The Whittier Garden Communicator is hard at work, culling votes on Whittier Garden's motto. Votes (all The Communicator's) narrow it down to three:
#1: "Eh, whatever"
#2: "Manana"
#3: "What's that smell?"
The Communicator will hear other suggestions till midnight tonight. Not that The Communicator gives a tinker's damn what anyone thinks. After all, The Communicator is in the habit of COMMUNICATIN'. You has just been Communicated with.
Garden news: last Communique, dispatched by your very own Communicator (also known as "Beloved Divine Uncle Communicator") The Communicator figured a word regarding not letting the garden kids chase each other with the new garden hatchet would have been clear enough. Recent events cause The Communicator to clarify, asking gardeners too, please refrain from this activity. It does nothing for our image, tarnished enough by the Easter Incident (whoever laced the pageant crown with goat-heads, confess to Wendell. You owe band-aids). Thank you for your attention to this matter.
The Communicator, however divine, gets a little .... cranky at the cold spring weather. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR TWO SUNNY DAYS IN A ROW??
Evidently.
Like all gardeners, The Communicator yearns for warmth. The Communicator gets just a little moody with the cold spring weather. Yet in his benficience, mercy, boredom and angst, The Communicator asks his self "What can I do to spruce up the common areas? What blooms early?"
Why, Poison Oak! Some of Whittier Garden's core values are ingenuity, and selfless devotionialism. Call The Communicator crazy (really just a little S.A.D, it usually passes) but The Communicator has seeded the fence strip with this hardy climber, and early lush ground-cover. Watch the seedlings; pretty potent stuff.
This augments the jimson weed, datura, and also the hemlock starts put in during fall clean-up (note: Whittier Hemlock Society meeting on April 23 was a smashing success, altho whomever was last one standing forgot to shut off the chipper).
Cadaverously speaking, The Communicator asks gardeners to watch for stray dogs in the garden. There has been ... some digging. Not completely sure, but wasn't our dear garden the Denver County cemetary in the late 1800s? We've been seeing .. well ..... The Communicator is no expert at anatomy (yes, hard to believe), but was that a FEMUR posted on the Whittier Bulletin Board last week? Chewed as it is, sorta hard to tell.
Not that The Communicator puts anything past SOME gardeners. The Communicator has SEEN "Hot Fuzz". Makes The Communicator suddenly muse over what's really going on with the hatchet. It cannot be overstated not everything gets completely taken care of by the wood-chipper --Hemlock Society, you are on notice here-- but for normal skeletal remains, just rebury. Especially you spinach gardeners; the starts will LOVE it!
Yours, as ever
Whittier Gardens Communicator.
PS: yes, those are real fire-ants nesting around the south perimeter. Remember, you can out-run them. But only if you are awake. Rocking-chair gardeners pay attention!!!
PPS: abandoned-plot gardeners are still responsible for appearances. Resembling litter-boxes, neighborhood cats find abandoned plots irresistable. Arguably, they don't dig as much as dogs, but do unearth some pretty odd business. Digits, the occasional rib ..... please! Keep your plot tidy.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Whittier Garden Communicator --April 11, 2011
OK. OK. This is Whittier Communicator. The Communicator is communicating here. Listen up.
First, for the oblivious, there's a roll of twine, and baling wire too, nailed up on the back of the bulletin board. Its high up; rug-rats can't reach but you can. Wire nips are in the drawer. Good stuff! Use it for whatever.
Also new is a small hatchet --for stakes and such. The Communicator is tired of whittling with his vintage 1984 Buck-knife, bought in Willimantic Connecticut many moons ago (trivia: Willimantic, Indian for "land of swift running water" demarks NY mob from Providence mob. Bet you didn't know that) --Do The Communicator a favor, make sure it gets returned to the tool-bucket. DON'T let the garden kids (kinder-garten??) chase each other around with the thing. It's unseemly.
The Communicator is covertly reinforcing a few plot borders around the Great Circle. The Communicator is tired of muddy watering-wash sluicing down the sidewalks. The Communicator's hide severely chaffs at this. Try and not be watering slobs. It upsets The Communicator.
Another peeve is GOATHEADS. I realize this is a PERSONAL problem. If you don't know what one looks like, see The Communicator. I'll show you the ones in your plot. Fact of life --they are EVERYWHERE. But, The Communicator will have no truck with them. Nor will his anyone who loves The Communicator, all three of you. Each time a loathed goathead is yanked by The Communicator, an angel LOSES his (or her) wings. Do you want that on your hands? Didn't THINK so. Yank a goathead. For puppies and goodness. For crying out loud, dost thou not ride a bike? Dost thou not HATE goatheads??
The Communicator adores his fans. He knows he isn't always popular; The Communicator is even a little *stanky*; just ask The Communicator's squeeze. "Phew", she says. "Get some @#&!%!! deodorant. You smell like horse-hockey".
OK. The Communicator is reviewing this.
That is all for now. The Communicator wishes you happy gardening. Within reason.
Ok. Ok. That is all.
The Communicator loves y'all. Sorta like The Fakawi Tribe.
"Short Men in a tall prairie, jumping up and down, chanting "we're the fakawi, we're the fakawi!"
OK, The Communicator is gonna fold his laundry, and go to bed.
First, for the oblivious, there's a roll of twine, and baling wire too, nailed up on the back of the bulletin board. Its high up; rug-rats can't reach but you can. Wire nips are in the drawer. Good stuff! Use it for whatever.
Also new is a small hatchet --for stakes and such. The Communicator is tired of whittling with his vintage 1984 Buck-knife, bought in Willimantic Connecticut many moons ago (trivia: Willimantic, Indian for "land of swift running water" demarks NY mob from Providence mob. Bet you didn't know that) --Do The Communicator a favor, make sure it gets returned to the tool-bucket. DON'T let the garden kids (kinder-garten??) chase each other around with the thing. It's unseemly.
The Communicator is covertly reinforcing a few plot borders around the Great Circle. The Communicator is tired of muddy watering-wash sluicing down the sidewalks. The Communicator's hide severely chaffs at this. Try and not be watering slobs. It upsets The Communicator.
Another peeve is GOATHEADS. I realize this is a PERSONAL problem. If you don't know what one looks like, see The Communicator. I'll show you the ones in your plot. Fact of life --they are EVERYWHERE. But, The Communicator will have no truck with them. Nor will his anyone who loves The Communicator, all three of you. Each time a loathed goathead is yanked by The Communicator, an angel LOSES his (or her) wings. Do you want that on your hands? Didn't THINK so. Yank a goathead. For puppies and goodness. For crying out loud, dost thou not ride a bike? Dost thou not HATE goatheads??
The Communicator adores his fans. He knows he isn't always popular; The Communicator is even a little *stanky*; just ask The Communicator's squeeze. "Phew", she says. "Get some @#&!%!! deodorant. You smell like horse-hockey".
OK. The Communicator is reviewing this.
That is all for now. The Communicator wishes you happy gardening. Within reason.
Ok. Ok. That is all.
The Communicator loves y'all. Sorta like The Fakawi Tribe.
"Short Men in a tall prairie, jumping up and down, chanting "we're the fakawi, we're the fakawi!"
OK, The Communicator is gonna fold his laundry, and go to bed.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Pizza Crust of History
Seems like the days I really don't want to run I do my best. Other days, eager to get out, I can just sandbag it. Working today (noon-10p Sun thru Wed), weather is over 40 at least. Been running around like crazy Wednesday (I took it off), Thurs, Fri and Sat; by the time I get back to work I am just bushed!
Took another trip out to Golden, for another load of horse-pucky. You always think you have enough, but .... a lot of horse manure don't go too far. I grabbed another 100 lbs, which is sitting in my car, ripening, till I can offload tomorrow. One thing is certain, these horses sure get enough fiber. They all look at me on the way over to the mound, as if to say "who IS this yutz?"
Been reading NYT's Lori Berenson article in the Magazine section. Quite a tale. Makes my life seem so ... unaccomplished. Its a good read for anybody familiar with those times. A couple of months ago I took in the 5 hour movie "Carlos" (think I mentioned it in my last post). Few people I know here in Denver (well, I do know a few, but you know you've been somewhere a while when prior relationships circumscribe where you are welcome) really followed this story over time, as in, the past 45 years. As a child, in a household where the absolute power of a resentful step-mother backed up against my anger at being bounced around, the Weather Underground seemed attractive to me. To even engage people on the topic is difficult; it’s akin to questioning whether Sartre and Ferlinghetti can mean anything anymore; the weltanschauung and language, the tapestry of life I (and others my age) came from is just so alien, relative to today's 'Reality TV" culture, banal beyond belief.
But, I do believe there is an underlying thread to our lives, no matter what the times. It becomes a question of language, and each generation sprechts its own lingo; and where we fall is trying to understand each other. Ginger and I saw "True Grit" the other night, and both were moved by how precise language was. Folk spoke plainly, and language made use of nuance, hue and shade. Very precise, and very revealing. Makes me want to speak in that vernacular, but my experience is language is becoming sparer and less evocative. I don't think this is a good thing, but I'm also not so dense as to not see how it is. Back in Aspen I knew an architect, whose PC I used to work on (in the days of config.sys and autoexec.bat), and he had this sign on his wall: "if they didn't hear you, you haven't said anything". That annoyed the hell out of me, and it was only years later I GOT IT.
I seem to have digressed. Back to "Carlos" the movie, and the psychedelic ragamuffin 11-year-old buying Black Panther Paper, and wishing the Weather Underground would come and scoop me up, and get me the hell away from my miserable life. Maureen, my step-mother, increasingly was losing patience with me, and the more she cracked down, the harder I pushed back. Eventually it devolved to all out war, and frankly, she was bigger.
This was the tableaux in which I began to understand struggle. The Vietnam War resistance was in full swing; I had just read Catch-22. The Red Army Faction and The Weather Underground made sense to me. It didn't hurt that I was well-read for an 11-year-old. Anybody in NYC between 1968 and 1980 (at the outside; 1969 thru 1977 was the hey-day. Then, it became hello Ronald Reagan) will recall pamphleteers, left-wing newspapers, and of course the pre-Internet mainstay, bookstores, were everywhere. I got lucky that way, and reading everything I could get my hands on wasn't the chore it is today. Part of me grimaces writing this; does the world need one more blogger?
"Carlos" the movie was a delicious treat, and an endurance test all at once. If you haven't seen it, and any of this rings a bell culturally, I will say the movie goes fast. Earlier this year I was lucky enough to catch "The Baader-Meinhof Faction", which was just such a good movie. There is exactly one guy here at Qwest who has actually seen the thing, and he is a bit of an enigma to me: he came out of the military, and he's under 35. I don't get to chat with him much, he's with another group now but .... amazed he saw it. Not surprisingly, "Carlos" has tight similarities w/ Baader-Meinhof, if just by dint of timeliness. Carlos, Baader-Meinhof, Japanese Red Army, all linked, and borne of American post-WWII imperialism, spasms of which we're seeing today in Egypt, Libya, and Algeria ...
Without thru prism of history to break out the spectrum, the colors we see in all this, from the 60's to today, I can see where this appears as just white noise to the kids I work with, which is why I raise the historical roots of it all, and to them, I'm just a crashing bore. Back to "if they didn't hear you, you haven't said anything". Almost. The guys I work with are in a special kind of denial; virtually all military, and working in telecom after that. Lots of Tea Party rhetoric, with "Political language ..... is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind" taking on a life of its own. Not a lot of well-read historians in my little group ....
But, I guess it is true: the more things change, the more they remain the same. The history hasn't changed, but its context will necessarily evolve. I do think our post-consumer society is a wasteland (disclosure: I adore Ad Busters), and mourn the corrosiveness of the new politics,
and the dilution of context by the advertising-industrial complex (apologies to Ike). To be sure, recently I'm ranging out of my comfort zone more and more, and (like our little seed exchange yesterday) meeting some fairly principled kids doing some out-of-the-box stuff. I am humbled, and yet it takes a real effort to get off my horse, however high or low, and just LISTEN.
I think myself classically diabolical (dia + bolical, L. 'to tear apart'), which works for and against me. Mark Maron on the WTF show called himself " [sic] ... a relationship terrorist; as soon as anybody gets too close, I blow it all up". This is a bad habit of mine, borne from inquisitiveness, which goes awry if unchecked. Playing Devil's Advocate with everything is great, but relationship-wise, I'm really trying to leave THAT one at the door where intimacy is involved. Especially w/ folks from different countries, like northern Illinois.
Makes me almost hopeful.
-E.
Took another trip out to Golden, for another load of horse-pucky. You always think you have enough, but .... a lot of horse manure don't go too far. I grabbed another 100 lbs, which is sitting in my car, ripening, till I can offload tomorrow. One thing is certain, these horses sure get enough fiber. They all look at me on the way over to the mound, as if to say "who IS this yutz?"
Been reading NYT's Lori Berenson article in the Magazine section. Quite a tale. Makes my life seem so ... unaccomplished. Its a good read for anybody familiar with those times. A couple of months ago I took in the 5 hour movie "Carlos" (think I mentioned it in my last post). Few people I know here in Denver (well, I do know a few, but you know you've been somewhere a while when prior relationships circumscribe where you are welcome) really followed this story over time, as in, the past 45 years. As a child, in a household where the absolute power of a resentful step-mother backed up against my anger at being bounced around, the Weather Underground seemed attractive to me. To even engage people on the topic is difficult; it’s akin to questioning whether Sartre and Ferlinghetti can mean anything anymore; the weltanschauung and language, the tapestry of life I (and others my age) came from is just so alien, relative to today's 'Reality TV" culture, banal beyond belief.
But, I do believe there is an underlying thread to our lives, no matter what the times. It becomes a question of language, and each generation sprechts its own lingo; and where we fall is trying to understand each other. Ginger and I saw "True Grit" the other night, and both were moved by how precise language was. Folk spoke plainly, and language made use of nuance, hue and shade. Very precise, and very revealing. Makes me want to speak in that vernacular, but my experience is language is becoming sparer and less evocative. I don't think this is a good thing, but I'm also not so dense as to not see how it is. Back in Aspen I knew an architect, whose PC I used to work on (in the days of config.sys and autoexec.bat), and he had this sign on his wall: "if they didn't hear you, you haven't said anything". That annoyed the hell out of me, and it was only years later I GOT IT.
I seem to have digressed. Back to "Carlos" the movie, and the psychedelic ragamuffin 11-year-old buying Black Panther Paper, and wishing the Weather Underground would come and scoop me up, and get me the hell away from my miserable life. Maureen, my step-mother, increasingly was losing patience with me, and the more she cracked down, the harder I pushed back. Eventually it devolved to all out war, and frankly, she was bigger.
This was the tableaux in which I began to understand struggle. The Vietnam War resistance was in full swing; I had just read Catch-22. The Red Army Faction and The Weather Underground made sense to me. It didn't hurt that I was well-read for an 11-year-old. Anybody in NYC between 1968 and 1980 (at the outside; 1969 thru 1977 was the hey-day. Then, it became hello Ronald Reagan) will recall pamphleteers, left-wing newspapers, and of course the pre-Internet mainstay, bookstores, were everywhere. I got lucky that way, and reading everything I could get my hands on wasn't the chore it is today. Part of me grimaces writing this; does the world need one more blogger?
"Carlos" the movie was a delicious treat, and an endurance test all at once. If you haven't seen it, and any of this rings a bell culturally, I will say the movie goes fast. Earlier this year I was lucky enough to catch "The Baader-Meinhof Faction", which was just such a good movie. There is exactly one guy here at Qwest who has actually seen the thing, and he is a bit of an enigma to me: he came out of the military, and he's under 35. I don't get to chat with him much, he's with another group now but .... amazed he saw it. Not surprisingly, "Carlos" has tight similarities w/ Baader-Meinhof, if just by dint of timeliness. Carlos, Baader-Meinhof, Japanese Red Army, all linked, and borne of American post-WWII imperialism, spasms of which we're seeing today in Egypt, Libya, and Algeria ...
Without thru prism of history to break out the spectrum, the colors we see in all this, from the 60's to today, I can see where this appears as just white noise to the kids I work with, which is why I raise the historical roots of it all, and to them, I'm just a crashing bore. Back to "if they didn't hear you, you haven't said anything". Almost. The guys I work with are in a special kind of denial; virtually all military, and working in telecom after that. Lots of Tea Party rhetoric, with "Political language ..... is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind" taking on a life of its own. Not a lot of well-read historians in my little group ....
But, I guess it is true: the more things change, the more they remain the same. The history hasn't changed, but its context will necessarily evolve. I do think our post-consumer society is a wasteland (disclosure: I adore Ad Busters), and mourn the corrosiveness of the new politics,
and the dilution of context by the advertising-industrial complex (apologies to Ike). To be sure, recently I'm ranging out of my comfort zone more and more, and (like our little seed exchange yesterday) meeting some fairly principled kids doing some out-of-the-box stuff. I am humbled, and yet it takes a real effort to get off my horse, however high or low, and just LISTEN.
I think myself classically diabolical (dia + bolical, L. 'to tear apart'), which works for and against me. Mark Maron on the WTF show called himself " [sic] ... a relationship terrorist; as soon as anybody gets too close, I blow it all up". This is a bad habit of mine, borne from inquisitiveness, which goes awry if unchecked. Playing Devil's Advocate with everything is great, but relationship-wise, I'm really trying to leave THAT one at the door where intimacy is involved. Especially w/ folks from different countries, like northern Illinois.
Makes me almost hopeful.
-E.
Seems like the days I really don't want to run I do my best. Other days, eager to get out, I just sandbag it. Working today (noon-10p Sun thru Wed), weather is over 40 at least. I was dog-tired, but*smoked* my run. And I been running around like crazy Wednesday (I took it off), Thurs, Fri and Sat; by the time I get back to work I am just bushed!
Took another trip out to Golden, for another load of horse-pucky. You always think you have enough, but .... a lot of horse manure don't go too far. I grabbed another 100 lbs, which is sitting in my car, ripening, till I can offload tomorrow. One thing is certain, these horses get enough fiber. They all seem look at me on the way over to the mound, as if to say "who IS this yutz?"
Been reading NYT's Lori Berenson article in the Magazine section. Quite a tale. Makes my life seem so ... unaccomplished. Its a good read for anybody familiar with those times. A couple of months ago I took in the 5 hour movie "Carlos" (think I mentioned it in my last post). Few people I know here in Denver (well, I do know a few, but you know you've been somewhere a while when prior relationships circumscribe where you are welcome) really followed this story. As a child, in a household where the absolute power of a resentful step-mother backed up against my anger at being bounced around. The Weather Underground seemed attractive to me. To even engage people on the topic is difficult; it’s akin to questioning whether Sarte and Ferlinghetti can mean anything anymore; the weltanschauung and language, the tapestry of life I (and others my age) came from is just so alien, relative to today's 'Reality TV" culture, banal beyond belief.
But, I do believe there is an underlying thread to our lives, no matter what the times. It becomes a question of language, and each generation sprechts its own lingo; and where we fall is trying to understand each other. Ginger and I saw "True Grit" the other night, and both were moved by
how precise language was. Folk spoke plainly, and language made use of nuance, hue and shade. Very precise, and very revealing. Makes me want to speak in that vernacular, but my experience is language is becoming sparer and less evocative. I don't think this is a good thing, but I'm also not so dense as to not see how it is. Back in Aspen I knew an architect, whose PC I used to work on (in the days of config.sys and autoexec.bat). He had this sign on his wall: "if they didn't hear you, you haven't said anything". That annoyed the hell out of me, and it was only years later I GOT IT.
I seem to have digressed. Back to "Carlos" the movie, and the psychedelic ragamuffin 11-year-old buying Black Panther Paper, and wishing the Weather Underground would come and scoop me up, and get me the hell away from my miserable life. Maureen, my step-mother, increasingly was losing patience with me, and the more she cracked down, the harder I pushed back. Eventually it devolved to all out war, and frankly, she was bigger.
This was the tableaux in which I began to understand struggle. The Vietnam War resistance was in full swing; I had just read Catch-22. The Red Army Faction and The Weather Underground made sense to me. It didn't hurt that I was well-read for an 11-year-old. Anybody in NYC between 1968 and 1980 (at the outside; 1969 thru 1977 was the hey-day. Then, it became hello Ronald Reagan) will recall pamphleteers, left-wing newspapers, and of course the pre-Internet mainstay, bookstores, were everywhere. I got lucky that way, and reading everything I could get my hands on wasn't the chore it is today. Part of me grimaces writing this; does the world need one more blogger?
"Carlos" the movie was a delicious treat, and an endurance test all at once. If you haven't seen it, and any of this rings a bell culturally, I will say the movie goes fast. Earlier this year I was lucky enough to catch "The Baader-Meinhof Faction", which was just such a good movie. There is exactly one guy here at Qwest who has actually seen the thing, and he is a bit of an enigma to me: he came out of the military, and he's under 35. I don't get to chat with him much, he's with another group now but .... amazed he saw it.
Not surprisingly, "Carlos" has tight similarities w/ Baader-Meinhof, if just by dint of timeliness. Carlos, Baader-Meinhof, Japanese Red Army, all linked, and borne of American post-WWII imperialism, spasms of which we're seeing today in Egypt, Libya, and Algeria ...
Without the prism of history to break out the spectrum, the colors we see in all this, from the 60's to today, I can see where this appears as just white noise to the kids I work with, which is why I raise the historical roots of it all, and to them, I'm just a crashing bore. Back to "if they didn't hear you, you haven't said anything". Almost. The guys I work with are in a special kind of denial; virtually all military, and working in telecom after that. Lots of Tea Party rhetoric, with "Political language ..... is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind" taking on a life of its own. Not a lot of well-read historians in my little group ....
But, I guess it is true: the more things change, the more they remain the same. The history hasn't changed, but its context will necessarily evolve. I do think our post-consumer society is a wasteland (disclosure: I adore Ad Busters), and mourn the corrosiveness of the new politics, and the dilution of context by the advertising-industrial complex (apologies to Ike). To be sure, recently I'm ranging out of my comfort zone more and more, and (like our little seed exchange yesterday) meeting some fairly principled kids doing some out-of-the-box stuff. I am humbled, and yet it takes a real effort to get off my horse, however high or low, and just LISTEN.
I think myself classically diabolical (dia + bolical, L. 'to tear apart'), which works for and against me. Mark Maron on the WTF show called himself " [sic] ... a relationship terrorist; as soon as anybody gets too close, I blow it all up". This is a bad habit of mine, borne from inquisitiveness, which goes awry if unchecked. Playing Devil's Advocate with everything is great, but relationship-wise, I'm really trying to leave THAT one at the door where intimacy is involved. Especially w/ folks from different countries, like northern Illinois.
Makes me almost hopeful.
-E.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Off the Cuff, 3/5/2011
It's been an interesting day. Slept in … till 8:45. Thats, like, FOREVER for me. Did my reading, and sallied off to Hutch and Spoon Cafe, 31st and Larimer, catch a cup of coffee and a light breakfast sandwich before a seed exchange. I'd found out about the seed exchange early Friday after barreling around town trying to suss out a greenhouse that would put up my flats of starts for a month or so. I'm growing a LOT of peppers this year, and peppers are real finicky about germination. For instance, best to whet them with hot water, and let them thoroughly dry before a second watering. Who knew? And, they need to be started in plastic starter cups; the paper varieties holds moisture too long, and peppers are prone to root rot. Got to keep them warm, and somewhat under-watered after that. Planting is best "on a cloudy day, right before a rain".
So. Peppers are fussy. This year I'm growing Assam Bhut Jolokia --reputed to be hottest in Asia. Also Caribbean Devil's tongue, and sweet varieties include Chervena Chushka, Tollies, some NuMex, Jimmy Nardellos, and one or two others I can't quite recall. That should be enough, right?
Where was I? Oh yeah, coffee.
At 11, I make a dash up north, for 65th and Washington, where Denver Post noted Rocky Mtn Seeds was having a liquidation sale. But Denver Post had the date wrong --sort of. This skinny wisp of an octogenarian-ette barred us all entry, shouting that "Denver Post didn't contact them about the sale article" and that it was NEXT weekend. The crowd, and there was a crowd, and it's a bit of a hump to get to 65th and Washington, was verbally cranky about this, not the least of which was we could all see people INSIDE buying stuff. We never did get the story straight but this lady wasn't budging. I looked for a way to sneak in but … she was having none of it. I hovered about for a bit (would she change her mind? Would she turn her back?) but after 15 minutes I shrugged, and took off for the seed exchange, which I'd discovered the day before (I knew I'd circle back on this). The folks at DUG headquarters (Denver Urban Gardens) had illuminated me to this, because after I'd panned out looking for rack-space at two greenhouses it occurred to me to ask DUG leadership where the hell I might glomm a bit of greenhouse space for all the dang pepper starts I'll be putting in next week, just as soon as the seeds arrive in the mail from reimersseeds.com.
The seed exchange was at 'Grow Haus', which *sounds* like a marijuana grow house operation, which Denver is AWASH in (you have no idea) but it ain't. Really. Its a DIY (do it yourself) band of kids who BOUGHT a huge old greenhouse in Denver's Swansea neighborhood. Swansea is NOT pretty. It sits north of I-70, and a bit east of Globeville, reputed to be one of the most heavily polluted neighborhoods in Denver. Eh. Whatever. YES, there was a colossal smelting plant there till the '50's. Now, its a bit of dive, what with I-70, the Ralston Purina dog food processing plant (what's that smell? Beef stew? NOT!), and a LOT of blight.
These plucky kids bought an old marigold nursery gone to seed, and Grow Haus is more on the food-as-politics fringe, housing nascent aqua-ponics pools (already got one pool of fish, which gets filtered back to plant beds), hydroponics (small bit of that already too) and a bleeding ACRE of just empty greenhouse. They envision a lot of grass roots community involvement; they'll supply local families and soup kitchens w/ free produce, and their whole deal is extraordinarily refreshing. Heck, I even saw Tracy Weil in there today potting tomatoes (local and notorious RINO artist, and web designer-cum-tomato farmer).
Seed exchange? I went BANANAS. So many seeds. I brought all my last years remnants, and stuff I'd bought I'll never use, to the tables (cilantro? HATE the stuff), and in turn scarfed up collards, okra, amaranth, bizarre squash varieties, weird this and that and a BUNCH of flower seeds I'll distribute around to various dirt corners in Denver, just for kicks. I met a BUNCH of people (I don't get out much) and it just jazzed my day.
I had a BLAST, And you'd think this Grow Haus seed exchange, my day just can't get any better than THAT right? Think again. On a whim, I dashed out to Silver Quarter Acres horse stables in Golden, and snarfled up a hundred pounds of HORSE HOCKEY. Ooooh, baby. The GOOD stuff too. Owner Marcy said "take all you want --how much you need? I got a FRONT-LOADER". I confessed I had 'ought but two 5-gallon buckets, and two gigantic plastic trash bags I snagged from my building's trash (and Internet) room on the way out the door (it was an afterthought). Silver Acre boards dozens of horses, so lots of women training horses, a gymkhana pen, paddocks and even a small Shetland pony, who near licked me clean. The Shetland was such a sweetheart. I love horses ….. anyhoo, owner Marcy pointed out the good "sort of older" mounds, which I loaded up into my containers and in short order was turning into my garden beds mid-afternoon. My garden is gonna ROCK.
"Eric", you might ask, "why you be writing all this stuff tonight?" Good question. Just got back from "Adjustment Bureau", the Philip K. Dick-derived movie w/ Matt Damon and Emily Blunt (she's on my laminate-list). Later on I'll try and dash off a quick list of movies I've seen in the past month or so (HUGE props to "Carlos" by the way; I made it thru 4 of 5 hours, then I flaked. HEY, I made it all the way to 'Glasnost', and I know how the story ends).
Adjustment Bureau inspired me.
All I can say about Adjustment Bureau was IT TOTALLY ROCKED, and I'll see it once a year for the rest of my life. This list includes Coen Bros 'True Grit' seen a week ago, 'Strictly Ballroom' years ago, same with 'Tripletts of Belleville', Micmacs' and even 'The Illusionist'. Man! What a great year for film.
Adjustment Bureau is simple, rich, and a feast for the eyes and mind. People tend to wait till stuff comes out on DVD or streaming online but you know? Some stuff deserves to be seen on the big screen. What a treat. Go see it. Take-away: one door closes, another door opens. LITERALLY. Blew my mind. Which, admittedly, isn't that hard. I'm pretty easily entertained.
I'm doing a bit of laundry before I start my work-week as I write; I live in one of Denver's oldest apartment buildings (www.grosvenorarms.com), right smack dab in the middle of downtown. I'm a block from the capitol. You've seen the views in my Facebook albums; I have a spectacular view and I *love* my little slice of heaven (and it is small). When the wind flows thru the building just right, I got to ask myself just how many REAL reefer grow-operations are in my building? The whole place REEKS of weed tonight. Unbelievable.
-E.
So. Peppers are fussy. This year I'm growing Assam Bhut Jolokia --reputed to be hottest in Asia. Also Caribbean Devil's tongue, and sweet varieties include Chervena Chushka, Tollies, some NuMex, Jimmy Nardellos, and one or two others I can't quite recall. That should be enough, right?
Where was I? Oh yeah, coffee.
At 11, I make a dash up north, for 65th and Washington, where Denver Post noted Rocky Mtn Seeds was having a liquidation sale. But Denver Post had the date wrong --sort of. This skinny wisp of an octogenarian-ette barred us all entry, shouting that "Denver Post didn't contact them about the sale article" and that it was NEXT weekend. The crowd, and there was a crowd, and it's a bit of a hump to get to 65th and Washington, was verbally cranky about this, not the least of which was we could all see people INSIDE buying stuff. We never did get the story straight but this lady wasn't budging. I looked for a way to sneak in but … she was having none of it. I hovered about for a bit (would she change her mind? Would she turn her back?) but after 15 minutes I shrugged, and took off for the seed exchange, which I'd discovered the day before (I knew I'd circle back on this). The folks at DUG headquarters (Denver Urban Gardens) had illuminated me to this, because after I'd panned out looking for rack-space at two greenhouses it occurred to me to ask DUG leadership where the hell I might glomm a bit of greenhouse space for all the dang pepper starts I'll be putting in next week, just as soon as the seeds arrive in the mail from reimersseeds.com.
The seed exchange was at 'Grow Haus', which *sounds* like a marijuana grow house operation, which Denver is AWASH in (you have no idea) but it ain't. Really. Its a DIY (do it yourself) band of kids who BOUGHT a huge old greenhouse in Denver's Swansea neighborhood. Swansea is NOT pretty. It sits north of I-70, and a bit east of Globeville, reputed to be one of the most heavily polluted neighborhoods in Denver. Eh. Whatever. YES, there was a colossal smelting plant there till the '50's. Now, its a bit of dive, what with I-70, the Ralston Purina dog food processing plant (what's that smell? Beef stew? NOT!), and a LOT of blight.
These plucky kids bought an old marigold nursery gone to seed, and Grow Haus is more on the food-as-politics fringe, housing nascent aqua-ponics pools (already got one pool of fish, which gets filtered back to plant beds), hydroponics (small bit of that already too) and a bleeding ACRE of just empty greenhouse. They envision a lot of grass roots community involvement; they'll supply local families and soup kitchens w/ free produce, and their whole deal is extraordinarily refreshing. Heck, I even saw Tracy Weil in there today potting tomatoes (local and notorious RINO artist, and web designer-cum-tomato farmer).
Seed exchange? I went BANANAS. So many seeds. I brought all my last years remnants, and stuff I'd bought I'll never use, to the tables (cilantro? HATE the stuff), and in turn scarfed up collards, okra, amaranth, bizarre squash varieties, weird this and that and a BUNCH of flower seeds I'll distribute around to various dirt corners in Denver, just for kicks. I met a BUNCH of people (I don't get out much) and it just jazzed my day.
I had a BLAST, And you'd think this Grow Haus seed exchange, my day just can't get any better than THAT right? Think again. On a whim, I dashed out to Silver Quarter Acres horse stables in Golden, and snarfled up a hundred pounds of HORSE HOCKEY. Ooooh, baby. The GOOD stuff too. Owner Marcy said "take all you want --how much you need? I got a FRONT-LOADER". I confessed I had 'ought but two 5-gallon buckets, and two gigantic plastic trash bags I snagged from my building's trash (and Internet) room on the way out the door (it was an afterthought). Silver Acre boards dozens of horses, so lots of women training horses, a gymkhana pen, paddocks and even a small Shetland pony, who near licked me clean. The Shetland was such a sweetheart. I love horses ….. anyhoo, owner Marcy pointed out the good "sort of older" mounds, which I loaded up into my containers and in short order was turning into my garden beds mid-afternoon. My garden is gonna ROCK.
"Eric", you might ask, "why you be writing all this stuff tonight?" Good question. Just got back from "Adjustment Bureau", the Philip K. Dick-derived movie w/ Matt Damon and Emily Blunt (she's on my laminate-list). Later on I'll try and dash off a quick list of movies I've seen in the past month or so (HUGE props to "Carlos" by the way; I made it thru 4 of 5 hours, then I flaked. HEY, I made it all the way to 'Glasnost', and I know how the story ends).
Adjustment Bureau inspired me.
All I can say about Adjustment Bureau was IT TOTALLY ROCKED, and I'll see it once a year for the rest of my life. This list includes Coen Bros 'True Grit' seen a week ago, 'Strictly Ballroom' years ago, same with 'Tripletts of Belleville', Micmacs' and even 'The Illusionist'. Man! What a great year for film.
Adjustment Bureau is simple, rich, and a feast for the eyes and mind. People tend to wait till stuff comes out on DVD or streaming online but you know? Some stuff deserves to be seen on the big screen. What a treat. Go see it. Take-away: one door closes, another door opens. LITERALLY. Blew my mind. Which, admittedly, isn't that hard. I'm pretty easily entertained.
I'm doing a bit of laundry before I start my work-week as I write; I live in one of Denver's oldest apartment buildings (www.grosvenorarms.com), right smack dab in the middle of downtown. I'm a block from the capitol. You've seen the views in my Facebook albums; I have a spectacular view and I *love* my little slice of heaven (and it is small). When the wind flows thru the building just right, I got to ask myself just how many REAL reefer grow-operations are in my building? The whole place REEKS of weed tonight. Unbelievable.
-E.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Echoes and aftermath
This'll be the four year mark of Jasper' s passing. I took today off, and tomorrow as well. Work is way more dysfunctional than even I could ever have imagined, and maybe the antipathy exists just to take my mind off the emptiness. Nothing like psychopathic co-workers all up in your face to put things in perspective. Last night took the cake. There's always ONE GUY who just doesn't like your stuff, except at Qwest my whole GROUP is that one guy. Well, not completely fair but close. Hatred takes a LOT of energy, and breeds its own critical mass. Eh, I'll leave that for another post. It would take an Updike to effectively deconstruct our little group's sheer chaos. Think equal parts Lord of the Flies meets Animal Farm, throw in a bit of Michael Douglas's "Falling Down" and a picture emerges. This is my work life at this time. I have a VERY thick skin, but I do bleed.
The last four years I really haven't give too much a damn about anything. There's been a few bright spots, sure. My own ennui, which blinds me to the obvious, has derailed me a few times. Wild optimism, and I am a CHRONIC optimist, doesn't always save the day either. Its been a challenge to reel in my inner cynic. I've had a few good guides along the way, and know just how corrosive cynicism can be, how quickly it eats away the foundation of personality, so I don't DO it. As a habit anyway.
I can't say what tomorrow will bring, but the kicker is I feel HOPE, and I haven't felt that for four years now. Hope drags along with it a whole raft of other characters, and I guess that's the biggest news today, April 13th, mere hours away from my little Shoah, when the world I knew went up and away. Its easy to wax philosophic about how it all ends up, but the knife that sinks its hilt into your son changes all that. My dark angel lurks way too close, and I, master of putting my box of hurt up and to the left, just beyond my vision, know its all too easy to get sucked into the pain vortex.
Best I got this 11th hour. Tomorrow, the word goes out: its PET DAY! We all go out, find an animal, and ambush it with happiness. In my son Jasper's name. Woof!
The last four years I really haven't give too much a damn about anything. There's been a few bright spots, sure. My own ennui, which blinds me to the obvious, has derailed me a few times. Wild optimism, and I am a CHRONIC optimist, doesn't always save the day either. Its been a challenge to reel in my inner cynic. I've had a few good guides along the way, and know just how corrosive cynicism can be, how quickly it eats away the foundation of personality, so I don't DO it. As a habit anyway.
I can't say what tomorrow will bring, but the kicker is I feel HOPE, and I haven't felt that for four years now. Hope drags along with it a whole raft of other characters, and I guess that's the biggest news today, April 13th, mere hours away from my little Shoah, when the world I knew went up and away. Its easy to wax philosophic about how it all ends up, but the knife that sinks its hilt into your son changes all that. My dark angel lurks way too close, and I, master of putting my box of hurt up and to the left, just beyond my vision, know its all too easy to get sucked into the pain vortex.
Best I got this 11th hour. Tomorrow, the word goes out: its PET DAY! We all go out, find an animal, and ambush it with happiness. In my son Jasper's name. Woof!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
I was surprised it was so warm. April anywhere is a bit dodgy, and Denver's is always life's curveball, weather's 7th inning slider, but baby tonight was glorious. C'or! I even tore off a layer on the way out the door from work, at 10p, teased a bit of a breeze up the sleeves of my creaky old leather jacket easing the bike up Broadway. Its very strange, Broadway is always crawling with cops and I never seem to generate so much as a glance. I should never, ever say this much, much less nail it in print but I *think* I'm bullet-proof. I've been pulled over dozens of times from McDermott Nevada to Denver's I-25 exit ramp that peels west to I-70, where I CUT OFF a Colorado State Trooper in my WRX at 65 mph (no LEO likes this car), I just can't get a ticket.
Traffic cameras? Dismissed. Nevada State Trooper? "..... I don't know what to say, officer, you got me. I don't know WHAT the hell I was thinking. 96 in a 75 mph zone? I'm bleeding SORRY". Keep your hands on the wheel, sit up straight, pony up the license and insurance, just be HONEST. Really, isn't these folks job HARD ENOUGH??
--My night-shift trolls wandered in around 9:00. Got out somewhere between 9:30 and 9:45. It was a mercifully quiet night. This is a touchy week. Jasper died 4 years ago from this coming Tuesday. I want to like spring, as in the SEASON, *SO BAD* but I just rue it. FSK!
I used to tell Jasper, the rare times he'd deign to talk RISK with me, and it was always a hockey thing, "Jasper, you get hurt doing this stuff, and *somebody* is gonna get hurt RIGHT AFTER". Cancer is a fsking thief in the night, nobody to blame, nobody to strangle and believe me if I could but finger something, somebody, the Dark Angel in me would track them down like a GOD DAMN DOG.
I am stymied.
" ..... come to your house and he won't stay long
Look 'round the room one of your family will be gone
Death don't have no mercy in this land".
-Hot Tuna
Traffic cameras? Dismissed. Nevada State Trooper? "..... I don't know what to say, officer, you got me. I don't know WHAT the hell I was thinking. 96 in a 75 mph zone? I'm bleeding SORRY". Keep your hands on the wheel, sit up straight, pony up the license and insurance, just be HONEST. Really, isn't these folks job HARD ENOUGH??
--My night-shift trolls wandered in around 9:00. Got out somewhere between 9:30 and 9:45. It was a mercifully quiet night. This is a touchy week. Jasper died 4 years ago from this coming Tuesday. I want to like spring, as in the SEASON, *SO BAD* but I just rue it. FSK!
I used to tell Jasper, the rare times he'd deign to talk RISK with me, and it was always a hockey thing, "Jasper, you get hurt doing this stuff, and *somebody* is gonna get hurt RIGHT AFTER". Cancer is a fsking thief in the night, nobody to blame, nobody to strangle and believe me if I could but finger something, somebody, the Dark Angel in me would track them down like a GOD DAMN DOG.
I am stymied.
" ..... come to your house and he won't stay long
Look 'round the room one of your family will be gone
Death don't have no mercy in this land".
-Hot Tuna
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