This dark mirror agrees
In subtle contract
Give back the light
A planet’s story
inscribed within.
Born in mountain kiln
Children of the earth;
crafted in pressure and fire,
Impossibly smooth
Like waves on glass.
Ancient and brittle
Jagged shards
Become tools
Extend mind and hand
Edges cut and flay;
War without warriors.
Spring and summer nights are punctuated with a symphony of squeaks, squawks and cries, all performed in benediction to the need to procreate. Get your mind out of the gutter dear reader. Sheesh.
I had assumed that this racket was caused by crickets, however the real culprit was the erstwhile katydid, sometimes known as the bush cricket. These bright green insects use protective mimicry to look like leaves on trees.
Scientists have discovered that green is not the only color in some species; bright pink can be found as well as orange, tan, brown, or yellow .
Talk about making yourself a target. Please come eat me, he says.
One night last week as I was headed out the door on my evening constitutional, I noticed a <green> katydid on the window frame. I didn’t want him to fly inside, so I made to brush him away from the house. Unfortunately he/she decided at that moment to FLY DIRECTLY AT MY FACE! I immediately went into a series of arm-flailing, face-batting contortions, a move so ridiculous that it is recorded in the Guiness Book of Laughable Behavior. He veered off at the last second leaving me to scream “Get it off me!” in a high-pitched warbling bleat. He flew away, chuckling no doubt at having reduced a human being to a whimpering gnome.
The next morning I notice that an orb spider has snared a katydid in its web, where it will be committed to the food chain. I wonder if it is *my* katydid, and if I have somehow played a role in its demise. Down that path lies madness and I shall consider it no further. Now excuse me while I scurry back to the lawn.
The typographical error, or typo (tipoh if you are me), is a willing accomplice in my continued destruction of general conversation. To be fair, my typos have the potential to increase the number of valid words in the universe, if only we would get over those pesky spelling rules. And try as I might to deflect blame, shadowy keyboard scientists have determined that the problem is not with their invention.
Typos have been around so long that they have their own mythos and taxonomy. One might say they have been typecast. Sorry.
Consider TypoSquatting. Years ago some clever individuals realized that web site searches might be slightly misspelled, like Gooogle instead of Google, so they would grab the domain gooogle.com and effectively hijack the space to nab unsuspecting typophiles. Once harvested these netizens may be subject to some bad squatter mojo, which is coincidentally a great name for a rock band.
Then there are intentional typos; misspellings that have become so common they are used in a sardonic or sarcastic manner. The word ‘teh’ instead of ‘the’ for example.
The fat finger typo has been around since fingers first encountered keys. Spell checkers have inserted their own way-too-smart heuristics into the fray, sometimes correcting actual intent into something entirely new and unwanted. Cellphones are wicked smaht, with advanced predictive algorithms designed to help tiny keys fend off a phalanx of lumbering warrior thumbs.
The Atomic Typo. The sneakiest of the bunch, the atomic typo exposes letters rearranged so that both words are correctly spelled but have no visible connection. The seminal example is the use of unclear instead of nuclear, hence ATOMIC. Is that clever or what? No, not clever.
buy buy for now.
I am not sure why these two desserts are combined in my memory. It seems like we either had Jello for dessert, or we had Jell-O brand pudding and that was that. Oh wait sometimes pound cake, which we pressed into dense little balls we called “neutron stars.” Not exactly health food but remember that we are talking about kids who drank directly from the garden hose, and less frequently from a spring bubbling up from the ground. Either we were indestructible or otherwise destined to grow a third eye in our forehead.
Anyway back to Jell-O and pudding. Jell-O was created way back in 1897 by a fellow named Pearle Bixby Wait. History notes that he was a carpenter and cough syrup manufacturer, two jobs that seem to have little affinity toward one another and even less toward jell-o. In truth though the earliest appearance of a gelatin dessert belongs to one Peter Cooper of NYC who, among many other characteristics, owned a glue factory. Mr Wait took Mr Cooper’s patent and turned his gelatin dessert into Jell-O, adding fruit flavors and marketing and walla, a star was born. In 1899, Mr Wait sold the rights to Jell-O to the Genesee Pure Food Company of LeRoy, NY for the princely sum of $450. Upon such transactions does the world turn.
As far as we kids were concerned pudding came in two flavors, vanilla and chocolate. I remember the chocolate because as it cooled it would form this tough membrane on the surface. This crust was to die for, although the word “membrane” does not conjure up visions of culinary delight.
These days Jell-O and pudding appear in a range of desserts, and Jell-O in particular has found new life as Jell-O shots, apparently a big hit with the younger crowd, a crowd that likes vodka.
Each morning
A tide of light
Dances across
Green fields and farms
Beginning anew
The history of days.
Sky birds
Chase the sun
Insistently soaring
Soft orchestral graces
Fill the warming land
With song.
It is a gift
This hard business
Of listening;
Costing only time
And giving back
Everything.
Given a choice many of us would not be opposed to being called *spiffy*, because it sounds like something nice to be, even if we are not quite sure what it means. Whatever it is, spiffy sounds very positive and put together, never haphazard, chaotic or random. Mr Peanut, of Planters fame, is quite clearly spiffy.
Surprisingly, the origins of the word are not completely known although it has been around and in use since the 19th century and perhaps even earlier than that. My research into spiffy suggests that it may be a “cant” word; a word used by members of a group as a form of identity and a way of excluding those outside. A kind of secret language, or perhaps a type of “anti-language” adopted by smaller clans within a society to express resistance to the standards and mores of the day.
In any case (upper, lower, brief, etc) spiffy comes to us neat and clean and dare I say, dapper? Those of you in our secret club will tease out the hidden meaning and meet under the clock tower at 4:00am. Be there or be square mon ami. Mum’s the word. Eyes only. Bring your top hat and spats.
I like simple food, or in any event food which is simple to prepare. Miso, the japanese spice and the principle ingredient in miso soup, is a favorite of mine. For me comfort food is miso soup and rice, perhaps with a side of cut and seasoned nori (seaweed). The earliest historical record of miso dates some 1500 years ago, where the use of soybeans was a necessary substitute for meat protein.
I generally mix the rice and miso soup together, placing me smack dab in the middle of culinary heaven, where I can channel Fenton-san of feudal Japan.
There are lots of advantages in spending time overseas and learning a little about this great blue ball we live on. There is the food, the culture, the people; and then there are some hidden treasures that you come across by virtue of observing things and asking questions. Whilst living in Singapore I witnessed an amazing sporting event that you almost have to see to believe. I am speaking of course of Sepak Takraw, a Malay word meaning “to kick a ball” making it a candidate for Most Literal Translation.
Sepak Takraw has been described as a combination of martial arts, hacky sack, soccer and volleyball. It is played with a tightly wound rattan ball a little larger than a softball — the court looks like a volleyball court with a high net separating the two teams, three to a side. The players are allowed to use only their feet, knees, chest and head to touch the ball; no hands allowed. And remember this “ball” is unforgiving rattan.
It originated in SE Asia centuries ago, but has gained a following around the world and there is now some talk of it becoming an Olympic event. The level of athleticism necessary to play this sport at a high level is remarkable as seen below. The net is 5 feet high; the court the size of a badminton court.
you can go to the omniscient Mr Google and view some video of Sepak Takraw being played in real time. Amazing stuff!
The kids and I took in a couple of baseball games this summer, the Yankees and Orioles at Camden Yards in Baltimore. I am glad a handful of sports stadiums in the world have resisted the “Name Your Corporate Sponsor Stadium” mentality. Camden is one, along with Yankee Stadium, Fenway Park in Bahstan, Lambeau Field in Green Bay and Wrigley Field in Chicago (Wrigley is ostensibly for the family, not the gum).
As a spectator, baseball is a game best experienced in real life; the televised version does not engage the senses as does the actual event (says Mr Obvious). Our seats were low down quite close to the field, letting us feel immersed in the game from the point of view of the players. Almost like we were playing, but not.
I gave the “color commentary” to the kids as the game progressed, explaining the nuances of baseball strategy insofar as I understand it. The third base coach flashing signs to the hitter. The manager positioning the outfielders based on the hitter’s tendencies. Hitting the cutoff man. Pitchers keeping a runner close by glancing over and sometimes throwing over to 1st. Pitchers backing up throws from the outfielders. Etc.
I cheer for the Yankees but wear an Orioles cap in tribute to my older brothers, John and Bill, both lifelong Orioles fans. This combination of cheering for the visiting team and wearing the hat of the home team gets me some glances from the Yankee fans seated in front of us. Had I been asked I was ready with the story of how I suffer from Baseball Personality Disorder (BPD – heh) and should not be trifled with. The Yankee fans were funny to listen to as they dissed the umps in New York style.
One of the Oriole players dove to soon for a high flyball and it bonked him on the noggin as he lay prostrate on the field. Insult added to injury. Ouch.
I was worried that the second game we attended would be washed out from a torrential downpour one hour before gametime. I was especially concerned because my tickets were of the digital variety stored on my cell phone. While such advances in the digital economy are commonplace to most normal people, I was convinced that these tickets were not in any way *real* and I would find myself being mocked by Amos, the god of New Things. They scanned those puppies at the gate and I marched on in feeling like Captain Gizmo, or some other obscure superhero.
The drainage system at Camden Yards must be like a giant squeegee because the field was in great shape not more than an hour after the monsoon struck. The Yankees won each game, so all is well in Yankeeland and my annual baseball fix has been satisfied.
Despite some recent bad press and negative comments, I personally find Baltimore to be a pretty cool city. I mean the birthplace of Edgar Allan Poe AND Babe Ruth AND the Star Spangled Banner has to be mondo edgy, amirite?
We spent some time at the American Visionary Art Museum. Very original works of art plus the Most Amazing Gift Shop on the planet that I know about.
On the way back to North Carolina, my daughter and I got trapped in gridlock on I-95 just south of Richmond. And by trapped I mean no one moving, people getting out of their cars and walking around. As the minutes tick by we check in with Google, the knower of all things and discover that there has been an accident up ahead involving an eighteen-wheeler blocking all 4 lanes of southbound I-95, with an expected wait time of 3-5 hours. Yes, hours.
Our fellow Google-aware travelers take this knowledge poorly and begin to slowly turn their cars around to head north on the southbound lanes of I-95. We do the same and work our way back to the previous offramp entitled; Escape From Freeway: Last Chance!
We ended up winding our way through the backwoods of Virginia, attempting to get far enough south to rejoin I-95 post-crash. Thanks once again to our omnipotent friend Google and my daughter’s superior driving skills we succeed and only lose an hour in the process. Driving the wrong way on I-95 was worth it. Let’s do it again!
If you ever had the pleasure of visiting an ancient rainforest and entering the darkened world under the canopy, you have experienced one of the seven billion wonders of the world, because who can believe there are only 7 or 8 of those? I believe we formed in such places a very long time ago, so it is not surprising to feel that sense of home there amongst the liana vines and towering mahogany monoliths.
I had a chance to visit such a place whilst living in SE Asia many years ago; Taman Negara in the state of Pahang, Malaysia. The expansion of humanity has diminished the number and size of tertiary rainforests, but Malaysia has taken active measures to preserve this amazing resource, including sponsoring eco-tours to spread the word.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, there is this very interesting phenomena found in certain forest canopies around the world, adding to the curious nature of trees.
This cool pattern is called crown shyness or canopy disengagement, where the leaves spreading from each limb seem to avoid touching one another creating these gaps and lines in the canopy. This has been noted and studied by botanists for nearly 100 years yet the exact cause is not clear.
Three hypotheses prevail:
1. Friction hypothesis – In windy conditions, the branches of adjacent tree limbs form gaps to avoid striking and damaging nearby leaves, thus limiting damaging to the overall tree.
2. Allelopathy hypothesis – Allelopathy is the well know capability of plants to communicate with one another through the production of compounds called allelochemicals. These chemical signals can be protective in nature or aggressive, giving rise to the Madagascar Attack Plant, a species I invented for this very sentence. All weak attempts at humor aside, allelochemicals are used by plants to, for example, signal the presence of plant pests and thus limit the spread of insect borne diseases.
3. Photoreceptors hypothesis – Leaves have photoreceptors which allow the tree or plant to follow the sun, or equally to avoid shade. This idea speculates that leaves and branches position themselves to receive optimal sun, and to not grow on top of one another.
The causes and mechanisms of Crown shyness remain elusive. I am told that seeking and revealing the secrets behind the world somehow diminishes the magic and majesty of it all. I feel quite the opposite. Experiencing Taman Negara and understanding how it works may provide clues on how to help it survive the ravages of fate and time.
And of us.
whoisfenton 