On the Road to Dystopia

There is a sound in this house.

It is night time. To help her sleep, my sister has turned on the mega fan in the hallway. It is loud.

Very loud.

Have you ever watched any of the old Flash Gordons? The black and whites?

The fan sounds like one of those ships landing on the planet Mongo, glorious sparkler driven engines coming to an abrupt stop upon hitting the rocky surface. Except this sound does not stop.

All night it drones on, inveigling its way into my dreams like a Burroughs novel bleeds onto the page. My mind plays movies of dystopian machine ruled planet in which I struggle to survive in a world man made. Vivienne Westwood has provided my wardrobe. Trent Reznor the soundtrack. The director is obviously obsessed with Metropolis.

I could turn the damned thing off.

But then sis couldn't sleep.

Maybe I should just jump ship.


Ghostly Dust

What's lighting up nebula IRAS 05437+2502? No one is sure. Particularly enigmatic is the bright upside-down V that defines the upper edge of this floating mountain of interstellar dust, visible near the image center. In general, this ghost-like nebula involves a small star forming region filled with dark dust that was first noted in images taken by the IRAS satellite in infrared light in 1983. Shown above is a spectacular, recently released image from the Hubble Space Telescope that, although showing many new details, has not uncovered a clear cause of the bright sharp arc. One hypothesis holds that the glowing arc was created by a massive star that somehow attained a high velocity and has now left the nebula. Small, faint IRAS 05437+2502 spans only 1/18th of a full moon toward the constellation of the Bull (Taurus).

From NASA's Astronomy Picture of the Day

An Urban Scout Mullet

That's right. You heard me. And here he is.


It's Going to be a Crazy Week

Let's join it.

All we have is now! Now is all there is!

The Bounty

Sporting sweat dreads and muck, I sit in front of my beloved computer with the jungle that was the front garden marginally tamed.

Except the bean vines. They were somewhat rescued from themselves but their plans to dominate the universe continues.

Dianne and I inadvertently went for most mosquito* bites (me) and largest mosquito bites (her) in a one hour period. I was swatting them three at a time, smearing blood and bug smush on my filthy arms. Dianne yelled at them. Both methods were utterly useless.

Others bore witness to the proboscis armed swarm.

This just in: this mosquito season amongst worst on record.

Amidst the plant chaos are about a zillion tomatoes, three very cute softball size watermelons and two honeydew that resemble hardened Shrek snots.

The tomatoes cover the front yard and the butcher block table in the kitchen. And they won't stop growing, ripening, asking to be plucked and eaten, being harvested and sitting still as life goes on around them.

The various roses avenged my neglect of them by catching on my skin. My neglect consists of not protecting them from evil Japanese beetles. Bad plant mommy!

The terrified toad was briefly chased in order to be place in a safe and bug-filled spot. He thanked me by not peeing on me. For this I was quite grateful.

There are other photos in my Facebook album, Yardage.

UPDATE: I now look as though I have chicken pox. And, no, I am not going to put up a photo of that. Even if you ask nicely.

And it is because of the mosquito bites, smart ass!

Thank you.

*Only the female mosquito bites. She requires the protein in our blood to produce her eggs. The female will mate only once in her lifetime, however she can lay many broods of eggs before she dies.

Mosquitoes do NOT only bite during the night hours. Certain species of mosquitoes are only active during the daytime, and in most cases, daytime feeders are a great deal more aggressive than nighttime feeders.


This photo embodies the spirit that compels me on this fine, sun-blasting day.

My current short story (too short as of this post) is about Lily, known as "Grunt" in her days as grease monkey for the Warlocks Motorcycle gang. Abandoned in a third-rate "assisted living" home, her most cherished possession are the leathers left from those freedom filled days. When one of the hoodlums paid to do maintenance work around the home steals them, Lily calls on some old friends. The tattooed and intimidating kind.

Will she get her leathers back? And will her cane, Edgar, find revenge for her in the nether regions of a slack pants hoodlum?

Udder Dismay