and the weekend
I went to see Little Miss Sunshine on Friday. I highly recommend. I want to adopt that little girl and keep her as my own. It's funny and sweet and outrageous, and it was exactly what I needed on Friday.
Yesterday, I went on a run at around noon. I was bopping along, listening to my new iPod, when someone passed me on a bike. I squinted a little, and paused when I realized that he's the guy who has the seats next to mine for the Texans. (moppety, amberlynne the guy on the left of us with the salt and pepper hair who gets too drunk towards the end of the game.) He stopped too, and we chatted a bit about how weird it was that it was noon on Sunday during a Texans bye week, and we still happened to be at the same place at the same time. I've never seen him outside a Texans game. I felt a little exposed. We exchanged pleasantries, hoped that Dallas would lose, and agreed to see each other again in two weeks for the Jacksonville game.
The hope of football fans springs eternal, only to be quashed again and again and again. I've been reading Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch, and I am relating quite a bit to the misery of being an Arsenal fan.
My arms are covered with scratches and blisters and splinters. After my run, I went home and tackled the bouganvilla in my back yard. The thing is utterly and completely massive, and due to a variety of circumstances, I've neglected to try to tame the wild beast for the last two years or so. My initial goal was to trim out the dead branches underneath, but I started hacking and I pretty much cut everything from shoulder high and below away. Do you guys have any idea how fucking prickly a bouganvilla is? The fuckers have two inch thorns every couple of inches. They're beautiful though, and they grow amazingly in my back yard. I think that I have some sort of weird subtropical microclimate there. The bouganvilla, the hibscus, the passionvine, the split leaf philidendrom, the palm trees. All of them grow beautifully in my back yard. The pile in my front yard is massive, but the plant remains huge. I think the dogs were happy that they can go underneath it again and get closer to the fence and more importantly, the squirrels on the fence. I was happy to get part of my patio back. I have a new gadget that I stole from my parents that sucks up leaves like a vacuum and then mulches them. A hell of a lot more fun than leaf blowing, and I can actually see the bottom of some of my beds now.
Zapata has been staying with me for the last week. My parents are on a jaunt in Brazil and there's some dispute about when they'll get back. I think it's not until Friday, though I wouldn't be surprised to see them tomorrow or Thursday. The problem with having three dogs in the house is that it's impossible to take them on walks, especially since Zapata is so high strung about anything that's new or different. So the pooches have been pretty much allowed to go outside as much as possible, and thanks to cooler weather, I've just been leaving the door open all day (and all night) so they can go in and out at will.
Relampago will turn 14 years old on Friday. I don't think he really cares, except I doubt he'll turn down cake.
Yesterday, I went on a run at around noon. I was bopping along, listening to my new iPod, when someone passed me on a bike. I squinted a little, and paused when I realized that he's the guy who has the seats next to mine for the Texans. (moppety, amberlynne the guy on the left of us with the salt and pepper hair who gets too drunk towards the end of the game.) He stopped too, and we chatted a bit about how weird it was that it was noon on Sunday during a Texans bye week, and we still happened to be at the same place at the same time. I've never seen him outside a Texans game. I felt a little exposed. We exchanged pleasantries, hoped that Dallas would lose, and agreed to see each other again in two weeks for the Jacksonville game.
The hope of football fans springs eternal, only to be quashed again and again and again. I've been reading Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch, and I am relating quite a bit to the misery of being an Arsenal fan.
My arms are covered with scratches and blisters and splinters. After my run, I went home and tackled the bouganvilla in my back yard. The thing is utterly and completely massive, and due to a variety of circumstances, I've neglected to try to tame the wild beast for the last two years or so. My initial goal was to trim out the dead branches underneath, but I started hacking and I pretty much cut everything from shoulder high and below away. Do you guys have any idea how fucking prickly a bouganvilla is? The fuckers have two inch thorns every couple of inches. They're beautiful though, and they grow amazingly in my back yard. I think that I have some sort of weird subtropical microclimate there. The bouganvilla, the hibscus, the passionvine, the split leaf philidendrom, the palm trees. All of them grow beautifully in my back yard. The pile in my front yard is massive, but the plant remains huge. I think the dogs were happy that they can go underneath it again and get closer to the fence and more importantly, the squirrels on the fence. I was happy to get part of my patio back. I have a new gadget that I stole from my parents that sucks up leaves like a vacuum and then mulches them. A hell of a lot more fun than leaf blowing, and I can actually see the bottom of some of my beds now.
Zapata has been staying with me for the last week. My parents are on a jaunt in Brazil and there's some dispute about when they'll get back. I think it's not until Friday, though I wouldn't be surprised to see them tomorrow or Thursday. The problem with having three dogs in the house is that it's impossible to take them on walks, especially since Zapata is so high strung about anything that's new or different. So the pooches have been pretty much allowed to go outside as much as possible, and thanks to cooler weather, I've just been leaving the door open all day (and all night) so they can go in and out at will.
Relampago will turn 14 years old on Friday. I don't think he really cares, except I doubt he'll turn down cake.