DNR: Cry Me a Rivulet

The Thing that Refuses to Die!

Back in April, after I was chastised by National Park Service representatives for apparently over-estimating the intelligence of the average American adult (as well as the intelligence of the average NPS science communication assistant) by using big words like rivulet, I went into a corner and sulked.  And blogged.  I then consigned the report to oblivion and went on to something else — and so under-the-radar was the project that no one noticed!  Not the Natural Resource Specialist, not the Science Communication Assistant, not my nominal supervisor(s).  Or so I thought . . . .  until last week, when I received a rather ominous email requesting a “more updated version” for some other unit of the NPS to look at.

What to do, aside from looking really shocked by the turn of events?

PICT0155

1.  Ignore the request.

2.  Challenge my pancreas to a duel.

3.  Clear out my arteries.

I managed #1 for five day . . . .  and on Day 6, performed #2 with this:

Berry Cake

. . . . and in conjunction with #3, a glass of wine (to raise my HDL, of course).

Thus fortified, I retrieved the report, pretended to be an intelligent NPS specialist of some sort, and decided it is still a pretty fine piece of work.  Done!

And I kept all the big words,  like rivulet . . . .  and garrote . . . .