‘I don’t speak binary…’

One of my favorite lines in The Mandalorian, which I’ve been watching one last time before I cancel my subscrition with Disney+. Cross my fingers that I can achieve that this time.

That punch line only seems paradoxical. In a scene with the maximum amount of technology being used, Din Djindarin tells his droid don’t complain to me I don’t speak binary.

Binary? A language made up of noughts and ones? On and off? Speaking it would be quite a feat. I think it’s hilarious, that idea. Always laugh when I hear it.

Originally, I signed up to rewatch the Star Wars timeline right through. That was last year sometime. Tried to cancel my subscription then, but Disney is one of those ‘sticky’ businesses. It’s hard to get loose once you signed up.

So, OK, I’ve gotten involved in a few other shows. The Bear was good. I rewatched Avatar, then tried to get into part two.

The minute one of the baddies said that they had to leave Earth because it had died, I was over it. I switched it off.

Turns out I can watch any amount of pretend fisticuffs and sword play but keep your so-called fictional future-telling off my Earth. The present day real life predatorial delays are bad enough.

A vague shot of the mythosaur .. he’s an archetype of course. I’d love to see a bit more of him if Disney+ ever does a third series.

Two nights to go …

I have two nights more at this place. Thursday afternoon I go to a little motel to stay the night.

Friday at 7.30 AM the removalists are arriving to pack up and drive approx ten kilometres down Old Cleveland, take a right at Carindale, a couple of lefts past the mall and a right into my new street. Then the unpacking.

I’m being saved from all this as I happened to pick up a virus somewhere, and will be completely useless without having somewhere to frequently sit or lie down.

My job for the last few days has been to pack up the Lego. Well, there are definitely going to be a few changes happening in how I store things. Luckily thebrickarchitect.com is rejigging their label system which will be a wonderful resource.

And there will have to be some serious rebuilding, because of course several builds did not take kindly to being packed up. Unfortunately, as you can see below, Jed has stormed out of the scene, taking Jackie’s crane on his truck out of the picture!

Lego: Mapping

My original plan was about four times larger than I have available … my tabletop is four baseplates wide (baseplates are 25 cm/10 inches a side.)

The first thing that told me I’d be biting off more than I could chew was realizing I’d need about 45 baseplates.

The sheer work involved in building them and the cost were the next considerations. I reminded myself of the premise.

“Bosley and Co are building their accommodation on an island that nobody wants, surrounded by wetlands.”

The cost of the wetlands alone would’ve been beyond the scope of the project. Transparent light blue 1×2 tiles are 22 cents each in my scene.

I decided to go back to my original idea. Instead of covering seven baseplates with swamp, I’ll make one, at most two, swamps and move them around as needed.

I’m not sure yet what I’ll do about the deep water river channel. Two baseplates already but including with the channel, places for large ships and small boats to dock. As seen below:

Cat Tales, 14

Despite the danger of the currawongs, I got used to doing my proper Hand-of-God work, and revelled in the thrill of seeing off intruders.

Small dogs, magpies and kookaburras all took flight when I ran at them. My large belly flubbered and wobbled as I ran, was one visitor’s unkind remark, after her little dog hid under her chair. My human glazed a stern glare over her face.

I am big, I accept it. Comes with being a daytime cat, apparently. My size helps me stay on top of the heap.

When even the pheasant-coucal stopped coming, probably because I chased him from the premises one too many times, I started to look for more excitement.

I had a go at climbing a tree. Got as far as the first branch, not more than a metre and a half from the ground.

The pernickety old woman, moving very fast for a human of her age, slapped an aluminium ladder against the trunk.

While she tied a denim apron round her waist I did not have the good sense to keep climbing. Always a sticky beak, I stopped to see what she was planning.

She climbed the ladder and lifted me from the tree. “Forget it,” she said. “You’re too heavy. Lucky for you I saw you before you got too high.”

“I’ll explain why one day,” she said through my complaints.

She continued wrapping me in the apron, tying the corners tightly round her waist. There’d be no getting free.

She climbed down and took me back to the deck. Where I lay about, sulking, and licking my wounded pride.

Cat Tales, 12

That big fluffy white rug is me of course, relaxing in the sun, while the pernickety old woman has her coffee and catches up on her social calls.

“Frog eggs?!” she said excitedly. “I have some too.” She laughed. “They’re no problem in my frog pond. I have an old cast iron bath now, that someone was tossing out in the white-goods recycling event.”

I pricked up my ears. Rolled over and sat up. Stared at the frog pond in the back of the yard. Reeds and a yellow flowering plant showed above the rim. On the white ledge nearest lay a bent piece of wood.

My human went on with her conversation. “There’s not a canetoad on Earth that can jump backward and over the lip. And they are not that good at climbing. Yes, I’ll teach my cat not to hunt them.”

Huh, I thought. We’ll see about that. I’ll hunt whatever catches my eye. And something did catch my eye just then. I stared.

The piece of wood on the lip of the pond moved! All by itself! Not a breath of wind!

This I needed to investigate. I hopped down from the deck and stalked silently toward the frog pond using all the cover at my disposal.

“Won’t do you any good,” the pernickety old woman called from the deck. “It’s the Frog Pond Guardian at her post.”

Her words made no sense. Belly to the ground, I leopard-crawled nearer, the nasturtium patch grew densely to well above my head.

I peered around the corner …

A large water dragon stared implacably back at me. I’d heard rumours about this lizard. In the backyard nextdoor it was supposed to have bitten off the head of a hen sitting on a nest of eggs.

The lizard moved! I backed up in a hurry! Waited there in the protection of the nasturtiums. Peered round the corner.

No. It just changed position. Lay there, immoveable.

“She’s just sunning herself,” the pernickety old woman said from behind me. What is it about her? She is always, always, giving away my hunting position.

Cat Tales, 8

That’s me looking stoic, prepared to wait it out

Some time later … my human looked at a thing she calls a calendar and had turned quite a few pages … I just knew a lot of days had passed.

In the early morning, the pernickety old woman said, “Ha, I hear the truck. I better go tell them where to park.”

Remembering the whole business in the roof that time ago, I hid.

The pernickety old woman came back inside with two men following her, both grey hairs like my human.

Neither of them took their boots off at the backdoor as is the custom. They walked in and out all through the kitchen, the living room next to it and the sunroom behind both.

The pernickety old woman darted in front of them, rolling up the rugs and getting things out of their way.

When they helped her move the refrigerator into the living room and parked it right in front of my hide-out, I’d had enough.

I scooted out of there and ran zig-zagging like a dervish-cat, circling them, then in front and then behind them. Thinking that if I could trip them over, they’d pick themselves up and go away.

The men just laughed and continued with their flicking measuring devices, pens and notebooks.

You’re surprised? I said they were grey hairs!

My human scooped me up and tucked me under her arm. She slid open a cabinet in the sunroom, took the drawer out completely, and put me in that cave.

“Stay there,” she said. “You out of their way and them out of your face.”

This is me looking taken aback. Did my human just tidy me out of the way?

Cat Tales, 4

All that the pernickety old woman expected me to live on until morning …

First thing this morning the pernickety old woman called me ‘Maggy’. Huh? Well I know she meant me, no one else present. I ignored her. I am Hand-of-God.

What the pernickety old woman and I are engaging in now, I’ll call the struggle for dominance, because that’s what I am about. You thought that was a dog thing? Ever seen a cat and dog stand off?

I overheard her say to a friend that she’s getting me accustomed to being awake in the daytime, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s getting me used to spending the majority of my waking hours indoors?

Well! We’ll see about that! I lay down on the mat in front of the backdoor—where sunlight beat through the glass and warmed me wonderfully. How could I not sleep for hours?

I did. I woke in the late afternoon. We could’ve had another stand-off about me going outside except that the woman distracted me with that red feather on stick.

She twirled the stick and I jumped and leapt and rolled at the twirling feather. We had a great time but that can’t happen again. I can’t let her win me over like this.

Then she showed me where she will feed me, in the kitchen. A white ceramic bowl filled with my favourite kibbles. Water right there beside them. I felt mollified and ate far too much.

I had another sleep and when I woke, I vomited up my kibbles. What a waste! Despite that I’m feeling wobbly in the middle, the old woman scooped me up, and ran me to the laundry.

She set me on the litter tray and waited expectantly. “Go on,” she said. “Sick up the rest.”

How embarrassing. I walked back to the drinking bowl in the kitchen. I drank. Waited by the food bowl for her to refresh the kibble supply.

Grumbling at herself, she cleaned up the vomit. “No more kibbles today,” she said.

What??!!! I’m telling you I created havoc that night!