Thursday, February 11, 2016

Hey buddy!

    I change the cats' litter boxes outside in hopes of impinging less on everyone's breathing. This time out, instead of supervising up close, Harry decided to go up on the roof and supervise from there. Midway through the job, I noticed him and in surprise, more or less shouted, "Hey, buddy!" Robert from up the street was walking by and stopped dead, thinking I was addressing him. I told him that he's a buddy, too, but I was talking to Harry on the roof. It was pretty funny at the time.
    I'm feeding the little weasels four times a day now and I had already given them their first afternoon feeding. So I was surprised when Harry came down from the roof and came in with me when I brought the litter boxes in. I had to cook for myself, but he didn't know that. Eventually I was cutting up raw chicken. You NEVER saw anybody more willing to help out in the kitchen, and I include little kids when cakes are being frosted. I guess a nice person would have cut up one chunk tiny tiny and made sure it was both unspiced and completely cooked and passed it along. But then, their food costs more than mine does anyway!

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Still learning how to dress in layers

    I know the rest of the country will be sending a big boo hoo at us poor South Carolinians (highs in the 40s, lows in the 20s) but remember, we don't have the clothes for this stuff. I have a new restaurant in my neighborhood. Well I have two, but the first is a pizza place not known for concern about gluten. But the new one is a taco shop that's great on gluten. And I was going to walk over yesterday and welcome them to the neighborhood. Got almost three blocks. Big big wind up.
    When I drove over, I found that while they were good on gluten, they weren't interested in procuring non-GMO corn. Sorry; forgot to mention that it's a taco place. So I bailed, nicely I think. Point of all this is that it wasn't that darned cold even with the wind. Apparently, my cotton long-sleeve shirts worn as undershirts, my flannel shirts worn as over shirts and my cotton sweaters aren't suited to actual wintertime. If this keeps up, I'm going to buy a pack of thermal underwear shirts. (I'm wearing one now and feeling a lot warmer.)
    Today I won the gas pump lotto, drawing one that I didn't have to hold onto to keep it pumping. (Here in the third world, those are getting rare.) This was very lucky, as I had forgotten my gloves. I should have played the real Lotto, but I just don't.

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

I dreamed and dreamed and dreamed

    Fortunately for you, I'm not writing this at 7 in the morning, so I forgot most of them. But I had amazingly detailed, crazily interconnected dreams. The start was one that was somewhat like the John D. MacDonald I'm currently reading (The Brass Cupcake from 1950). That is about an ex-cop pretty much falling into a Hammett situation. The dream was about a city employee whistleblower type wanting to write a book about it, except sometimes he was more like MacDonald's ex-cop. I was helping him write it.
    Then suddenly I was living in a hotel with my brother William. He was making endless steak fajita strips and they were very good. Then I was wandering the hotel and they had a computer game store carrying many many games which I either made up in previous dreams or my brain was telling me that it was a recurring dream. In other words, I have periodic dreams about computer or Nintendo games which I believe I remember fondly, then when I wake up I realize that they didn't actually exist. They may always be the same or more likely I just make up new ones every time.
    Then I wandered and found this bar casino arcade filled totally with black people. I thought it surprising, but very very cool. I was worried only about cigarettes, but there were none.
    THEN we were hanging out with Green Day, only they were Rancid. The hotel was somewhere in South Carolina, possibly Rock Hill, possibly Greenville, possibly both. Green Day and or Rancid were supposed to be in Copenhagen at the time according to a calendar on the wall. They were playing and I liked the bass playing (which is why they were Rancid) but at the same time their newest tracks were playing. I guess in real life big band was playing on the stereo, but what I was hearing sounded reasonably like Green Day only with horns added. I noted that in the studio, everything probably seems like a good idea.
    THEN I woke up about 6 and felt totally well-rested. I didn't even need particularly to go to the bathroom but did anyway. I wasn't expecting to fall asleep again but did and dreamed that I had a vast variety of toys, two of everything, and was giving away the extras, especially the three-foot long scale model of the Concorde. What does it all mean? I have no idea. But I've been strangely gleeful all day. You just have to give away your extra SST models, I guess.

Monday, February 8, 2016

I, uh, fell asleep

    Not to say that it wasn't a particularly super Super Bowl, but I fell asleep repeatedly during the first half, and that was when it could have gone either way. Of course, I also fell asleep twice in the past two days while cooking, the second time burning up my spaghetti park more than somewhat, so I may have finally come down with Dad's narcolepsy. (Smoke detector will probably be re-batteried and re-hung up any minute now, if not replaced with a new one.)
    I'm Old School enough to appreciate a defensive battle, but am also the first to admit that it doesn't make for electrifying TV. I find a pitcher's duel much more tense and edge-of-the seat. I've also fallen asleep watching many, many baseball games, but I'm not sure that any of them were genuine pitcher's duels. The Braves used to have a pitcher named Charlie Leibrandt who put up fine numbers, but whenever I watched he seemed to be giving up 8-run innings. And I was off to cavort with the Sandman.
    It's nice that Peyton got his second ring. It's creepy that he slipped in that Budweiser reference twice. That didn't seem the LEAST bit staged. Dan Patrick says that active players can't shill for alcohol, so this was actual a tipoff to his retirement status. I thought it was the NFL getting even further in bed with their sponsors, so it's nice to think it might have had some other meaning. And that's probably the finest commentary on the game itself: the most that can be said about it is what happened afterwards. Zzzzzzz.

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Payola in bluegrass not what it once was

    There's a station in town called The Dude, 94.3 on your dial, playing autotuned country 6 and 23/24 days a week. The other hour is 8 on Sunday morning, when they have a bluegrass show. It's fine as far as it goes. But they only play about 10 songs. Over and over. Every week. They're good songs and I like them. I just can't get over the idea that with 100 years of bluegrass recordings to choose from, they could maybe try introducing a little more variety.
    Of course, cynic that I am, another idea that I can't get over is that there's some kind of payola involved. Why anybody would pay to get the same 10 songs played over and over at 8 in the morning in a relatively minor market is another question that I can't answer. Presumably they're the only 10 non-autotuned records that the station owns. That would also be sad. Maybe they'd like me to loan them a few.

Saturday, February 6, 2016

Just light brown

The question comes up again and again
Is there difference
between white and brown eggs?
And it's just like the question
about difference between white and brown people
except there are no white people
just light brown ones.
The difference is that one is white
and one is brown.
There is no other.

Friday, February 5, 2016

I, for one, miss our crappy river

    Columbia sits at the confluence of the Broad and Saluda Rivers, forming the Congaree. The Congaree is not a notably mighty river, by and large. Most of the time, you see people standing in it halfway across in water nowhere near their waist, trying to fish. I'm not going to try it but I suspect that you could walk across. The deal is that there are many lakes and reservoirs upstream on both the Broad (called the Catawba closer to Charlotte) and the Saluda. We've been in a drought for about 30 years, so the flow of the Congaree was fairly restricted for most of my life, as the water was needed upstream. Apart from the people standing in the river, you could nearly always see rocks in the river. On the one hand, it made the river look... piddling, maybe. On the other, it never, ever looked threatening.
    Although there weren't floods exactly, the kookoo weather started last year in April, as I recall. It just rained like crazy. The actual floods started at the end of September if I recall correctly. (I could look it up, in this blog if not on Google, but the actual date isn't that important.) And though we've had breaks, we've had torrential rains every week or so ever since. The river recedes, but never to the levels I'm used to from pre-2015. And it is more than a little threatening. There's a poem etched into a large stone at the entrance to the still-closed Canal Park. An awful poem by a presumably local bard named Max Revelise. It was about the Congaree and all I remember about it is that it starts, "O tawny flood!" I always thought this was soooo funny. I don't think it's so funny anymore.