“Puddles is the only one that really understands me.”

The headline is my favorite entry so far in the ongoing caption contest for this photograph of myself as Cthulhu for Halloween 2009. That photograph was taken by my dear friend Christie Clark, and that is her late, lamented, lovely, little Llhasa-dog Allie in my lap. R.I.P.

Had some good use of the Cthulhu mask, too, during the MAKE online editorial team conference call on Wednesday. Pro tip for Google+ hangouts: You don’t have to point the camera at your head. When this screenshot was taken, the mask was fit over a big plastic jug with a couple of rocks in the bottom for weight, sitting on the desk beside my computer.

I actually have no costume for this year, and since Halloween is on a Monday night I will probably not be doing too much except handing out candy to the neighborhood kiddos. But the caption contest has inspired me to at least sponge Cthulhu off for that purpose. Perhaps there will be more photos to come.

My Dad, cleaning the floor

He’s in his early seventies, and that thing in his hands is a modified weed-whacker.

Back story: Mom and Dad decided, recently, to polish the Saltillo tile floor in their home, and Dad bought a floor polishing machine off Craigslist, for that purpose, for a song. The guy who sold it had been using it to grind concrete floors smooth, but it came with “soft” buffers, and Dad had no problem putting them on and getting them up and running.

Dad uses the machine to buff the floors.

And discovers, to his great annoyance, that some previous owner of the house had sealed the floors without cleaning them, first. The polisher will cut through the sealant on the tile, but the dark grime in the grout, between the tiles, is sealed in and will not come off with cleaners or mechanical buffing.

The grout, he decides, will have to be abraded away, where it’s dirty, and replaced.

He buys a cheap electric trimmer—at Harbor Freight, I think—and replaces the line reel with a wire brush, supposedly made from brass and unequivocally purchased at Harbor Freight.

Using this contraption, he discovers A) the brush is too hard and tends to erode the surface of adjacent tiles, as well as the surface of the grout, and B) every so often, it gives off sparks. Which brass does not do. He holds a magnet up to it and, whaddya know, click, it sticks. The brush is steel plated with brass.

He replaces the fake-brass brush with a special nylon brush he’s found online and ordered through the mail. And it works: The dirty grout is ground away, but the adjacent tile is not marred.

And that’s a picture of him, up top, abrading away the grout between the Saltillo tiles on the floor of the home he shares with my mother, using a tool improvised from an electric weed whacker and a special-purpose nylon brush. In his early seventies.

I do love him so.

My college self’s idea of evil genius…

…included making counterfeit rewards cards for used CD stores using my then-fancy 600 dpi all-in-one scanner/color inkjet printer, my student-licensed copy of Photoshop, and some Avery printable business card paper. I’d bought one CD, getting one card and one stamp, then used Photoshop to extract the stamp image and duplicate it nine more times. I don’t think I ever actually tried to pass one of these, but I could have. Which was the whole point, I think: “First, a free used CD worth $8.99 or less, then the world!