Weird day just kept getting weirder

I was woke after 3 hours of sleep by a drum corps drumming outside my bedroom window, they were marshalling for a parade, at the abandoned Transit turnaround across the street. Two things came to mind, there were only drums because very few northside kids have access to music programs in the school,and the bus turnaround no longer has buses, because service to the poor community has been severely curtailed.

I left a little after noon to get to the Health Store at Methodist to pick up a device for  "The Toe" they closed at 1pm, and I discovered southbound 100 was CLOSED!  I made a move cut thru Golden Valley to Louisiana and headed south, only to discover Louisiana was bumper to bumper traffic.28 St, next to the Louisiana Courts Apts.  I called and asked they not close. Got there by the skin of my teeth.

When I pulled out of the ramp the attendant said he'd not charge me for 13 minutes but I had to listen to his joke. "Two hats on hooks in the hallway, hat one says to hat two, you stay I'll go on a head."  I considered saying, "is it too late to pay?" but I demurred.

So I headed to the library in Golden Valley, via Taco Bell. Vegan's they have a vegan Cantina Bell that is very good.  A solitary seagull sat outside the car staring at me. We had a talk and I told him I wasn't sharing, if I had fries I'd give him fries, but he needed to move over to the Burger King lot. Julie thought he was waiting for me to toss my bag out so he could pick over it. I told her I was old, grey haired, bifocals, driving a sensible car, it should have been obvious I was no litterbug.

On to the GV library where the power was out!  The bathroom which I needed to pee was pitch dark, I had to feel  my way to the toilet. The lid was already up, and peed blind. I had eight cd's waiting for me and the octogenarian librarian had to write all the barcode numbers manually. She was a dear. Two notes to myself. Next phone has to have a flashlight app, write my county commisioner about a generator for library. I called Julie who asked for 2 plain hamburgers and a coke from the adjacent McDonalds, I went there and THE POWER WAS OUT. Plan B, I went and got her food at Byerlys but when I got to the register, I'd left my wallet in the car, and had a big line behind me.  I sprinted to the car, came back in, and paid the bill. The scowling owls that had been behind me were gone, herded thankfully by the Byerly manager, who was waiting for me.

I'm not leaving the house, that was enough for one day.

Then I find out Neil Armstrong died. Bummer

New Diet Frontier

I've been on the vegan diet since the week before Christmas 2011. It's February 3rd and I've lost 12 pounds, and have to say its not horrible.  About the only thing I miss is eggs, and butter on toast.  OK, butter in general. Butter is a really wonderful thing.

I don't miss fat as such.  I've stopped craving it. About a week in I went past the deli section of CUB foods and the smell of the wings almost brought me to my knees and I had to walk away and steady myself.  Since then I've not been seriously tempted.

I do think it would be much easier to cook with olive oil.

There was a funny moment when I was leaving for work and Josh brought home pizza.  So I imperiously inquired of Julie, in my best Torquemada voice. "Are you going to have pizza?"  She said, "Perhaps."

"Oh I see, I guess I'm doing this alone."  and headed out the door.  I've not had a fully unbridled passive aggressive attack like that in a while, with a heaping helping of self pity.  Julie had a great time pointing out how over the top pathetic this was the next day.

What's weird is how closely related self pity and self righteousness are. Kissing cousins of emotional drek.  Julie was right to call me on that.

If you are wondering how I wandered down this path, I had come across a youtube of Dr Neal Barnard talking about reversing diabetes through diet. Researching his work, I came across Caldwell Esselstyn (Bill Clinton's diet guru)  http://www.heartattackproof.com/   Who knows, I've dropped 12 pounds and Julie says my love handles are becoming more contoured. 

I can't remember who I heard say it, but whoever it was, when I heard them say, "Diabetes is one of the few diseases where the cure is what you put in your mouth."  That struck a nerve. Since I've been researching it, I think that actually covers a whole spectrum of problems we have.  Neal Cousin's is the one that described the Standard American Diet as S.A.D.   The processed food industry, Cargill and ADM are exquisitely evil.

So when I embarked on this diet after hearing Dr Barnard, I vowed to not be preachy, or attack people wearing leather etc. Then I picked up the Esselstyn's book and the first admonition was NEVER EAT ANYTHING THAT HAD A FACE OR A MOTHER.  I chuckled.  

Walk up window

Some of the more "interesting" interactions I have with the public are during non-business hours at our little PSAP (Public Safety Answering Point / 911 center)  We have a walk up window when the records department is closed.
We pull up the blinds, and anyone can walk up.  I've maintained that in this era of multitudinous means of communicating over the airwaves, if someone walks to the police department there's an 80/20 chance they have a screw loose.  The 20 percent are people who want to check on reports, lost and found items, or to ask if they can have a permit to carry. I love those, I eye them up and down like Larry David. Then I say,  "You have to come back during business hours."  Some day one of those will probably come back and shoot me.  Oh well.

Today was Saturday, and a frail old woman with a Parkinson tremor appeared at the window.  I'd estimate her age well past 80. She rested her hands on the platform outside the widow, and sighed.
"Can I help you?"  I asked.
"Yes, I am a scrupulously honest person who is tormented when I think I did something wrong."
"Are you here to surrender?"  I asked arching my eyebrow.
"Well, you know that trailer you have over here." She gestured to the west side of the police department.  "I was driving up the road and there was a car going 20, so I pulled around them and accelerated, and then I saw the speed sign said 40, and realised it was me going 40."  She took a deep breath and sighed. 
"THEN it dawned on my I had crossed the double line and compounded my blunder." she leaned back and twirled her head reliving it all.
"So you ARE here to surrender." I leered at her with all the judicial gravitas I could muster.
"Well not just yet." she held up her hand palm forward.  "First I have to ask, what is the machine for. Enforcement?  Do I have to go home and fret about the ticket coming my way?  I will fret you know, I'm burdenned by a conscience that keeps me up at night."
"You'll be glad to know that machine is called a smart trailer, and it only shows people their speed to make people aware of how fast they are going. It also keeps statistics, but it did not take your picture and it doesn't issue tickets."
"Oh, thanks goodness, don't they have those machines that do take pictures and such?"
"Minneapolis had the stop light cameras that issued tickets, but they were done away with because of some 4th ammendment issues."
"Oh yeah I remember that." she looked hopeful.
"The smart trailers are usually put out because neighbors request them. Like on France north of Minnetonka people use that like a drag strip." I offered.
"Oh don't I know it, that's quite the speedway yes."
"I use it for a speedway myself." I offered conspiratorily.
"Oh you do do you."  she leaned in chuckling.
"Well heck yeah, I have to get to work!"
We shared a laugh.
"Thankyou so much for the information, you've taken a load off my mind, and I can assure you I will be much more mindful of my driving after this." She turned to leave.

"OR" I suggested devilishly "You'll go straight back to the street, and see how high you can register on the sign."

"OH YOU!" she laughed and staggered out of the lobby laughing.

Technology.........pffffffft!

My coffee pot did not brew coffee this morning before work.  Technology betrayed me.

Pet Peeves

Yesterday I went to Cost Cutter's in Robbinsdale, and the very nice Hispanic lady is there. She's in her late forties, attractive, with a gift for gab, and knows how to cut old fart's hair. You ask her to lower the ears and leave a little on top, it comes out perfectly. She has told me in the past she has a lot of male relatives who were in the Marines, so she is very adept  at Flat tops.  I told her with my square head, a flat top might be too much. It might scare kids, or turn the villagers against me. To her credit she got the Frankenstein joke.

Yesterday as I'm listening to her  parent of teens war stories, before I knew it, she had a comb pressed to my eye brow and she was trimming them. My beautiful crazy eyebrows getting cut down.  TIMBER!

OMG!

NOT MY EYEBROWS!!!!

For over a decade I've let my eyebrows grow. They had achieved notable full bushy misdirection. A delightful haphazzardness. My tiny way of letting my grey hair, freak flag fly.
In 1955 Edward Steichen published a book of photography called "The Family of Man".  One of the memorable photos was the white eyebrows of an ancient French magistrate. That picture stuck in my head. They were crazy eyebrows, and when my eyebrows started turning gray 45 years later, I started to grow my own set of "crazy eyebrows."

The barber chopped them down. UGH.  My horror and disgust was all internal. I did not say anything. Even when she moved to the other brow. Like a true Minnesotan, I took it silently.  There was no point to protest. She meant well, and why save one patch, when they first one has already been cut down.  Deforested.

This episode reminded me of a recurring service issue over the years.

Perkins restaurant has been the scene of similar assaults on my psyche. I like that they bring the coffee in those brown coffee pots you can self serve the refills. I'd prefer if  they'd just let me self serve the first cup.  I really like to put one cream from the half-half containers, then the asthetic joy of pouring my own coffee onto the cream. It's magic.

Typically ruined by the waiter or waitress pouring the coffee into the cup before I get a chance. I've made a fuss in the past, leaving everyone feeling awkward, and requiring me to explain myself.  Julie will often waive across the booth and assure the waitress/waiter its not their fault I'm odd.

If a server deals with me pouring my own coffee, they're getting a better tip than the usual 20 percent.

There's a practical aspect of the half and half.  Perkins often serves the bottom of the pot cups of tar. The presence of half and half tells you if the cup is toxic or fresh.  Grey means send it back, light brown keep it around.

I'm still waiting for a server to ask "would you like me to pour your coffee, or would you like to do it yourself."  That would be awesome.  I'm fairly confident it will never happen.  More likely they'll pour the coffee over the back of my hand, and apologize effusvely to me, but thinking, "what kind of dolt puts their hand in the way of pouring coffee."

Through it all, I suffer silently, and look over at my spouse and read her mind.
She's  running through all the Curb Your Enthusiams episodes she'll tell you I made her watch.

I gave the Cost Cutter stylist a two dollar tip, and ran to my truck to take this picture of the eyebrow clear cutting devestation.

St Anthony Pray for ME

We were out of toilet paper so Julie, heading off to work asked me to go get some. I said I would and when I  was ready to set off for the store I could not find my keys.

I'm kind of legendary for losing my keys, and have made a real effort to put distance between the lost key episodes. In the past when I worked nights and suffered from very serious mind numbness that I suspect all night shift workers suffer from.  Just before I had to get to work, I would rush around the house frantic, would get everyone worked up and involved in my malfeasance, and key quest, causing everyone a collective adrenal dump just before their bedtime. This struggle would almost always involve my wife dropping the dreaded, "where did you have them last?" posit?  While I was searching for my keys I would go blank with rage. I think plaque forms around these brain bruises. "IF I KNEW WHERE I HAD THEM LAST THEY WOULDN'T BE LOST NOW WOULD THEY DEAR."  So today's episode of me looking in the usual suspect spots 3 and 4 times, slithering on my belling under the bed, under furniture,  moving things around looking up high and low, was perfectly futile.

Today my wife Julie was very kind about it, answering my texted please.  She ran down the list of spots I've hidden them in the past. Check, check, quadruple check.... "Wow, you really lost them this time."   "I KNOW!"

I finally gave up, I surrendered, letting my brain go blank and attempted to recreate the night before.   The last place I remembered having them was the dining room when I rushed in with two large bags from Athens Cafe.  I had dropped the bags on the table and sat down to pick through the food with Josh and Julie.  I don't remember the keys after that. So part of todays search was pawing through the kitchen garbage for the keys.

After dinner the civil defense sirens had sounded, and the sky was lemon green, so we discussed going into the basement, but instead followed Julie out to the front door to look at the western sky. She whistling the "Wicked Witch" theme from Wizard of OZ. Otherwise known in our house as Julie's theme. (Another story for another time.)  We were outside watching the storm come in, admiring our garden, when it started to hail. We argued about how big the hail was. It was pretty impressive cracks, pings, Hollywood ricochet sounds.

In utter desperation I went back into the dining room.  I was looking around the toaster when something caused me to look down INTO the toaster.

There were my keys. IN THE TOASTER. So ok I concede looking in the last place I remember having them worked. It only pains me a little to concede, but the concept does NOT work when you're panicked.

Darn gremlins.

 

Poop discussion ahead - TMI alert */*

TMI alert (you've been warned) I'm going to my new doctor tomorrow and I'm trying to anticipate what she might ask me. I'm 54 and diabetic and morbidly obese so I can probably guess. I'm not conceited in the least. How can you be obese, 50 plus diabetic and entertain conceits?  What I'm interested in discovering is if she is going to explore my psyche. My Park Nicollet Physicians Assistant once inquired if I was depressed. I guess I do have a "hang dog" countenance, a "dreary vibe."  Either that or it was on her list of things to inquire from a post 50 fat guy with diabetes. Perhaps I'm in a demographic that gets asked, "are you depressed."  Anyhow, it will be interesting to see how the visit goes. I've gained 15 pounds since my last new low of 286...back in the 3's as they say on Biggest Loser, my favorite soap opera. While I'm vowing to be completely honest with my new Doctor, if she asks me what makes me happy do I dare tell her?  I'll tell you blog, my greatest joy is what got Martin Luther all giddy too. So much so he nailed it to the Cathedral door. One of the many treatises he nailed to the door to let the Vatican know their franchise had competition for the souls of Christianity.

What Marty and I have in common,  I am thrilled by a good BM.  When I have a nice effortless BM, and it is a good color, and holds together, and slides out, but is solid, with a hint of leafy texture, and I don't have to push, I have a good solid two minutes of glow. It's made better when I have to employ a very modest amount of TP to get cleaned up. I took my 4 oz of Cyclone Cider for several days in a row, and I've had several very good days.   You have to wonder what the bishops thought of Martin Luther."What makes this guy tick." Wrong question, they should have asked, "What makes this monk go?"
Don't judge me too harshly dear blogoshpere. Have a nice day.

Garbage/Recycling remembering dear old dad

http://www.twincities.com/soucheray/ci_16961507

Soucheray's column made me think about these matters. The picture of Joe peeking through the blinds to see how his recycling efforts were received made me chuckle.

I have bristled at those admonising notes they leave behind. Usually from the trash collectors, we've been really lucky with the recyclers. A "sustainable new urbanist" could describe my wife. I see the point, but don't get quite as exercised as she does.
Complaince with others expectations has never haunted me, or even vexed me so much.

Joe's column about the recycling reminded me of an episode my late father experienced on the cusp of trash handlings modern era. You might not remember hardware stores use to sell metal trash cans with holes to fascilitate burning. Most people burned some if not all of their trash. My father was your classic weekend alcoholic who faithfully executed my mothers "honey-do" lists so that he could drink in peace. The chore he actually enjoyed was burning trash in the trash can with holes. He'd tend the fires so that it burned very impressively, and he'd sit nursing dozens of cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. This was the early 60's in Racine Wisconsin. One particular fire he had going reminded us of the Buddhist monk that set himself alight and was prominent on the national news at the time.

One day some self righteous Dane (Racine has the largest population of tea totalling Danes in north America, although there's no shortage of drunk Danes either.) decided that burning trash was antithetical to what he'd read in Rachel Carson's tome "Silent Spring." So the city passed a ban on trash burning. My father continued to burn his trash on Saturdays. A snoopy neighbor lady ratted him out. The fire department visited my father every Saturday for the next several weeks.
My father argued with them, they cajoled my dad, it got testier each week.

Finally the commander of our local fire engine told my dad that if he burned trash the following week, "it would be dealt with." My dad fulminated and cursed and in his plaid shorts, and argyle kneesocks, and scuffed penny loafers shook his fist at the departing fire engine.

The next week my dad pulled out of the garage that weeks cumbustibles and bent over to start the fire with his zippo that he carried through Africa during World War II. There was a breeze as there always is in Racine, hard by the shores of Lake Michigan, and dad opened a can of PBR, and lit a cigarette, when, as promised the red Racine Fire Department engine rounded the corner. My father ignored them till the captain got out, handed my dad a citation, then mounted the engine and manned the water cannon. The confidence drained from dad's face. Before he could utter a word the water jet hit my dads burn can, and it and my dad when shooting across the driveway and up against the garage. My dad was one of the few white men of that era who completely empathized with the civil rights protesters who were hosed by the fire department down south, who were competeing with burning monks on our nightly news back then.  I pointed out to my father in my insouciance of youth, "It could have been worse dad, they could have set the dogs on you."

Professional garbage sorting, and the era of garbology was upon us, recycling, and hand wringing about recycling was just around the corner.

Dad died in '85.  I often wonder what he'd make of the world since 1985. I think he'd get a kick out of it. I wonder what he'd make of  http://www.storyofstuff.com/

Yucca and the Pronuba moth

http://www.nps.gov/archive/whsa/pronuba.htm  Julie bought me seeds for two kinds of Yucca plants - the one Yucca Glauca has an interesting story in that it is totally dependent on a little moth that seems only to exist to polinate this one plant. Without this moth it doesn't produce seeds. Also there's a map of the distribution and it goes right up the middle of North America, but NOT Minnesota. So I'm going to try and germinate the seeds she bought, and see what happens. I wonder if the moths would blow in from North Dakota to help? If I plant this in my yard, will my corner of north Minneapolis be more like North Dakota? Yikes, that might be more excitement than I could handle. */*

From the above link: THE YUCCA AND THE MOTH

There is a very special relationship between the soaptree yucca and a tiny, little white moth called the pronuba moth. Each different type or species of yucca has its own species moth that pollinates it. The pronuba moth is the only animal that pollinates the soaptree yucca and it doesn't pollinate any other kind of plant. Scientists have found up to 67 different kinds of insects on or using the soaptree yucca, but this moth is the only one that pollinates it. Pretty cool, huh?!

Yeah I think so but I'm a geek that way.

Minnesota Viking football - stadiums

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAyLX2hY7E0     The dome collapsed 12/12/2010 after the worst snow storm in 19 years.  So with no dome, the team is playing on Monday night against the Bears at Minnesota TCF stadium. Our football may stink, but we certain have the best stadium video of the year.
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1729977691914

So Brett Favre is hurt, Tavaris Jackson is hurt, that leaves third string QB Joe Webb to enter the breach. The media has told us he's never started an NFL game, and the coolest temps he's played in is 40 degrees. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9PsUH1fmJk    Joe jumping 7 tackling dummies.

All we know is Joe can jump. Good luck, God speed Joe.

OH, and the weather report for Monday night - the snow will start just prior to kick off, and will snow heavily throughout Joe's debut. 5-9 inches.

R.I.P. Ron Santo - age 69

When the Milwaukee Braves left for Atlanta, the region I grew up in, SE Wisconsin changed its baseball locus to Chicago, and we were left the choice, White Sox or Cubs. I was 10 but I remember the Brave stickers on folders that belonged to my older brother. I remember the sense of abandonment and betrayal. Probably not unlike the Cleveland fans and Lebron.

I was 13 in 1969, I chose the Cubs because all of their games were televised on WGN channel 9. The games were all day games because William Wrigley of the chewing gum fortune felt games should be played during the day so kids could attend, that, and the ball park did not have lights. (Boy have things changed.)

So I became a Cubs fan in 1969, the slogan of that team was "No one can stop us."
Leo Durocher was the manager that season. Ron Santo was the third baseman. He of the "heel click" fame.  One night Santo celebrated a walk off win in Montreal.  Manager Durocher liked it so much, he asked Santo to do the heel click with each home win. The Cubs were in first place September SECOND. That was the last heel click of the season, but for some reason that gesture stuck in all our minds. Those that cared. Those that died a little each September failure. Those that witnessed the utter collapse to the Miracle Mets. Up till 1969 the Mets were the doormats and laughing stocks of baseball. The Miracle Mets caught and beat the "no one can stop us" Cubs. The Mets were World Champions in 1969.

Heel clicks stopped September 2nd, 1969, but that gesture stuck in our minds. Those that cared. It became emblematic of failure. Leo Durocher became the voice of failure. Who heel clicks in the face of calamity? Ron Santo.
Years later I read a news article about Ron Santo losing his legs to diabetes, and thought as I suspect many Cubs fans from 1969 did. God took his legs for the heel clicks. You don't have to tell me it is an irrational notion, but so was losing to the New York Mets.
So when I read the headline today that Ron Santo died, I thought how nutty I ever entertained the notion that God took his legs. I felt stupid. After all, Ron did the heel click spontaneously, reacting to a unexpected walk off win.  All the subsequent heel clicks, the ones that stuck in our craw were Durocher's idea. Ron was just following Durocher's order. Ron must be forgiven. Sorry Ron. Durocher's folly. Durocher of the famous quote "Nice guys finish last."

God took Leo to the big clubhouse in the sky in 1991.

Still it is kind of odd that Ron Santo died aged SIXTY NINE. SIXTY NINE, 1969.

Nineteen Sixty Nine.  MCMLXIX    The heel click, Jack Brickhouse post game interviews, the black cat that came on the field....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rV1gls58XXw&feature=related

MLB came back to Milwaukee when the Seattle Pilots folded in 1969, and moved into County Stadium in 1970.  It made the recovery from what I witnessed the year before easier. It was easy to severe my fealty to the Cubs and cleave my emotions to the Milwaukee Brewers. I remained a Brewer fan even after I moved to Minnesota in 1974. It wasn't until 1984, at Harmon Killibrew day. A game between the Brewers and Twins in the Dome. That was the year a rookie broke in with the Twins, Kirby Puckett. I was leaning towards the Twins when that September the Twins were knocked out of the playoffs in the last week by the Cleveland Indians. The Third Baseman for the Twins Gary Gaetti, aka "Rat" said afterward, "baseball is nearly impossible when you have both hands around your neck."  Personal responsibility, no excuses, acceptance. My heart leaped. I love these guys.
I have been a Twins fan ever since.

1987, and 1991 disprove Durochers bromide that "Nice guys finish last."
Kirby and the Twins finished first, TWICE.  1991 is very possibly the greatest game 6, and 7 ever played. I would argue in game six, when Kirby had a walk off to win it, Jack Buck has the greatest home run call ever. Kirby struck, and Buck said very matter of factly, "We'll see you tomorrow night."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1969_Chicago_Cubs_season

the Point of View film "Salt"

I watched this at work, the rewatched it when I wasn't interrupted, it's amazing, I wonder how I would react to this solitude. It would be really neat to see the night sky here.

Bert Blyleven and the Hall of Fame

I was reading a post about Bert not being in Baseball's Hall of Fame so I looked at the stats of current Hall of Fame / Pitchers There are a surprising number of pitchers that are much less deserving that Bert. Before looking into this I had assumed Jim Kaat was in the Hall. He's not either.  The list of Dodgers in the Hall that don't deserve to be is long. This attests to the greater amount of press and historic lore around that franchise. Don Sutton it seems to me is in the hall of fame because he played for California teams, and was a media darling. Bert is every bit as worthy as Sutton. Bert's stats are comparible with a lot of notable Hall of Famers. I included Bob Gibson not because he's not deserving, but Bert's stats hold up with his.

As far as Jim Kaat, if you are a durable pitcher who lasts for TWENTY FIVE YEARS IN A SPORT, put that person in the Hall of Fame for durability if nothing else. He spanned 3 generations of athletes for God sake!

Here's a sample:

Don Sutton 23 years G 774 Starts 756 CG 178 Sho 58 IP 5282.1 Wins 324 Loss 256 ERA 3.26 K 3574 WHIP 1.142 4 WS 2 wins 3 loss .526 ERA


Jim Palmer 19 years G 558 Starts 521 CG 211 Sho 53 IP 3948.0 Wins 268 Loss 152 ERA 2.86 K 2212 WHIP 1.180 6 WS 4 wins 2 loss .320 ERA

Jim Bunning 17 years G 591 Starts 519 CG 151 Sho 40 IP 3760.1 Wins 224 Loss 184 ERA 3.27 K 2855 WHIP 1.179 NO POST SEASON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bob Gibson 17 years G 528 Starts 482 CG 255 Sho 56 IP 3884.1 Wins 251 Loss 174 ERA 2.91 K 3117 WHIP 1.188 3 WS 7 wins 2 loss 1.89 ERA

Bert Blyleven 22 years G 692 Starts 685 CG 242 Sho 60 IP 4970.0 Wins 287 Loss 250 ERA 3.31 K 3701 WHIP 1.198 2 WS 2 wins 1 loss .235 ERA

Jim Kaat 25 years G 898 Starts 625 CG 180 Sho 31 IP 4530.1 Wins 283 Loss 237 ERA 3.45 K 2461 WHIP 1.259 2 WS 1 win 2 loss .333 ERA

Metropolitan Opera Diva vs Minneapolis Hack

Back in the early 80's when I was driving a cab, the Sheritan Ritz downtown was home for the Metropolitan Opera and American Ballet Theater. The Ballet dancers tipped modestly, but the MO performers stiffed us to the penny. I asked one of the singers why that was since they were from NY. She laughed haughtily, "My dear we are on a per diem of 75 dollars a day while here, and we have a competition among us to see how much we can bring home." I stared at her with my best lizard gaze. She fled my taxi, into the stage door at Northrup.   


Don't look for the Sheritan, its the parking lot of the downtown library.

Beetle identified.

I was training our grapevine and came across what for me was a large beetle. It was red, and a couple of fellow gardeners were warning me it could be a Lilly beetle, that is a scourge in the UK.  But discovered thru WIKI its a Milkweed beetle.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tetraopes_tetrophthalmus

Here's the lily beetle

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lily_Beetle

Milkweed is the coolest plant. It's the life platform for so many insects, has a beautiful flower, lasts all season, and I can even smell it. The boss will tell you this is amazing since my lack of olafactory sense is legendary.

Last year we saw almost no monarch activity in our yard, this year we had a couple of caterpillars per plant.  There's also a brown/yellow/blue butterfly that's ominpresent. I think its a type of swallow tail, but I haven't figured it out yet.

Exhausted

Emotional fights are worse than anything. When you have no answers, it completely sucks the life out.
Brilliant? No. I have almost zero skills or ability to process emotions.

Booming School 101 - profane but must hear

Fucking boom

I first heard this on "Le Show" podcast the woman talking about boom starts at 01:57 enjoy

Touchdown Jesus

http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20100615/NEWS01/306150004/Lightning-fire-destroy-Touchdown-Jesus-statue-on-I-75-in-front-of-Solid-Rock-Church

My niece posted this on Facebook, and it reminded me when I was a callow youth, my parents took me on a pilgramage to Notre Dame. For an Irish Catholic family, which we were because of my mother, driving to Notre Dame was like a Hadj. It was a three hour drive from home. My dad got lost, this was the sixties, no tomtom or gps. We ended up in the black ghetto of South Bend. There was a skeletal skinny extremely tall black man passed out across the entire sidewalk, and people were stepping over him, not looking twice. I think when a group picked up a shopping cart and lifted it over him, without rendering aid, this pushed my mothers nerves over the edge.

When we finally rolled into the campus, we were greeted by a very tall caucasian mosaic. Touch Down Jesus.  My mom was grateful and relieved.  It began to dawn on me, mom really did not like to be outnumbered by dark people, but that revelation wasn't really complete until I had children with a african american woman. Five boys.

There were hints. Like the day after MLK was shot, April 5th, 1968. I got home after being beaten up by a group of black kids, after school let out. We were mobbed, but my friend Jerryl from band did a human saw horse over me, and protected me, while my neighbor Herb got smacked pretty good.  When I got home, I called my mother at work, as I did every day. I asked if she'd heard about MLK getting killed. She said, "Yes its all over the news, but we can't really be surprised darling, he was asking for it." 

After digesting this snowball, I looked at the phone receiver. "Who is this?" I thought.

After that, I started listening to the conversations of the adults around me, and discovered they had some really noxious views of people who were different. My parents were not overtly racist. That would have been declasse. Showing your racism was tantemount to cursing in mixed company, or admitting you had a weakness.  All that started 10 years later in the seventies. So you had to listen between the lines. "Them", "those people", "typical of those people", etc.  I hadn't listened till mom told me MLK was "asking for it."  It definately expanded my awareness.

Touch Down Jesus indeed.

Dragon's Blood Sedum and marigold smell

I just came in from the garden. I planted a new Butterfly Bush, next to the grave. (A section I carved out from the main garden, it juts out six feet by four, and when it was first carved out from the sod stepson Alex said it looked like a grave.)  After planting the butterfly bush, I planted a few more plants then walked the garden picking a weed here and there, and planted some cilantro and nasturtium seeds.  I've planted nasturtium all over, so much I can't remember.  

It will be fun to see where they all come up. Nasturtiums I'm told by gardeners even older and crotchety than me, are the only plant that capture nitrogen from the air around it. I can't verify this, but its one of those things you can go "ooooo I like that."  You can also eat them, and the romans used nasturtium to spice cooking and salads.

When I was weeding the vegetable plots, I deadheaded the marigolds. Marigolds have an interesting very unflower- like smell. It's probably why they are good companion plants. I was trying to figure out the smell, and they smell like a wet pack of camels. When I was nine, I fished out a pack of camels from a relatives convertible, whose roof was left down in the rain . I hid them in my room to dry out to smoke. They smelled exactly like the marigolds of this afternoon. Yes I smoked when I was nine. Steve McQueen smoked, so I did too. Who doesn't want to be cool.

We made hypertufa pots a few years back, they are very amateurish, but I like them. This year I put some Dragon's blood sedum in the one.  I had torn it out, and pushed it in the dirt. Voila, they are growing and doing well, in partially shady spot. God bless dragon blood sedum. Every gardener needs a plant like dragons blood sedum.  It's good to have a plant in the garden that's indestructible, so when other things go awry, there is always that plant to reassure you you are not completely incompetent.  Cheers.

The Gulf Oil Disaster/Instant Karma

http://www.bp.com/liveassets/bp_internet/globalbp/globalbp_uk_english/homepage/STAGING/local_assets/bp_homepage/html/rov_stream.html

This is pretty astonishing. The oil company that is destroying the environment of a large section of our planet, is putting the live feed on the internet for all to monitor. It's absolutely incredible.  I was cheered by Sen Mary Landreau's D-LA who said if you made a dime, or a million dollars from the gulf, and don't make it next year, she will make sure BP writes you a check for that amount.  I don't think there is any wiggle room other than declaring bankruptcy.  More likely they will have to go after their partners, and the winding road will end up with Haliburton.  Remember them?  The company that fleeced America, electrocuted our service people in their showers in Iraq?  Are responsible for the oil rigs all over the world?  Were run by Mssr Richard Cheney before is run as US Vice President and architect of most of the foreign policy nightmares of the Bush administration?  THAT GUY?