Whopper Virgin Suicides*

I've been reading a lot about those new Whopper Virgin ads from Burger King that have disgraced my TV screen and reinforced my constant praise of TiVo. Really, only two blogs, but I have seen two or three of the commercials on television. I find them mindless, pointless and a waste of my time, but not as offensive as most people or genius as some morons think they are. I'm against the complete globalization and white washing of the world's cultures through the infiltration of mass marketed big box stores and soulless chain fast food restaurants, sure. However, my beef, as it were, with the commercial lies in the blatant untruthfulness portrayed by showing people who had never had burgers or fast food taking bites of a McDonald's hamburger and a Burger King Whopper and then not running off to the bathroom with a bad case of explosive diarrhea. I demand truth in advertising!


*Get it? It's a play on words. Or a before-and-after, like from Jeopardy. Whopper Virgins, and [The] Virgin Suicides. Get it now? Ok, it wasn't that clever anyway.

Heroes Pt 2: Days Of Evitable Future Past Apocalypse

Last time I wrote about Heroes, I mostly focused on the negative. That's gonna be true for this post as well, because nobody ever wants to read about positive thoughts, but this time I'll lead off with the good. Nobody wants to read my blog in general, but still. The point remains.

The villains are totally badass. I love Marlo's character, who gets stronger by feeding off of fear of anyone nearby, strong enough to punch a whole through the short-lived Magneto-like character. There was the guy who could emit sonic blasts, before Sylar killed his ass, the puppeteer guy, the Haitian's voodoo god-like brother, finally a speedster with Daphne, Bubs' (from the Wire) character who could produce black holes and was killed off too quickly, the guy who could turn his arm into metal, and finally, Arthur Petrelli, who showed Adam Monroe what being a bad guy was all about. "Welcome to Season 3 Adam. I know you were the main villain last season, but now, you're dead. Syonara."

Heroes needs to abandon it's playing with the future, because time travel always hurts my head, and it's almost always not done well, so when it's introduced to a show, the show suffers. Ahem, LOST. Having Hiro travel back to feudal Japan to help as well as become the legend he read about as a child was fun and funny, but also extremely paradoxical. Showing the dystopian future with an emotionless Claire and dead Peter who came back in time to shoot Nathan and give him a religious awakening that made little sense and seems to have vanished...damn I lost my point. Oh yea, STOP DOING IT! Peter's been to the future to see how bad it is how many times? And the future is never fully explained or makes sense. Speaking of not making sense, how did Arthur get back in time to steal the catalyst from Hiro, along with his power, last episode?*

However, my main beef with the show lies with Isaac Mendez. Not his prophetic paintings, which I sort of liked, and now that he's dead, those done by the African guy, who I sort of liked as well, until his head was separated from his body. Isaac's comic book, 9th Wonder, which has become a deux ex machina that doesn't even make any sense, and now his "last sketchbook," is what angers me. Ando, Hiro, Parkman and Daphne (nemesis, haha) don't know what to do next, so they check the comic book to see where to go next, which is written in the comic that they'll do, and they don't even think to check ahead a few pages to see if anything bad might happen. It makes the future immutable, but at the same time, they need to change it, because otherwise the world will end, and things seem to not be leading to the clips of the future we've seen, like Claire becoming cold as ice or Sylar becoming a family man, what with him burning Elle's corpse and all.

I also didn't like the trip back to the past to see how it all started, which gave me very little further appreciation for anyone or any relationships, except for Sylar, Elle and Noah Bennet. Why did they have to make Flint Gordon Claire's mom's brother? Isn't it enough that Nathan, a man given his flying powers through science, and her, a pyrotechnic, are Claire's parents and it doesn't make sense how she got her powers, whereas it does that Peter and Sylar both have slightly altered versions of Arthur's powers? Why do Flint and Meredith both have the same power as well, though he spits blue flame and she spits hot fire? Also, finding out that Arthur tried to kill Nathan, and then seeing Nathan find out and still run to Daddy's side in a later episode made me lose even more respect for him.

Again, don't get me wrong. I haven't missed any episodes of Heroes, except for the last minute and a half that TiVo keeps not recording. I think Hiro as a kid and loving waffles is hysterical, I get chills from Sylar, and I keep wondering which villains will come back or what will happen next. However, if they don't kill off Daphne, who has the shittiest villain story and her "romance" with Parkman is based off a dream he had of the future where he was in love with her, soon, get Peter his powers back and do something of consequence, I'm going to be mad and may even not watch. That is, until they get a character who has powers like Green Lantern.


*HD has since explained that Arthur stole Peter's powers, which included time travel. However, if Arthur can take away people's powers by touching them, including all the ones acquired, and Peter's power was to gain people's powers that he was in contact with, how come Peter didn't also have all of Sylar's powers? Ponder that, until your head explodes.

**By the way, I actually traveled into the future to watch the episode, then wrote it in the past, which is why the posting date is 12/9/2008, instead of 12/9/2020, when I watched the episode.

My Heroes Are My Mommy and Daddy

Heroes, Season 3, has been a roller-coaster ride so far. And by that, I don't mean nonstop thrill ride, I mean some episodes are good and some bottom out so fast, your stomach feels like it exited your body through your mouth. A quick disclaimer: I never thought Season 2 was as horrible as many people did, but I tend to just be happy when there's comic book characters anywhere.

I've really liked many of the new villains, but find Nathan ridiculously obnoxious and don't like new Nikki. In those two cases, at least, it seems like the characters have gone backwards. Nathan is back to being a whiny, wanna-be president lapdog to an evil and manipulating man, though this time it's his father instead of Linderman, and he keeps speaking in his worst fake Christian Bale Batman voice. In addition, he has one of the least useful powers on the show. Sure, everyone wants to fly, but as Senator of the US, he has access to jets and hot stewardesses. The only time his power was cool was when he flew into the Voodoo guy and knocked him into a car. That was pretty badass.

Getting back to motivations and regression, the same has been true of Hiro, Peter, Sylar, Angela Petrelli...hell, anyone connected, with insider knowledge. Either the character has become powerless or weak in some form (through erasing Hiro's mind and Peter losing his powers) to give the character an additional obstacle and doubt to overcome on his path to becoming a hero, or they've been left twisting in the wind, dealing with more lies and coverups than a Wolverine origins story, or they're still manipulating everyone and hiding the truth, despite that not having worked out well ever before. I've heard reasons, such as Peter was too powerful and needed to doubt and needed to be normal, which is maybe the same reason why Sylar lost his powers in Season 2.

Oh Sylar. Sylar. Sylar. Why can't they just pick a path for you and let you take it? They keep torturing you, changing their minds over whether you're hero, villian, or anti-hero, like when Venom went straight. Also, an episode before the stupid "Eclipse" arc, Sylar was able to gain someone's abilities just like Peter, without harming them. Was that just a fad, or did he only gain the powers when the persn was around, so killing them was needed for a long term solution? He's a great bad guy, but everyone knows there always needs to be a more evil bad guy, like Magneto and then Apocalypse, which often makes the first bad guy sort of good, if only for a little. I loved the episode where Sylar offered to make pancakes for Peter, despite it taking place in the future, and was pretty bummed out when Peter and Gabriel never mounted up and possed out on Arthur Petrelli's ass. That partnership had so much kick-ass potential.

Back to the negative on the Eclipse arc, this is how I imagine they sold it: "We're gonna change everything and kill off Sylar and Claire, but then everything will be back to normal as soon as the Eclipse is gone, because we wanted to shock people and have everyone worried about the eclipse, but we've already used the future many times to kill off people and the eclipse really wasn't as universe shattering as we may have led the public, so basically everything is status quo, yet again."

Obama. Yea, That's All. Obama.

So Obama has won the election, and I couldn't be happier. The only thing that's bringing me down is he hasn't properly thanked me yet. Yea, that's right. It was all me. You're welcome, Barack. Not only did I provide extensive coverage by writing about him twice (this counting as the second time), but I drove down to Philadelphia and volunteered for his campaign. Sure, it was only four hours, and a lot of the time I sounded like a robo-call, and my main reasons for going were to flirt with campaign ladies and eat a philly cheese steak, but still.

Oh, now that Barack is president-elect, everything is going to turn around and the country will become perfect again. Don't let anyone bring you down from euphoria, especially not that jerk Human Dynamo. It's gonna be like magic, you'll see.

This Dating Life 2

I really wish the really cute girl who lives upstairs spoke better English, because I speak zero Russian. I also wish I knew for certain she wasn't a prostitute, for that matter. She's always around in the middle of the day, and is never able to open the front door, so I always have to buzz her in. That doesn't mean she's a prostitute, but her lock opening skills are sub-par. I just went upstairs to turn off her burglar alarm, and she clearly doesn't know the English for the phrase "Come in, let me show you my bed, so that we may share it naked. O yeah, I am also very flexible, and my attractive female roommate is too."

Things I Might Have Thought Had I Been Thinking

Sorry DJ Gallo for sorta ripping you off. But I think I thought of thinking about this first.

So I watched the VP debate weeks ago, eagerly, as did everyone else. I wanted to watch Joe "Mad Dog" Biden put his foot in his foaming mouth before squashing the completely incompetent and out of her mind Sarah Palin. I wanted to see her embarrass herself, say stupid things, and feel completely out of her league, like a child in a grown-up conversation. For the most part, she disappointed, though she started out strong by basically announcing she was refusing to answer the actual questions and would talk about what she wanted. Way to go, maverick!

I found the debate pretty frustrating, as Palin and Biden were mostly just mouthpieces for Barack and John "MC JohnnyCaneCakes" McCain. Joe was often on the defensive as Palin just made things up, and he had to often repeat that what she said was untrue, because she would keep repeating her lies. Here are some more observations, in list form:

-Palin thinks Biden is old, but doesn't think McCain is.

-Palin needs to learn basic punctuation uses, such as commas and periods, and to pause for breath while speaking in 10 minute long run-on sentences.

-Joe Biden just said "Only 10 percent of the people who are -- have been affected by this whole switch from Chapter 7 to Chapter 13 -- it gets complicated." And then didn't explain it.

-Palin has claimed she and McCain wouldn't take anything off the table (referring to promises of programs made to voters) despite the current economic crisis. So, Sarah (may I call you Sarah?), how do you plan to pay for everything, if you're not going to raise taxes and you're not going to leave Iraq?

-None of Palin's sentences make sense. I don't know if that's because of the run-on, or what, but it seems she takes the question, doesn't answer it, twists things around, and then just says words, hoping they'll combine to form a coherent thought, such as: "to positively affect the outcome." She's like a white, female Xzibit...talking a lot, but not saying a thing.

-"Joe Biden would like to interject that Joe Biden and Sarah Palin have a difference of opinion, because her and Joe Biden don't agree on what Joe Biden is talking about." Congratulations sir, you've just now referred to yourself in the 3rd person for the 100th time.

-You've also referred to McCain as your friend for the 100th time. Forget which side you're on, Senator Biden? It's not your job to defend McCain. When are you going to smash Palin already? I know all the pundits said you couldn't, because it would make you seem like a bully, but Joe Biden doesn't have to listen to anyone Joe Biden doesn't wish to. The alternative is letting Palin spend the entire debate lying.

-"Nucular." Seriously? Palin, it's nuclear. You are able to clearly say Ahmadinejad (no small task) but not nuclear? It makes you sound more like a folksy moron.

-I think Palin was about to start talking about the Castro Brothers as two Cuban plumbers who had to fight Bowser and eat mushrooms to grow large.

-Here's what I imagine Sarah Palin's "good talk" with Dr. Henry Kissinger went like:
Sarah: "Hi Henry. Can I call you Henry?"
Kissinger: "No."
Sarah: "Okie dokie Henry. You ever hunt a moose, or a Russian? I can field dress either. Can I have your recipe for oatmeal raisin cookies?"
Kissinger: "No."
Sarah: "Thanks Doc. Good talk."

-"Say it ain't so, Joe, there you go again pointing backwards again. You preferenced your whole comment with the Bush administration. Now doggone it, let's look ahead and tell Americans what we have to plan to do for them in the future." There was a lot of that in the debate, despite Palin constantly talking about the last 8 years and how folks need change.

-I know a lot of people think Palin is hot, but I don't think I could even hate f*ck her with someone else's dick.

-I threw up a little in my mouth when Palin said this: "In my comment there, it was a lame attempt at a joke and yours was a lame attempt at a joke, too, I guess, because nobody got it. Of course we know what a vice president does."

-Moments later I cried a little when Palin decided the Constitution was flexible in it's definition of a VP's powers, and then exploded with joy when Biden finally put her in her place and said "The idea [Cheney] doesn't realize that Article I of the Constitution defines the role of the vice president of the United States, that's the Executive Branch. He works in the Executive Branch. He should understand that. Everyone should understand that."

Ikea? More Like YOU-KEA!

I decided this blog had become too much of a really professional quality movie review site and not enough of an arena for me to complain, so I'm taking it back to the old school. Friday night* I went out to the IKEA in Red Hook to look for Benno media shelves for my living room, to better organize my CDs and DVDs. I know what you're thinking: shouldn't I have had like 6 dates since I'm such a pimp? Well, I did, but I told them all, "Ladies, I need IKEA shelves. You'll have to wait for Saturday night to be happy."

Unfortunately, the story gets pretty sad for me, as I wasted 35 minutes in the IKEA store, and I knew exactly what I wanted and the general direction of where it would be. I spent 2 minutes finding out the item was discontinued, and the other 33 minutes trying to find my way out of the store, following exit signs that led to nowhere, weaving through mazes of cheap faux wood desks and finally following the smell of swedishn meatballs to the lingonberry jam fort near the exit,** only to fear for my safety once I made it to the parking lot, which was devoid of human life despite the three hundred plus cars parked there. O yea, go see Burn After Reading.

*Right, like YOUR Friday night was much better. You're reading this, so I doubt it. No offense mom.

**Special thanks to pkilla for references and for helping me keep my sanity when I felt trapped by the Stojka and Bruuuuuneg collections closing in on me.

Pumpkin Fields Forever

I went out to Long Island with my family to go pumpkin picking and to get any other kinds of fresh, farm picked produce we could get our greedy hands on. I find it sad that there's less and less farm land on L.I. as more and more identical gated communities are constructed with golf courses for rich assholes to own. I love pumpkin picking, and kept thinking of Linus in the patch. We don't do that fake shit, with pumpkins pre-picked in wooden crates or set up on grass. We go into the actual patch and cut them off the vines, frontier style. My sister and I spend hours looking around for perfect pumpkins, then bringing them together and debating their individual merits. For me, the ideal pumpkin is a deep orange color, a good 15-20 pounds, and roundish shape, with strong character traits, like deep grooves and furrows. No pretty boy pumpkin for me. It was a really fun day, and I came back super happy. Afterward, I realized I just want to be always surrounded by squashes, pumpkins, and gourds. Ah, pure bliss!

Thanks A Lot, Mets

Well, the baseball season officially ended the day the Mets managed not to make it to the playoffs. Again. I think more than anything, more than being sad, or angry, I was hurt. I felt betrayed. Being a freelancer and having TiVo has it's advantages, and one of those was being able to watch Mets games whenever I want. Out of the 162 games played this year, I watched at least 120 of them, most of those to completion, and went to another 7 or 8 games. That's a lot of time to waste on a team that won't even make it into the playoffs for you. I didn't want roses, or chocolate, or even Carlos Delgado to show up to my house and sing Hanukkah songs. I just wanted to root the Mets on in the playoffs. Thanks a lot guys. Now that you failed me, baseball is dead to me. I know next March I'll get all the familiar butterflies as Opening Day looms closer, but I'll know better. No longer will I so innocently and naively throw all my support and time into watching you pitch and hit your way to disappointment. Worse still, you'll be doing it a stadium with a sponsored, soulless name, Citi Field.

I'm not going to be entirely negative, though. I have some advice that can help you next year. Omar Minaya, please read this and see it through, and the Mets will be guaranteed NL Champions.

1. Change Carlos Beltran's calendar so that every month reads July, August, or September. These are the only months he seems to be able to hit for power in.

2. Take away some of Beltran's money. You're paying him an awful lot to be a 20/20 guy who's a little lazy in the outfield and tries to look cool by catching flyballs casually.

3. Stop playing Luis Castillo.

4. Take away all of Luis Castillo's money. Hey, he's no longer playing, so what's he getting paid for?

5. Clone David Wright and play him at second base and catcher. I used to use this strategy in Bulls vs. Blazers for Sega Genesis, playing 3 Michael Jordans and 2 Patrick Ewings. The team was unstoppable.

6. Let Johan Santana pitch every inning of every game.

7. Get Moises Alou a reverse-aging machine. This is not to be confused with a time machine. If Alou goes back in time, he'll still be old. But with a fountain of youth, Alou can once again hit .350 and will only miss 30 games a year, instead of 130. Hey, if they can fund Beltran's ocular enhancer machine, which seems to not have any tennis balls colored for overhand curve, they can afford this.

8. Desperately try to find a clause that reverses the Scott Kazmir for Victor Zambrano trade.

9. Make sure Ryan Church doesn't get any more concussions, maybe by wrapping his head in bubble wrap or forcing him to wear some sort of helmet, like in football or hockey. This guy wears a helmet, and never seems to get a concussion, despite running into things much harder than Marlon Anderson.

10. Petition MLB to make all Mets games only 6 innings long. Bullpen? Who needs a bullpen. Can't have blown saves or late inning collapses if there are no late innings.

Professional Movie Review # 12 Disciples

Go see Religulous. It's worth it for the image of a saddle on a triceratops at the Creationism Museum alone. I know the whole point of Bill Maher's movie is to ask questions and his philosophy is "I don't know," but I tell you with certainty, go see this movie.

Eagle Eye

To steal from Jesse's movie review technique, I give this movie 7 "Will Smiths with bionic arms in wife beaters" out of 10 possible "Will Smiths" for being a movie that's already been done. Oh, major spoilers ahead. By that, I mean I plan on giving away everything in the movie.

The action in Eagle Eye is fantastic, and non-stop. By fantastic, I mean relating to fantasy, and by non-stop I mean just that. It never ends, and maybe there's too much of it. I don't believe Michelle Monaghan is a good enough driver to pull off many of the moves she pulls while trying to get away from the cops. A million cars get totaled in the chase scenes, as Shia and Michelle are aided by someone with immense control over all technology, someone who makes lights turn green or red at will and gets a crane to run over a cop car. Seems like overkill to me. I spent much of the movie wanting to know who the mysterious woman who called both characters and left them messages everywhere and coordinated everything so they could get away was, only to be disappointed to find out it was a robot. Wait, no, not a robot. It was some sort of supercomputer that could watch everything and interface with everything and was meant to monitor humanity and make things better but ended up going all bad ass and thinking it had to control everything. Plot sound familiar? *Cough irobot Cough*

Why the Thing was in the movie, but the rest of Fantastic Four was missing, threw me for a little while as well, but I soon found other things to complain about. The movie is insanely long, and ends like this: Rosario Dawson and the guy who watches the computer figure out Shia's twin brother (who is much less of a screw up than Shia) sent them a message that the computer is evil, and they need to take it down. The computer's physical form, outside of it's computery looking parts, is an eye that goes round and round in a circle. Rosario and guy go to a high platform to do something to the eye's liquid nitrogen core, when the eye knocks them both off. Seriously. A huge sphere vs. Rosario and some guy who has a gun. And it's winning. They're in water, because for some reason the eye has a moat, yet no sea monsters to detract invaders, and things are all going to hell, so Rosario takes a big piece of pipe and jams it in the center of the eye, and it's over. That's it. Just jam a pipe in it's eye and it's over. Meanwhile, Shia, who made it into a secure area after beating up highly trained guards, shoots a gun in the air to prevent Michelle's kid from playing the note on his trumpet which has a sonic bomb-goer-offer device in it. Since he's shooting his gun in a room full of government types, he gets taken like 50 Cent by the Secret Service. At least 5 shots hit him. Oh, but he's still alive, as the last scenes point out, and he visits Michelle for her son's birthday and there's a kiss on the cheek and the movie ends.

That's it. That's the end. Over two hours of ridiculousness, with people doing everything for a computer, scared to death of it, and that's how the movie ends. No seeing Michelle in some lingerie, no Will Smith showing up to tell Shia to go home and not adapt his old movie, no Star Scream showing up to cackle and plot. That reminds me, I can't wait to see Shia in Transformers 2.

Grace is Gone: Another Professional Movie Review

Good movie. I kept thinking John Cusack looked a lot more like the late, great John Ritter with those glasses on than he did the handsome and likable Martin Blank in Grosse Point Blank. I found the movie a little weird when Cusack doesn't tell his daughters their mother died till the end of the movie, but it made up for that in emotions and story telling. I liked the rather subtle add-in that Cusack felt guilty he wasn't the one to be in Iraq due to poor eyesight. What really annoyed me, however, was the playing of sappy emotional music over conversations that are supposed to be emotional, as if the viewer wouldn't understand without the score.

The Populist People's Elbow

Maybe it was just me or the 4 beers I consumed during the convention, but I couldn't help thinking Obama sounded a lot like The Rock when he got really passionate about something. I was actually disappointed when he didn't call McCain a candy ass and threaten to lay the smackdown on the entire Republican party. Can you smellllllllllll what Barack is cooking?*

I also couldn't help thinking Obama sounded a lot like a kid trying to win the 5th grade school presidency. "We're going to build a pool in social studies class, all the teachers lounges will be turned into kids lounges with Xbox 360s, and every Monday, Wednesday and Friday will be pizza day!" I understand his message is all about hope and everything we can do, and I do believe he can bring about change. I just felt like he was biting off more than he could chew. Zero dependence on foreign oil in 10 years? Please. He's forgetting he can't be president for more than 8, and our technology for alternate energy sources is so far behind, I've read reports that solar energy wouldn't be viable large scale till 2050.


*After spending lots of time thinking this up and writing it out, I was informed Barack already did this on WWE. That doesn't make my idea or post any less funny. Trust me.

Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits

I got a coupon for a free haircut and shave from a barber who's business was in the middle of a spa with stereotypically Chelsea hairdressers, and figured why not. I like to get my haircut, I like free things, and I've never had a shave before. I shave my face with a razor maybe a few times a year, the last I could remember being for Dee and Martin's wedding in December as a favor to her. This was not an experience I'm eager to have ever again. You're in a chair, with a hot towel over your face, thinking, hey this is kinda cool. Then, when your eyes are open, you see a man coming at you with a straight razor, and all I could think about was mobster scenes in mobster movies where mobsters kill/get killed men in their barber shops with straight razors. The barber had to hold my skin tight, and when shaving my mustache-area, he had his forearm on my throat. Also not cool. To top it off, it wasn't even all that good a shave.*


*Much like this isn't all that good a post. They can't all be hits.

Olympics IV

In keeping with watching new sports in the Olympics, James Cash and I watched women's fencing. It was less like James Bond or The Three Musketeers and more like a giant slapping fight with 2 bendable plastic swords. Another sport which I think I could excel in, trained by watching old Errol Flynn movies. Engarde!

Olympics III

I really don't like Bob Costas, which is one of the major reasons I don't like the Olympics. He's the original Joe Buck, only worse.

That said, I'm fascinated by Olympic diving. They do all sorts of twists and turns in the air. It's magical. I'd love to see them dive from much higher up though, and do dive difficulties of 8 or 9, like a 12 1/2 inward somersault 6.875 (repeating decimal) twist while reciting the alphabet backwards. I've noticed China has been dominant so far in the diving contests. I wonder how they'd do in men's platform into shark tank competition. I couldn't help thinking, what if the world's greatest diver couldn't swim at all?

Olympics II

I don't think badminton should be an Olympic sport. I think a good qualifier for what should NOT be considered an Olympic sport is anything I might play at a family barbecue or picnic and which I could probably contend for the gold among the world's premiere athletes.

I did love the shock and awe the announcer had when declaring, during the women's final match where one Chinese lady attempted to out badminton the other Chinese lady, that "China has won the gold!" Yea, I never would have known China would win the gold without watching the whole match. And the silver medal too, you say? Shocking.

Olympics

Commentator: Mark Phelps' coach often throws obstacles at him during practice so he's ready for anything in the water.

Me: Like doing the butterfly next to the Loch Ness Monster?

James Cash: Does he throw bears in the pool? Surprise, water bears!

This Dating Life

I think it would be really fun to start a doomed relationship. One you know is going to end and soon. This doesn't necessarily mean it has to end badly, but I'd definitely not have to put too much into it, cause the fear of it dissolving isn't actually a fear at all, but more a certainty. Towards that end, I want to start dating women who are looking for a nice, Christian man to settle down with very soon. One, two dates tops, then "It was nice meeting you, but this isn't going to go anywhere."

What's a "Coatamundi," You Ask?*

DJ decided to take a long weekend, but only if HD and I would join him on a Great Adventure mostly of his choosing. I agreed to drive under one condition: we got to go on the Safari. I keep seeing commercials on TV where giraffes eat milkshakes out of your sunroof and elephants sit on your hood, so I was pretty psyched. I let DJ drive so I could ride shotgun and take photos, and Dynamo hung in the back with a bag of jerky in case he needed to taunt any Sasquatches on the trails. At first the safari was pretty boring, with only bison and emus and North American deer to see, but it soon picked up and I saw all sorts of antelope from Africa, along with too many ostriches, some zebras and some far away giraffes. Being able to spot wild rhinos in their natural habitat of a New Jersey theme park from only a few, barrier-free feet away was incredible. After a couple minutes driving around, I realized two major flaws to sitting shotgun: I couldn't open my own window to pet any of the animals and DJ wouldn't drive how I wanted (slower and off the paths so I could wrangle a zebra).

All of a sudden, we were done in Africa and entered the holy land: an entire area full of A LOT of black bears that weren't in cages. In my excitement, I managed to only come up with an estimate of like, 67 bears. I may have also shrieked with glee when one of the bears padded by the car like an oversized dog, and screamed in frustration when I couldn't pet him. We made it through after many joyful outbursts from me, and as we pulled into the next area, a sadness and longing to drive in reverse filled me. Sure, tigers and lions were great, but they couldn't fill me with happiness like bears do. And then, a miracle occurred. I started the day without any expectations for bears, and all of a sudden, we were in a second bear area for European brown bears. It was like a bear resurrection or something, and I felt like people probably did when Jesus rose; he was great the first time around, so there's no doubt he'll be great the second time too, though he'll be slightly different, like European instead of a black bear Jesus.

Unfortunately, DJ made us leave the bears area before we could see how a bear playing with a stick in a pond would play out. I guess "to be continued..." By the time the safari was over, I noticed we were the only car that was filled solely with "adults." DJ and Dynamo headed straight for the roller coasters when we got inside the park, while I found a shady section of grass and took a nap, pooped from my earlier great adventures.






*O yea, they had coatamundis in an area that was mostly for kids but still kind of fun. If you don't know what they are, look it up. I can't spoon feed you everything!

To Catch a Possum

This one time, at band camp, I caught a possum in a trap meant for a filthy feral cat. My neighbor decided to not let him out herself and also give him her leather jacket, in case he was cold or wanted to entertain us with his Fonz impression. Mr. Possum did not, but rather chose to grip on to the cage with his tiny monkey like paws while sort of snarling before scampering off to do whatever it is possums do when not playing dead. Overall, it was a pretty exciting day.

Call Me PRO-duce

If I ever became a gardening rapper/photographer, I'd be named PRO-duce.

Ecological Warfare

To combat a horrible mosquito problem in the backyard, I decided to go the organic/natural route and eliminate the bloodsuckers with biological control. I already had tiny goldfish living in my rain bucket to eat mosquito larvae and eggs, but I needed something to eat the adults too, so I bought a fire-bellied toad. I figured toads and frogs eat flying insects, with the exception of Kermit who is too celebrity to stoop to such levels. Plus, the fire belly is cool. I put Teddy Toad outside in his enclosed suite and left the sun roof open, hoping he'd pluck mosquitoes out of the sky. He didn't. After some research, I discovered that fire-bellied toads are from southeast Asia (which isn't actually relevant at all), are mildly toxic and eat worms and crickets, not flies, because they don't have a long tongue. I brought him inside and figured I could play fetch with him, or at the very least teach him tricks, like sitting in my hand without hopping away. Instead, whenever I'm near, he hops to the other side and presses himself against the plastic. Teddy even lets the crickets I bought for him walk all over him. So now I'm stuck with a toad with low self-esteem who won't really do the job I bought him for, can cause allergic reactions if I have open cuts on my hand and doesn't even like me.

Thank God We Don't Do THAT Anymore!

The other day Pkilla was regaling me with a touching story of unrequited teenage love, in which she left clues for her crush to figure out who his mystery crusher was. Either he was obtuse, or she left things like "My name does NOT rhyme with rhinoceros" and "I am female, in your grade, and you know my name." After telling her tale, there was a big sigh of relief, from her at least, when she revealed she no longer needs to go completely out of her way to impress or catch a crush. I say from her, because in many ways (ok, all ways) I still do.

I'm hoping to trick one woman who may end up being rich in a few years to move to NYC and go out with me, at which point she can support my photographic habit (tax write-off for supporting the arts!). Then there's the herb girl at the farmer's market, who has totally captivated my heart. I asked her out, but she didn't think her boyfriend would like that much and informed me I had missed the boat. When's the next boat though? I now bring her blueberries grown in my garden in an attempt to impress her, much like older men drive shiny red convertibles or bower birds decorate their nest with super pretty things. "Here's a zucchini from my yard," I'll say. "Isn't it delicious? Please, enjoy these perfectly formed blueberries from my bush." The subtext is clear; I can grow vegetables and fruit pretty well, wouldn't I make a great mate? It's always been my belief that good gardening is a mark of virility. So, ladies: be impressed by my agricultural green thumb, as I'm a good provider, and let me take you to see Hellboy 2, after which we can be amorous.

The Anti-Me

"What the hell?! I went outside to see if anything had stupidly stumbled into my trap, and found the food eaten and the gate down. Stupid cat lady swore to me the other day she was no longer feeding the cats, but I don't believe her. She admitted to me that after I caught the last cat, she cried all morning about it. I'm going to kick her head off one day, she's so stupid.

So one of two things happened. Either the cat managed to move the food from next to what trips the cage door to fall to the other side of the cage, eat all of it, leave the cage and then trip it using a tree branch or pick the lock on the other side to escape Houdini style, or Anna gave the cat the food or let it out. Or her mongoloid son did. They're both so stupid. I hate them both so much. She just straight lies to my face. If this keeps up, I'm gonna be forced to punch her in the face. When I get home, I'm going to burn her fucking wisteria down. Then I'll have to cage her son, and when I catch that last cat, I'm going to put his head on a spear as a warning to all the others and slap her with it's lifeless torso for being a moron.

Ok, maybe that's harsh, but you don't understand. She's like the anti-me. Everything she does is to undo something I've done. I try to keep the cats out of the yard so it doesn't smell like a litter box, and she leaves food for them. I got the cat trap because she never did, so she feeds the cats and also lets them out of the cage. I clean up weeds in the backyard so it's more usable, and she plants things haphazardly that became too 'ugly' for the front yard. It's all just like a giant fuck you to me. Imagine you tied your shoes, and someone immediately untied them. You brush your teeth and someone immediately throws dirt in your mouth. You eat food cause you're hungry and someone comes along and sticks their fingers down your throat to force it up. I mega-loathe her."

My mom calmly asked me if I was done ranting, then proceeded to talk to my sister about how much the hamster loves kernels of corn.

Nyet. Da. Da. Shto?

Named as secretary of the new board of directors in a secret meeting reminiscent of the kinds held by party bosses in the 30s and 40s, I had yet to see any responsibility. That all changed with the announcement of our first building meeting last night, held at 7 PM in the boiler room in the basement, with only 7 seating surfaces (not chairs) for 10 people. My first duty was to take notes at the meeting. What follows is excerpts from my notes of the meeting:

6/18/08 7:25 PM
8 people present....9. 10. 10 people present

1. New Board of Directors
Alex = President
Anna = "I will continue to be treasurer"
Larry = Secretary (of Defense)
After announcement there was silence, before one person said ok. Sounds unanimous to me.

2. Water bill has increased due to possible prostitution ring upstairs.
Alex and I discuss merits of letting prettier girls do whatever they want. Much arguing.

3. Bylaws. There are no sponsors any longer. (Shouldn't the bylaws be mentioned and then voted on, rather than just agreed that there is such a thing as "bylaws" in the world? Oh well.)

4, 5, 6, whatever...No construction early in the morning or late at night, no working in your storage room, keep plants inside balcony so they don't drip on merry bbq'ers below, no hate crimes, etc. Damn I'm hungry.

7. Why did Alex just use the word "emergency" in a Russian filled statement? Be sure to find out why there's no Russian word for emergency. You'd kind of figure there would be.

8. Common charges should be raised to...(oh hell, I didn't catch that and now everything is in Russian. Should I loudly yell out Nyet, das vidanya? Might not make sense).

9. Who cares anymore? I'm totally bored and I think we're all still arguing about the water bill and raising charges in Russian. Well, everyone but me. Now I'm being asked to chime in and yell at the guy they're all picking on, but I don't understand, and I don't wanna. I don't! They can't make me. Ha, now one of the guys is getting really pissy, comically so, about replacing the lock for 200 dollars. Haha, this is getting good. Oh, it's over? Only 1.5 hours later? Well that was well worth my time. Can't wait for the next one. The End.

Looking back, I think they may have made a mistake asking the only non-Russian speaker in the building to take notes at a meeting in which English was only used by mistake.

To Catch a Cat

For the past year and a half I've been at war with the neighborhood's feral felines, a war which I was continuously losing. No matter how many plastic forks I put down as deterrents, how many cinder blocks I used to block up holes in the fence, how many times I cursed them, these clever cats found ways to get in and fulfill what I can only assume was their dream of crapping in my raised bed garden. When they weren't accomplishing their sole mission in life, they meowed and fought loudly, forced me to buy chicken wire to cover the vegetable garden, and left behind the heads of kittens.

Yesterday I finally won a battle in this long fought war. One of the cats recently had kittens and left them unattended. I scooped up one of the clueless 3 week old kittens and put it in timeout in a paint bucket while I searched for his sibling, who had managed to scamper off into low brush. After fruitless searching, I eventually brought the kitten outside and left him on the steps to meow pitifully, thus drawing both his mother and sibling out of hiding. The mother quickly scampered off, but I had the brothers scooped up in a towel and eventually deposited in their cardboard box holding cell, along with water and milk (which they wouldn't drink until I hit on the idea of having James Cash breast feed them since they weren't yet weaned). They didn't do much except look cute. Their mother spent a large portion of the evening staring in to my apartment, no doubt hoping to get her scions back. However, she failed to understand the basic rules of hostage negotiations, and didn't offer me anything in exchange.

I brought the kittens to a shelter where they will no doubt be adopted on the strength of adorableness and saved from being one of "many kitties who die in the backyard over the winter," as my cat feeding and encouraging moron of a neighbor noted. To add to mother cat's bad luck, today she was captured in my cat trap. I was elated, but thought being too bragadocious would be in bad taste, so I merely went outside and captured my flexing on her for posterity. That'll teach you to trespass, assholes.

Birthright Israel 2: Hummus Abounds!

Morning was pretty rough, as last night I slept without a blanket again, trying and failing to cover myself with hand towels to ward off the chill from the A/C. Drinking 1/2 a bottle of wine and getting my ass kicked in water basketball didn't help the waking up process. On the 2nd night we were in Israel, we finally held ice breakers at the kibbutz's pool. Our peer leaders set up a game of Jewish bingo for us, which was mostly useless in helping me learn people's names, but I did find out who's favorite color was blue. If only I could match the name to the face. Everyone knows drinking is the best ice breaker anyway. In time, I would compare the trip to freshman year of college. Everyone starts off pretty friendly, since we're all thrown together in an unfamiliar new country, and as time goes on, you become friends with the people who you really want to be. For me, this wasn't too many, as I was often buried in my camera or not feeling great due to 5 hours of sleep, hikes, and not eating enough. I probably lost 7-10 pounds on the trip.

We visited Tzfat, birthplace of Jewish mysticism and City of Four Spellings. It was here that I received a red bracelet, which makes me a high priest of kaballah. This bracelet of destiny has been tied to my left wrist in an unbreakable knot of eternity by the hands of Fate herself. Or it was just double knotted really well by my sister. Whatever. I also learned that blue is a very significant color in the Middle East, which is why many windows are blue. I definitely know the reason behind this, but I'm gonna choose to keep it to myself. We visited some old synagogues with birds flying around inside and then a candle store which made a wax Noah's ark, Super-Rabbi, Super-Jew, and strangest of all, the Incredible Hulk.

Our first night out in Jerusalem gave us a good impression of what Israeli nightlife was like: crappy American house music mixed with lots of Americans who couldn't dance too well. Hookahs came for free with beer I think. The night was forever immortalized in the same way most nights out are for me: photos of flashing gang signs and at least one beer in my other hand.

According to my itinerary, Friday we traveled westwards to Tel Aviv and we may or may not have experienced the Mediterranean at a beach (I just remember a lot of whining towards that end). Once there, we got to see a movie on how Tel Aviv was founded that was made from stock footage in the 80s, but the rest of the experience at Independence Hall was well worth the trip. A sabra told the tale dramatically, totally nailing the David Ben Gurion gavel bang, and gave some perspective through her personal story of raising a boy and sending him off to the military. Things got even more somber at Rabin square, a memorial to Yitzhak Rabin, who was taken from Israel too soon by an assassination. The day was topped off with more local culture and me getting hissed at by an olive vendor at the Shabbat market, a raucous and fast moving food market not unlike what you'd see in a movie. Imagine hundreds of Israelis rushing about to gather food supplies and bargain before everything shuts down for the day of rest, and you'll have some idea of the chaos.

That night was really the only time on the whole trip any religion was forced on us. There was a Shabbat program consisting of a story of a man who loved a song that went "li li la li la li li" because, and here's a spoiler warning cause I'm giving away the surprise ending, his dad wrote it, but he didn't know this because he thought he was Muslim and he never knew his real father. The other story had to do with why Shabbat was special, and the answer was that all the other days had paired up. I guess getting rejected at a singles party for days of the week makes you special, though it's an interesting definition. There was also exploitation of the young passionate Jew from Brooklyn's daughter to sing songs.

Our more secular tour guide relayed his personal opinion on it afterwards, and I could really get behind the main idea. I don't buy into not using electricity on Shabbat, but liked the idea of not doing work on Saturday, using it as a day to relax and be with your family. I could even get behind it from a spiritual sense too, but found too often people took it too seriously or justified what they did or didn't do. We would find pre-ripped toilet paper at many of the kibbutzes because ultra-religious Jews couldn't do that on Shabbat. Really? Is ripping toilet paper really considered work? I like to take a nap every day, but this puts even my laziness to shame.

Birthright Israel 1: The Land of Milk and Honey and ATMs

On Memorial Day, Monday May 26, 2008, at 11:50 PM local time, I departed, along with the rest of my Taglit Birthright group, Israel Outdoors, to Israel, determined to come back tan and fabulously wealthy. Also, due to a certain friend whose name rhymes with Para and starts with a D, I was convinced I was going to hook up with at least 30 beautiful Israeli women, and also whichever American women were on the trip. "My friend came back from Israel with a girlfriend, and he's gay." The pressure was certainly on.*

After a 10 hour flight that seemed not so bad upon landing, I started what would later become a trend by separating from the group at baggage claim and waiting outside for them for 30 minutes. Oops. Another trend of not being able to eat when hungry and traveling on the bus too much began here too. We drove north to a kibbutz (not the one we stayed at), where we quickly came to learn that the food we'd be eating was going to be low quality and cafeteria style (only 1 protein each!). We also learned that Israelis have Tang with all dinners and Kool Aid with all breakfasts, along with such oddities as peppers, tomatoes and cucumbers. Avner, our tour guide, proudly bragged about how Israelis eat more salad than anyone else in the world, but failed to manage how they don't actually eat this crappy food too.

While driving north, I was struck by the landscape. Not having traveled out of the country much, I expected to be overwhelmed by the change, yet the landscape didn't feel unfamiliar. It was Mediterranean in the north, and in many ways reminded me of Italy. While impressed by the beauty, I wasn't in awe as it felt comfortable. I was completely impressed by the amount of agriculture. The northern part of the country is a veritable greenhouse, with sunflowers and rosemary and humus trees everywhere. Throughout the trip I saw some cool wildlife, mostly birds I've never seen before, but a few hyraxes, ibexes, stray lizards and wandering camels.

My Israel adventure really started the next day, when we hiked around Nimrod's Castle in Galilee, or maybe it was in or near Golan Heights. We had a fantastic view of Syria, or perhaps Lebanon. I really don't remember which it was, as I tended to wander off and take photos rather than pay as much attention to the tour guide as I should have. In any case, it was really cool, and like much of Israel, incomprehensibly old. When forts and castles and roads are a thousand or more years old, you tend to scoff at our notion of Wrigley Field being old and monumental. From here, we went to visit Banias, which is not only the largest waterfall in all of Israel, but also home to the Keebler Elves' very first flour mill. The only photographic evidence I have of kayaking on the Jordan River is a shot of a bench and a french fry vending machine that was closed up. It was probably a good idea not to bring any of my cameras on the inflatable kayak that couldn't be steered straight as young Israelis (and our tour guide) love to splash and shout mostly nonsensical things in English to us American tourists. We finished the day at what was formerly Syrian bunkers on top of Mt. Bental. Nothing like packing into a room and then finding out it was a popular location for the soldiers to relieve themselves while listening to a joke that anon means "clouds" in Hebrew and there used to be a coffee shop at the top, so it was nicknamed Coffee Anon. Yea, I don't find it that funny either.


*In this series, you will read many things. All of them are based on notes I took in my travel journal or memories recollected from photos I took, so every word will be true. As usual.

The Assassination of My Attention Span by the Coward Robert Ford

Alright, I haven't done a review in a while, but James Cash has Netflix, so a lot of movies come through here. A lot of discs of Arrested Development too, which may be why I'm a little disappointed and surprised that it's Hugh Ross narrating The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford rather than Ron Howard. I felt the movie was full of cons and sprinkled with pros, but could see how critics loved it and how it was nominated for a couple Oscars (which I don't believe in anyway).

For starters, two and a half hours is a long time for a movie, especially one without any bears. I didn't like the selective focus in many scenes, though I did love the fog and mystery in the first train robbing scene. There were too many "the clouds are moving fast to signify passing of time" moments, and too many characters with too many names. It was hard to keep things straight, and I felt like the octogenarian at the movies who has to keep asking who a character is and what's happening now. Most of my other complaints of the film come from not realizing it wasn't going to be an action movie. While watching, I couldn't help but compare it to "3:1o to Yuma," the only other Western I'd seen in quite a while. I thought Yuma was better, due to it having more action, more clip-clopping of horses and more Luke Wilson, though I know this was a more character driven plot. Also, the title kind of gave away how the movie was going to end. Imagine if the Sixth Sense had been renamed "The Sixth Sense of Being Able to See Dead People, Like Bruce Willis." Honestly, Jesse James should have had a spoiler alert in the title. The ending is a bit of a downer too.

I was only vaguely familiar with the Jesse James story, but had remembered him being completely awesome. Apparently that wasn't the case, as he was portrayed as a paranoid, violent asshole of a man. Casey Affleck was real good in the movie, but I couldn't help thinking to myself "hey, wow, Casey Affleck killed Jesse James. This on top of him being a total badass in 'Gone Baby Gone.' Casey's so much better than Ben." Robert Ford was weird as hell, seemingly in love with Jesse, and like everyone else in the movie, a horrible liar. You'd figure in the Wild West, everyone would know about poker faces and not sweating while recounting a made up story of slipping on the roof or where someone they killed was "hiding out." You'd be wrong.

On the pro side, I did pick up the use of "peckerwood" as a salutary phrase.

Adulthood Strikes Part the Second

I recently had a revelation that I missed out on my 2os. Everyone's twenties is all about uncertain living conditions, struggle for a job, hard partying, lack of responsibility, etc. Out of college, I was lucky enough to live with my parents, so it didn't matter if I had a job or not. They were kind enough to provide for me for a nominal rent fee of $100 a month when I could afford it, and I worked odd jobs like tutoring a 7th grader for the SAT to please his overbearing overachieving parents or setting up and shooting product shots for K-Mart of Orange County Choppers' cologne to get spending money. While I'd get sick of sitting around playing video games instead of applying for a full time job (I was convinced any day I'd make it as a photographer and needed to keep my options open), or frustrated that my friends were at work during the day rather than hanging out with me, I never really worried about much. People I knew were moving hundreds of miles away after college and trying to make it on their own, while I was safe and secure, if a bit stuck in adolescence, in my parents' apartment.

It's four years later, and somehow I've aged 10-15 years. At age 25, I got a yoke attached when I co-bought a condo with Human Dynamo, my close friend since I was 15. It's been great, since I have a backyard and we were able to modify the apartment as we saw fit, mostly (no fireman's pole or secret entrances and trapdoors, yet). However, most of my friends my age have moved around a couple of times since college ended, traveling and living free. Oh, and the housing market has since crashed, meaning had I waited my current castle may have been cheaper. I've become rather domestic too. Sometimes it just feels like I'm in my 30s, and I know my days of freedom, if not over, are numbered. As a man with a commitment, I can't just up and leave for Italy or California without giving serious thought to my ties here.

All this really leads up to me turning 27 today, and so far not getting the only gift I really want: a sun bear. They're the smallest of all bears, weighing in between 100 and 150 pounds as an adult at a length of 4 1/2 feet, putting them on par with a Newfoundland. Keep in mind when reading the following excerpt from the Honolulu Zoo's website that I have neither a cocoa or coconut plantation, nor are any to be found in Brooklyn. Their high reproductive rate is impressive and useful, as I could soon have an army of semi-slothful tree climbing bear-soldiers* at my beck and call.

The Malayan sun bear is the smallest member of the bear family. It is also the one with the shortest and sleekest coat - perhaps an adaptation to a lowland equatorial climate.

These animals grow to approximately four and a half feet in length and have a tiny, two-inch tail. Their average weight is less than 100 pounds. The short-haired, deep black or brown-black fur is interrupted on the chest by a pale orange-yellow horseshoe-shaped marking. In folklore, this yellow crescent is said to represent the rising sun and is apparently the origin of the name sun bear.

They have a long narrow tongue which can be extended quite far. The long sickle-shaped claws on all four feet and the large, inward-oriented feet are most reminiscent of the sloth bear. Malayan sun bears are skillful climbers, a useful ability for a species which spends a lot of time climbing trees to get fruit.

DISTRIBUTION and HABITAT:

Although they inhabit both lowlands and highlands, the Sun bears are primarily forest dwellers. They rest and feed in trees in tropical to subtropical regions of Southeast Asia - Borneo, Sumatra, Malay Peninsula, Kampuchea, Vietnam, Laos, Burma, and possibly southern China.

BEHAVIOR:

Relatively low weight, strongly curved claws, and large paws with naked soles help to make the Sun bear an adept climber. It is primarily nocturnal, frequently resting or sunbathing during the day on a platform of broken branches several feet above ground level.

Malayan sun bears sometimes cause a great deal of damage to coconut palms and on cocoa plantations. Young cubs are so lively, playful and attractive that they are often kept as pets in their native lands, but they become treacherously bad-tempered as they grow older.

In zoos, Malayan sun bears often scratch one stone after another out of walls, using their sharp claws.

DIET:

Malayan sun bears are omnivorous. They eat small vertebrates such as lizards and nesting birds and fruit. They are also very fond of honey.

REPRODUCTION and GROWTH:

Sun bears may mate at any time of year; they are thought to have only one mate. Two or three cubs are usually born after a gestation period of 96 days. The young, usually weighing 10-15 ounces each, are suckled for about 18 months. Females reach sexual maturity at about three years and males at four years. These bears live 25 to 28 years in captivity.

Sure, the shared fondness of honey could be a problem, as I envision us comically getting angry with each other whenever Apollo or I finished the honey and didn't buy a new one, but it would also be something we have in common. What does the first half of this post have to do with the last? Well, if I didn't have this condo and 29 years left on my mortgage, I could currently be in Myanmar with a sun bear friend, rather than fruitlessly trying to bribe a local zoo for the release of their ursine captives.


*There were so many good links for bear-soldier, and I wanted to post them all. Here are a few more: Link 1, Link2, Link 3 and Link 4

You're a Tree By the Way

J-Live, notoriously ridiculously good MC, has a song off his last full length album called Do My Thing. The first time I heard it, in my infinite wisdom, I was pretty sure the hook was "You're a tree, by the way, I do my thing. By the way, I do my thing." I just assumed a tree was new slang, and the hook writer was very casual, yet matter of fact, in informing me that he does his thing. The actual line is of course "intrigued by the way I do my thing."

However, this was a great segue into me planting a tree in my backyard! I won't profess to being an expert gardener; most of what I'm doing is trial and error with a little help from the world wide webs and advice I give myself. I saw the dwarf Blenheim apricot tree while shopping for soil and decided I needed to have it. Planting it felt like quite an accomplishment, and not only has it not yet died, but it seems to have tiny green fruit that hopefully will turn into actual tasty apricots. This was followed by two highbush blueberry plants, which also now appear to be fruiting. Check out photos below, and note my excellent mulching technique.

All this gardening has excited many people, including the building's possibly vampire super who has decided he will have the pickles and potatoes I'm growing in my vegetable bed (I'm growing neither pickles, which are delivered by a stork anyway, nor potatoes). I'm also convinced he wants access to my vegetables for his own nefarious purposes. What I'm actually growing is red leaf lettuce, sugar snap peas, eggplant, dragon carrots, zucchini, a potimarron squash and roma, sungold cherry, brandywine, sweet pea currant, brown berry and costaluto genovese tomatoes. In case they ever develop cars that run on fairly obscure tomatoes mixed with common tomatoes, I'll be in the money. Till then, it's salsa sandwiches with V8 for meals.

In other backyard news, James Cash and I named the ridiculously bright red cardinal that visits our backyard Benedict. Thankfully, despite being highly territorial, Benedict has not yet attacked his own image in my window or his mirror he uses for preening. His song sounds like this: "bright bright bright, cheer cheer cheer." And no, learning that from the Field Guide to Birds of North America that I own doesn't make me feel like a dork.

Jobs Ahoy!

While technically there hasn't been much change in my employment status, I did recently pass an interview with flying colors* and come second week of June, I'll be the newest and proudest member of the WCS family. That's right. I've been hired as a volunteer wallaby hugger and river otter playmate at the Prospect Park Zoo. Yes, Prospect Park has a zoo. Yes, it's in Brooklyn. Yes, seriously.

To start with, I'll be working in their Discovery center as an adult supervisor, with animals like kestrels, tarantulas and some other things which I didn't hear because I was busy feeling squeamish about icky spiders and other invertebrates that freak me out. I can only assume one of my duties will be throwing kestrels at kids. Or, at the very least, supervising them in the proper manner of throwing kestrels at each other, as only an adult like myself could.

I'll be issued a uniform shirt, and am allowed to wear bermuda shorts; there isn't much of a dress code, because as an adult, I'll know how to be properly dressed at all times. It goes with the territory. No doubt I'll also be beating women off with a stick, because it's a proper fact that women love a man in uniform. Eventually I'll get to give talks to kids and educate them on how much better a bear is than whatever animal I'm holding and supposed to be talking about is. First, of course, I'll have to go through animal handling training, which will undoubtedly make me even more irresistible. Women can't control themselves around uniformed adults who are allowed to hold porcupines and know things about them. True fact.

The only thing I'm still uncertain about is how much and how often they'll be paying me. I mean, I'm not planning on volunteering for free or out of the goodness of my heart. If suitable monetary compensation cannot be agreed upon, I'll gladly take my pay in wallabies. I'm easy going and flexible like that.


*This, despite me feeling the need to bring up my totally rational fear/hatred of squid and octopi. Damned parrot like beaks and multi-suckered tentacles.

Raised Bed, Raised Bed

A couple weeks ago, I finished building an 8' by 4' by 1' raised bed out of a bunch of old studs I found in the basement and a 16 foot long 2 x 12 of deliciously sappy Douglas fir from Home Depot. I even installed small PVC pipes along the side in case I ever want to run bird netting or plastic across the top to extend the growing season. The project took some time and effort, as 8 foot long lumber isn't easy to maneuver or attach to shorter lumber using small screws I had lying around (the themes being cheapness and reuse of materials). Despite drilling a good portion of the holes on my wooden floor, I managed to never drill into it. Naturally I was excited to finish this personal project one year in the thinking, and composed a song for the occasion.

Raised bed, raised bed
What you gonna do?
What you gonna do when I grow vegetables in you?

After a few renditions, James Cash started to hate me. But no worries, as I soon had a new reason to sing a different song. After filling half the bed with fifteen 40 pound bags of soil, I managed to quickly come up with this song:

Top soil, top soil
What you gonna do?
What you gonna do when I fill the raised bed with you?

Admittedly, it doesn't have that certain excitement, tension and superior lyrical quality of the first song that just grips you, but I was working quickly. In fact it was really more of a freestyle. Afterwards, we put my grill outside and decided we needed light out there so we could bbq at night, which resulted in a trip to Home Depot and a purchase that excited Jamie. Clamp light, clamp light...