My Tomatoes are in God’s Hands Now

Okay, I have the tomatoes planted in new pots and they’re laying all over like “Oh, god, you’ve ruined everything.”  Like insolent teenagers.

I hope you guys are right that this is the right thing.

And I’ll be very excited if it works.

Why Don’t You Just Put the Baby Up for Adoption?

A really hard-to-read reminder that there is no “just.”

Written in Chalk and other Brief Reviews

So, I got me the new Buddy and Julie Miller album.  I don’t know if you guys are familiar with them, but I would call their sound kind of “friendly haunted house.”  Like if your neighbors were the Addams family, but the Addams family was from East Nashville, not out east, and they were musicians, they would be a Buddy and Julie Miller song.

So I’m digging it.  And the special appearance by Robert Plant tickles me so much, both because it’s germaine to our discussion from the other day (“Plant or Animal”?!  I’ve been snickering about that for days.) and because he sounds so delighted to be singing this stuff.  And, really, it’s fun to hear him seem excited about what he’s singing again.  His voice sounds confident, but with an air of humbleness to it, like he’s just now learning about a whole new world of sound.  I really like it.

I also came into possession of the newest Neko Case album.  I can’t decide yet if I like it or not, but that’s usually how it is with her, I think.  It takes a while for me to digest and decide.  I do think, however, that everyone should own “Furnace Room Lullabye” (the song, if not the album).

I never did settle into that new Lucinda album.  It’s on my iPod but I always find myself hitting skip to see if the shuffle will bring me anything better.  I don’t blame her, though.  I think it’s me.  I remember “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road” being like a revelation to me. I would listen to it over and over and over again and every time feel like I was hitting on something new.  And the other day I put it on and couldn’t remember what I liked about it.  I didn’t dislike it, but the “AAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW” moment wasn’t there.

The Tiny Cat’s Butt

I just have to state, for the record, that I feel like a complete and utter jackass.  Every year the tiny cat’s butt hair falls out and for the first few years of her life, I would dilligently take her in to the vet and he and I would ponder her butt and he would say “Otherwise, she’s in excellent health.  I think it’s just an allergy.  If you give me all of your money, I’ll run some tests.”  And I never had all of my money to give him, so I declined and we just waited for summer and it seemed to clear itself up.

Which was kind of sadly funny, since it meant that the tiny cat, who is quite furry, had no hair in the winter when she might need it and lots of hair in the summer when she didn’t.

But, citizens of Earth, just feeding her wet cat food once a day–a plan that costs me about $10 a month, which is $120 a year, which means, at this rate, it would take over a decade to cost me what the vet was quoting me to run tests–has been amazing.  Amazing.  Her sores are healing up.  Her fur is actually growing back!  She clearly feels great.

It’s so awesome I about can’t stand it.  But damn, I wish I’d tried that about seven years ago.

Aw, Pete, I Bet You Say That to All the Girls

Pete Kotz over at Pith describes me thusly: “Feminist, political saboteur and gardening enthusiast.”

I’m not exactly sure what a “political saboteur” is, but I like it.  It makes me feel like Alan Moore might someday make a comic book about me.  And then, knock on wood, denounce the eventual movie based on that comic book.