Welcome to the jungle

I generally have pretty good luck with plants (they key: do not overwater. Leave them a little hungry. We used to live in the same building as a horticulturist who gave us a tree and instructed us to neglect the thing as much as possible -- it's been about 13 years and we still have it. Proof that he was right, and that we're damned good at neglect!).

But the orchids I have, all gifts still vaguely among the living, seem less happy. We have one that's 8 years old -- a gift from my mother called a Phalaenopsis (they look like this when in bloom -- and stay like this for at least an astonishing month or more), but it hasn't bloomed in over a year, and it's down to a couple of fairly pathetic-looking leaves. I literally put about a teaspoon of water on the thing, because its been living in a pot with no hole in the bottom -- if plants are not fond of watering, orchids are the Buddhist monks of watering. They want the water equivalent of one change of clothing, a towel and a razor. A couple of weeks ago I found myself at a swell nursery standing between Steven, a beautiful pot meant for an orchid and an eager gentleman from the nursery offering help, so I finally admitted my ignorance and got schooled.

It's a miracle, the gentleman began, that I haven't yet killed my orchids. Well there's a promising start. You mean that fertilizer I've been using (Schultz 10-15-10 with urea nitrogen - like magic on houseplants) could kill the little guys? Oh. Er. Blue 20-10-20 urea-free is a good overall orchid fertilizer, he explains. But what about the cool orchid pot? What do I put in there? Bark, he tells me. Oh. Those are air roots? Oh. By now I look like a bobbing dog on a car dashboard. Whatever you say, buddy, I'm buying buddy. Yeah, hand me that. And that. And that. I will repent and become an orchid grower, not an orchid killer! Then he popped me on the forehead with his palm and I fell into Steven's loving arms as he whipped out his credit card and I was cured! Cured of this orchid scourge despite the fact that we'd come for plants for the front yard!

When we get home with two new orchid pots, bark and the fertilizer (and Steven wisely acting game as usual), I got right to work. If you've never seen a naked orchid, it ain't pretty. They're pretty much leaves and....a couple of long roots. They're little freaks. So I replanted them, and then felt sorry for my best orchid. What was I thinking? I went back and got yet another pot for that one. The roots were firmly wrapped around some foam peanuts I'd used to keep the thing dry. How very green of me.

So I stuck them all in special fabulous orchid bark, flooded them with water, then flooded them with some of the parmesan-cheesy wacky blue crap, and they seem...happy. Once a week flood them and then leave them alone living on moist bark and air. If they get flowers, I'll jump up and down and take pictures and put them up here. In...October or so!

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Here Chick-chick-chicken

The Pierce College farm walk was a little lower key this year, probably because they're paving and doing construction in the area where they normally have a lot of food vendors and such. They always, every year, seem to get good weather even the though the surrounding Spring days are always red hot, so they still get a lot of people, and a lot of kids. Here's ours, with her cute braids thoroughly jammed under one of my hats as a preventive measure against "hair night" -- because I had thoughtlessly shampooed the night before and she was damned if she was doing that again on a consecutive night.

Pierce has one of the only remaining Agriculture programs in the area (if not the only one, actually) and has loads of studying vet techs in attendance. There are also plenty of cowgirls (long, thin, could be Tom Petty's twin sister about half the time and could move to Texas undetected any time). The land is slowly being sold off for townhomes, but I hope they'll keep the farmland they have because it's so beautiful and unspoiled, despite it's location next to a suburban metropolis.

They still had a country band (they started a Neil Diamond cover and we fled), and cowchip bingo (we're always in for the five buck ticket because it helps the place and because it's hilarious and insane -- they let the cows out onto the field, lay it out in squares somehow, and if the cow poops in your square, you win -- something like that). This baby goat was as soft and sweet as a puppy.

Mainly we came to see the cows (they're always bigger than I remember at 1500 lbs. -- which begs the question of how we ever domesticated them without getting our asses rightly crushed), the goats, and the chickens.

How could I, with such obvious fowl-lovin' ancestry not love the chickens? I do. I would like to have some (and not just so I could outpace the paternal unit). When I told my mother this she very seriously said we weren't zoned for it; more proof that she clearly spent too many years with my father. Here's a couple of fun facts: they live to be about TWENTY when not knocked out for food. They lay eggs daily for about 2 years (and if you aren't a sucker for punishment, you just don't have a rooster on board), after which their future is usually bleak.

I also learned that cows give about 5-7 gallons of milk daily. Jersey (how now brown) cows give creamier milk than Holsteins (the black and white model), but less of it. Whoo. Or is it, Mooooo?

I finally figured out how to load pictures (kind of) in Debian. Still waiting (for Steven) to crack open the Mac after (thoroughly backing it up with the external drive he couldn't wait to buy and after) school is done tomorrow.

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More breaking news at Canarywatch HQ

Okay. One bird from the eggs didn't make it, leaving 4 babies, 2 adult canaries, 2 finches, 1 cockatiel (one dog, and in 3 weeks when the water has developed the beneficial bacteria, 30 fish and 2 turtles, I'm told).

The 4 canaryettes have flown the nest (but remain in the cage, where incest may take hold?), and...2 new eggs have magically appeared. Canary nunnery, anyone?

Hold onto your hat, Beatrice, we could be in for a rough ride.

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Vagina Monologue, the Michelle Duggar edition

The Duggar kids planned a big Mother's Day surprise for their mom this year. But the surprise was on them when Michelle Duggar announced on the TODAY Show that they were soon to welcome an 18th sibling.

“We’re expecting!” the happy mother told TODAY co-host Meredith Vieira and the entire Arkansas clan. “Number 18!

“I wasn’t expecting that,” the 20-year-old (son) said. “But it’s been nine months [since the birth of the last baby], so yeah.”

The vagina was heard to yelp: Please, Jim Bob, please go away! I am not a clown car! Perimenopause, where art thou?

And they're all named with J names. For the next, we recommend: Jackal, Jinky, Jaguar, Jeronimo, Jermaine, Jellybean, JuJubee, Juicyfruit, Jello and Jabba (Jabba Duggar -- cool!).

The vagina is not amused.

Happy Mother's Day!

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We are currently experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by (and clap, why don't you, because I enjoy applause).

I'm having a few issues with my computer. Mainly that it doesn't want to work anymore.

We think it needs a new hard drive, or that the fan isn't working well. Or both.

Today was my last lecture of the term and despite being perched upon a "fan thingy that fits under a laptop," the computer froze right before my "shop like you're Spock" slide depicting smart grocery shopping for the otherwise Hot Cheeto-/Spam (yes, Spam)-/Tampico "juice"-/ramen-/whatever-I-just-found-on-the-ground-eatin' college student. I was undeterred by the computer's panting and displayed my vast technical expertise by tilting the bastard back until it decided to give way and let me finish. As a just reward, the white Apple is currently resting, and perhaps later I'll get to load some pictures onto Steven's MacGyver laptop (soldered together and brought back from death -- one of his many talents) so I can post some other nonsense.

I have a great chicken portrait from the Farm Walk at Pierce College. The kid liked the chickens, but none of that has dissuaded the small child from eating the dead variety. I'm still keeping my fat mouth shut, but just barely.

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The birdman and the part time carnivore

This just in at Canarywatch headquarters: two more birds, finches, were purchased in the West Valley where they joined their rapidly growing flock in the air-conditioned comfort of a gigantic new cage. The birdman additionally was heard to yip with glee when the fifth canary egg finally hatched (see pictures), bringing the new bird count, all told, to: 10!

Meanwhile, gas prices across the Valley were such that by noon they'd gone up 4 cents (and my only consolation was that I made my purchase at just $3.87 just before the switch), the temperature is already soaring past 92 for the third day in a row, and the vegetarian child expressed a keen interest in tasting meat. I expect doorknocking religious zealots pronouncing Armageddon to shed their clothes and run naked in the street drinking green Slurpees as a sign that this is no longer just a drill.

We went to Trader Joe's where Ron, master of the food tasting kitchen, made up some chopped tomatoes with spinach pasta and chicken. And there I stood with the kid downing white meat chicken and telling me she loved it. But that she was still a vegetarian, because, "I'm not a big meat eater." Then she ran into her friend Reka from school -- fortuitously, the only other vegetarian in her class (the two were dressed exactly the same, and look the same, prompting a passerby to ask if they were twins -- Nope. Mine just became a chickeneater. Wah!) The kid then announced that she wants to taste the different meats they serve at school lunches (because she's never tasted mystery meat either), a curiosity/rebellion I figured for about age 5 so she's just a little ahead of the game.

Gotta be cool or she'll keep this up for show. On the other hand, she might keep it up anyway, then blame me later for allowing her to do it (her father will always be blameless no matter what he does -- which will come in handy when he's chasing down her dates with a baseball bat).

And, that's the news, people of the Southland and beyond. Good night out there, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

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Celebrate, Earthlings!

It's Earth Day, and not just the Pennsylvania primary. The kids had an "assembly" at school that the very polite child refrained from describing as boring, though apart from the freeing of a few butterflies, I could tell it was a real hoot. But it's a great little thing to celebrate -- a holiday with no heavy expectations or familial get-togethers, just reminders to make the place less of a mess:

I went to Trader Joe's for groceries and got a free reusable shopping bag. I thought that was a really cool thing to do.

The inside of Newsweek (their "green" issue for April 18) has an ad for Target you can tear off fold, tape, stuff with Target plastic bags and send in for a coupon to get a reusable bag from them. About bloody time! (We've been using a muttley ensemble of reusable bags since the time when clerks would eyeball you as a nutcracker.)

We started composting years ago -- all Steven's doing at first. We have lots of leftover apple cores, banana peels, grass clippings. leaves, and wasted child-portions -- we toss them into one of 3 cans (one's a real compost bin we found in the garbage -- the other two are garbage cans with small holes drilled in the sides to let air in -- not too big or you'll find, as Steven did one evening, a startled rat jumping out of the compost and into the air. This will cause you to nearly wet yourself, or at the very least, emit a very girlie scream).

Just how much city is in this girl? When Steven first showed me the product of months of steaming old spaghetti, squash skins, orange peels and one of the spoons from our good flatware, I asked him why he was adding dirt to the compost. Yes, that's how much city. Be warned, urbanites: when you compost crap, it turns into high quality, nitrogen laden DIRT that is excellent for fertilizer. Or in the case of one fellow I worked with in a kitchen, worms for fishing. Whatever. It's all that and more. Start a pile! In L.A., the Bureau of Sanitation sells composters on the cheap, and has information on how to do it (although we just toss things that are not dog poop or meat in there and wait).

With gas very quickly approaching $4 a gallon ($3.81 here in L.A.), I suppose we'll all find ways to pollute less because we can't go anywhere! I'm thinking of adding a couple of baskets to the bike for grocery shopping, and Steven's thinking of taking the bus to work since we figured it's costing roughly $6 in gas for him alone each day he works. That's $30 a week, $120 a month.

We need to work from home. Now that would save the Earth -- everyone into your pajamas and over to that computer! Less wash! Less gas! More fun!

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Happy Passover, Canarywatch, etc.

About 3 years ago I started this well-worn blog with some observations about matzoh. My feelings about it remain steadfast, just like the contents of my colon. On the final night of Passover, matzoh should be dipped in melted Ex-lax, as a symbol of our liberation.

The canary is up to 3 chicks.

The dog and ewe owners stepped up and claimed their pets. Whew.

And the biking weather? Sunny, 65 degrees, Fab. We hit the bank, the mail, Le Pain Quotidien for a pesto/parmesan omelette with praline sugary hazelnut spread and jam on long pieces of lovely bread...soon the (oppressive) heat will be coming. I've decided we need to "summer" somewhere like the truly civilized do.

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