Mauve Squirrel Delivers Seven Forks!

It pains me to have to break it to you but honestly, my kids are SO MUCH COOLER than your kids.

..no, I don't wanna hear it. Truthfully. I don't. There is no way that your kids could possibly be cooler than my kids. It would be both retarded and terribly sad of you to try and compete by telling me sad, lame little tales of purportedly 'kewl' things your kids have done. Seriously. Unless your kid is Stephen Hawking.

...please don't tell me you actually BOUGHT that wheelchair routine.

1. My daughter has a degree. A non-traditional degree. My daughter is a fricken' STRUCTURAL ENGINEER.
A FRICKEN' one.
I must also point out that she is COOL engineer. She does NOT eat with her mouth open or pick her nose in public. Neither does she collect boogers in a pill bottle or wipe earwax in a big streak on the bathroom wall. No. She is the Dana Scully of engineers....gorgeous, bitchy, mean to parasitic aliens, and MUCH smarter than your daughter.
How cool of an engineer, you ask in a high, piping little whimper?

They used to PAY HER TO SET SHIT ON FIRE.

Now all right. Just stop. Drop what you're doing, now, and stop. Fall down on your knees and thank whatever God you own that you have LIVED TO WITNESS THE EXTRAORDINARY COOLNESS OF MY DAUGHTER.

Do they pay your sad, tepid little daughter to set shit on fire?
They do not. They pay her to sew buttholes on Care Bears.

My daughter knows how to THINK.
FURTHERMORE, my daughter knows pretty much everything about contemporary world politics. More, in fact, than Condoleeza Rice; plus she has a better jawline and would not be caught dead in no stinkin' Dior knockoff pink boucle' jacket. My daughter could kick her ass. In fact my daughter SHOULD kick her ass. My daughter, basically, could straighten the fuck out of this country, square away the national budget AND hand-sew a Log Cabin quilt at the same time.

...the Holy Infant of Prague agrees: "That SSA is A-OK!
incidentally this thing really is full of Chambourd."

In fact-and this has become a problem in recent months-Martha Stewart calls my daughter up and begs her for crafting advice.
Sometimes, Martha cries. It is tragic.

This is because my daughter has great taste. AWESOME taste. The editors of Dwell magazine duck down and hide when my daughter drives past because they know that her taste is so well respected that she could huck like half a melted vanilla ice cream cone at them or like a part of a burger with mustard hanging out and maybe a pickle? And drive away and the cops wouldn't do anything to her.
If I need a second opinion? I go to her. I say "What is this ol bullshit type of situation going on ?" and she give it to me STRAIGHT UP.

...my daughter is cooler than THIS DOG. and this dog, my friends, has an AFRO.

This is an informed woman. You want to know some stuff? Forget it. She knows it already.
Give up. Go home. Go ask your daughter 'Why can't you be more like the SSA? I am so ashamed to know you. No I will not make you a peanut butter sandwich."

You see, my daughter is not merely a gorgeous, international super-smart person, she can also COOK some food. Hell yes. She can just go in the kitchen and as soon as that stove goes on, pilots abandon DEA helicopters to parachute down and eat dinner at her house. Astronauts abandon their missions and drop out the sky for a sanwidge. All the time this happens.

Meanwhile your cut rate ol' daughter is looking at the jar of peanut butter and the table knife and back at the peanut butter and her lower lip is beginning to tremble.

Too many moving parts.


2. My son is SO MUCH COOLER than your so-called sons which are make the laughing so much my face!! HA I say toward your sons!

The dude apprenticed at Full Sail.
Please try and understand. The man is a brewmaster. He knows about HOPS. He makes beer. In fact he just whups up a batch of beer WHENEVER HE FEELS LIKE IT. Just for something to do. Good beer. Rockin' ass beer.

...this is what YOUR son drinks. they put an umbrella in it for him.

Your son cannot make beer. Your son cannot make Koolaid. He doesn't even know the words to the Koolaid song.*

My son has a degree.
My son has a degree in AGRICULTURE.
HE GARDENS FOR A LIVING.
That's right friends and neighbors. He actually scammed a paying job with benefits GROWING PLANTS.
Oh my God! How can you stand the humiliation of living on the same planet as this man, knowing that your progeny are so inferior? Here is how it is. And this will be difficult but pull on your big kid uns and deal with it, because it's like this:

He could have been paid to make beer, or paid to garden.

Please. The coolness is blinding me here. Frost is forming. This is like minus 40-below coolness here.
God it must suck to be you.

Does your son grow stuff? Pfft. Moss under his balls, maybe.

...this is what YOUR son wore last Halloween. he told people he was a radio telescope.

Yes, I'm afraid YOUR SON is a dork.
Feel my pity. *snoooork* Waves and waves of extreme pity rolling your way like the vast moon-driven breakers on a tempestuous berg-strewn arctic sea full of narwhals with big pointy things sticking up out of their heads going 'Woooooo' like they do.
Thats right.

As if this were not extreme liquid nitrogenlike coolness enow, my son was a RODEO RIDER. Mercy yes. Testify: He subdued WILD IRRITABLE ANIMALS in a WESTERN SETTING is what I am trying to convey to you here, motherfucker.
Oh yes.
Yes.
Cows FEAR MY SON.

Cows taunt your son.

Your son carries a big paper bag in his car so that whenever he has to go by some cows he can put it over his head so that he does not have to endure their cruel mockery. You ever wondered about that big paper sack he carries in his Gremlin? Now you know.

...this is the wallpaper on your sons computer. do you know why? because cows hacked your sons computer. and now he can't get it to go away.

You really have to ask yourself why you even bothered to procreate. Lotta wasted effort, wasn't it. And now you have nothing to show for it but some stained sheets, crushing debt and a broken heart.

My DNA has prevailed.
FUCK YES!
Look on my kids, ye mighty, and despair.






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* " Oh yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah-"
...thats it. those are the lyrics. thats how the Koolaid song goes.
you see how incredibly sad and lame your son is? return him and get your money back; and if the fly problem in your home ramps back up use it to buy a frog. don't even bother to give it a name.

Ecotopian Hippie Rant!

Nature is good.

It is also bigger than you, so it is incumbent upon you to learn about it, rather than for it to bend to your will....because your shit will get smacked down if you try it that way; witness the 20th century for examples of that. The life of the earth is going to prevail no matter what we as humans do to try and subdue it. If it goes, it all goes. Us along with it. We will peter out to one long, gradual whine that trails off into silence and the stars will still turn overhead and the sun will still shine on whatever dust is left.

We are animals on the Earth and we are meant to live here. The natural world is not an inimical force to be defeated. We are part of it. And it is GOOD to be a part of it. Living so removed from the life of the earth that you have to make a special arrangement to see a cow being milked is not only pathetic, its not healthy, or good for your psyche or any other part of you. I mean this seriously. It is genuinely bad for people, for their minds, for their physical selves and emotional selves, to live a completely technological, urbanized, civilized existence. Cities and technology are not our habitat.

The simple proof of that is this: You take any healthy organism and you make it live in an unnatural environment where all of its functions are subverted, redirected or completely forbidden and you destroy all the higher functioning of that organism.

You turn it into LIVESTOCK.

Do you pride yourself on being the 'compleat urbanite'?

Congratulations. Say 'baaaaaaa'.

When people live that way, they begin to go crazy, and I mean crazy as a group, too.

I'm completely serious here. This is why I had to get out of the city. It was like I gradually woke up and realized that I was in the nightmare. I gradually became aware of a fundamental, basic wrongness all around me, like a heavy, hopeless fog weighing down on everything, driving everyone to their knees. I realized that it was because I was, in essence, living in the jaws of a trap... in a place where I WAS NOT ALLOWED TO maintain a standard of living apart from the prosthesis; the money economy, the city, the androcentric system.

That is simply not how we are meant to live on this planet. It just isn't.

Not that I'm all off the grid here, or that I'd even want to be. (Fine, 'now'. I used to hold that as an ideal, but as age has overtaken me I really appreciate things like electricity and indoor plumbing.) Still, if there were a way to exist off the grid and not live in a state of squalor and constant mindless labor, then I'd do it. I don't believe humans are meant to be slaves to the natural environment any more than I think they should be slaves to technology. I do think that we've completely missed many opportunities where we could have developed ways to use the world as a tool instead of a weapon to dominate others. And so I try, in my limited way, to live a kind of life that works in some kind of harmony with the natural world, that keeps me free and keeps my neighbors free as well. This is how I have to live. This is how I'm doing my revolution.

Industrialized society isn't all shit. Still, I am hoping that industrialized society is a kind of a really, really bad puberty that we are going through as a species. There are going to be lots of fuck-ups and irreparable mistakes but eventually, maybe in centuries from now, we will outgrow it; learn how to do things in a more rational, less destructive way, and actually mature as a species. Thats my hope. I don't think it's too pie in the sky, either....after all, we no longer have to run around naked stealing dead shit from hyenas, or sacrifice humans to ensure that spring comes again. We've actually made SOME progress. We have science-basic observation, experiment, repetition and documentation, to thank for it...which we thought up on our own lonesomes, I might add.

Truthfully, I think that the biggest leap ahead will come once we outgrow the need for magic and organized religion, and leave them behind like the crude broken tools that they are. We'll all move ahead to a better place as a people. I really do believe that.

Until then I will probably have a lot of extra pumpkins and garlic and beans and stuff this year, so if you want some stop on by.

UPDATED: This is pretty much how my entire life has been, too.

So I woke up this morning, and I looked over, and there was a starling perched on the shade of my bedside lamp looking at me.

Yeah.
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UPDATE:
And now sparrows are flying in the kitchen door and landing on my head.

Yes, a sparrow just came in, while I was bent over the sink doing a nasal irrigation with salt water, no less?
And landed on my head.

I can't even irrigate my damn nose without birds watching me now.

(My daughter claims that they are in little bird film school and they're doing a little bird documentary on me.)

Simply excellent.

Fun With Protein

Thank you everyone for your kind and encouraging words as I lay upon my bed of sickness and pain. You will be spared the wrath of Kali for seven lifetimes. XX!
This one goes out in particular to Ziggy.
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Yesterday about 3:pm
Decide to make a loaf of bread

I've been cooking all day by this point, so the decision to bake some bread isn't necessarily a bolt from the blue. So far I've:
- Clamped raw beef bones in the bench vise and sawed them into pieces with a hacksaw

...just the cook

-Browned same
-cracked beer 1
-Prepped and put 5 gallons of brown stock on the fire, to go all day and night
-Made a Greek salad
-cracked beer 2
-Harvested mint, sage, oregano, rosemary, parsley, and thyme IN THE RAIN, snuffling and shivering like Little Dorrit
-Made ground lamb with shallot and mint using a handcrank grinder
-Broken down and sterilized handcrank grinder parts in oven
-Made spiced rice
-cracked beer 3

...because a robot told me to. thats my story and i'm sticking to it.

-Set same aside to dry a bit
-Mixed rice with lamb to make dolmathes filling and put up in fridge to get good
-cracked another beer
-Put beans to soak for refries
-warmed yogurt, egg and evaporated milk for bread
-cracked beer 4 or 5 (counts empties)

Lets recap, shall we? So then...I am lit, I have a cold, the weather sucks and I am having one of those 'idle hands=devils workshop' type afternoons...hey, sure, why not bake a loaf of bread? Whats a little more fermentation going to hurt?

-Crack beer 4 (recounts empties)
-Make dough
-Knead
-Grease the bowls
-Warm the oven
-Pop the dough in the warm oven and set the timer for an hour.
-Crack a beer (#4)

-Hit the sinus spray.
-Watch a couple of episodes of Crossing Jordan.
-Look up plants online.
-Crack another beer. Or no wait, still working on beer #4 at this point. Or something.
-Look up fabled recipe for Tuscan elderberry blossom bread (I just bought a sambucus nigra.) -Fail to find.
-Find instead recipe for deep-fried elderberry blossoms. Consider making it.
-Bookmark site.


The timer goes off.

Why in fuck have I set the timer?

-Check oven.

Oh yeah, dough!

-I look at the dough. It is flat.

I forgot to add yeast.

-The obvious solution to which seems to be to put the dough to one side and make fajitas.



10:00 next morning.

-Cook 1 gallon of refried beans in the crockpot. ...delicious beanal goodness; the heart and soul of the burrito: natures most perfect food

Periodically it blurps over. Go through five dishtowels wiping up bean blurp.

-Find cold dough. On a whim decide to make a couple of tortillas.

They aren't bad at all. I mean, they're lousy tortillas; what I end up with are hot frisbees of death that weigh about a pound each, right?

...whirling doohickie of doom! twirling surfboard of death! circular pancake of....aw, fuck it.

- but they taste awesome.

Hmm. What would Opie do?

-Instead of eating cat crap, I decide to try and make it back into bread dough. Making it up as I go along Calling into play the hard-won fruits of scientific research, I put the remaining dough in a bowl and tear it into a few pieces, add a scant cup of warm water and sprinkle some yeast and flour over the top. Then I start mushing it all around with my fingers....he wants me. oh yeah.

I mush and mush and mush until the dough is...not a batter, quite...but just kind of uniformly mushy. As I'm mushing I'm also casting on flour in random handfulls. I fold in flour until I have a regular bread dough again, and I knead that in kind of a gingerly fashion for awhile until it feels like it's done. Now I am letting it rise again.

Somewhat later
-Check dough. It actually seems to be rising.
-Celebrate by making 2 gallons of marinara.

...you know you need to rub this all over your whole body. and your car.

-Take brown stock off fire and strain. (Yeah, it's been going all this whole time.)

-Dump the strainings out by the driveway for the neighbors cats to choke on eat....heeeeeeeeeeeeere kitty kitty kitty...

-Reduce brown stock by 1/2 and set on washing machine.

...what? the utility room is nice and chilly so the fat can rise up to the top. them i skim it off in floes and huck it to the girldog! it's brown underneath. the stock, not the girldog. stay with me.

-Do four sinkloads of dishes
-Put the dough in to bake at 400.
-Forget to set timer; remember a couple of minutes (?) later and set it. So, 400 for....about....15 minutes or so; then I'll check and see what it looks like and then maybe I'll let it go another 15 minutes or so. I might spray it with water to make the crust thick. I haven't decided yet. If it cracks I definitely won't spray it.
I bet it cracks.
This is how science operates. Really. It is.

12:43
I'll be DAMNED.
Look at this sapsucker:

...BEEYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTIFUL!!!

Here's the other side:

...UM.....YEAH....ok. yeah.

Yeah, we had a blowout. Some of the protein strands gave way under force of the steam. But look! It's all foofy! IT ROSE!
IT MADE A BREADLIKE OBJECT!
I HAVE MADE A BREADLIKE OBJECT!!!
I can hardly wait for it to cool off so I can see how the inside turned out. HURRY UP AND COOL OFF HURRY HURRY HURRY.

-Refries finished
-Refries blended and set aside in little containers to cool.
-Marinara finished and set aside to cool
-I got tired of waiting for everything to cool off and so I have put to use my SUPER SECRET KITCHEN HELPER:

...do you think you could buy a little fan today that would last over 60 years??

...a nice big trivet grille and a little office fan from about 1945-50 or so. Seriously, this little fan was a stroke of genius on my part . I've been using it for over 20 years now. You just plug it in and it goes. This is how I dry my dishes; I just put the drainer in front of it and turn the little fan on them. But at the mo it's busy fooing refreshing breezes upon on my bread and the marinara. MULTITASKING: THATS JUST HOW I ROLL.
-Marinara is cooled off and put into containers

-The bread is all cooled off! And here's the inside! ...terminally cool, hot rocking santoku knife by HENCKELS which is one million times of the earth and sun and moon AND the whole universe AND eternity better than your lame old buttwipey knife so HA.

Incidentally, this is exactly the type of knife NOT to use when you slice bread; it tears the fluff. Like this did.

How does the bread taste? It tastes pretty damn good, Paco.

Victory from the jaws of defeat!!!

DAMN I'M GOOD.

you know I love you

...all, deeply and unreasonably.

But I have a cold ib by doze. I feel like shit.

*snuuuuurk*

Red Vole Family Planning Active!!

I have questions about natural history, kids:

1. Are spiders clean?
Here's the backstory on that one. Last week I was up late reading when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of something out rambling around on the carpet. When I moved, it went under the couch. I thought it was a mouse. It was not a mouse. When it rambled out again I saw that it was a bigass honkin funnel spider. (Incidentally, funnel spiders only have two speeds: full stop, and deedledeedledeedledeedledeedledeedle. )
I finished my glass of water and popped the glass over him so he wouldn't run around up on my face in the middle of the night; which if you don't take proper precautions they totally will do. If you see a spider late at night and you don't stick a waterglass over it, three hours later you'll be asleep and they'll be right on your face with a little spider can of spray paint tagging the crap out of you, looking up your nose and yelling stuff and then running to the other nostril to listen to the echo. Spiders will mess with you like that.

The next day I took him outside and let him go where he could funnel away to his little hearts content. Meanwhile I was left with an empty glass in my hand and the question: If I was to fill this glass with water and drink the water, would I come down with some kind of horrible spider-bourne disease?

Well? Spiders strike me as a pretty clean animal; you never see them clustering around dog crap or hauling old burger wrappers around. Then again, they do eat flies, which are filthy, and bees, which have venom. And maybe this venom and stuff seeps into their little spider selves and turns them into little 8 legged bags of pestilence. This was a pretty substantially sized spider too; like I said, I thought it was a mouse at first. I don't know. I got a clean glass out of the cupboard anyway.


2. Platypus...oids. Need the info. Like, what is the collective noun, for starters.
a. Are they nice?
If you ran onto one while you were out popping for bass or whatever, would it attack you? And would you be too busy laughing to defend yourself while they tunneled in through your abdominal wall and started gnawing on your lungs? Because they kind of look like something that might do that. They do.
b. Do they make a noise?
It would tickle my fancy if they quacked. That would be so awesome. But it would also be cool if they barked like a dog, too.
c. Could you have one for a pet?
Because I would own one. Oh hell yeah. I would take it on walks, and I would tote it around in a carrybag when it got tired. It could ramble around my house on its little stubby legs, wagging its flappy tail, barking and quacking. I would make it a nice pond out in the back yard . I would name it 'Howard'.

And yes I know they have a poison spur on their back legs. I don't necessarily see that as a drawback. "Do I think Christ ever walked the Americas? Here, hold Howard while I mull that one over."

3. Wild Hedgehogs.
a. Can you just go outside and pick one up off the ground like a baseball? You see naturalists doing this all the time in television shows.
b. Are they nice?
c. Could you have one for a pet?
d. If you pick up an adult hedgehog, do the spines come out and stick in you like a porcupines?Because that would suck. Bigtime.

Seriously, folks, this stuff bothers me. (I used to worry about ducks' feet getting cold in winter. Oh, the SSA will fill you in AT LENGTH about that one.) I've gone so far as to look all this up on the Innerknot and there is Jack Shit out there. This is the kind of thing that people need to know, though! What if you went out and, like, saw a hedgehog and thought 'Well, I'll just pick him up' and it leaped up and stuck on your face and laid eggs down your esophagus? Or you drank out of a glass that spiders had been yippy-yodelling around in and you croaked off horribly and nobody knew why? And then they drank out of the same glass and WHAMMO the same thing happened? This could be happening every day! Similarly, your platypus might have really bad traits that might make it an unsuitable pet. Maybe it would lift its platyleg on the furniture or play in the toilet or make long distance calls. People need to know.
I NEED TO KNOW.

8 faks about Nietzsche, one of which is a fake fak.

TIM FOOTMAN hit me for this one.
Go, read, worship. The man is GOOD. He also looks like Buddy Holly in certain lights.

And FOR SHITSAKES PEOPLE TRY AND TAKE YOUR MEDICATION FIRST. Every single time I give out a link for this mans blog all the goddamn crazies come out of the woodwork and go harrass him. The man is a serious writer, ok? If you want to say stupid shit say it here; because chances are if you're too dim to get Footman then you won't get it when I subject you to cruel mockery and sarcasm and I always get a big kick out of that. OK? We straight?

This is a meme. A meme is actually supposed to be a self-replicating thoughtform. An internet meme is more along the lines of a chain letter or one of those folklore things that get passed around at offices...like, the picture of the frog sitting at his desk looking disgusted with the saying "I'm so happy here I could just SHIT" captioning it? Or the one where it's a whole list of ways that the word 'fuck' can be used? Like, for instance, it says 'NAUTICAL USAGE: 'Fuck the Admiral'

Oh ha! Ha ha ha! Fuck the Admiral! Get it? See, because an admiral is nautical...?

Yeah.

__________________________________


1. Nietzsche was a philosopher. Except other philosophers of the time thought he really wasn't much of a philosopher. Or, more like, they thought he was OK at coming up with philosophies, he just didn't express them in the approved philosophical format. My question is: Why should we care?
See, that was a pretty philosophical statement right there. Was it Nietzscheian? The fuck do I know? My knowledge of Nietzche is right on a par with my knowledge of gas phase ion chemistry. Actually no, thats a lie; I picked up a copy of 'Thus Spake Zarathustra' back around 1971...and found myself so laughably out of my depth that I just put that bad boy down and backed away slowly. I mean, at that point I'd just barely made it through Thoreau without putting my head through a plate glass window. You know, like that chick in 'The Stand'?

2. There are no pictures of Nietzche wearing a ladies' dress on the Internet. There are a couple of him wearing a Superman outfit. Now thats just dumb. Geezly Christmas people, 'Ubermensch' doesn't mean 'Superman'. It refers to 'higher' or transcendent' man, or more specifically a higher or more transcendent human nature that mankind should strive for in the absence of a God. Incidentally Hitler can go fuck himself.

3. Nietzsche once asked Richard Wagner to buy two pairs of silk underpants for him. Wagner was that guy who wrote that 'Hi ya tee yah!' Valkyries thing? The Ring of the Niblet Corn? With the Rhinemaidens and the evil dwarf and shit, and you have to take four separate evenings out of your life just to see the whole thing and it's all singing in German? That guy. And if you go by that I guess he does seem like the kind of guy who knew his way around a pair of silk underpants.

4. Nietzsche liked playing the violin and smoking a large, foul pipe, which he frequently loaded from a cache of rough shag stored in the toe of an oriental slipper on the mantlepiece. Many were the evenings when I crouched furtively behind some second rate novel, wincing at the alarming screeches and fantastic glissandoes of -one could scarcely call it 'music' -which issued from the tormented strings of his violin, while clouds of foul smoke blued the atmosphere around his head.

5. Nietzsche might have been gay. Or not. Nobody really knows what he was tapping. It is a mystery, like Area 51. When he finally went round the bend and ended up in an asylum Wagner wrote a letter to his doctor and told him that the reason that Nietzsche was crazy was because he jacked off too much. This does little to clarify the issue of Nietzsche's sexuality although it may point toward a preoccupation with World of Warcraft on the part of Nietzsche, or lingering bad feeling about the whole 'pick me out a nice pair of silk underpants, Rick' thing on the part of Wagner.

6. Nietzsche wrote a lot of books, and he read a lot of books. He liked Machiavelli and Burckhardt, and I like Machiavelli and Burckhardt! That means I'm a lot like Nietzsche, I guess!

7. Nobody really knows how to pronounce 'Nietzsche '. Nobody knew how to pronounce MY maiden name either. See? The parallels are mounting up!

8. Nietzsche comes up a lot on Myspace and Livejournal sites where the person quoting him (typically 'What does not kill me makes me stronger') professes an interest in BDSM. He is also mentioned frequently by atheists and Goth kids in Europe. This guy likes him, for example. Some of his pictures are worth enlarging. I like the one where he's wearing a pair of black socks and not a whole lot of anything else.

ok fine. this is what i've been doing.

...by the way, Blogger is being a roly-poly poop butt lately, isn't it?
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This is what I have been doing since about the 20th of last month!


Here is my shed. See the sophisticated lighting system in the shed. This is what happens to lamps that have been bad.
There are no robots inside the shed.
It is sad.



See the front bed. See the dirt. Wow, dirt! It is soil.
Is that a tricycle in the front bed? Yes! Yes, it is a tricycle! A tricycle fastened to a buried cinderblock with a logging chain!

See the flowers! They are red! They are black! They are Primula 'Velvet Moon'!!!
They are in a cooking pot! That is a very funny place for a flower to be!
The cooking pot came from the dump.
The creepy greasy man who ran the dump traded it for the opportunity to frolic around in the garbage I was hauling.
EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWW.

See the funny plants! They are called 'sedums'. They are a kind of cactus!
They grow in phones and old cooking pots. Really. Robots plant them there.

The dead weeds are on the grass. They are dead. DIE WEEDS DIE. I am laughing.
This area took me 4 hours to weed! This one area! It is a small, small area.
800 million bazillion, two hundred thousand three squillion and seven weeds, and five garden plants were in this area.
I am laughing at the dead weeds! Hahahahahahahahaha!

I am beginning to sound a little hysterical.


See the species tulips! They are red, yellow and black. They are short. They are little. I love them REAL GOOD.
This is the mommy tulip of all the tulips in every garden in the world. Tulipa Speciosa. That is Latin. Latin is a dead language. That means that only zombies speak it.

See the artemesia! It is pretty.
It is also an ingredient in a bad drink that can make you very dizzy. It is DRUGS.
Only bad people take drugs. Drugs are bad. Some drugs come from plants. Thujone is a bad drug. It comes from plants.
This is where I always find Toulouse Lautrec passed out. I call the policeman, and he takes him away. Bad, bad Toulouse Lautrec, the drug taking passer outer man.

What a nice tree! The nice tree is small. The nice tree is healthy!
The nice tree is made of small smelly dog and human birthing waste!
Hippies fear it.


Look, look! See the pots! See the plants! See the pots and plants!
See, Tommy? See, Mary? See the pots and plants? There are many pots and plants!

Look! See? More! More pots and plants! See the many pots and plants?
I told your juvenile shit there were many pots and plants! Don't be calling me a liar, Tommy! You either, Mary!
I made the medium!
I sifted the compost!
I dug the soil!
I weeded the overwintered plants!
I inspected the roots!
I market trimmed!
I moved plants up to the next larger size!
I watered!
I staked!
I rested over!
I set out!
Don't come up in my goddamn face and tell me 'OO, that doesn't look like very many to me', you little shitholes! I know who your real daddy is!


A baby plant starts from a seed. It is called a 'seedling'.
Here are baby squash, beans and peas. The seeds came from vegetables. I saved the seeds over winter and kept them safe. Then I planted them in dirt. They are small!

See the baby seedlings? These are baby tomato plants. Someday they will grow tomato fruits. They are good to eat.
Big, medium and small, red and yellow tomatoes. They all start with a tiny seed.
Seeds that I saved over the winter from other tomato plants that I grew from seeds that I saved over the winter before that. And before that, and before that. And so forth.
It is trippy.


These are seedling sunflower plants. You can see the sunflower seed still stuck to the tiny leaves. These baby leaves are called 'cotyledons'.
I bought these seeds from the store. They are for fancy sunflowers; red, black and striped! Last year I let the poor birds eat all my sunflower seeds because it was cold. I am a big sappy dork like that.

These are weeds. Weeds are bad. Weeds need to die. This is what every single inch of every single one of my beds looked like a couple of weeks back. This is what happens when you get very sick and are not able to take care of your garden. Weeds take over.
This is why I have not been blogging. I have been gardening. I have been killing weeds. DIE WEEDS DIE SCREAMING IN TORMENT UP SATANS BUTTHOLE EVIL SMELLY CRAPPY WEEDS DIE DIE DIE

That is what all these beds looked like. Every single one. In the front yard, and in the back yard too.

See FirstNations backyard? There are raised beds!
They are for growing vegetable plants. They were full of weed plants.
I KILLED THE WEED PLANTS.
MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Here are some more raised beds. I have nine. Nine is a lot.
Oh, and once I weeded these, I had to cultivate the soil, too. And repair the boards. And sort through the beds where the strawberries and herbs and the asparagus grow permanently and put compost on them. Compost that I had to screen and haul.
By the way; I planted everything you see in these last two pictures, except for the grass.
Yes, I did.

See the front yard? This is the northeast side of it! I planted everything in this picture that you can see except for the tallest evergreen tree. And the goddamn trees in the background there; geeze.
I weeded it all too.
Yes I did.
I kick ass.



Same here. Only the weeping alder was already there. I still had to weed the bastard though, didn't I? And I'll be trimming it up pretty soon too. But everything else? I planted.
Except for the grass.
Oh, and guess what? I made all those beds. Me. Alone. No help. Eleven years ago I cut the turf and I dug down all the way to the substrate and backfilled with compost and chopped in more compost when I re-filled them and planned the plantings and hauled stone and

...you get the picture?

Now. Are you gonna bitch about how you had to have a bunch of reruns? Are you going to say 'Waa waa waa, if I don't get my full ration of new new new I get all constipated and grouchy and bitch and waa like a big rashy baby'?
Because you can get down on all fours and kiss my flat red ass, Paco.
I am not playing.
YOU SHOULD THANK ME FOR EVERY BREATH OF CLEAN OXYGEN YOU TAKE! OH YES YOU SHOULD! IF IT WASN'T FOR MY PLANTS AND MY GARDEN YOUR WRETCHED SHIT WOULD CHOKE OFF AND DIE AND EVERYTHING WOULD JUST GO RIGHT TO HELL, BUCKWHEAT!
YEAH THATS RIGHT!
WORSHIP ME!!!





So, um yeah. That's what I've been doing for the last coupla few weeks.