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eighteen apples

Keaton Appleseed.There was a storm here last week while we were in Mexico.  Apparently it was fairly violent, or so say our friends.

When we got home, I did a quick inspection to look for damage.  The newer trees were the most notable casualties.  I don’t think any of them are broken beyond repair, but several were bent nearly 90°.  Most alarming was seeing the apple tree I planted only this year, broken free from it’s stabilizing stake and doubled over under the weight of its own fruit.

Over the years I’ve had mixed luck with fruit trees, although lots of that is likely just my impatience during the early years when they just don’t produce much.  But this apple tree has surprised me; producing so much fruit I was amazed that the little sapling could even support it all (both weight-wise and nutrient-wise).  It’ll be interesting to see what it does next year, as I have a theory that I got so much fruit this year because it was cross-pollinated at the nursery amongst all the other trees before I even planted it.  Likely next year, unless I plant a sufficient cross-pollinator (don’t think my pears will do it), I won’t get as much.  The internet also says I did wrong by allowing so much fruit to grow this year, and that by not thinning it I may have ruined the tree’s crop for years to come… so we’ll see.

But anyway… this was about my poor tree all bent and broken after the stormwinds.  Since it was 1am when we got home, I only propped the thing back up against its stake, not re-tying it or anything.  Then, a day or so ago, Sharaun picked one of the largest apples, insisting it was ripe and looked “like the Fujis I buy in the store.”  Sure enough, it was ripe, and was totally delicious.  Today then, after work, I went ahead and picked the rest of the fruit.  Keep in mind, this tree is only about four feet tall and just over an inch around at the thickest part of trunk.  Even leaving a clump of four for a little more growing time, I pulled the bounty pictured above-right from the little tree, not bad!

Eighteen apples.  Word.

Goodnight blog.

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we’d smoke anything

Smoke 'em if ya got 'em.Well internet, I thought I’d drop in after the week absence Mexico so lovingly provided us.

Yes, we’re back… and yes, I’m back to work.  Confined once again in my tiny shoulder-height grey box, staring at my monitor, typing, and talking on the phone.  It’s a far cry from the routine we’d fallen so easily into last week on vacation.

For reference, that routine went exactly like this: Wake up at 8am, get Keaton and Sharaun up.  Change into swimsuits and lube up with the sunblock.  Meet our co-vacationing friends for breakfast at 9am.  Poolside by 10am at the latest.  Bloody Mary or Malibu and pineapple to start the day.  Swim; read; lounge.  More drinks.  Lunch around 1pm.  Swim; read; lounge, drinks.  Back to the hotel to shower and change around 6pm.  Meet for dinner at 7pm; switch to martinis.  In bed by 11pm to do it all again tomorrow.

Blissful; it was blissful.  But being back is OK too.  We got home at past midnight on Saturday (OK Sunday), and I spent Sunday putting up all the Halloween decorations.  Got everything up too, but things need the usual tweaking and yearly repairs.  Coffin guy needs a new head, time has disintegrated the plastic near entirely.  The ceiling dropper’s rope broke from friction  and strain again, so I have to replace that once more.  The ghost needs to be re-tied at better heights so her motion is more natural, and the witch’s dress needs a new pinning to keep it in place.  But, over the years I’ve streamlined the setup so much (with permanently installed hooks, platforms, and ties) that everything went up easily.  So easily, in fact, that I’m thinking of trying to finish off an old prop concept I started and never finished…

Today at work Buffalo Springfield’s “I Am A Child” shuffled up on the iPod. Any time I hear Buffalo Springfield, I get mega-nostalgic. For whatever reason, the part of the past when I bought their greatest hits record, back in middle school, is indelibly burned into my brain. I write a lot about how certain music melds with memory for me, forever linking a song or album or sound to some event – and Buffalo Springfield is one of the strongest of those associations. I have the clearest memories of sitting in my room back in Florida listening to that album over and over. One memory in particular is actually strange enough to share.

Before I was exposed to marijuana, I was already fascinated with the concept of smoking something to “get high.” After all, practically every 60s musical and cultural icon I idolized as a teen glamorized the experience… how could I be expected to not want to try it? At one point, I can remember hearing, somehow, that cloves could get you high. This led to Kyle and I rolling up and smoking cloves, yes… plain old dried clove, whole and un-ground from the spice rack, and nearly coughing to death as we tried in vain to catch a buzz. Ditto with the recipe for “banandine” we got from the Anarchist Cookbook. Try as we might, we couldn’t seem to figure it out.  But really… try we did.  I mean, we’d pretty much smoke anything.

I remember one afternoon, while listening to the Buffalo Springfield album that spurred this whole ramble, actually smoking and inhaling some spent firecrackers I had in my room. Over the years I’ve wondered where I would even get such an idea… I used to be obsessed with fireworks (well, fire and fireworks in general, really).  I used to ride my bike around the neighborhood early on the morning of July 5th, collecting the burned shells of the previous nights fountains and bottle rockets and roman candles.  Not only did I love the labels and packaging, but I loved the burned-out smell of the things.  Maybe that’s what made me decide to try and “smoke” one.  Buffalo Springfield in the background, bedroom window open, and I’m sitting there “smoking” a used ladyfinger.

Goodnight.

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last day in mexico

Hi Internet.

Finally bothered to check for an open router near the condo side of the resort.

Found one.

Trip has been amazing, but it’s more fun doing nothing than blogging so I’m just here to say hello. And, goodbye.

See ya next week.

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mexico & cat pee

Watch me.So, tomorrow, Mexico.

Work’s gonna be tough. Mind wandering. Not a lot of meetings Friday so not a lot of motivation to stay rooted in the office.

We leave bright and early, fly to L.A. first and from there on South to Mexico. Hopefully, we’ll arrive with time to find the Florida/LSU game on Mexican TV. Still have to pack; couple paperbacks, some swim trunks, jeans and a nice shirt for one night, a hat, sandals… who needs much more?

Maybe I need to expand a bit on my harsh-sounding anti-feline sentiment yesterday.  See, the cat has decided she is going to quit using her littler box and instead urinate and defecate on the carpet.  This doesn’t seem to be a one-time thing, either.  In fact, tonight, for the first time, I walked down our hallway and, at the end, smelled that worst-of-all smells: cat pee.  I knelt down and sampled the bouquet and sure enough that putrid overpowering stench was emanating from our carpet, right where the cat has designated it her new commode.  Let me make it clear: this won’t be happening.  Yes, haters, yes; I will simply get rid of this cat I nursed to life from a bottle as a kitten.  I’m not going to have an animal using the house as a bathroom; not gonna happen.

I accidentally set this entry to auto-post last night at midnight… and left it incomplete.  Not that it’s much more finished now, but at least it has a picture and stuff.  Blogging has been hard this week, cut me some slack.

That’s it then.  Mexico and cat pee.  See ya later.

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aw hecky naw

No harm meant.Happy Wednesday folks.

Night’s nearly over now; at leas the part I’m typically awake for.  And Thursday’s coming… right around the corner from now.  After that, Thursday will beget Friday and Friday Saturday.  Then, we’ll pile into one of those flighted metal cigars and zoom-swish! away to Mexico.  While there, I will try and do my typical vacation-style writing, which consists chiefly of pictures and short sentences about the awesomeness of our stay.  Look for it; it’ll be a happening.  A-list.

For a few months now, Keaton’s expressed interest in picking up and holding our cat, Keeper.  Until recently, however, she’s been unable to find a way to 1) do this without the cat running away from her, and 2) muster enough strength to physically lift her.  This all changed in the past couple weeks when she figured out that she could reliably lift Keeper via an under-arm bearhug style hoist, and also that she’s now strong enough to ferry her around in this position.

It makes for some hilarious moments, because, despite being incredibly docile about the whole thing, the cat clearly dislikes being carried around this way.  Out of the back of the house somewhere Keaton’ll come, her arms encircling the poor cat’s body just under her front legs, squeezing her tight to keep her grip. This makes the cat’s head look all squanched up into her body… as both try to succumb to gravity.

She lets out these little half-meows (probably can’t get enough volume of oxygen to make anything appreciable) and we’ve told Keaton that this is her way of saying, “OK, I’m done now; please let me down.”  We’ve told her she has to listen to kitty when she “talks,” or else she might get scratched or bitten.  But, in the end, I don’t think the cat has the balls to do anything.  At this point, I think she’s been bested by the three year old… and she’s submissive.

As an aside… I’ve decided I don’t want our cat anymore.  I think I’ve evolved into a “no animals” kinda guy.  Not that I don’t like them, but I’m done with all that.  When we wear this one out, it’s over.  Is that heartless?  Whatever.

Oh yeah, just before I go… I wanted to mention how much I enjoyed Pitchfork’s “Top 500 Albums of the 2000s” feature (not to be confused with the”Top 500 Tracks of the 2000s” feature I wrote about a ways back).  Particularly, and I’ll try not to ruin it here by telling you where this review lands just in case you want to read it in order, I loved the review of the Arcade Fire’s incredible album Funeral. I’ve written about Funeral myself more than a few times, professing my profound love for the record, but the reviewer on P4K captures my hindsight thinking perfectly:

Will there ever be another album like Funeral? …

… besides being a turning point for indie rock, Funeral was one for the indie community as well. Whether it’s due to increasingly fractious listening habits or the increased ability for dissenters to be heard, Funeral keeps on feeling like the last of its kind, an indie record that sounded capable of conquering the universe and then going on to do just that. The consensus hyperbole that met Funeral resulted in any record that threatened to reach that level becoming met with severe scrutiny or even outright derision. And still, we wonder if there will ever be anything quite like Funeral — something tells me that as music becomes even more readily available to us in the next decade, we’ll still go through it all in the hopes we can find something with the unifying force and astounding emotional payload that only albums like Funeral can provide.

Yeah.  Really.  When do we get the next Funeral?  I think a record that good ruined me for everything else.  C’mon someone, do it again.

Goodnight.

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sunset on her breath

Tesnus.Busy nights Monday and Sunday, no time to write. Or, more accurately, writing eschewed in favor of other things.

I’m busily working to get two weeks of work done this week, in eager anticipation of our coming week getaway in Mexico, which begins Saturday. We’ll be jetting off with friends for a stay in an all-inclusive beachside joint, where our week is sure to be filled with early morning poolside chair-claiming, umbrella drinks, tacos, and lots of time spent doing nothing. Well, something… reading, dozing, playing with Keaton, swimming, lounging… but really a lot of nothing. It’s not been a particularly hectic week at work, so I’m not dying to get there… but, as always, the prospect of a surf and sun vacation has my mind drifting ahead in time.

Back in real life, Sharaun returned home from her weekend away with girlfriends in Florida (must be hard for her, going from a Gulf beach to a Pacific one over the course of a week). I managed to keep Keaton clean, fed, and happy while she was gone… single-handedly dispelling literally hundreds of dad ineptitude stereotypes in the process. She was greeted home by a clean house, empty laundry hampers, and a very thankful husband and daughter.  And, while we had fun just Keaton and I, it was a welcome homecoming for us too.  Moms do a lot, y’know?

It’s nighttime on Tuesday now, Keaton and I are watching Alice In Wonderland… the smoking caterpillar is on.  Keaton thinks Alice’s name is Alison Wonderland, first and last just like that.  A pretty reasonable misconception if you ask me.  After I put her to bed (which I just did) I plan to put some music on (which I also just did) and listen to it while I write (which I am doing right now; time and tenses get really messed up as I write in bits over the course of the evening).

Anyway, I’ve got the newish record by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros on.  I grabbed it a month or so ago on the band name alone (I do this somewhat often), and, at the time, ended up digging about 50% of the tracks and filing it away as something with prospect.  For whatever reason I spun it again yesterday and was pleasantly surprised to hear it aged very well, and I think I may have judged it kinda low originally.  Been listening with gusto today, and I like what I hear.  After looking up the band (which is one of hose Polyphonic Spree style two-digit member cult kinda hippie collectives) I found out that the lead singer is a dude from a band Ben and I used to like called Ima Robot.  Small world, this LA indie music biz… small world.

At work the other day I booked a coming trip to China and Taiwan.  My first travel to the Orient in nearly two years.  Not sure how I’ve managed to not be there in all that time, but I guess I tend to offer the international trips to the troops moreso than take them myself these days.  Will be good to get back to Shanghai and Taipei though, I do miss the frequency at which I used to visit both those fun cities.  And it’ll be good for me to re-invest in my work network while over there.  Oh and of course there’s the excellent food.  November comes the day I’ll take off; and I’m sure I’ll go into the whole pre-trip “I don’t wanna gos” here on the old blog about one week prior to travel… look for it.

Goodnight folks.  I wrote.

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as the week wanes

I could jump off and sail away forever...Tuesday night and I just got done putting Keaton down.  Sharaun had volleyball so we spent some time together listening to music, playing Jenga (a favorite of hers), and, in a late fit of productivity, deciding to make cookies.

Baking with Keaton is kind of a “thing” of mine.  We do it quite a bit.  Banana bread, cookies, etc., it’s just a good sharing, learning, constructive time together.  Tonight I asked her what kind of cookies she wanted and she answered, “Chocolate chip marshmallow.”  Hmmm… OK…. well if anyone knows if such a cookie exists, it’s gonna be the internet.  So I took to the iPhone and Googled, and up they popped, top return.  Like all cooks worth their stained aprons, we had to improvise a little.  Using shortening substituted for a lack of butter, and we scissored-up both Hershey bars and big marshmallows to take the place of chocolate chips and miniature marshmallows.  Unsurprisingly, they turned out divine, and we were vindicated in our experimentation.  Even Sharaun wolfed them down.

The weather here in Northern California turned Fallish today.  Clouds skittered around up in the sky, the temperatures dipped, and a wind came up.  Around 9am a friend popped on my instant messenger at work.  “I bet you’re loving today,” she said.  Yes, yes… my predilection for Fall is well known and well-documented here on the blog.  I’m excited about the work we’re doing on the house going into this end-of-year season; I think of it as “cozying up” the place or something.  I’ve written before about my strange attachment to the size and shape of our modest house, and going into winter I tend to think of it as a perfect little womb where we can hide away from the cold and wind and rain and be comfortable with what we have.  It’s part of the reason I like investing in improving the place… since I see it as one of those little “caves” I could live in.

Early gym tomorrow… gotta hit the sack.  Not before a few cookies though… need a reason to be in the gym, after all.  Goodnight.