L: I don't like this data. I want different data.
D: Can you do something different, or is it too late?
L: No. Well, I'm still going to get an A, but...
D: Oh, so you're going to get an A and be able to parlay this research into paying work, but you don't like it cause it's boring data?
L: No, it's not that it's boring, I just can't do anything with it.
L: I'm an analytical powerhouse and...
L: ... and I'm not using my powers to their fullest potential!
Blogging in real time!
The Boy Scouts spent the weekend in our woods. Not our personal woods in the backyard here—we couldn't fit a very big troop back there—but the ones across the street, which are dignified with the name "Hartwell Town Forest". Despite that impressive appellation, however, these woods are not the forest primeval by any stretch, so it must have taken the Scouts a little imagination to make their camping trip a truly magical back-woods experience. You could see the road from one of their three encampments, like.
Of course, when you bring three portapotties into the woods with you it's never really back-woods, is it. To say nothing of about 17 coolers (filled, I hope, with nothing more exciting that delicious fruit drinks). All that gear perhaps excuses the fact that the adult supervisors felt the need to drive in to the campsite, a trek of all of 200 yards. They didn't even need their SUVs, either: as we were walking Rascal we were very surprised to have to move out of the way of a Hyundai sedan coming up behind us. It was silver.
Now, I make fun, but I'm sure they all had a great time, even though it rained on them last night. Camping is always fun, and if you can do it practically in your own backyard then more power to you, I say. But I'm glad they're gone now, too. Rascal didn't like all that commotion in his woods one bit.