The Name Hunt 2

Not everyone can claim to be named after an action-movie celebrity from the 60s and 70s. But, in a moment of boundless and breathtaking inspiration, my parents decided to name me after Sean Connery. They were moved by his deep and introspective work in classic arthouse films like GoldFinger, Dr. No, and Thunderball. What better way to motivate a child to the zenith of human achievement, those two crowning experiences of all great figures: philandery and international crimefighting intrigue. Naturally, I was hoping that we could continue this meaningful tradition by giving our firstborn child a name from the subsequent generation of action heroes. I even had a shortlist:

Sylvester Sims
Arnold Sims
Mel Sims
Bruce Sims
Harrison Sims
Keanu Sims
Jean-Claude van Sims
Steven Seagal Sims (my personal favorite)

So many of those have a great ring to them, don’t they? But of course, as fate would have it, we found out we’re having a girl, and there aren’t many good female action heroes that I can think of. If you can think of any, please send names so we can revive our hopes of letting the Sean Connery precedent live on. Otherwise, I’m afraid we’re going to have to start with a clean slate.

Introducing the Blog Baron . . .

After just 10 or 15 posts on the Itsy-bitsy-est Post-Marxist Subversive, I've decided to start a couple more blogs to add to my increasingly influential internet dynasty. I couldn't resist -- my greed got the best of me -- and if all falls into place, I shall very soon be like a virtual Andrew Carnegie of the blog industry, building a vast empire of (verbal) wealth and (satirical) exploitation to add (figurative) jewels to my crown. In a relentless effort to consolidate my power and expand my monopoly, I fully intend to plunder natural resources; hopefully, I'll also get to lie, cheat, steal, and oppress some proles while I'm at it.

So, with brazen disregard for public server capacity, I'm incorporating these two new blogs into the franchise:

1) An Exercise in Domesticity: As many of you know, for the past year an unhealthy chunk of my time away from work has been devoted to yardwork. In addition to wanting to share the raw wonder of picking fresh food from my backyard, I've been taking pictures of the evolution in hopes of one day being able to look back and feel like there's enough differentiation to have made all this painstaking effort worth it. I also wanted to provide visual aids to all of you who have had to bear with me as I belabor the details but have yet to see much vivid documentation of what's been going on. So follow the link to the right to get caught up. (By the way, I've just begun this and I'm steadily uploading pictures that date as far back as early 2008, but I'll try to catch up to real-time as soon as possible.)

2) Reasonably Certain Signs of the End Times: It's ironic . . . it's outrageous . . . and then, apocalypse! The End of Days have never been zanier. But don't get your hopes up; for now, this really is just a pilot. (Thought I'd take it for a spin w/o too much of a commitment or anything too serious.) What I'm trying to do here is create a running list of life's minor atrocities. Check out the link to the right to see what I've got so far . . . feel free to contribute your own via comments, and I'll give you due credit. Unless they're lame.

Of course, because I'm a veritable tycoon now, I won't have much time to be directly involved in my new ventures, so you should expect even less regular posts than what you get on here.

The Clarksville Massacre of 2009

The setting seemed innocent enough at the time. We were having brunch with some friends at a café in a tranquil, patrician neighborhood just west of downtown. (What could be more disarming than brunch?) Some girls from a local crew squad had just moored their boats down by the canal and sauntered in for a meal. (What could be more placid and genteel than crew?) In came a nice family with a small toddler, ribbons in her hair and a bright pink heart embroidered on her miniature t-shirt.

Only the trained eye could recognize the foreshadowing of doom and peril, a threat that was waiting, literally, right around the corner.

Ignorant of the latent danger, the toddler’s parents had dressed her in a pair of tiny leather shoes with soles that somehow were designed to let out a shrill squeak with every step she took. And she was prone to wander, so as they waited in line to order, incessant squeaking echoed throughout the building. She tripped over the rope line. She started crying. But, otherwise, everything seemed to be going fairly well . . . the family ordered at the counter and disappeared to their table in another part of the café.

Then, it all went awry when the toddler and her family started to leave, opening the door to walk out past the patio seating. All at once, the looming terror became brutally apparent -- right outside the door, there was the attacker, waiting, lurking: a Basset hound tied to the leg of a table. Though I don't get the sense Basset hounds are generally known for their vicious instincts, as soon as you introduce a couple small leathery things that move erratically and squeak at just the right pitch to bring out the bloodthirsty beast in any domesticated animal, all bets are off. The hound lunged forward, the child began to scream, pandemonium ensued. For a moment there, it was like time stood still. Thankfully, just milliseconds before the gore and bloodletting, the pet’s owner stepped in and restrained the dog when she realized that he had mistaken the child’s feet for play toys. But it was a close call, nonetheless.

Squirrels & Seasonal Eczema: A Maternal Opera (of Sorts)

A thread (verbatim) from the AustinMamas discussion group, in all its frayed and glorious disorder . . . a real tour de force embodying the struggles of modern day motherhood:

Original message from Meghan to set the stage for high drama:
"So, do you think that if I dust my succulents with cayenne that the squirrels will stop eating it? they are munchin' on my aloe (which I know has GOT to be giving them the runs), but also the birdseed that is coming from my neighbors upstairs. I dusted with cinnamon today to rid the ants that have shown up recently. you should have seen them eating the neighbors jack-o-lanterns. Times they must be a rough out in the trees, maybe the lack of rain? I've never seen them like this and we've lived here for years. hmmm, thoughts?"

First response, from Cynthia to Meghan:
"In the past I've used cayenne on my tomatoes and peppers and it has worked well. However...It did not work on my jack-o-lantern pumpkin!They knawed through it in 3 days, a week before I had planned to carve it. GRRRR. I hate the tree rodents!"

Second response (or bizarre pseudo-soliloquy number one), from Elizabeth to others:
"So far, knock wood, the owl is working to keep them from gnawing the trampoline net. I wonder how much longer that will last...They do seem to be much more frantic in their squirrel burying this year, but maybe that's my imagination."

Third response, from Arden to Elizabeth (sustaining the tangent):
"I agree, they're totally frantic this year. Every morning on my way to work I almost run over a squirrel or two, because they're racing around so fast in the middle of the road, looking for the next nut burial spot.They ate our pumpkin too. Strangely, despite that and the two hammocks they've destroyed, I still sorta like them."

Fourth response (or bizarre pseudo-soliloquy number two), from Nina to others:
"i am prejudiced against squirrels as well. anyone else see the hysterical blackadder episode about squirrels? i love blackadder. or rather, i loved him."

Fifth response, from Jen A to Meghan (in a totally hopeless effort to stay on topic and answer the original question):
"crushed dried red thai pepper worked great for us (be careful not to get it on yourself! Stuff burns.) I crushed the peppers in an envelope and put it in a parmesan/pepper shaker with big holes. If what you are putting it on is a bit wet it will stick better. And they do a crazy spicy dance if they do eat it :-) Kept them off my succulents, they seemed to remember for a little while."

Sixth response, from Heather to others (immediately dashing Jen A's foolhardy attempts):
"Maybe the squirrels are crazy because we're going to have a hard winter.? "

Seventh response, from Claire to Heather (as Claire projects her authority):
"farmer's almanac says it's going to be extra cold and dry this winter. "

Eighth response, from Elizabeth to Claire (as Elizabeth breaks down):
"But I want lots of snow!!!"

Ninth response, from Claire to Elizabeth (with Claire, ever wise and calm, consoling Elizabeth):
"You must have that tantrum every year, living down here :) I miss snow. Sometimes I contemplate going to visit my friend in Boston in the depths of winter just to get a bit of "real" winter. "

Tenth response, from Elizabeth to Claire (as she reflects on a troubled past):
"Yes, we didn't even get a good ice storm last year to satisfy me a bit. The rest of my family is probably going up to St. Louis this holiday season in hopes of seeing some (if airfares drop a bit... eeks they're high!). I'm so freakin' jealous."

Eleventh response, from Samantha to others (chiming in with an inspirational and supportive message):
"DITTO! I want some frickin' snow!! At least it will be cold which will be nice...Guess DH will get to enjoy the snow at 7000+ feet in the Spring. "

Twelfth response, from Katrina to . . . the cosmos? (in the final of three bizarre pseudo-soliloquies):
"That would explain why my seasonal eczema is flaring up in a major way right now. I've got a great scaly patch in my eyebrow - it was perfect for Halloween, now not so much."

Thirteenth response, Meghan closes in a reflective tone:
"Will try- I hate the little boogers. Lived in a house out in Martindale with them in the attic. Owner didn't seem to care, but they drove us NUTS all winter long, come spring I pull out a pair of boots to wear, and they were full of pecans. That was the last straw. Had to move after that (and many other creepy old house issues) I can see them from the couch in the morning, if I walk up to the door, they turn their backs and I just know they are whistling, insert musical notes here-doo doo doo, we're not doing anything, doo doo doo- like I can't see them Standing on my plants. Lucas would get a kick out of seeing a spicy squirrel dance, maybe I can get it on camera .. .thanks for all the responses mamas!"

Happy belated 2009.

To me, every new year seems less like a real year and more like a battery expiration date. Or at best, a sell by date on a can of refried beans . . . anything that once seemed like a distant and hypothetical concept, a future possibility that was otherwise fairly unlikely to be experienced directly.

I think there's a point in your life where each New Year’s Eve abandons the excitement of youth and crosses over into an unequivocally surreal feeling that monopolizes the emotion set. I’m guessing (hoping!) it’s just a glimpse at the irony of death.