Wise Words from Smokey the Mammoth

Geology Department Humor: Smokey the Mammoth

Last night was a good night -- not only did Plot and Duck get to spend the day and evening with BZWZ but later on, when they all phoned Mummy Plotnik to see how she was doing, they found her in good spirits, not at all short of breath and feeble like she has sounded the past two weeks. Perhaps this is a signal that she's getting better.

There are other changes in the wind too, but everyone will just have to wait and see what happens. Plot has been on the phone constantly these past few days and hopefully that will let up a little now for the few days in Maine.

BZWZ took JJ-aka-PP, Plot and Duck through her lab yesterday. Each time Plot sees where his daughter spends her time, he is astonished by all the machines set up to analyze the tiniest molecular details of, say, a core sample of mud from the bottom of a lake. BZ is a scientist so she talks like a scientist -- she's all centimeters, kilos and varves now.



As you can see, this machine analyzes boxes of extra large pizza. It can tell you, without you having to open the box, whether or not there is pepperoni on that pizza and how many varves of pepperoni there are per cubic cheeseogram.

What's a varve, you ask? It appears to be a length of -- well, a length of -- well, some section of that core of mud, larger than a microfloozy and smaller than a kilosmacker.

BZWZ reports that in local bars she and her colleagues are known to have "wicked smats."

"Smats" means "smarts." "Wicked" means "a lot of." Wicked smats.

The 7:35am train to Boston is train 810. The next train is at 8:10 but is train 820. When Plotnik asks the conductor why they can't just call the train that leaves at 8:10 train number 810, instead of calling the train that leaves at 7:35 Train 810, the conductor stares at him and says: "Well, we don't."

It's a clean and decent train, leaving and arriving on the minute. You see few reading newspapers -- those Celtic rags aren't worth paying attention to anyway, but it wasn't so long ago that every person riding on a computer train would have his or her head stuck in the morning paper. Those days are over. A few guys reading their computer screens, a few women leafing through magazines, and the rest harnessed into their idiot IPods. "Ooh, music me like! Me happy! World go by outside me no know nothing. Ooh, good!"

Now it's a 4 1/2 hour bus ride to Bangor, Maine, stopping first in Portland and Augusta. Navigator Finch will be there for the ride back down to Deer Isle. Plot is really looking forward to getting out there for a few days. And yes, the Lakers play Thursday and Commander Crow has cable.

Plot has miscalculated his kids' feelings about their grandmother. He remembers his own grandma. She was kindly but definitely Old World. Plot had fun with his grandma but he viewed her through the lens of his mother, who spent a good part of her adult life saying things like "Ma, you can't have any more pills" to GrandMummy P.

He assumed his kids would not want to know details about their grandma's travails, but he was wrong. BZ and PD consider Mummy Plotnik to be their pal. They talk to her about life and she counsels them. Plotnik has been trying to shield them against having to see this side of the finite future, and he shouldn't have. So he won't from now on. Pretty much. Just about. Except, you know.