Friday, February 9, 2018
Whip-Its and Back Strain
I've found two or three of these emptied boxes of laughing gas canisters and balloons lying around together recently. It's residue left behind after someone has binged on the nitrous oxide contained in the canisters. They're sold as "whipped cream chargers," for cream squirters, but apparently people abuse the gas and I wonder what percentage ever see a container of whipped cream. The pressurized canisters are emptied into balloons first, from which the gas is inhaled.
I learned all this from The Sun so it must be true.
The things we do to amuse ourselves. "We" in the global sense, of course, since I personally have never inhaled nitrous oxide. (I wondered if I would get some when I got my root canal, but no -- I got plain old novocaine. Which is probably better from a dental patient's point of view.) Anyway, the balloons make for a colorful, if slightly sad, photo.
I spent all day yesterday weeding the fiction section, and I'll be back at it today. There are no classes over this two-day period -- and thus, no students -- because parents and teachers are meeting for their biannual conferences. So I'm just trying to keep myself busy, debating, for example, whether students still read Horatio Hornblower novels. (The evidence points to "no." Even when I got one for Christmas, as a kid, I thought they looked boring. I'm sure to modern kids they seem completely prehistoric.) And if they aren't being read, do we need seven of them?
I figured out why my back has been hurting -- I lugged the fig tree across the back garden on Tuesday night to put it back in the shed in preparation for our cold temperatures. Back strain! It seems much better today, fortunately.