Challenges that sound like radio stations.

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Wrote this Moozy Bizzy Quonthly yesterday. Found out it was the second month it was running, though only the first it was done in Ottawa. A shame, really, because there’s a cumulative score over the course of a year’s worth of quizzes. Of course, as I scored 49 on this one and the top scorer last month got 81, I think my chances of ranking anywhere near the top 1/4 are pretty low. All practice is good, though, and a lot of the Very Good players (like Paul Paquet) do this for a living. So unless I quit my job and/or give up my hobbies, I’m at a disadvantage. Still, my competitive drive is more suited to things like this than athletic pursuits.

Since people are still writing it in some locations today, I can’t reveal anything about questions/answers, but living in Birmingham definitely helped me with a sports question that I wouldn’t have otherwise known.

Did it help me figure out how to focus for the World Quiz next month? Not especially. Except that it reminded me that I know even less about art (sorry, Mum!) and classical music than I thought. And that my reading comprehension is pretty shit sometimes and that just looking for key words/speed reading made me get two questions I knew wrong. That’s pretty fucking embarrassing. Still, I came in second in Ottawa, after Paul, so I’m pleased.


Got two doofy fact books out of the library (a building which now contains shockingly few books) yesterday on my way home. So far, the best thing I learned is that as early at 1570, mannered people in England were discouraging shoulder-shrugging because it was too Italian a gesture. I wonder what those folks would have thought of Sarkozy.


My pub quiz team isn’t available and I have to fit in a long run and all the household chores I didn’t do yesterday into today, so I’m not sure I’m going to go to quiz either. I’m skiving off my first dragon boat practice (there are seven newbies, so that’s not a bad thing, especially as there are more team members than seats in the boat) in order to help a friend with some moving-heavy-things’ tasks for his mum. Well, and to play with her not-quite-a-kitten, who is a bundle of adorability and hilarity.

I also have to make amends with Hamish, at whom I shouted this morning. It was hour two of his narrating his terribly sad life story about how I don’t feed him enough, even though I’d already fed him before 7am to stop him knocking things over in my bedroom. It’s SUNDAY, FFS. Wanting to sleep until 9 is NORMAL. What a terrible bastard he can be. I hope the neighbours didn’t hear me yelling obscenities on a Sunday morning. That Would Not Do.

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