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 Post subject: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Thu Jul 17, 2014 10:27 pm 
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"IMNSHO, someone needs to know what they're talking about before they start making baseless accusations." - LILJOL

Here LILJOL is responding to my speculation that HENRY@Heroes may have benefited from repeat games in posting back-to-back 15's on Monday Countdowns. I've received 15 question repeats on Monday afternoons twice in the past 2-4 months, but the subject of my speculation wasn't HENRY, rather TIEFLY. HENRY came up only as a foil (on BIGDOG's Multiple Personality thread), but as HENRY doesn't show up on this bulletin board, my inferred slighting of him drew a good deal of comment from his would-be champions. So, OK, let's focus on HENRY. C'mon in. Can everyone fit? Welcome to my laboratory, and please ignore that whiff of cheese. I've been trying to locate the source of that odor for years.

Monday July 14, the Heroes crew, including HENRY, hurled a team perfecto against the 2:00 PM PDT Countdown. YYUUUU, HUUGE, HENRY, MOUSER, and ARKIE each collected a perfect 15. The handle YYUUUU is otherwise unknown to me, but there's no denying he chooses his friends wisely. MOUSER in particular I keep a fretful eye on, insisting to know his whereabouts at all times. Question 10 of this CD went thusly:

"On the show Ugly Betty, what magazine was founded and edited by Claire Meade?"

Such is my ignorance of Ugly Betty that I thought this show was still in production. Turns out it was cancelled in 2010, after a 3.5 year run. Claire Meade was a guest role in the original 2006/7 season, and a regular thereafter. In the 2007/8 season, Ugly Betty drew a 1.8/5 Nielsen share, so that 1 of every 60 Americans was paying attention, but 62% of those viewers fell outside the coveted 18-49 age range. In overall viewer popularity, it was ranked in a tie at 82.

When Question 10 fell out, the 5 of us playing at Mad Jack's could only confirm that the heroine was a very young woman. Now let's assume (having no better information at hand), that the 5 players at Heroes all have average TV viewing habits, except in this particular: no two of them watch the same shows. On a statistical average, there is a 1 in 12 chance that one of them had been watching Ugly Betty 6 years earlier. Would that player remember the name of the magazine on Ugly Betty?

Oops, my regrets. There were 2 magazines. It wasn't the magazine Mode, around which the show was based: rather it was Claire Meade's personal project the content crew were requesting. No surprise then, when the drop-down box appeared for Question 10, Mode Magazine was one of the distracters. Mode was also the only among five possible titles, all purporting to appeal to the mature woman, which didn't contain a vulgar and explicit reference to menopause.

Since we at Mad Jack's knew only that the title character was very young, the drop-down box was positively breathtaking. JOHNL was the first to recover, saying, "I'm on #3, but I don't know..." The rest of us were like deer trapped in headlights. It turns out JOHNL was correct: the answer to Question 10 was #3 Hot Flash Magazine, a name which the more sensitive among us might regard with alarm, although 1 or 2 of the other options were worse. Owing to our surprise, none of us were in for 1,000 anyway. JOHNL collected 900 + change, but the rest of us were turned inside out. Heroes, on the other hand, was able to collect 5 of 5 perfect scores on Question 10, and dropped nary a point on the 14 questions surrounding.

Here are some possibilities: one of Heroes' players knew the answer from watching Ugly Betty, and was able to recall it after all these years; or one of the players hollered, "Take #3 and hang on!" referencing a default guessing method; or the question, with its memorable answer, was a repeat; or yet again, the question didn't appear on Heroes' screen at all, because the server was looping.

So why raise questions I can't possibly answer? Sometimes just asking a question illuminates other, seemingly unrelated issues. For example, while it's very difficult to predict what percentage of players shall answer any question correctly, TV questions are an occasional exception: Question 10 should be answered on first viewing 28% of the time. Or perhaps a question of ethics: when HENRY next ran the 2:30 PM Countdown, he left his teammates behind: all of them dropped one question (but still collected 14.1's). And the Heroes crew continued to play that afternoon, but without accumulating scores likely to induce nosebleed. I'll freely confess, that if the players at Heroes requested a hard reboot of their server after seeing two repeat games, such request would be a spectacular act of sportsmanship - more impressive than back-to-back perfecto's. But they would be under no obligation to make the request. When any of us go out to play Countdown in midafternoon, we can't be sure what we're getting into: particularly in a group setting, where the prevailing opinion may be, "Let's take the money and run." So it's no disgrace to collect 1,000's on repeat content, and any accusation against HENRY, for collecting, if you'll forgive me such language, badges, would be exceptionally obtuse. I might reserve the right to accuse HENRY of dropping points on questions he's seen before, but I'm unlikely to exercise this option. Fact is, if I had a brick for every time I've dropped points on a question I've seen before, why! I could build LILJOL the two-story outhouse of his dreams.

The Defenders of Henry Prayer Meeting and Gun Club are free to use this space, just not now. Shoo! All of you!


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Thu Jul 17, 2014 11:07 pm 
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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Sun Jul 20, 2014 11:59 pm 
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Down here in Mouse Hollow, we're not technophiles. Technodunces, maybe. Our friend REVE was hard-pressed to explain the following problem in language which Mice can understand.

We were playing the 3PM PDT Countdown last Monday at Mad Jack's in Vadnais Heights. The Buzztime server, which had been running smoothly, displayed Question 15 and then froze. I hit the correct answer on my playmaker, which failed to register the keystroke; I kept hitting it and, 2-3 seconds later, it registered 1,000, while the TV in front of me lurched through three clues, and the on-screen countdown scrollbar stopped here and stopped there. Unfortunately for Mad Jack's, the Countdown quiz ended before the 15th Question registered: we none of received credit for our scores on that question. (A quick glance at REVE's countdown statistics on the Buzztime website would confirm that he's been playing many 14 question Countdowns.)

"Part of the problem," REVE explained, "is that Microsoft operating systems in general, and this one is what? Windows 7? I want to say Windows 7 in particular - these are not real-time operating systems. If NASA wants a photograph now, they don't want it 3 seconds from now; an arbitrageur wants to place a stock order now, not at some unspecified time in the future. But MS operating systems aren't mass-marketed with this kind of problem in mind. So here we are, watching a download from our local server, when the motherboard in Carlsbad or St Louis or wherever, is attempting to upload a bunch of stuff; and our server, here in Mad Jack's, is a little overwhelmed and so decides, "I'm gonna stop shitting so I can eat this new stuff."

"This has been going on now for a couple months," RUGCAT interjected. "I'd bet it has something to do with that new BEOND system. I'd bet Buzztime is uploading stuff to our server that we can't even use."

The level of frustration at Mad Jack's was fairly muted. They'd hat a site technician visit recently, and received 10 new cradles and, with them, 9 new playmakers, 8 of which were functional. These numbers are not fictitious.

On the other side of St Paul, in Inver Grove Heights, the managers at B-52 were thoroughly enraged. Here the problem wasn't screen lockup during a quiz. Rather, the National Leaderboards weren't appearing at the end of Countdown. Instead, a blank screen for 8-10 seconds. The content would frequently loop. (Absurdly, GONE D played a Countdown with 5 original questions, followed by 10 questions he'd seen a week earlier in exact sequence.) And player scores would chronically fail to upload. Hard reboots wouldn't work. Every wire in and out of Buzztime's server was pulled and replaced. I was sending nastygrams to Buzztime on a near-daily basis. When the managers would see me walk into the bar they'd disappear into the kitchen. One of them had been told by Buzztime, " The problem is on your end." When he requested an in-site technician, he was told, "We don't really do that." When, for a third time, I needed to notify Buzztime that our scores had failed to upload, I threw up my hands and walked away. Sure enough, B-52 registered no activity from Wednesday July 9 until Tuesday July 15, whereupon scores from the 13th appeared. So I went back to B-52 on July 16, and saw a National Leaderboard for a Countdown quiz for the first time at B-52 that month.

"What wand did you wave over the system?" I asked. Oddly enough, considering that the problem was at B-52's end, B-52 hadn't done anything. Somewhere along the way, JOHNL sent me a dour message that his solo Glory Daze, played at BWW-Oakdale hadn't registered. The best score in MN on that quiz by 1,500 points, JOHNL's score showed up a day later.

I next made a courtesy call on Ray J's, a site which triangulates BWW-Oakdale with Wild Bill's, each a mile from each other. Ray J's is a huge place, where you could hit a screaming tee shot and still fall 20 yards short of the bartender. The custodian, a cadaverous giant produced through the genius of outsourcing, finding that the Buzztime server in his linen closet disturbed the feng shui, buried the Buzztime server in that same hidden cavern where he tosses the skulls of adolescent boys. JOHNL has sent numerous Facebook messages. Carlsbad replies to JOHNL that the manager at Ray J's, a cheerful and competent person born just after I last trimmed my fingernails, insists that the system is working perfectly.

So I went back to REVE, to ask whether any or all of these problems could be inter-related. "I'm in no position to judge that," he replied, "but because the individual servers aren't perfectly synchronous, it's possible that a single disruption could manifest itself in different ways, as measles here, chicken pox there, and shingles later. It's hard to think of Buzztime's servers having individual personalities, but perhaps, if their uploads aren't properly managed, they do."

Mice can't help but be reminded of TIEFLY. In claiming to have no personality, he may have set the bar too high.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Mon Jul 21, 2014 10:58 am 
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Was Sport Trivia running on Channel B? The jerking you described below happens when the Player list scrolls at the end of each round of a game, by round 3 questions are out-of-seq and effect is more noticable on Q15. This use to happen in the early days of Texas Hold'em when cards were dealt out and schuffled. Buzztime finally fix the Texas Hold'Em issue but it started last November during Sport Trivia. The Buzzies don't seem to care that it has returned.

MICE wrote:
Down here in Mouse Hollow, we're not technophiles. Technodunces, maybe. Our friend REVE was hard-pressed to explain the following problem in language which Mice can understand.

We were playing the 3PM PDT Countdown last Monday at Mad Jack's in Vadnais Heights. The Buzztime server, which had been running smoothly, displayed Question 15 and then froze. I hit the correct answer on my playmaker, which failed to register the keystroke; I kept hitting it and, 2-3 seconds later, it registered 1,000, while the TV in front of me lurched through three clues, and the on-screen countdown scrollbar stopped here and stopped there. Unfortunately for Mad Jack's, the Countdown quiz ended before the 15th Question registered: we none of received credit for our scores on that question. (A quick glance at REVE's countdown statistics on the Buzztime website would confirm that he's been playing many 14 question Countdowns.)

"Part of the problem," REVE explained, "is that Microsoft operating systems in general, and this one is what? Windows 7? I want to say Windows 7 in particular - these are not real-time operating systems. If NASA wants a photograph now, they don't want it 3 seconds from now; an arbitrageur wants to place a stock order now, not at some unspecified time in the future. But MS operating systems aren't mass-marketed with this kind of problem in mind. So here we are, watching a download from our local server, when the motherboard in Carlsbad or St Louis or wherever, is attempting to upload a bunch of stuff; and our server, here in Mad Jack's, is a little overwhelmed and so decides, "I'm gonna stop shitting so I can eat this new stuff."

"This has been going on now for a couple months," RUGCAT interjected. "I'd bet it has something to do with that new BEOND system. I'd bet Buzztime is uploading stuff to our server that we can't even use."

The level of frustration at Mad Jack's was fairly muted. They'd hat a site technician visit recently, and received 10 new cradles and, with them, 9 new playmakers, 8 of which were functional. These numbers are not fictitious.

On the other side of St Paul, in Inver Grove Heights, the managers at B-52 were thoroughly enraged. Here the problem wasn't screen lockup during a quiz. Rather, the National Leaderboards weren't appearing at the end of Countdown. Instead, a blank screen for 8-10 seconds. The content would frequently loop. (Absurdly, GONE D played a Countdown with 5 original questions, followed by 10 questions he'd seen a week earlier in exact sequence.) And player scores would chronically fail to upload. Hard reboots wouldn't work. Every wire in and out of Buzztime's server was pulled and replaced. I was sending nastygrams to Buzztime on a near-daily basis. When the managers would see me walk into the bar they'd disappear into the kitchen. One of them had been told by Buzztime, " The problem is on your end." When he requested an in-site technician, he was told, "We don't really do that." When, for a third time, I needed to notify Buzztime that our scores had failed to upload, I threw up my hands and walked away. Sure enough, B-52 registered no activity from Wednesday July 9 until Tuesday July 15, whereupon scores from the 13th appeared. So I went back to B-52 on July 16, and saw a National Leaderboard for a Countdown quiz for the first time at B-52 that month.

"What wand did you wave over the system?" I asked. Oddly enough, considering that the problem was at B-52's end, B-52 hadn't done anything. Somewhere along the way, JOHNL sent me a dour message that his solo Glory Daze, played at BWW-Oakdale hadn't registered. The best score in MN on that quiz by 1,500 points, JOHNL's score showed up a day later.

I next made a courtesy call on Ray J's, a site which triangulates BWW-Oakdale with Wild Bill's, each a mile from each other. Ray J's is a huge place, where you could hit a screaming tee shot and still fall 20 yards short of the bartender. The custodian, a cadaverous giant produced through the genius of outsourcing, finding that the Buzztime server in his linen closet disturbed the feng shui, buried the Buzztime server in that same hidden cavern where he tosses the skulls of adolescent boys. JOHNL has sent numerous Facebook messages. Carlsbad replies to JOHNL that the manager at Ray J's, a cheerful and competent person born just after I last trimmed my fingernails, insists that the system is working perfectly.

So I went back to REVE, to ask whether any or all of these problems could be inter-related. "I'm in no position to judge that," he replied, "but because the individual servers aren't perfectly synchronous, it's possible that a single disruption could manifest itself in different ways, as measles here, chicken pox there, and shingles later. It's hard to think of Buzztime's servers having individual personalities, but perhaps, if their uploads aren't properly managed, they do."

Mice can't help but be reminded of TIEFLY. In claiming to have no personality, he may have set the bar too high.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Tue Jul 22, 2014 12:18 pm 
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A few days ago we were dining in the Hall of Mirrors - such are the deprivations of Mouse Hollow that some rooms serve a dual purpose - when I was taken to task for dropping the phrase, "Answered successfully." It seems fairly innocuous to me, I shrugged. The room fell silent and all 17 of them stared at me in horror and disbelief. It was then explained to me, with the patience one might use in addressing a backward child, that the question of what constitutes a Successful Answer was so fiendishly difficult that only a lunatic..."In a hazmat suit" - "Equipped with lead tongs" - etc., would dare to touch it. So I threw down the gauntlet (asbestos). And after cigars on the garden terrace, we reconvened. Everyone brought their slide rules and pocket calculators; there was plenty of scratch paper and an endless supply of #2 Ticonderoga's, well sharpened. We sat down to quantify the Successful Answer.

Within an hour, one of us announced a positive result: "A successful answer is a 292." His results were cross-checked, and it was discovered that he had made a crucial error and instead of calculating the Successful Answer he'd actually calculated the Least Likely Bowling Score. To obtain it, the bowler must hurl 11 successive strikes and then, on his 12th and final approach - knees trembling, heart pounding, teeth chattering, palms dripping - flare the ball toward the right hand gutter, thwacking the 10 pin and ticking the 6 pin, so that the 6 flies cleanly between the 8 & 9 pins. Within the realm of physics, this would be only slightly more difficult than stuffing Orson Welles into an empty Paul Masson bottle and replacing the cork. (Yeah, don't pretend you never wanted to do that.) It should be noted that the faintly ridiculous score of 292 is only obtained by right-handed bowlers. Southpaws are too crafty.

As midnight approached, one of us declared that he had arithmetical proof that Soccer is the Beautiful Game, Horse Racing is the Sport of Kings, Boxing is the Sweet Science, and Wheaties the Breakfast of Champions. He was ignored. Nobody cares for a show-off.

While the butler patiently replenished our stemware with brandy or claret, someone finally threw up his hands, threw down his pencil, and declared, "It's hopeless. Absent any set parameters, you'd need a general solution to polynomial equations of the fifth degree." The guy next to him asked whether he'd tried to transfer his data into a Galois group. "Screw Galois! His groups are nothing but Abelian functions on steroids." Galois! Abel! Galois!! Abel!!! You can see where this was headed. One black eye and a jammed knuckle later - and the disputants successfully removed - the remainder of us opted for a more heuristic approach.

"Let's say you're 9 questions in and on Question 10, you're asked about something you've never heard of. Through some combination of intuition and luck, and with very little hesitation, you pull down the answer for 800 points. Granted you weren't perfect, but going into the final round you could muff one question entirely and still collect a 14" - "14's are good" - "Very good!" - "OK, I've got a negative result, but it's generalized for an entire quiz: 9,998. Here you're just that close to the five figure Mendoza line, but you still could have played better and not gotten there" - "Oh, brother! That's depressing as hell" - "Keep in mind, your test audience collects 1,000 points on 4 of every 5 questions it sees" - "So what's worse, a 12,999 or a 13,999?" - "The 12 for sure" - "Yeah, is anybody at all averaging 13.9?" - "The 12,999 may actually be worse than an 11,999. With the lower score, you know you played your way off the national leaderboard, and to count your mistakes is an effective distraction from, you know, self-mutilation" - "That's totally BS, but I like it."

"Guys, we may be taking the wrong approach altogether. What are the four cardinal virtues?" - "Umm" - "There's, umm, Knowledge?" - "And Intuition!" - "Flexibility, as opposed to Stubbornness" - "How about Alertness? You know, reading the entire drop-down box to make sure that every option has fully registered" - "So if I get your point, regardless your level of skill, the practice of these four virtues should enhance your game?" - "If that's true, then a Successful Answer can't be quantified" - "But over time, the consistent practice of these virtues should provide statistical evidence that you're becoming a better player."

We looked at each other and sighed. Conversation became more general. Would Jose Abreu challenge Mark McGuire's rookie home run record? Would Claire Meade be able to keep the lid on her late husband's tumultuous publishing empire? We stepped outside to test the air. An incipient dawn was beginning to brighten the eastern horizon, and the heavens, a deep blue bowl, were cloudless. Someone suggested an impromptu fox hunt. Someone else produced a cell phone, to notify the stables of our immanent arrival.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Tue Jul 22, 2014 4:02 pm 
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'Mcguire' holds no such record. :-0

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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Wed Jul 23, 2014 2:51 pm 
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LEWSER arrives with a sackful of snakes and invites everyone to peer inside.

I don't believe McGuire was juicing his rookie season. I don't believe he's expressed sufficient remorse for his misdeeds. That he's still very much alive makes him eligible to enter a state of grace. But such is the moral perspicuity of overcommitted pro athletes that I also don't think I'm being very persuasive.

Let me mull this one over, LEWSER. By the way, nice sack.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Wed Jul 23, 2014 4:27 pm 
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MICE wrote:
LEWSER arrives with a sackful of snakes and invites everyone to peer inside.

I don't believe McGuire was juicing his rookie season. I don't believe he's expressed sufficient remorse for his misdeeds. That he's still very much alive makes him eligible to enter a state of grace. But such is the moral perspicuity of overcommitted pro athletes that I also don't think I'm being very persuasive.

Let me mull this one over, LEWSER. By the way, nice sack.


He's referring to your misspelling of McGwire.
And the fewer mentions of Lewser's sack, the better.
I feel fairly confident that we're all in agreement about that...


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Fri Jul 25, 2014 3:26 pm 
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"...And in conclusion I want to thank all of you for your attendance. It's summer, all of us would have preferred to be outdoors, instead of sitting in this stuffy classroom, studying Existentialism. Enjoy the rest of your summer. Oh, and if you're still on campus Monday, final grades will be posted on my office door."

This afterthought was largely drowned out by the shuffling of papers and hoisting of knapsacks, and a mass exit from the classroom far more rapid than on any previous class day. My students were suddenly re-energized. I on the other hand gave way immediately to a deep relaxation: I had finessed my way to the end of the syllabus, and having no place special to be until early September, could savor the serenity. Then I looked up and found Philomena standing in front of me. We were alone.

"Professor Ignatz, I have a younger brother - several actually - but this one has the nasty habit of going through my personal stuff and now he's telling me that he's an Existentialist."

"Does he play Buzztime Trivia?" - "Why yes, of course." - "How does this kid brother of yours feel about Badges?" - "Oh, he loves Badges!" - "Then he's not an Existentialist. How old is he, maybe 12?" - "Why yes! How did you know?" - "He'll grow out of it. He's on the cusp of adolescence, Philomena, and next year his definition of what's cool is going to change radically. Right now he's merely experiencing Strangeness: his female classmates are developing figures, he's attempting to tap into his big sister's brain, he's a boy, slower to develop sexually, so he picks up big words and compensates for his subliminal inferiority by acquiring Badges. In another year, he'll be playing countdown with your parents or grandparents and quite purposefully fail to collect 1,000 points on any question, because he needs to divorce himself from who he was. Unless he's going through your purse..." - "No, that would be my Mom." - "Well then, if he turns 13 and tries to brag about his Badges to his Facebook friends, he's going to have a tough time earning back his street cred."

"Philo," I continued, guessing at her pet name, "Existentialism isn't a key you can stick in a lock to open it. It's a platform, in modern parlance the, um, base code, it, it, um, it's a description of the tools you need, in this modern world, to proceed with complete clarity in thought and action. Existentialism is what precedes whatever your kid brother deems to be rational thought. It's a very civilized metaphysic, while ironically let's say, the Lost Boys of Sudan are better existentialists than your brother is now, or maybe ever will be."

"Thanks, Professor Ignatz. That's very reassuring! And I thought your class was really wonderful." Here Philomena flashed perfect teeth through a flawless smile, and leisurely unspooled her hourglass figure in the direction of the classroom door, smiling at me again as she departed.

Now it was my turn to move rapidly: Dr Jacob Ignatz, a rumpled 35 year old who came back home for a summer gig at Mouse Hollow CC, teaching Humanities to supplement his (untenured) income as Assistant Professor at God Knows Where State University, had for the sixth time in his brief career signed an Ethical Practices Addendum that he would never, never, under any circumstances fuck one of his students. But if Philomena had hit on me, I simply wouldn't have been able to defend myself, and I suddenly needed to create some serious space. I hopped into a 10 year old Corolla which, by luck, happened to be the right Corolla. I stuck my key in the ignition and the engine started. I may or may not have lit a cigarette, and by way of distraction contemplated the bizarre fascination that French exponents hold for our American audience. Valery, Bergson, Sartre, Camus, maybe even Queneau - when the entire field was basically defined by Husserl and his evil hunchback, Heidegger. I have never confessed to any class that Sartre's nausea was a stomach full of caffeine and a mild case of nicotine poisoning.

And now I'm pulling up to Big Itchy's Saloon. What is it, maybe 3:30 PM on the 25th? The local leaderboard is no doubt stuffed with 14's; and given that I can't tell Scarlett Johansson from Kate Beckinsale, or Scarlett from Philomena, here at least there's a cold beer. If I'm lucky, the guy sitting next to me knows by heart the CV of Jude Law, Shania Twain, and the hyphenated name of the band with the 2nd biggest selling album of all time.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Mon Jul 28, 2014 9:23 am 
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For reasons that are none of my damn business, maybe you'd like to shrink your footprint. You might try this: create a new Players Plus account. Select a very simple handle: if your name is Joe, use Steve, if your name is Steve use Tom, if your name is Mary use Joe (feminine handles are subject to greater scrutiny). Do not create an avatar and, most importantly, don't register a home site. You'll show up on Final Leaderboard screens, you may appear on the Premium Games page, and you'll have your own Player page (which only you shall ever see - nobody, no matter how bored, ever looks up the gameplay history of a guy named Steve). You'll also have a national ranking for your favorite games, but won't appear on the Top Players page (specifically formatted to include a home site); and if you confine yourself to Lunchtime and Countdown, you can play all afternoon and not even the NSA would be able to find you.

So our fellow competitor BEE died, and next thing you know he's standing at the Pearly Gates. Instead of the cancer-ravaged carcass he had just died in, he was reclothed in the 19 year old body he possessed on what, had he remembered it (which he didn't), was the happiest day of his life. This was in 1967. He was an able bodied high school graduate registered neither with Social Security nor with Selective Service. He was managing the Avalon Ballroom in San Francisco. And he was talking with St Peter.
"Says here, BEE, that you didn't want to let the cancer get you, so you stopped eating for the last three weeks and basically starved yourself to death."
"That is the dismal truth," BEE replied.
"Could be construed as a suicide," the Saint insinuated. "Says here you screwed up your marriage to a wonderful woman; says you made fabulous money in undertakings of dubious nature."
"I never cheated anyone," BEE insisted.
"Says you went one-on-one against a raccoon whose habitat you were tearing up for a suburban development, and the raccoon kicked your butt."
"The raccoon had justice on his side."
"Says you took the last two playmakers out of a cradle, and when another player arrived before the second question, you didn't give one of them up."
"Oops. That's on me. I only wish he'd asked."
"You're a fool, BEE. The next player in was a she: and she was far, far above your usual standards. You ever know Sally Rand?"
"Not well, Sir."
"She says she met you in one of the houses she ran in Minneapolis, and that your profane discourse was the most inventive she ever encountered. Coming from a whorehouse madam, that's high praise."
"I can honestly confess I've never been to such a place for conversation."
"If you want to renew your acquaintance with her, she runs a house down to the left as you enter. It's right between a Buzztime bar and the Central Library."
"Oh, and one last thing, BEE: what do you most regret?"
"That I never had a chance to meet my fellow competitors, LEWSER and SPOTES."

So BEE entered Heaven and speculated whether he'd meet any other Lutherans, but as he happened to be thinking aloud, several passers-by heard the word, "Lutheran," and fell down laughing.
An hour later he was relaxing in Sally's Emporium of Trapeze Artistry and Massage, next to a young lady of brief acquaintance, and he couldn't help but say to her, "This is a lot different from what I was expecting. More fundamentally, I wasn't expecting to be here at all."
"Why not?" the Young Lady asked, propping herself on an elbow to study this strange young man. "Did you murder somebody? Did you embezzle funds from a pension or an orphanage? Did you persecute others for looking or sounding or acting differently from you? Any of those things could have been a disqualifier."
"Could have been?"
"Maybe, maybe not," she replied. "The only thing we know for sure about each other is that none of us ever took Androstenedione!"

SPOTES's diminution of LEWSER, reducing him from a menacing Theological Absolutist to mere Proofreader, is sadly representative of these Fallen Times.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Fri Aug 08, 2014 7:19 am 
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The dog days of summer have come to Mouse Hollow, and the old hands at this sort of thing have slung their hammocks in the birch grove above the old swimming hole, where Uncle Ezekiel has pride of place, right in the middle. Zeke isn't maybe the wisest among us, but he's certainly the fattest. Since birch trees are root-propagated, we figure that placing him in the middle is likely to draw the whole of us closer together, while protecting the grove from centrifugal forces.

So there we were, enjoying the dappled shade, scratching our bellies and swatting at butterflies, when someone brought up the subject of Confirmation Bias. Of course, all you have to do is mention Confirmation Bias and the butterflies swarm. Monarchs, Yellow Tigers, Commas and Question Marks; Mourning Cloaks, which are actually birch feeders; then those little grey jobs, with the eyes, oh thank you, Crescentspots, and the Skippers and Hairstreaks and a couple that came up from Iowa to enjoy the cool breeze, the Cloudywings. Usually JR would be reading us box scores from the sports section but he never stood a chance.

"Miguel Cabrera went 0-fer, with two K's, and Detroit lost to KC," JR declaimed, but obviously that couldn't be right, and we told him so. He tried to close the sports section on a Cabbage White, but the bitty thing was too quick for him.

"A confirmation bias? Isn't that some warped 2 X 4 you'd use to flog Players who don't like Pop Culture questions?"

"Nah, just a bunch of opinions you can't be talked out of, 'cause the evidence can be spun to prove your point."

"That's the most disgusting thing I ever saw," Uncle Zeke declared. Of course we all looked. A Red-Spotted Purple was standing on his abdomen, relaxing its wings and drawing nectar from Uncle's sweaty navel.

"There is one recent case of Confirmation Bias that needs to be resolved," said the Beloved Leader, who is nervous and skinny and is always perched off to the side. "You know how when we engage in behavioral science, we all get really hyper when we're handled by male scientists? Well, those guys thought they were drawing accurate results, because, after all, they're scientists."

Of course the Beloved Leader was right. The Beloved Leader was right because he was the Beloved Leader and the Beloved Leader, while not always right, makes the fewest bad pre-calls, but enough of us had enough laboratory experience to know that he was right. Because we'd also been handled by female scientists, and man, could you feel the difference!

"Women scientists treat you like a person!"

"Guys are clumsy! And they squeeze too hard! And they smell like they want to cook you!"

"And that's exactly what I'm talking about," continued the Beloved Leader. "You've been messing with science with your bias regarding male researchers. And now all the results in all the experiments we've participated in, or many of them, have to be re-examined, and a bunch thrown out, because you guys - nothing personal - are a bunch of Reverse Sexists."

"God damn and blast it!" muttered Uncle Zeke. "That thing's giving me the Evil Eye." Sure enough, there was a Danaus Plexippus hovering just above Uncle's nose. Whether it was making faces at Uncle nobody doubted.

"You're a flying banner for GMO corn," Uncle declared, as his Tormentor deftly evaded an irritable paw.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Wed Aug 20, 2014 5:43 am 
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Even the best of marriages undergo stressful times, so MR SEA and SEACAT decided to make a getaway to a picturesque village, so remote that nobody could find them, nor would they be recognized. It was a plus that there was a dive bar with Buzztime, so they could play a sociable game of Showdown. SEACAT showed up in a college navy Escalade. MR SEA arrived in a wolf grey Miata.
"Why you driving that little thing?" SEACAT inquired.
"It's the only car I own that fits in my private jet," MR SEA confessed.
Neither of them paid much attention to the guy who followed them into Big Itchy's.

After politely inquiring for a pair of playmakers, they got settled at the bar just as Showdown was beginning. The Warm-Up Round played well for them, each collecting 4,000 points. But shortly after the Countdown Round started, it became apparent that the relationship was frayed. On Questions 3, 4, & 8, SEACAT collected perfecto's, while MR SEA was somewhere in the 300-800 range. On Question 11 the pattern was repeated.
"SEACAT," asked MR SEA, "Why do I feel you're holding out on me?"
"I would never do that, MR SEA," replied SEACAT, with considerable modesty, "but there is a body of evidence that I have game instincts."
Then the Category Round started, and the tension wouldn't go away. There were seven boards playing, and on question after question they'd split 3-3, and then at the final moment SEACAT would enter a number and swing the category. After five questions, MR SEA complained, "I haven't gotten one of my categories yet!" And he didn't get one on the sixth and final question, either: SEACAT nailed it. MR SEA got an 847.
They played more or less evenly through the Lightning Round and Pyramid Round (which SEACAT ran, while MR SEA dropped one). On the Final Showdown, both of them bet 50%. "Beethoven's Ninth?" MR SEA guessed.
"Spin the Nibelungen, Dude! 15 hours over 26 years! That would be like a symphony a year for 26 years. Nobody does that shit!"
SEACAT finished in the low 50's. MR SEA couldn't crack 40.
"MR SEA, I don't want to rub your nose in it, but the bottom line is I know how to score. And you need me. We walk into a room together, and you're sexy. You walk into a room without me, and you nothing but a rich old man with endocrinal issues."
"I'm afraid you're right, SEACAT. So what do you want?"
"$5 mil, tacked on."
"You know I can't do that, SEACAT. But while I can't score, I understand money. What I can and should do is to roll your performance and signing bonuses into your base contract. That would be $1.5, no longer contingent but guaranteed. Trust me, this money up front is worth every penny of $5 mil backloaded."
Then they shook on it. SEACAT extended a meaty paw, which swallowed up MR SEA's little paw, and they departed arm in arm. They didn't even stay for Brainbuster.

"No shit!"
"Gospel truth," swore Doc Wakley. "I came in right behind them."
"It doesn't sound as if SEACAT is harboring any empty illusions."
"Vanity is its own blindness," Steve demurred.
"Still, SEACAT must have been touched by the gesture."
From the other side of the rail, Soxpet was tapping a beer and could no longer contain herself: "That marriage is doomed! If MR SEA really loved SEACAT, he would have offered a big, fat block of Microsoft shares."

Not surprisingly, everyone disagreed with her. Maybe Doc expressed it best when he said, "You can't extend new money to a player who holds out during Countdown."


Last edited by MICE on Thu Sep 04, 2014 10:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Thu Sep 04, 2014 7:11 am 
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Down here life is pretty good. The sun's shining. The freezer's stocked with trout and walleye. And the cheese factory has added a second shift. I guess they were tired of paying us overtime. Enough of a good thing, if you ask me. I was slotted into the swiss department today and spent 8 hours drilling holes. That's both strength and finesse. Right now I'm feeling it in every pore.
You just missed Tommy. Today was his first day in Fourth Grade. He's out running with his friends. Over there across the valley, you can see the historic mansion. It was vacant for a few years, then the Board of Commissioners bought it and turned it into a mental home. It's still a beautiful sight.
The Missus is at her office. She'll pick up Thumbelina after the little one's dance class, and by the time they get home I'll have the grill smoking with everything good.

Sorry you missed Tommy. First thing out of his mouth - and this was his first day in Fourth Grade, mind you - "Dad! Guess what! Which best seller was originally published in 1947 by Margaret Wise Brown?"
Well, I had to guess "Sex and the Single Girl." Seemed pretty obvious
"Dad?! You've been reading it to Thumbelina every night for the last 3 years! It's 'Goodnight Moon.'"
Now how did you know that?
Tommy looked down, like his best turtle had just died, and mumbled, "I drew Miss Twitchy."
And she wasn't flattered by the portrait?
"No, Dad. Miss Twitchy is my home room teacher, and she's a Cat! All the lucky kids drew Mr White or Mr Whiskers, and I got stuck with Miss Twitchy."
Well thank God for Miss Twitchy. All I've heard is that Mr White is a soft touch, and Old Man Whiskers has been teaching there since I was a kid. We thought he was old back then, not that we paid much attention to him.
So I asked Tommy, what else did you learn today?
"There are basically 5 levels, Dad. There's fourth grade, eighth grade, high school, college, and specialist. 'Goodnight Moon' was fourth grade."
How about 8th grade, I asked.
"Oh that's like Before California, which state had the biggest population?
So how about high school?
Which figure is rhomboid?(Note to self: Beyoncé and Mariah Carey don't count.)
And college?
Rubies and sapphires are both chemically identified as which mineral?
I just don't get it, Tommy. Why is Miss Twitchy loading you down with all this stuff?
"She says...she says she's providing us the tools to help us scale high peaks, and she's providing us the technique to help us reach those peaks, you know?"
How do you feel about that, Son?
"I don't know, Dad. But did you know that In Chile, a Spanish speaking nation, a 'Kojak' is slang for a ...?
Small cigar? Three piece suit? A Greek ? Oh, never mind.
"Sorry, Dad. But maybe you can answer a specialist question: Who or what is Hannys Voorwerp?
Well, HsV is a Quasar Ionization Echo. But I could tell that Tommy had other things planned, and I wanted to cut him loose. Still, I couldn't help but ask:
Tommy, what do you want to be when you grow up?
"Gee, Dad...I guess I want to dress in a suit, carry a briefcase, and lead my own Showdown team - just like Mom!"

I had to chuckle. He does take after the Missus.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Mon Sep 29, 2014 10:02 am 
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Stalwarts of the Mouse Hollow HS cross country team, Jared and Adam were enjoying their ritual Saturday morning canter through Old Church Nature Preserve, when they happened upon the stork-like figure of Edmund Whiskers, similarly engaged (although at a much slower pace: in Adam's estimation, more nearly limping than jogging). Dressed in baggy camo sweats, the ancient grade school teacher was an unusual, but unmistakable spectacle. They overtook him without difficulty, and slowed down for a little idle banter.

"Thinking of trying out for the team, Mr Whiskers?"
"Well, if it isn't Simpson and Bell. What do you have below junior varsity?" he asked, well aware that participation was too limited to field a JV. "Actually, I'm engaged in a race, even as we speak, but I'm so far ahead of my opponent that it would be foolish to expend energy unnecessarily. I want to save a little something for the finish."
"Who are you running against?" asked Jared Bell, intrigued.
"Father Time," replied the schoolteacher. "I'm turning off up here: I was up this path last week, and I never go the same way twice. Men, can I ask a favor of you? If anyone should inquire whether you've seen me, don't let on: Mrs Whiskers keeps her ear to the ground, and thinks that my being out here is undignified."

Old Church Nature Preserve is a sprawling affair comprising several hundred acres, and so honeycombed with trails that it requires no great ingenuity to go ten miles without so much as crossing a path already trod. Mr Whiskers turned north, heading deeper into the woods. Jared and Adam soon came out of the woods altogether, and were climbing across a meadow when they found their path blocked by a shrouded figure, absent-mindedly lopping the yellow heads off goldenrod with his scythe.

"Say, you fellas seen Old Man Whiskers?" the Shrouded Figure asked.
"Um, no Sir."
"That's funny: he was supposed to meet me here. You guys interested in some crack or meth, maybe? I've got some oxycodone. One of those babies and a beer, and you'll feel like you're floating!"
"No thanks, Mister. Now if you'll just let us past..."
"Hasten on, then, young Nerdishes. And take care not to trip over your shoelaces!"

It was quite awhile thereafter before Jared and Adam slowed enough to discuss this chance encounter, which they both found unnerving. In the meanwhile, the Shrouded Figure seemed scarcely to move at all.
"That Whiskers is a cagey bastard," the Figure mused. "This isn't the first time he's disappointed me."
But as he was by nature an indolent creature, reluctant to bestir himself unless to attend to catastrophe, his thoughts soon turned from Edmund Whiskers to less elusive prey.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Tue Oct 14, 2014 9:50 pm 
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Good news! Jacob Ignatz is engaged!
Her name is Trish, and she's a post-doc in romance languages where Jacob is currently teaching. Her dissertation, 'Aspetti del' articula grammativa in la formazione delle lingue italice 700-1250,' created a minor furore in Milan, but alas! No really good job offers. Can backyard gossip inform us further? She's expected to come to Mouse Hollow at Thanksgiving to meet the Ignatzes.
Of course Ruth Ignatz believes Trish is eminently employable.
"The Romans didn't us a 'the,' or an 'a.' Suddenly there are all these languages and dialects with elaborate articles, often appended to prepositions. Let my daughter-in-law straighten it out."

So the news travelled from backyard fence to backyard fence, and by the time it reached the end of the block:
"Do you know what Ruth Ignatz says? 'Carthage must be destroyed.'"
"Well, that doesn't surprise me. Henry is a very nice young man, as we all know, but Jacob has always been the apple of her eye."


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Wed Oct 05, 2016 12:38 am 
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Joined: Mon Sep 19, 2016 9:33 am
Posts: 710
"Blind drunk or worse."

BO's assessment of my literary talents is true on both counts. And ICEMAN would prefer that I keep it short. It's a harsh world, no question.

QUESTION 9:

THE TAVAN BOGD IS AN UNMARKED BORDER BETWEEN RUSSIA AND:

1. KHAZAKSTAN
2. GEORGIA
3. MOLDAVIA
4. TURKMENISTAN
5. CHINA

NO MOLDY FIGS
NOT UPSTANDING
KEEP YOUR CHIN UP

#5 CHINA

IN ADDITION TO CHINA AND RUSSIA, THIS SNOWCLAD MASSIF IS THE WESTERNMOST POINT IN MONGOLIA.

"Anyone get lucky with that?" Fiona collected 625 off the rebound.

"Keep your chin up, Doc," she advised him. "We're all still eligible for 13's."

It was here that the content crew dropped the hammer.

QUESTION 10:

IN ROCK AND ROLL HISTORY, WHO WROTE THE BOOK OF LOVE?

1. THE MONOTONES
2. THE JAYHAWKS
3. THE PLATTERS
4. THE COMMODORES
5. THE MOODY BLUES

CLOSE THE DORE
BREAK THE PLATE
SPEAK IN LOW TONES

#1: THE MONOTONES

THE MONOTONES CARRIED THEIR DO-WOP SOUND INTO THE '70'S.

"Oy veh!" Fiona sighed. She's not even Jewish. But all alike, none of the other players were old enough to peg that familiar tune to the unfamiliar group. Irish or Jewish, she might just as well have been.

It was during the game break that Doc's smartphone, which had to all appearances taken root on the bar, began to vibrate.

"Oh fuck!" he muttered, just loud enough to be overheard. "It's the Beloved Leader."

The message read as follows:

The Circus Bear, feeling a bit low, by way of distraction devoured a Trapeze Artist, the Ringmaster, and two Ticket Vendors. He had moved in on the Fat Lady when he was apprehended by his Trainer and passively, nay glumly, submitted to his chastisement.

"I operate by my sense of smell, not sight," the Bear whined. "Had I known the Fat Lady was available, I would never have eaten all those others."

"Your ignorance was inexcusable," the Trainer agreed. "But thank you just the same for the opportunity to save her."

The Fat Lady, having served of herself the better portion of her midsection, pulled through and became rather slender, if not in fact pretty. She was loud in her gratitude to the Trainer, but silently thankful too for the Bear, who had unwittingly modified her in a most flattering way.

Without the Bear, after all, she could never have taken up saying, "Fat is for Bears, especially between the ears," a saying her wisest intimates swallowed with a grain of salt.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Fri Jan 13, 2017 10:29 pm 
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I didn't intend to post anything on this thread which I hadn't already conceived in August 2014, but I can't resist offering a follow-up to one of those entries, posted 08/20/14. This one might be titled, Seacat Recumbent on a Field Navy Blue Slashed Wolf Grey.

Doc arrived at Big Itchy's at 12 noon on Sept 11, 2016, not to play trivia but rather to cheer on the Minnesota Vikings, inaugurating their season on this date. But Steve had preceded him and commandeered a screen for trivia, and Doc grabbed a playmaker.

"Thanks for doing the heavy lifting."

"Glad to be of service, Doc. I didn't know you followed football."

"I don't much, apart from the Queens, but I'm curious about Seacat, who is scheduled to perform in the later game." Seattle was indeed scheduled to appear in the later game.

"Didn't you hear?" Steve asked. "Seacat has retired. He secured $1.5 million the night you eavesdropped on him, and another $12M, in round numbers, for the '15 season, in which he played...um...not much. And then he retired, wordlessly tweeting a pair of golden cleats hanging up, pocketing every penny of his guaranteed contract, plus $7M in bonuses. Some of that money may come into dispute, but Seacat played brilliantly! That final year, he basically doubled the money his original contract called for. It's no wonder he beat Mr Sea at Showdown."

"Maybe it's just millionaires versus Billionaires," Doc apologized, capitalizing only the larger animal, "but doesn't Mr Sea make something like $10M per month?

"In a good month," Steve speculated.

And so the game goes on.

-------------

Postscript:

If anyone wishes to correct my numbers, for better informed advice I would lift my ban on posting here. And although it's not really appropriate to this thread, I would be curious to learn LILJOL's opinion on the departure of his much-maligned Chargers. Fifteen years of intransigence, between competing interests in San Diego's constituency, might lead to any number of frayed relationships. Bottom line? I wouldn't drive to LA to retain tickets which are likely to spike 50% in price. The NFL is hugely entertaining, physically crippling, and a burden on common sense.


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 Post subject: Re: Welcome to Mouse Hollow
PostPosted: Wed Jan 18, 2017 10:28 am 
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I had a bumpy start on this bulletin board, and it took me a month or more to acquire my sea legs. Then I developed a story arc, completed in August, which I had intended to close shortly after Thanksgiving, November 2014. Then I lost NewScaratings privileges. So, two or more years after the fact, and while dropping two stories regarding Tommy, the smart-ass 4th grader, this shall be Mouse Hollow's final entry. Kind of a pity that Tommy, Spotes and Lewser never go trick or treating on these pages. There are, as Bertie Wooster so often complained, wheels within wheels.

I've noted, with considerable surprise, that this thread has taken over a thousand views. Let me conjecture that 2-3 of you actually enjoy this stuff. I've got about 30 of these stories lying around. If I get to 80, and my neighbors down here resolve their romantic issues, I'll probably seek publication. But to business:

Back in November of 2014, there was an Alberta Clipper moving in. The National Weather Service, in conjunction with local agencies, delivered the cold facts at 0300 hours, November 26. Of course everyone had been worn out by Brainbuster, Showdown, and Glory Daze. The only individual in Mouse Hollow who was still awake was the police dispatcher, and she was grateful that the alert didn't require that she drag anyone out of bed.

"Saturday, expect clear skies with a trace of cloud cover. Ceiling, 2 miles. Temperature at dawn: 23 F. Temperature at sunset: 14 F. Saturday, the White Bear Migration Path is on Red Alert."

"That'll bring 'em out on Black Friday," the Dispatcher speculated.

"The Skating Migration is anticipated to begin at 12:30 PM CST, ending at 2 PM CST, Saturday November 29. MNDOT to assist in municipal enforcement on demonstrable need. Take all necessary precautions to ensure the safety of the public."

So, two days after Thanksgiving:

While Ruth and Trish bonded over their recipes for holiday cookies, and various neighbors knocked at Ruth's back door, shyly offering their own kitchen treats, Jacob finished his third mug of coffee. His father, brilliant in his own way, sat in the shade of the family room, punching buttons on a TV remote. Jacob excused himself and stepped outside to settle his nerves. Four blocks from Main Street there wasn't a parking space to be had.

Apart from, or perhaps because of the many cars, the silence was eerie. And then it came into perspective: the police barricades on Main Street, the sandbags piled at the intersection. Jacob was about to witness the skating migration of the White Bears.

According to local legend, it had been happening for a half century or more, on the first afternoon in late autumn when the temperature in sunlight failed 20 F. Jacob checked his phone: 12:26 PM, temp 19 F. He tightened the scarf around his neck and hastened his pace, arriving at the intersection of Elm Street and Main only a minute or two later. Main Street, apart from the ice with which it had been flooded, was deserted. He was a half block from Big Itchy's. Or he could negotiate the slippery street and cross over to Mouse Hollow Books.

The decision was made for him. From around the bend on Main, where the business district trickled out, a lithe figure leaning into the curve suddenly accelerated, and in fewer seconds than Jacob could count, the first of the White Bears had skated past him.

Whoosh! Far taller than Jacob, she was moving at a speed which the bystander may accurately have pegged at 30 mph. (The speed limit through town was 25.) Then: whoosh! whoosh! Two more, and these weren't any slower. Jacob scurried up the sidewalk and ducked into Big Itchy's just as a peleton of a dozen bears skated past.

Big Itchy's was packed, but especially crowded at the front, the patrons' noses pressed against the plate glass windows facing the street. Halfway down the rail, Jacob located Doc Wakley playing Lunchtime Trivia, where Sgt Beaufort 'Beefy' Breault leaned into him, regaling Doc with all the stuff that's actually too trivial to be trivia. Doc's universal curiosity made him a magnet for this kind of harassment.

"Doc! Beefy!" The proffering of a hearty handshake.

"Jake! Good to see ya!" Jacob and Beefy remembered each other from high school, ran across each other every few years, and couldn't remember why or even whether they remembered each other fondly.

"How come you're not out there patrolling the street?" Jacob asked.

"I'm in here, protecting the patrons," Officer Beefy replied, with a dignity appropriate to his professional khaki. "The bears are on their way to the airport, catching flights to Arizona or Florida. It's all instinctual. They can't be stopped, and to attempt as much would be to disrupt the processes of nature."

Just then, the entire crowd at the windows suddenly retreated. A feminine voice screamed, "He's coming in!" A wave of Big Itchy's patrons, five deep, rolled away, and was suddenly cowering among the pool tables in the back of the room, seriously inconveniencing the two skinny guys playing 9-ball, with a lot of money on the table.

"Aren't you going to stop him?" Jacob asked.

"No, I'll let Soxpet handle this," Beefy whispered. You could have heard a pin drop.

"The White Bear, still in skates, waddled up to the bar and said, "I'm thirsty," his voice like a round of artillery fired from a deep canyon.

Soxpet, as blond as the bear, gazed up at him with her big blues and chirped, with practiced effrontery, "I'm sorry, Honey, but this is a Pepsi bar. We don't serve Coke products."

Glumly, the bear turned around and waddled back outside.

Once the bear was at safe remove, the patrons began chanting the bartender's name: "Soxpet! Soxpet! Soxpet!" She beamed, and there's no question but what she blushes beautifully.

"Jake!" Doc Wakley exclaimed. "With what term is Soviet literary theorist Viktor Shklovsky most associated?"

"Try #4: Defamiliarization."

"Thanks, buddy."

"Man, once I'd won my brass in Minneapolis," Beefy complained, now concentrating his powers on Jacob, "I couldn't wait to transfer home. And now that I'm back here, the problems are like one of Doc's drop-down boxes. If you're lucky, 20% is real."

"Yeah," Jacob sympathized. "I heard something about a fox hunt. What was that all about?"

"The fox hunt was real. Well, not exactly, but a public endangerment. A bunch of the loonies, equipped with mountain bikes and shotguns, got out of the mansion and were chasing Bashful, the lonesome coyote, through Old Church Nature Preserve at dawn. They were making one helluva racket. I got called in, had to confiscate the guns and chase them all back uphill."

"You've got to be putting me on," Jacob replied, failing to negotiate his disbelief against Beefy's professional integrity. "Mental patients with shotguns?"

"Keep in mind, Jake, this is Mouse Hollow," Doc admonished. "Here the inmates really do run the asylum."

Outside, the Skating Migration had ended. Caterpillars were chewing up the ice.


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