Bulbs, Bulbs and More Bulbs

September and October are the months to plant bulbs for the spring. So, over the last few weeks I've been slowly planting the ones I've been storing in the garage since mid-june.

Last year, I planted a bunch of Tulips and Daffodils willy nilly throughout the various beds in my yard. That was a mistake come summer, when I realized that they were seriously in the way of a bunch of perrenials and bushes I wanted to put in. We're talking about paper grocery bags full of daffodils and paper lunch sacks full of tulips bulbs.

The trick to storing bulbs if you're the anal type that likes to dig them up in the early summer is to keep them in a cool, dark place that provides plenty of ventilation and protection from rodents. So, once the bulbs were dug up, I sorted them and left them on the garage floor for a few days. Then I cleaned off the dried-up outer layer of dirt and put them inside large paper grocery bags, which then went inside big plastic totes (but left the lids off), which then went inside these big storage cases with doors we have. Voila! Cool, dark, well ventilated and protected from rodents!

Now that it's time to plant, I've been prepping plots to plant the bulbs in, with the idea that I'll plant annuals in the same locations once the bulbs go dormant. Supposedly (according to Cisco Morris) tulips are twitchy about getting watered while they're dormant in that the water will make them split into a bunch of little bulb-lets which will not grow large enough to bloom the following year. I'll probably experiment and dig up half of them and leave the other half in to see what happens. Ideally I'd like to not have to dig them up at all, but that may not be possible.

When prepping the soil and planting the bulbs I've worked in one bag of Cedar Grove Compost and one cup of blood meal to about eight inches over about 5 square feet. Once everything is in the ground I'm going to apply about half a cup of fish emulsion to each 5 square foot plot. Next spring I'll top dress with some more blood meal and fish emulsion.

The Future Is Drying Up (NY Times)

An excellent article about water management issues in the SW.

Garlic and Gladiolas

I finished planting my garlic yesterday. Yes, common tradition is that you plant your garlic on or around Columbus Day. This will be my third attempt at growing the plant, and I think I will finally be successful.

For the first attempt, I assumed garlic was like many other plants, and you put the cloves in the ground in the spring. Boy, that was the wrong move. For the second attempt, I planted the garlic in January. That was still too late in the year to result in sizable cloves, though at least I did get cloves of some kind.

So, I figure the third time is the charm. I planted four rows of Oregon Blue Softneck from Hood River Garlic. It may come as a surprise, but they're an organic garlic farm in Hood River, Oregon. I planted four rows of Elephant Garlic, with about 1/3 of the seed cloves being the undersized and undifferentiated bulbs from my second attempt last year and the other 2/3 being from some seed cloves I picked up during the Farm Day trip to Fall City Farms.

I amended the bed with blood meal, fish meal and gypsum. Why gypsum? Well, the blossom rot that occurred in some of the tomatoes I planted in the plot indicated that the soil was deficient in calcium. Gypsum will help to provide calcium without changing the pH of the soil.

I also dug up my gladiolas. In the windstorm. Yes, I'm that dedicated. Actually, the wind was kind of nice, when it wasn't whipping up clouds of dust and blowing them in my face. I won't be planting these gladiolas again, since their growing cycle doesn't really work with the rest of my landscaping plan. Too bad though. Apparently I'm good at growing the buggers. The bulbs (or is it a corm?) came out HUGE.

Organic Gardening Vs. Vegans : Showdown at Noon?

It's that time of year when I'm digging up beds, amending soil and planting for next year. I've been experimenting with organic fertilizers, stuff like blood meal, bone meal and fish emulsion and meal.

As I'm working the animal product based organic fertilizers into the soil, it occurs to me that it would be really really hard for a Vegan to farm organically. Most organic fertilizers are based on rendered animal products. Even manure is an animal product, and if a Vegan can't eat milk or eggs or wear wool, why would they be able to use cow waste to fertilize soil?

I suppose a vegan could rely exclusively on crop rotation, compost and plant based fertilizers (there are a few) but that would be very difficult and would require a fair amount of land. They pretty much couldn't grow vegetables in their back yard, I'd imagine, unless they planned on letting their backyard garden lie fallow every other year.

It's odd, considering that I would classify most Vegans as environmentalist types, that Veganism may actually be somewhat at odds with sustainable agricultural practices. It's something that probably warrants a little research and more thought.

Of course, if you cornered me and asked me what I really thought, I'd tell you that my personal philosophy is that the ideal is a little from column A and a little from column B. And I'm definitely NOT a vegan, or a vegetarian for that matter.

Winnona Ryder is The Enemy

Or, at least that's what a new RPG product reviewed on rpg.net would have you believe.

In short, Covert Generation is an RPG whose premise is that Gen-X'ers are all part of an evil worldwide cabal bent on the subjugation of all free-thinking individuals that don't drink Starbucks.

Only those under the age of 18 have the skills and gumption to end this secret rule of tyranny. You know, once they get done posting on myspace, sorting out their drama, finishing their shift at Taco Bell and getting permission to borrow mommy's Escalade for the night.

I know, I know. It sounds really silly. And it IS silly. Part of me wants to laugh at the game and make fun of it because the premise is so lame. But then, I have to give the creator props for putting something like this together all on his own.

If you actually go and look at the material he's posted on his site you can see that it's reasonably well put together for an Indie production and the writing itself is snappy, easy to read and gives you a fairly good idea of tone of the setting.

Still, I doubt I'd actually bother trying to play this game if I had a copy. It just doesn't appeal. But then again, I'm a member of "The X."

Manticores of Yore

As many of my devoted readers know, I loves me the D&D. Recently it was announced that a new edition (the 4th) was coming out in May of 2008. Since then, I've almost exclusively stuck to reading the 4E forum on ENWorld to get my gaming related internet forum fix.

The most recent thread I've been following has to do with changes to the artwork that depicts the monsters and characters. Every edition has its own look. Sometimes the look can even change as the edition ages. Generally this has to do with particular artists going in and out of style and also with what market research tells the publisher the target audience thinks fantasy should generally look like.

What does this have to do with Manticores? Basically, the Manticore is undergoing a significant artistic revision in 4E that puts it more inline with an "old-skool" understanding of what a Manticore should look like. Some people are happy with this. Some people are not. Personally, I kinda liked how weird the 3rd Edition manticore looked and wasn't too thrilled with the new version. Mostly because I thought it looked too much like the 2nd Edition version, which was essentially a fat, bearded dude's head pasted onto a lion's body.

I did get a chance to see a more complete version of the 4E manticore last night when Marty broke out the newest set of miniatures, and I must say that the picture online really doesn't do the creature justice. It still looks pretty bestial and scary and definitely doesn't look like the grognard's beloved Manticore of yore.

You can do it at a trot. You can do it at a gallop.

I swear I never felt my heart palpitate though.

Yes, yesterday was our exciting annual trip to the Western Washington State Fair, AKA "The Puyallup." Scottland's digital camera is still broken so alas, I will not be able to deluge you with pictures of cute chickens, bunnies, horses, etc. Here are some highlights of the day's events:

*My inability to say "Pumpkin Spice Latte." Rather, I invariably refer to this drink as a "Punken Lahken." Needless to say, the barista at whatever Starbucks I'm at always get terribly confused about what I want. Why do I call it a Punken Lahken? It's all Rachael Eaton's fault. She called it that by accident in 2005 when ordering them for that year's crop of fairgoers and the name has just stuck.

*Rachael's retelling of the dream she had the night before. I can't repeat its contents here (without first getting her permission and clearing the room of children) but I promise to describe it to anyone that asks. Seriously. You have to ask. SERIOUSLY. It involves Ricky Schroeder in a butler outfit.

*In other Rachael induced hilarity, she bemoaned Shakira's "My Hips Don't Lie" song being stuck in her head on account of something her husband Scott had said to her earlier that morning. Needless to say, in a manner similar to the constant referencing of her nethers during the Port Townsend trip, every fifteen minutes or so I was either telling Scott and Scottland that Rachael's hips did not in fact lie or was asking her if perchance her hips were currently telling a lie.

*I finally got around to getting Stromboli chipped when she went into have her teeth cleaned earlier this month. Having done this, I picked up a collar for her fancy new tag on Monday. It's a cute little orange thing with very 60's looking flowers on it. It doesn't really fit her personality or the color of her coat though. So, I told Scottland that as soon as I found a black collar with skulls on it, I'd be switching it out. I found said collar in one of the craft booths at the fair and needless to say, Stromboli looks mighty fierce.

*The main exhibition hall, or Slice & Dice as we call it, was pretty cool. Lot's of lame booths for magnetic pain relieving bracelets, UV teeth bleaching stations and free back alignment tests. Lot's of cool booths though. I bought myself a new leather wallet and saw lot's of other things I would have bought if I didn't already have a pretty big backlog of geegaws I still need to find a home for. I did find a booth that was selling quick disconnects for garden hoses, which oddly enough I was recently wishing I had.

*The dizzy pass that lets us get onto as many of the fair rides as we wanted for a flat fee of 25 dollars paid off handsomely. We got onto pretty much every ride we wanted to at least once and even got to try out the fancy new haunted house ride. Imagine! A haunted house at a fair that isn't full of broken crap and mostly dark because most of the lights are burned out. I wasn't able to fit into one of the ride though, and I swear it mostly was because I was too tall. And yes, a little too wide.

*While on the Scrambler, Scottland and I spied a middle aged woman wearing what can only be described as a "Zeebrero." Basically, imagine a sombrero that's been decorated with faux zebra fur.

*We watched a bit of the Mutton Bustin World Championships. What's that? Well, imagine bullriding but for five years old. Yes, they strap children to the backs of sheep and let them loose. It's pretty crazy and very very cute.

*I picked up the coolest Marvin the Martian decal that I'll be attaching to the back window of the Tundra once it's back from having it's "cats" fixed/replaced.

*After leaving the fair, some guy approached Scott and offered to buy his dizzy pass for two dollars. Rachael subsequently offered to give him hers for free. He then pulls out a switchblade, grabs her hand and cuts the dizzy pass off her wrist. He then realizes that Rachael is freaked out by this and apologizes for scaring her. Neither myself, Scott or Scottland see this happen. Weird.

Anyhow, that this year's 2007 Puyallup. We managed to avoid too much crabiness. No one was sick or recovering from surgery and Scottland and I didn't have to sit through homophobic comments from a Jim Beam sales rep. All in all I'd say it was a good experience. Can't wait for next year! Yee Hah!!

Welcome to September!!

Wait. What? It's almost half done? Sheesh. Where does the time go?

I'm finished up the rules write up for the next iteration of Syndicate. Play testing will commence again in the near future!

It was foggy this morning. Autumn isn't far away now, which is good. I'm getting tired of feeling guilty for not watering my plants as much as I should.

Dave Noonan (one of the designers for 4ED D&D) posted a link to the following bit of humor on his blog today. Though I think it's aimed more on those who are trying to design RPG's (I'm working on a simulative card game) some of its lessons definitely apply to what I'm doing. Mr. Noonan's blog may require you to sign into the WotC website.

Non-Conforming Loans

For those of you who've heard me recently yammering on about Non-Conforming loans and how they're responsible for the meltdown in the housing market, this article sums up what I've been trying to say much better than I could.

Something Very Cool

The Lyre Bird.

Get Out Of My Head

Not much has been going on since the great conflagration. Scottland is currently away on a business trip and I'll be turning 33 on Thursday.

Mikey was sternly punished last night for blatantly sampling the "Kitty-Roca" while the Roca-making machine was in the box making said Roca. As in, I've just gotten into bed and the lights are off. The dog's on the bed. I can hear Stromboli in her box doing her business. Mikey suddenly gets up and walks into the Scooby room. Noises ensue. I get up and find him in the middle of the room looking at a chunk of Roca only half covered in its delicious crunchy outer covering of cat litter. Tempers flare. Noses get put into the Roca. Dogs get swatted, sternly admonished and then put into the walk-in closet for the rest of the night as punishment. Cat's luxuriate on the bed they don't have to share. I can't wait to have children.

In other news, before GenCon and the "Big 4nnouncement" Ryan Dancey, ex brand manager (I believe) of Dungeons and Dragons wrote a series of articles relating how he feels cooperative tabletop games (IE RPG's) must change if they are to remain relevant. I was rather shocked to see that many of his thoughts parallel my own. I'm going to post a link to the summary of his five article series. If you want to read the whole thing you can find it in the archives on his blog.

Evolve or Perish

On the one hand it's great to see the thoughts I've been kicking around on the subject validated by someone with a lot more "street-cred." On the other hand it makes me realize that some of this stuff that I thought was quite innovative isn't. Still, reading Mr. Dancey's post helped me crystallize some of my thoughts and I now think I have an idea of what GoatDog Game's first electronic product will be. You know, assuming GoatDog has products one through three and is turning enough of a profit roll money back into R&D.

Late Night Events

Mikey's awake and alert, a low growl rumbling from his chest. Even in the darkness and without my glasses on I can see his posture. Whatever noise or smell it is that's bothering him, it's coming through the bedroom window.

"SNAP!!!"

That's odd. Fireworks in August at one in the morning?

"POP!!!"

Yeah. Definitely fireworks. Firecrackers maybe?

"SNAP! SNAP! POP! POP!"

A lot of firecrackers. Or maybe gunshots?

Then a high piercing shriek. Even more snaps and pops. Wow, maybe it's a regular shootout.

More screams. The snaps and pops have increased in frequency to the point where you can't tell where one starts and the other ends. I know this sound.

"Fire!" And then "FIRE!!!!"

Scottland and I jump out of bed and flip open the blinds. We can't see the source but the entire southern sky is filled with a towering, roiling, flickering orange column of smoke shot through with swirling streams of red-hot cinders. It looks like a volcanic eruption. Then we hear the first fire engine.

Mikey shoots off to the living room, barking at full volume. I dash around the bed, throw on my shorts, a shirt and sandles and follow the dog. I yell at him to go back to the bedroom and he obeys. Then I unlock the deadbolt and jaunt outside to get a closer look. I don't have to go very far.

Our house is located at the intersection of Andover and 42nd Street. One block to the west is California. Two blocks to the south and along 42nd street there's a catholic church, a row of new townhomes and some single family dwellings. Along California there's a couple of businesses, some sketchy apartment complexes and one of those mixed use luxury condo buildings I'm always joking about. The luxury condo building is under construction.

The screams have stopped now and the siren from the fire engine coming from the north is much louder. I can hear other sirens now. One from the south and another from the southeast. Flames are starting to lick above the buildings between me and the source. The plume is high enough now that it's hit the prevailing winds. It's bent over and trailing to the northeast in a flat, straight line. Without the rising hot air to keep them aloft, the glowing coals have started to rain out on the houses below. Luckily for us, the winds aren't quite northerly enough and it's the blocks to our south that are getting hit.

Then a great big cramp of fear hits me and I'm shivering and shaking. "This is what the Great Seattle Fire must've looked like," I thought. "This thing looks pretty bad. Are the firefighters going to be able to get it under control? Is it going to spread?" I marvel at what an amazing thing it is that we have professional firefighters and a robust water delivery system, such that great fires like those we had in the 19th century hardly ever happen anymore. The belltower of the Catholic Church is brightly lit with orange light and I wonder if it's the church that's burning.

I see a minivan driving slowly towards me up 42nd. It stops right at the corner in front of me and the woman sitting in the front passenger seat leans out her window. "It's that HUGE new building. It's burning." She sounds almost giggly, as if she's amused.

"Wow!" I reply. "That's crazy."

She nods. "Our house was right next to it. It caught on fire. We had to leave." She still sounds like the whole thing is really funny. I realize she's hysterical.

"I'm so sorry." For a change, I really mean it and I want my voice to convey my empathy for her situation. I wonder if it was her family that was doing the screaming if the building that's burning had no one in it.

She says "Thanks" and the mini-van starts driving to the north again. The fire is still intensifying and I can hear the shouts of what I think are the fire fighters at the scene. There are even more sirens now and its getting hard to tell how many there are and where they're coming from.

An older man walks up to me. He sounds chipper and looks like he's just out for a jaunt. "Is it the church?"

"No. It's the luxury condo building under construction on California."

"Oh." And he continues to walk down the street towards the fire.

A middle aged latino guy and someone else, maybe a man or a woman, I don't remember which walks down the hill along Andover.

"Is it the bank? It looks like it's the bank."

"No. It's the luxury condo building near the bank that they were building on California. I talked to a woman that lived right next door. She said it set their house on fire."

He says something in response but I don't remember what. A scruffy looking guy walks up from the north. He sounds kind of drunk.

"The website says it's the new building they were putting up."

There's already information posted on a website about this? Information sure travels fast. I decide to walk closer to California to see if I can get a better view. I reach the alley and can see straight down it to the backdoor of the fire. There are people standing in the alley, lit up so brightly that they're simply golden shapes in darkness. I can't tell if they're firefighters or gawkers. Flames are licking into the alley and I wonder which house the people in the minivan lived in.

By this time the flames are nearly as high as the belltower of the church and the sound of the fire is simply a roar. The smoke trail shifts a bit to the north and I head back towards my house, forming a plan in my head for what I'll do if the embers start falling onto it. The folk that were standing on the street corner with me have moved on.

Then, with a whoosh the fire climaxes. A giant mushroom looking cloud boils up and this one is qualitatively different from the cloud that came before in that it is GLOWING. Not with the reflected light of the fire below but with the ruddy light of its own internal heat. I realize that the building must've collapsed. I hope the fire fighters are okay.

After this it quickly becomes clear that the fire is under control as the flames disappear and the glow quickly subsides to a sullen lining barely visible above the intervening roofs and treetops. I walk back to the house. Scottland has locked Mikey in the walk in closet. With the sounds of the fire and sirens gone at this point, I figure it's okay to let Mikey out. He quickly jumps back on the bed and lays down. I follow him.

Scottland and I talk a bit about how scared we both were. Eventually he drifts off to sleep. I'm still amped up on the rush of hormones I felt when I first watched the fire and it takes me two more hours to drift off. I wake up again at four when Mikey growls again. I can smell the smoke now. The wind must've fully turned in our direction. I wonder if people are going to be able to smell it on Scottland when he goes to work tomorrow.

The next morning I get a closer look at the fire after I finish my run. I'm amazed at how small it seems. The building really wasn't that large. There are cinders all over the ground behind it and I can't really tell where the family in the mini-van came from. The building to the north is one of those converted houses, with the front being some kind of eyewear related business. The building to the south looks like a couple of apartments. Those are the only two that look damaged. The houses across the alley look fine, other than some scorched and dried out looking trees. The car parked along the alley looks undamaged. No melted tires or blackened paint. Amazing considering how big the fire looked last night.

More Cowbell!!

The week before last, I took a class on descriptive writing through the Hugo House. The Hugo House is a non-profit organization that seeks to further the art of writing in various ways. The class was helpful and informative and I'd strongly recommend that budding writers such as myself consider taking a class or two. After the week was done I had actually written a couple of things that I'd consider showing to other people. One of them is posted below. As you can see, I have "issues" with long run-on sentences.

The purpose of the writing exercise that spawned this little piece was to make something ordinary seem strange and foreign by playing up the stranger elements. I think I did relatively good work here, making my fairly normal suburban neighborhood seem strange and odd.

*******

It was that time again. Through the single pane of glass in the kitchen window I could hear the muffled sound of my father horse whistling and ringing the old cowbell hanging off our front porch light in that way that could only mean, “Come home at once.” I surrendered my money, properties and “get out of jail free” card to Joel, who had once again claimed the role of banker, and took my leave.

I left the ramshackle old farm house my bible-thumping friends lived in. Mounting my rusty blue ten-speed I pedaled past the row of caged rabbits their family raised as a supplement to the meager quantities of foodstuffs they were able to purchase with their father’s salary as a pest eradication technician. A faint acrid scent wafted off the symmetrical piles of dung beneath the wire-floored cages and their inhabitants stared plaintively at me, begging for their freedom with their liquid brown eyes.

More than once I had been tempted to liberate the creatures. Their cells were never locked. As it did now, fear of the unknown consequences of such a noble action had always stayed my hand. Who was I to consign the entire Butt family to slow starvation, no matter how furry and adorable their food source? Having recently witnessed one such prisoner rapidly stunned with the blunt end of a hand-axe and than dispatched in quick succession with the other, I was comforted by the knowledge that their executions would be quick and relatively merciful.

As the rabbit prison passed and receded from view my attention now drifted to the next yard down the narrow gravel drive. As I gained speed and began to kick up a thin gray cloud of dust from my tires, the guardians of this home trotted into view. They immediately noted my presence and charged wildly. The mated pair of enormous Golden Labrador Retrievers, Yogi and Cindy, wanted to make sure that I understood that this was their territory. As such, they kept pace while snarling, barking and baring their teeth in a vicious, rabid-like frenzy.

Only a high chain link fence protected me from the murderous instincts of these beasts. Knowing I was safe, I put pressure on my hand brakes and returned their aggression with barks and howls of my own, inciting the dogs into even greater exertions. I briefly allowed myself to imagine the day when I would induce such a paroxysm of rage that Yogi and Cindy would entirely forget about the wall of the house at the far end of the fence and smack into it at full speed like a scene from a Road Runner cartoon. Such an event failed to occur today, as the dogs sensed the oncoming obstacle and quickly pulled back. The racket subsided as the bulk of the house interposed itself between us. I let off the hand brakes began to move faster.

Reaching the final third of the long dusty driveway, the sounds of numerous exotic birds began to fill the air. These birds dwelled within a number of filthy cages that filled the back porch of the broken down two story home occupied by a woman I mentally referred to as “Giant Smelly Mamma.” I had no idea if the birds, like the rabbits, were raised as a food source but I found it difficult to believe that one could find any real sustenance on the bones of canaries and cockatiels. Perhaps a parrot could provide enough meat, but to my knowledge there were no parrots on that porch.

As if on cue, the relative peace was shattered by the misbegotten love child of a shriek and a bellow. Words were presumably contained within the sound, but if they were in English or some other language I couldn't tell. One of the urchin-like children of the woman resentfully lurched to her bare feet and slouched out of the weedy patch of soil she and her numerous dirt-smudged siblings had been playing in. The girl had clearly not responded quickly enough to the first summons as a second one pealed forth from the window of the upstairs bedroom as if it were in fact the cage of a giant mutant cockatoo. The girl of no more than eleven or twelve shouted “I’m Coming!!” in retort and then, with only a little less volume, “Fuck!!!” Her brothers and sisters sniggered derisively and then went back to playing House or War or whatever it was they were doing.

As if to remind me that I was really no different from the girl in any substantial way other than our relative willingness to use foul language, the sound of my father loudly demanding my presence once again filled my ears. Clearly, I had not responded quickly enough to his summons either. It upset me to think that there might not be much difference between my family and the filthy spawn that inhabited that house. After a moment of thought though, one difference occurred to me. Though our situations might be quite similar, at least my family was classy enough to use a cowbell. Thus being reassured, I strove to peddle harder, hit the blacktop and turned left onto 115th street.

Can A Professional League Be Next?

I was mildly amused when roller-derby was ironically resuscitated on the emergency room table a few years back. What do I mean by this? Simply that I knew of a people that were members (or wanted to be members) of a female league. Rat City Roller Girls or something.

But this? I just don't know what to say. Imagine my amusement when I was told last week that Olga would be attending a friend's kickball tournament. Kickball? Tournament? That game we played in grade school because we weren't yet coordinated enough to play baseball and softball? Are you being serious? No, apparently you're being ironic. I hoped that it was simply a momentary outbreak but alas I was wrong. It's a full fledged epidemic.

How so? Simply this. I'm at Verite and logging into the wireless network. A cute little welcome screen pops up and simultaneously lets me know that I'm in and that new t-shirts are available. New t-shirts that will strike fear into the heart's of your opponents on the kickball field with their un-holy ironic badassness. There!!! That's what I mean! It's a conspiracy.

Personally I can't wait until the harvesters of irony stripmine nostalgia down to where they're reduced to advertising Cops and Robbers tournaments.

Escape From LA

It wasn't easy getting to LAX. Scottland drove while I leaned out the window and cleared the road of ravenous zombies with the grenade launcher we'd just traded a case of cigarettes and 50 gallons of petrol for. "Bessy" didn't help much with the mutant flesh eating cockroaches though. Still, we manged to make it with only a couple of bruises and a few roach bites.

The flight was nice, though. Excellent service and Pay it Forward as the inflight movie. I had nice views of Yosemite, the Three Sisters, Mt. Washington, Mt. Jefferson and Mt. Hood. Oddly enough, the sky was nearly clear (except for a thick layer of smog over the central valley) until we got right to the Washington border. Than it was cloudy and I couldn't see anything. Welcome back to Washington!!

La-La Land

I've been in Southern California since Wednesday evening. It's the SO's 20 year high school reunion and I've come along as moral support.

Let me tell you, LA is the pits. So INCREDIBLY smoggy. I feel like I have a fine layer of soot lining my nasal passages. Based on the large quantities of congealed snot I've been blowing out ever since I arrived, I'd guess that the feeling closely approximates the reality.

We're actually down in the OC (Anaheim/Orange County) and staying at the Hilton right next to Disneyland. We have a fantastic view of the park and the nightly firework display. It's really kind of cool. Disney truly is the happiest place on earth. It's so happy that even the barbed wire topping the chain link fence surrounding the park whistles a friendly tune at you as you walk past.

Yesterday (Friday) I told the SO that I wanted to see something quintessentially LA, particularly as I had chosen the night before to read another two chapters of the last Harry Potter book rather than visit West Hollywood as we had originally planned. So we drove to the Santa Monica pier. The drive there took us 45 minutes. The drive back took us two hours. Luckily for me I'd brought the book I'm reading, the book I've just finished actually.

Only another twenty four hours and we'll be able to leave this mostly god-forsaken wasteland of a city. I've met a lot of nice people though. I feel bad for them. It must really suck to live here.

In other exciting news, for the first time since 1889, a tornado hit Brooklyn.

Everyone Else Is Doing It So Why Can't I?

My Simpsons Avatar:

Le Sigh

Shortly after I posted "clunky panorama" (ie within about 20 minutes) the hard drive in my Dell Inspiron 1000 decided to throw a rod. After much effort and cash I have a "phat" new laptop (Dell Lattitude 820) and an empty hard drive.

Yes, my last file backup (thanks to a CD burner on the fritz and my own laziness) was in March of 2006. All in all, I lost a bunch of D&D related work, a bunch of images from the interweb and my own digi-cam, all prior incarnations of my card game except the prototype deck and the outline and first chapter of my sci-fi book.

Yes. It sucks. But, life goes on and I shall rise to the occasion.

In other news, my "phat" new laptop allows me to play Civ 4, City of Heroes/Villains and I start my "intensive" week long writing course at Hugo House tonight.

Clunky Panorama

Each individual picture I took from the Indian Watchtower really didn't do the view justice. It was just radically different from anything else I'd seen at the Canyon. In an attempt to "do it justice" I tried to piece together several photos to generate a panoram. Unfortunately, it didn't work quite as well as I had wanted. Next time I go to the Grand Canyon I'm bringing along a camera with larger field lenses.

Indian Watchtower

The last South Rim viewpoint before leaving the park is the "Indian Watchtower" or "Desert View" point. It's pretty interesting because you can see a large swath of the Painted Desert, as well as up the canyon rather than across.