I know, I post as often as
Noam Chomsky. I just can't bring myself to blather about the little things in life. I prefer to let them dissolve into a coherent narrative, but that is not the point of journaling in public like this.
Well, the first bit of news is that the bird is most definately a Northen Mockingbird.
Mimus polyglottos, that wiley, mocking bastard mocks me at every turn. I should've known. Elsewhere in the backyard, the tomato plants are getting ripe, and the oranges were a little funky this year, many are hard and green regardless of how long they spent on the branch. Brandyn and I have a brand new tradition (there has only been one instance, truth be told, but it feels like it's got the makings of tradition all over it) of going to the farmer's market on Thursday evenings. My goodness. Fresh fish caught yesterday, mountains of succulent produce, and the most magical orchids I have ever seen. I think that Heaven itself might be a farmer's market.
I am at
work, and I am doing quotes for some
speakers and
lights. Blah.
Brandyn and I picked out our fish over the weekend, but our aquarium water failed the test miserably. I blame
George W. Bush. The fish is so cool though, he is a goldfish with a big brain head thing. And he has manservants, two jawless little eel things. And I want a snail.
Ok. I gotta work. More later. Sorry about all the dumb links.
