The four boats were soon on the water; Ahab’s in advance, and all swiftly pulling towards their prey. Soon it went down, and while, with oars suspended, we were awaiting its reappearance, lo! in the same spot where it sank, once more it slowly rose. Almost forgetting for the moment all thoughts of Moby Dick, we now gazed at the most wondrous phenomenon which the secret seas have hitherto revealed to mankind. A vast pulpy mass, furlongs in length and breadth, of a glancing cream-color, lay floating on the water, innumerable long arms radiating from its centre, and curling and twisting like a nest of anacondas, as if blindly to catch at any hapless object within reach. No perceptible face or front did it have; no conceivable token of either sensation or instinct; but undulated there on the billows, an unearthly, formless, chance-like apparition of life.

As with a low sucking sound it slowly disappeared again, Starbuck still gazing at the agitated waters where it had sunk, with a wild voice exclaimed- “Almost rather had I seen Moby Dick and fought him, than to have seen thee, thou white ghost!”

“What was it, Sir?” said Flask.

It was not a Kracken, but a great squid which Starbuck said was rarely seen by whalers who lived to tell about it over a warm pint on shore. It was another sign of their doom.

Paleontologist Mark McMenamin explains how he may have discovered the Kracken’s liar by finding “markings on the bones of the remains of nine 45-foot (14 meter) ichthyosaurs of the species Shonisaurus popularis.” The bones are neatly arranged, as if the skeletons were taken back to the monster’s lair after succumbing. McMenamin doubts he will find evidence of a Kracken itself, because only the creature’s beak would have been hard enough to fossilize.

John Mark Reynolds describes his reasons for liking the Disney princesses.

The films are far from perfect and marketing lurks behind every product. Still the harm is more in parents allowing too much consumption, than the innocent fantasies of childhood.

My daughters all struggle with the bad images that our culture sends women, but chief amongst these is not the Disney princess. Too much glitter and self-esteem isn’t good for anyone, but modern young women don’t seem to have enough of either!

…

Blaming the poor Disney princess, especially in her modern form, is wrongheaded. One cultural icon cannot do all the work of forming a good image. If Ophelia needs to be revived, it is more likely due to a culture of male Hamlets than from too much of the Little Mermaid.

(via Trevin Wax, may his ever-afters always be happy)

Nicholas Carr points to the second article in a series on technology in education, particularly whether “popular, expensive computer-aided instruction programs actually benefit students.” He ends his post with a good quote from Steve Jobs in 1996: “Historical precedent shows that we can turn out amazing human beings without technology. Precedent also shows that we can turn out very uninteresting human beings with technology.”

“It is what it is, but it is not what it shall be. Some day, when Someday comes, we will slide on over into the re-Edened earth.” S.D. Smith meditates on the world and the world to come.

Sorry to hear of the death of Steve Jobs. I was surprised to learn, via a link to this Get Religion article provided by a commenter at Strange Herring, that Steve was raised a Lutheran and confirmed in the Missouri Synod.

Of course, by all accounts he converted to Buddhism, but one can always hope. I know Lutherans who seem to believe that once you’re baptized you’re pretty much set for eternity, unless you actually find a way to storm the gates of heaven and urinate in the golden streets.

I think I’m one of about a hundred people in this country who possesses no Apple devices at all. No iPad, no i-Anything. I don’t think I’ve even seen a Pixar film. Not on any principle, other than the principle that if I buy the Hewlett-Packard I can pay for it through selling a kidney, rather than selling a kidney plus robbing a bank.

And that penury explains my considerable satisfaction in the car repair I did today, all by myself.

Mrs. Hermanson, my old Chevy Tracker, is—like her owner—entering into a penurious and undignified old age. One problem that’s been dogging us for some time is her loose hood, which blew out completely somewhere in North Dakota on the way to Høstfest.

How does a hood blow out? Well, due to damage she suffered before I bought her, the supporting structure of the hood has always been iffy. Lots of rust, and several loose welds. One guy who changed the oil once told me I needed to look into that or the thing would separate completely and fly up in my face one day.

Which is why I adopted the practice of securing the hood with a nylon tie-down anytime I took her onto the highway. So when the wind blew it apart in North Dakota it didn’t fly loose, but it was flapping around on the unsecured side. I procured a second tie-down at a tractor supply store in the town of Harvey (if I remember correctly), strung it crossways from wheel well to wheel well, and made it to Minot and home again that way.

But I pondered the problem and treasured it in my heart, and came up with a plan. Today I drilled two holes through the outer skin (there were already holes in the support) and put a bolt, a washer and a nut in each, screwed them tight, and cut the bolt down short to fit the space.

And it worked. I couldn’t believe it. I was certain my fix would actually make things worse, which is the usual way with my work.

I like to think this is the sort of repair my dad would have done. On the farm you fixed everything with spit, twine, and fence wire, until the fatal day when you couldn’t do it yourself anymore, and you generally had to replace the whole thing (a repair man couldn’t do much that Dad couldn’t do himself). The replacement, needless to say, would be bought used.

No, come to think of it, Dad wouldn’t have used bolts. He’d have done a welding job, because he was a mighty welder (there’s a scene in Wolf Time where Carl Martell remembers watching his father weld a wagon hitch. That was based on my memories of Dad).

Oh yes, I won’t be posting tomorrow or Monday, because I’m going to Norway, Michigan for the Leif Eriksson festival. See you there if you’re in the neighborhood.