter. I suppose this is a British English thing, but it still hits me like nails on a chalkboard. You’re oriented towards something. You attend an orientation.

What bastardizations of the English language have you heard lately?

Our local library, the one within walking distance of the house, recently reopened after a two-year renovation. built sometime in the 1960’s, it was probably a marvel of its time: a one-story brick building with a full basement, sweeping skylights in the main shelving area, and a windowed front facade. As a preschooler, Finn spent hours in the kids section, which took up one whole side of the building; I’d take her down there and (when she was in her bookworm phase) she’d get lost in the shelves, simply reading quietly by herself, and it filled me with pride and love.

In recent years the building was showing its age; the original wood paneling had darkened over time, and the skylights had yellowed and dimmed. The downstairs areas were even darker and creepier. But the shelves were still stuffed with books; while there wasn’t a huge selection, they clearly had reached the limit of their space.

So I was happy to see they’d re-opened it, and stopped in on my way home from work the other night. The girls had checked it out a few days prior and sent me some pictures, which piqued my curiosity. The floorplan is  roughly the same, but it looks like they used architectural tricks to open up the space further, widening out the available space and making it feel airier inside. The surfaces are all modern and clean, and the furniture is all new and shiny. And they’ve added several enclosed glass spaces for things like podcasting and meetings, which is a nice idea.

What didn’t come back, at least not yet, are the books. The shelves are shorter, there are fewer of them, and they’re not full—not by a long shot. The areas I used to frequent, the military history, detective fiction, CD/DVD areas, and graphic novels, are threadbare. I was, frankly, kind of surprised. Meanwhile, their online e-book selection remains limited, with few titles I’m interested in and fewer copies to actually check out.

Howard, our adjoining county, recently put up a new library on the other side of Ellicott City. It’s at least three stories, covered in glass, the size of a small office park. The parking lot is huge. It joins another one in Colombia of similar size. Interesting how a county with a population less than half that of ours can prioritize and afford amenities like this.

This is some positively amazing reporting from an organization called Forensic Architecture: In 2020, a 60-year old woman named June Knightly was shot with five other female traffic safety volunteers by a right-wing extremist. They were preparing to protect a peaceful protest march in Portland, which was happening blocks away, when the man approached them and began a confrontation. The events leading up to the shooting, her death, and the terrible response by the Portland police and local news media are all recreated in a harrowing but exceptionally well-produced video, with interviews from most of the people who were there.

It’s important to note that all of the local media channels characterized the murder as “a confrontation between armed protestors and an armed homeowner,” all of which is not true: All of the women were unarmed and trying to de-escalate the situation; the shooter instigated the attack, was known to the FBI as an extremist dating back to 2006, and was renting an apartment down the street. He was shot by an armed bystander who arrived moments later and is now serving life in prison. He’s actually responsible for two murders that day: a second volunteer, who was paralyzed in the attack, requested to be taken off a ventilator and died in 2024.

Propaganda kills.