Lightning Bugs

It's interesting, the things you take for granted, until you have to explain them to somebody else. It forces you to think about it and evaluate it and usually results in a new appreciation of something you may not pay much attention to otherwise.

I was playing poker online last night. It's fun, because you play with people from all over the world, and if they are friendly you can learn a lot of interesting things about where they live. Last night I was at a table with two Aussies, a German, a French Canadian, an Argentine and Jess, one of my regular poker buddies from California. (Note: Usually it isn't just Jess, it is Jess and Jim. They've been best friends for about 25 years and typically if I find one playing poker the other one is there, just left or will be there soon. You can tell they have been friends for a long time because of the way they unmercifully berate each other. It's fun. They both play guitar. Neat. Anyhow, Jim had abandoned us to watch a movie with his wife.)

So out of nowhere Jess says, "Kat, do you have fireflies?" I said sure we've got fireflies, but we call them lightning bugs. Then he says, "What do they look like?" I was baffled. What do they look like? They look like a lightning bug. I paused. Maybe this was the start of a joke. Then he says, "I never saw one." Now I was really baffled. I thought everybody had lightning bugs. Turns out, they pretty much don't exist west of Kansas in the U.S. Jess said they look cool in movies, but he's never seen one in the real world.

Jess is a smart fellow, so I knew there was no use telling him the nuts and bolts of what a lightning bug looks like. He can google for that. Instead I told him how we used to catch them every night when I was a kid, and fill up a Mason jar. We'd let them flash for a while and then turn them loose. The next night, we'd do it all over again. About this time one of the Aussies piped up. He didn't know what the hell we were talking about at all, so now I did have to figure a way to describe it. I settled on, "It's a flying insect with a bioluminescent bulb on its ass that flashes on and off to impress the lady lightning bugs." He said, "Ace!" His friend, the girl Aussie, left the table because she doesn't like bugs. Neither do I, but a lightning bug isn't an ordinary bug. It's a lightning bug.

Jess was pleased with the story and even more delighted when I told him we have glowworms at The Dismals, which is a natural attraction near where I live. It's one of the only places in the world outside of New Zealand where they exist. That's really cool! And I never even thought about it before.

SEC vs. Big 10

I like this picture. I like it when it takes two of their guys to bring down one of my guys. Nice.

It's a stupid argument, really, about which is the better college football conference. Here in the South, we hold with our own, just like Yankees hold with their own. Fair enough. Still, the numbers are what they are. All time, the SEC is 65-46-2 against the Big 10 through the 2007 season, with a 0.584 winning percentage.

The primary argument presented by Big 10 fans is the "you guys don't have to play in the snow" thing.

No. We don't. It's true. We don't typically play in the snow. I think it's true that an SEC team playing a winter game in Ohio would be at a serious disadvantage. I agree. But the fact is, National Championship games are played in good weather. Are you telling me that Big 10 teams are incapable of winning football games in good weather? The argument doesn't wash. And when the game is played in the Super Dome in New Orleans, it's even worse. You have a climate-controlled, indoor facility with no wind and no glaring sun. You should be able to play your best game, period.

Add to this the fact that a school like Ohio State tends to recruit nationally, while SEC schools tend to recruit almost exclusively in the South, and you have an even weaker argument for why a team should lose. If your team is comprised with hardy fellows from Ohio, along with a compliment of players from other regions of the country, you should have a well-rounded team. And yet, we've seen the Buckeyes punked by SEC teams in the national championship game two years straight. In the past 20 years, the SEC has won the national championship six times. Twice by LSU and Florida, and once each by Alabama and Tennessee. The Big 10 has won two, once each by Michigan and OSU.

Another telling thing is that I keep mentioning (the) Ohio State Buckeyes. Why? The Big 10 isn't deep as far as contenders for the national championship. In any given year, it is OSU and Michigan. Sometimes Wisconsin is in the mix. Penn State has a respected history, but hasn't really been in the thick of things for a while. In the SEC, besides the six titles already won by four different schools in the past 20 years, you have Auburn and Georgia (who is the likely SEC school to be playing for the title this year), and even our "weak" schools like Kentucky and Vandy have made bowl games the past two years. The SEC went head-to-head with the Big 10 in three bowl games last year and won two of them.

The fact is, we're more scared of playing each other than we are of playing the Big 10. I'm sure they feel the same way. Or maybe not.

A Rose is a Rose is a Dead Rose

"A profusion of pink roses bending ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring." ~ William Carlos Williams

I've had an inquiry about my roses, and I am sad to say that they are virtually lost. Some of it is due to yearly ravaging by Japanese Beetles which have left the plants weak and vulnerable to other tormentors like aphids and plant disease. Some of it has been dry summers for the past few years.

Most if it is because I'm not a gardener.

I started growing roses about seven years ago. One spring I just decided to have roses, so I purchased a half dozen rose bushes of various colors, planted them, and watched. Three of the original six did well and the other three died. I added three more the following year, and two of them lived, though they have not produced much. I have been unable to grow a single yellow rose, though I have tried and tried, and the exotic colors like lavender merely tease me, producing a single promising bud which never opens.

That rose you see here is one I managed to grow two summers ago. If memory serves, the name of this particular hybrid is "Luscious." That plant made about a dozen blooms, half of which were gorgeous like that one, and the others somewhat weaker. It is true the beetles and the dry, hot summers are part of the problem with my roses, but I'm sure it is mostly me. I'm just not garden savvy enough to figure out what continues to be the problem. It's not that caring for roses is hard; a healthy rose bush will produce and produce, and all you have to do is keep the spent blooms snipped off as they wither. That's it. It's the growing a healthy bush part that seems to be the trouble.

Oh well. I am nothing if not persistent. I shall try again next spring, with new bushes. I have a book on rose care and I'm not afraid to use it. I'll let you know how it goes.

Enough is Enough

Sorry, Brett, but I'm gonna have to break up with you. I tried hard to be on your side in all this. I said the Packers should welcome you back with open arms. I believed you when you said you felt pushed to retire and then changed your mind. Your love for the game gives me goosebumps. I respect all your many records.

But really, you're calling other sweethearts on the phone issued to you by Green Bay? Now you've just been stupid. People can forgive mistakes in judgment made in the name of passion, but stupidity is harder to ignore. As is cheating on your team by making late-night whispered calls to Minnesota. Green Bay was going to retire your jersey this season, and now that will all be put on hold.

It's all too much drama now Brett. The Pack has the goods on your calls, which means you will not play for the Vikings and they will likely lose draft picks over a guy who will never take a snap for them. See what you did? And now if you're traded you might be stuck in Tampa Bay where you will have nearly no chance to do much good. What fun is that?

Just stay retired. Make a nice speech about how much you love the Packers fans too much to cause a quarterback controversy. Say how you love the game too much to go somewhere and be ineffective for a team that will have to pay you too much money. Say how you didn't think you could live without the game, so now you're gonna coach quarterbacks at your local high school as a volunteer. Just go home though. Even the people in your corner are getting sick of it.

Sell Me, Don't Berate Me

I found this particular T-shirt on cafepress.com, and it reminds me of the thing I hate most about politics. Why is it that people can't sell me on their candidate rather than bashing the other guy?

I'm prepared for a particularly vicious presidential campaign this year, but I'm already sick of it. Politics is not a sport in which it is OK to hate your rival, because in this case your rival is an American citizen offering himself or herself for service, and by extension, your rival is anyone who supports that candidate. I frankly don't think it is healthy or productive to hate half the country.

This doesn't mean it isn't OK to be adamantly fanatic about your candidate, but show me somebody who is. What I see most of the time are people who are adamantly antagonistic to somebody else. If you really care, sell me on your guy. Don't just bash somebody else until I truly feel I'm left with the choice between a Giant Douche or a Turd Sandwich.

I'll be more specific: Don't scream at me how inexperienced Barack Obama is. Inexperience doesn't make him stupid or incapable. Tell me instead how John McCain's experience makes him the better choice. And don't just tell me that "McCain = McSame." Any fool can quote a catchy, smartass soundbite. Tell me instead how Obama's differences make him the superior pick. Sell me your guy, don't sell the other guy down the river. Because he might be your president, and I guarantee you live with or work with or associate with someone who supports him. And if your guy wins, don't you hope "the other side" can be swayed to see some value in him?

Or maybe you'd just rather fight.

New Blog

Yes, I'm easily distracted. You should be able to recognize this from this blog. But now I have a new blog project which is a little more focused. It's all about travel. Problem is, I haven't done much of it. So, without further ado, I'm happy to announce the creation of The Virtual Vagabond. Come check it out if you feel like it here. Thanks!

Big Bag

Moms can be full of shit and full of truth, sometimes at the same time. This means you don't have to do everything they say, but it doesn't hurt to listen well and sort. You'll get some good stuff if you do. My mother has said many true things over the years, but none more true than this: However large your purse is, that's how much junk you'll carry.

People who know me know that I have always had a handbag fetish. At present I have approximately 40 different purses and totes in a variety of sizes, shapes and configurations. Do I need this many bags? No. Did I almost buy a new bag just two nights ago? Yep. But I didn't!

Anyhow, back to the point. In my younger days I always carried the smallest bags. They were so small people wondered why I carried them at all. "What can you possibly fit in there?" they would ask, incredulous. (You'd be surprised. A woman's bag is like Snoopy's doghouse. It's a lot bigger inside than it looks from the outside. Even a small bag will hold a lot of junk.) Then things changed, and I started carrying larger and larger bags. Mom was right. Whichever bag I carry, it is full. Let's review the contents of the bag I'm using right now:

Wallet
Makeup bag
Jewelry pouch
iPod in its case w/USB connector
Digital camera
Body spray
Hand lotion
Cell phone
One pair of reading glasses (no longer needed)
Two pairs of sunglasses (no longer needed)
Eyeglass case with prescription sunglasses
One dozen pens and pencils (approx.)
Notepad
Bag of "good luck" stones and totems
Two sets of polyhedral dice
Palm Pilot
Two Tangle Jr. toys
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
Love Poems by Pablo Neruda
Gum
Keys
Digital recorder
Pill sorter full of vitamins

Whew. That is a lot of junk. There is no reason for me to have 90 percent of that stuff with me all the time. But I have room for it. And that isn't even my biggest bag.

Shit Or Get Off The Pot

Don't just stand there with your hands on your hips, looking up, trying to figure it out. God isn't going to tell you what to do. You have to make the call. One way or the other, Brett. Shit or get off the pot. Fish or cut bait. Retire or play. Your team needs to know now.

It was only in March, four months ago, when you made your tearful retirement speech. I got a little misty. This earned me some scorn in the Browns forum, mainly because they knew you were likely full of it. Well, piss on them. I was still a Favre fan and more so because you knew when to hang up the cleats and go fishing. Besides that, you're a southern boy, and I am loyal to my own kind.

I hate to say it, Brett, but this is getting a little embarrassing now. Peyton Manning called it when he said he wasn't going to send his standard quarterback retirement letter to you because he didn't buy it. The forum guys were right. You never even cleaned out your locker. So quit messing around and make the decision. Go to camp or go ride your tractor. You can't do both.

My advice? Stay home. You've done enough. You're Hall of Fame. You own the most and best quarterback records in the NFL. You've been the MVP a million times. You're a multi-time Pro Bowler. You've won a Super Bowl. Not to mention that you'll be 39 years old in October, which is not too old for most uses but is plenty old enough to be smart. Go out with your fans begging you to stay. Don't stay until they beg you to go.

Or play. But we can't have a Brett Favre retirement at the end of every season. So if you do come back and play, play 'til you drop dead. That's what you want to do anyway, right?