Hey, we’re up!

Hope y’all are having a pleasant holiday season, whatever holiday you observe. If you don’t at all, have a great time, anyway. You probably earned it in many small ways.

Cheers!

Y’all do recognize that is a footprint, don’cha? Cuz now that I look at it, it looks like a pancake. It’s not. It’s a footprint of a flat-footed animal.

Ever have a pinched nerve in your back? It’s kinda painful. I had one last week. Hence, no update last Wednesday. I’m on pain meds now, so I am feeling better. But taking it easy.

Every month brings something new. See you next week, barring any new health hazards or natural disasters.

As promised, here is Wednesday’s update on Friday. I feel much, much better, both back-wise and tooth-wise.

In case you were wondering, the song the merpeople sing here is a real sea shanty, called (what else?) “The Mermaid Song.” Below are the full lyrics, as found on Mark Gunn’s Irish Song Lyrics:

Twas Friday morn when we set sail
And we were not far from the land
When the captain, he spied a lovely mermaid
With a comb and a glass in her hand

O the ocean’s waves will roll
And the stormy winds will blow
While we poor sailors go skipping to the top
And the landlubbers lie down below (below, below)
And the landlubbers lie down below

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship,
And a brave old man was he,
He said, “This fishy mermaid has warned me of our doom:
We shall sink to the bottom of the sea!” chorus

And up spoke the mate of our gallant ship
And a well-spoken man was he
I have me a wife in Salem by the sea
And tonight she a widow will be

And up spoke the cookie of our gallant ship
And a red hot cookie was he
Saying I care much more for my pots and my pans
Than I do for the bottom of the sea

Then up spoke the cabinboy, of our gallant ship
And a nasty little lad was he.
I’m not quite sure I can spell “mermaid”
But I’m going to the bottom of the sea.

Then up spoke the cannibal who snuck aboard our ship
And a hungry mad invader was he
You can drown right now beneath the cold ocean waves
Or you can be dinner for three, your choice

Then up spoke the parrot of our gallant ship
And a smartarse parrot was she
Brawk, you’re going to drown, your going to drown, Brawk
And flew to the shore for her safety

Then three times around went our gallant ship
And three times around went she
Three times around went our gallant ship
And she sank to the bottom of the sea

Obviously, I condensed it quite a bit for dramatic purposes. If you want to hear what this song sounds like, you probably can’t do much better than The Clancy Brothers.

Mermaids. Mermen. Merpeople. People of the Mer.

I’m a big fan of folklore, myths and legends, but merfolk freak me out. Greco-Roman myths are full of human-animal hybrids — satyrs, centaurs, minotaurs, and other -aurs and -yrs — all of whom I find charming and cool. Merpeople are creepy. Slimy, slithery, slippery… then sunning on rocks, combing their hair with clam shells. They live in an uncanny valley between lonely sailor fantasies and sailor fears.

And what do they eat? Well, they drag sailors down into the murky depths of the ocean, that much we know. So either they drown the poor saps and feast on them; or if the sailor harvest is scant, other fish? Fish eat fish, fine. Mammals eat mammals all the time. But even a fierce tiger about to eat you has some charm. Compare:

Image found at Sense of Things blog.

Found via Google image search

I’d rather be a snack for something cute and fuzzy, thanks.

Now that I have written the page, drawn the page, inked the page, colored the page and posted the page, it occurs to me that some people might not understand why Sheldon is spitting out the water his mirage mother gave him. FTR, salt water is bad for you when you are dehydrating. One of my favorite scenes of any movie featuring a protagonist lost at sea (like, oh, I dunno, Cast Away, to name one at the top of my head) is the ironic moment when they are sunburned, lips chapped and dying of thirst and hunger, despite an ocean of water teeming with edible sea creatures surrounding them. Oddly, TV Tropes does not have a name for that.

Happy new year all. The lateness of this post this week should tell you what kinda week I have had. It started with a stomach virus, detoured at an oven catching fire, and most tragic of all, I couldn’t find my Wacom Pen Stylus.

Fortunately everything is set to rights now. I am well, we have a new oven on order from Home Despot, and as the presence of color on this week’s installment indicates, I found the stylus. It was under the dog’s bed.

It’s like 2009 wasn’t done with me yet.