Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Scofflaws reunited

A friend sent me this pic, proving I speed and am a criminal:

What's nuts is that, on the same page, I know one of the other speeders! In fact, I use to hoover up los chemicals at his rental house in the late 80's! To take it still further, it was to his abode that we returned after that July 4, 1987 Descendents show at Bogart's!


Finding comfort as one can

"Being a mother is exhausting -- I'm relaxing on some small tomatoes to take a break!"

"And I'm so glad to have my tiny face out of the sun, I'm gonna call this here my grati-tube!"

"Goddam, let me out! I swear I ain't gonna hurt NOBODY, pudwhacks!"

"I just had a dream that I died, and I went to a bookstore where all the covers were orange. You were there..."

Um, commence dealing any time now

'the hell?

Went to the Bass outlet Sunday (among others) and they were having a sale where if one bought a single pair of shoes at assigned price, the buyer would get TWO additional pairs for free.

This really happened!

So, I got the cordovan/oxblood loafers I wanted, a black pair of same (which will come in handy if I am made to do a Michael Jackson impression at gunpoint, as happens so often), and a third pair of oxblood oxfords.



"You're lucky you can spit!"

L'il Trade Center

Monday, August 30, 2010

That Brolin/Grohl (Grohlin?) baby all growed up

Words cannot express

I suppose I could hedge or say "gotcha!," but for anyone who spent this entire, glorious weekend indoors while looking in vain for "Losing Haringey" by the Clientele on their copies of God Save the Clientele, just because I erroneously said that is where it could be found, I am sorry.

Blogging is a lonely business; while the ease and grace of my syntax may indeed appear effortless, there is quite a bit of thinking involved, lone dark hours of soul-searching, etc. With so much brainpower used in its genesis, a blog can also run afoul of absolute exactitude standards, especially if the author is also made careless in the ecstasy of creation, or in doing New and Wonderful Things With Language.

The track in question is, of course, actually on 2005's Strange Geometry.

The question is: can you learn to trust again?

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


Finishing shed tomorrow! Company all weekend! And everything.
A random yard near us:

Add an amendment

On the same trip where I saw the TapouT (as I guess this is supposed to be typographed) shirt, I saw a homemade license plate frame which haunts me still. You will bear with my crap graphics (craphics?), and please keep in mind:

1.) the lettering on the actual frame was just yellow paint on red plastic, in a scrawl not dissimilar to the MSPaint glory you see here.

2.) the license plate number here is just to fill in the space and has nothing to do with the topic of post


Now, we may not have a TV up and running, but I do feel pretty well-informed...is not braking or not using one's brakes such a trend that the average driver needs to be reminded or be wheedled into avoiding slamming into other cars, poles, houses? What?
And why only in D_____? When one leaves the city limits does the highway become Thunderdome? And shouldn't it be the other way around, so that the basest debris of mankind (the citizenry) should be running rampant, casually destroying one another, in some sort of unimaginable WTUE-soundtracked autocalypse?


Oh! "Mixed martial arts"

So that's what it is! Huh - I BELIEVE that's pretty fuckin' gross!

Carry on!

Oh, please

Been meaning to mention (somehow the littering thing got me all tetchy) that in the last issue of GQ there is an interview with Bill Murray where he says something about "what was Larry David's show?" and the interviewer says "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and Bill is all "No, before that..." and the incredulous reporter dutifully obliges with "Seinfeld?" and Bill says "that one, yeah" before making his point, whatever it was.

Sorry, zen-master - there is no way you don't know what Seinfeld was, f'chrissakes.

Wet brain would be a hot excuse...otherwise, no.
OH! Almost forgot - and here is where I fall prey to seeming faux-naivete, but I swear swear swear I don't know - what the hell is TapOut? Or Tapout? Whatever...I saw some crud at the grocery yesterday wearing a black tee that said "BELIEVE" at the top, followed by a lot of that kudzu-like Ed Hardy-ish pen and ink mossy floss, then TAPOUT logo at the bottom? I saw a dude with a tattoo of this logo, which is probably normal for D_____, though it was on his arm, not his neck.
Let's check!

Littering? Seriously?

Who still litters? Keep your goddam Coke Zero can in the car, pal - and throw it away when you get to wherever is it you're going.

Use your goddam head!

A cake I will buy you

Farm class!

Went to a class Saturday on late season growing - turns out that both late and early season are relatively simple. SO, in thinking I would have a respite for a smidge at the end of the conventional growing season I was in serious error. No rest for the wicked, or, as we can say today, freed from the constricting propriety of old, No Naps for Assholes.

(cover Pex tubing [supported on sticks of rebar] with clear plastic sheeting, tamp down the edges and heartier plants will grow into December. Then you can plant again at the end of February using similar methods. And no napping!)

My lonely quest continues

This here new Clientele ep, Minotaur, is perfect, natch. And a nice encapsulation of the whole band ethos [ick - reviewer-y prose! Sorry!]. There are several lilty gems, song-wise, the now-standard sort-of raveup ("Jerry"), a short instrumental, and a frickin' far-out spoken word blob, wherein the same narrator from God Save the Clientele's track "Losing Haringey" spins an eerie tale about seeing some sort of weird harvest figure "made of flowers" over wind noises and creaking doors for five minutes...needless to say, ACE! and we should have had this at our wedding.

Like that mysterious "Green Man," I will walk the periphery of reality spreading the glad tidings that the Clientele is about the best thing in the universe, and only I will care! RAWK!

"I did not know until this day that it was BRANZINO all along..."

Took Don out last week, the Bride had a stellar whole branzino (breed likely called garbage, previously) then we brought the head and tail home for the brats, who, all of them, sniffed it, then seemed to say "Is that cumin? Ick!" and ignored it. A lifetime of cats in cartoons digging headed fishbones from trash cans - all a lie! Here's Tess and Her Indifference (also the name of her band, hence the capitalization):

Scarlett Jr in front of her pink house

This weird old house (1832!) is a block and half away from us and the Bride shakes her fist that no one has, as yet, just flat out given it to us. We could keep rakes 'n' shit therein!

There's also some sort of bootlegger's getaway set up in the basement, according to the local gritter folklore!

"As God as my witness...as God as my witness...I will never let someone not give us this house for free again!!"


Need it

Next year, when we are tending hundred of acres, I will have to get one of those modified truck bodies added to our truck to store all the bits and bobs and garden implements that my imagination tells me we will need.

PLUS, I will get this brand and thus encourage literacy everywhere I wander:


First thing of the day, from a co-worker:
"Well, Nick, not to be political, but what about the Muslims wanting to build a mosque on Ground Zero?"
He actually thought an actual mosque was being built on the actual exact site of where the towers were. As in, where the burning, smouldering hole was.
What anyone wants to say about a community center doodad being built two blocks away from the site is up to them, of course. Don't care! Supposedly people can worship however they want, or not do it at all. At least that was how that pesky Constitution had it. When I look out my window in Ohio, there is no mosque, or even a feel-good Christian church where mooks play drums or a Shinto shrine or a sweat lodge.
But, ugh - facts, people.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Already over

That Cee-lo "fuck you" song that you've not heard/are already tired of?

I listened to it once, liked it, then pictured all the Axe body spray peeps wigging to it as they frotted divorced moms and moved on, but then I was getting ready to listen to Haircut 100 before Mike made me check it out...so I'm a bit of a pop swot, ready to sneer at most everything.
Anyway, it doesn't officially become "released" until October 4th! It will already be used in a Tide jingle by then!

"Hey, stains! Fuck you-ooo-ooh!"

Elektra staff is nuts or old or both. Unless they figure the whole LP (the what???) is stacked with hits.

Whatever; just remember that I was the first to declare this song OVER. Like when I was declaring Gisele done in '99. AND I was the first to say when the Henry James revival went into decline.

A cat wrangler

This pic is appalling, but I swear it's partially the angle, because I am simultaneously standing up with/dropping two cats, that caused that much extra chinnage (not to say that I don't weigh close to 400 lbs and that our third, grossly large cat is not safely tucked in the folds of my huge, molten fizzog):

Purple cherokee # 1

Lost Gram Parsons track? Nope, this tomato (the tomato at left, I mean):

Dr Nick

Also, I should go get a doctorate in "farm science" or "urban ag." or some such, right?

But then, my more astute readers will remember that I have no undergrad degree! So how do I get around this shortcoming?

Simple: I will just send a link to this blog to various schools (I'm leaning toward Vassar [that's what she said]) as my dissertation. Surely someone will be charmed so that they will give me an honorary doctorate (like Kurt V getting his anthropology whatsit for Cat's Cradle, as mentioned in his Paris Review self-interview). From there, it's just a matter of taking a couple classes and becoming a different sort of doctor, different to whatever doctorate they deign to assign me, for maintining this here e-periodical you are now reading (Humanities, prolly).

Think of it: a farm doctor!


If I'm not mistaken, we have now made 111 dollars from our basil and some little yellow grape tomatoes that were volunteers, even! And it's not even Zeptember yet!


Thursday, August 19, 2010


Oh, man, it's finally out!!

Pretty much the best thing ever

This bodes well


"I'm scared to death, frankly - because no matter how good the product is,
they never remember what to do with it."


I was sitting in a meeting, doodling absently, and this was what I ended up with:

I was sorta creeped out by it, so the next morning I showed the Bride this drawing and asked her if maybe she had dreamed this face.

And she hadn't.


That time of year

Like Halley's comet, here's this again:

Nick's Picks 8/19/2010

Of all the G'n'R-related stuff ever, Gilby Clarke's 1994 single "Cure Me or Kill Me" is the best (only?) thing to say about it all...gotta say, going out in the yard at night is pretty glorious...why should I trust what The Sartorialist has to say when he doesn't even know that "a lot" is two words?...Anyone who takes The Band seriously, well, you don't have to take them seriously, or even pull them from a wrecked and burning car...heads up, this Sunday is the Times fall fashion mag insert...I mentioned I'm going to follow the Redskins, yes? Rigginomics!...when you are looking for something to read, it's hard to beat books...I believe the blossom-end rot is arrested, truly had not been watering nearly enough (he was ashamed to say)...gonna take Don to Yellow Springs for dinner Friday...hoping to learn alot (dammit) about late season growing and hot composting this Saturday at a seminar given by the Beachdog...it would be wild if there really was an ED-209...getting geared up for that new Belle and Sebastian, will have to re-assess all the God Help the Girl stuff...I have a ton of movies, but not enough time...man, do I ever love appositives...

Wednesday, August 18, 2010


Am apprised by an attentive reader that Duke's dog (pictured) is actually an Italian greyhound, which makes sense, since Duke is proud of his Italian roots, despite being partially as Irish as Gerald O'Hara. But fine! I am looking for a Basque Bulldog, after all!

An odd exchange I observed

Ball-capped, normal 45ish dude who probably has a real man's job: "Did the Bengals win?"

1970's "math professor's wife" with glasses and witchy hair (surprised to be asked): "Oh! I don't know. I follow volleyball."


Waxwing slain, my arse

Another month almost up and still, STILL no one has thought to call me Nablogkov, even sarcastically. Bah!

Idjits, in their domain

"I'll just be here rubbing my chin on this Buckminster Fuller-ish candle all day, thanks!"

"Hep me! I'm stuck!"

Bookmark this for February

The Don/Kyle Reunion

Don: "I don't remember you, actually...I'm sorry..."

Kyle (helpfully): "'The money stasher, gun blastin' razor slasher/the human asthma, breathtaker, body dump waster/the glock locker, block locker the rock chopper...?'"

Don: "..."

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

More old man kvetching

Just read that most incoming college freshmen have never worn a wristwatch. They have phones with clocks, duh.

So, like, fuck 'em.

Plus, they will all be way too dumb to appreciate this:

I'm just going to keep drinking coffee, reading books (on paper), wearing clean, seasonally appropriate sportswear and wait patiently for the end, KTHXBAI!!!!1!!

This I can not believe

My friend Dan, the original persnickety pooch his own self, just got a dog. I can't believe it, given that dogs have sheddable fur all over them and have been known to, ahem, take their relief. Still, it's happened!

What's crazy is he always said if he got a dog, he'd want one that looked like this:

In fact, when a friend went to England, she did one of those gravestone style etchings of a dog that looked like this and brought it back as a souvenir. Points for followthrough!

Not sure of the breed, maybe an Airedale. Or an ara parseghian.

Name is Ahgo! Short for Agostino (Pretensio was taken, apparently)!

I'ma remind you again about Eleanor Perenyi

I grabbed Green Thoughts to see if it had anything about blossom end rot, and was promptly drawn back in.

She hates Thoreau, which is funny and great:

It is all there in Thoreau, the yankee Rousseau, with his seven miles of
untended beans, his dream house, 'omitting flower plots and borders,transplanted spruce and trim box,' fronting a quaking bog: 'If it were proposed to me to dwell in the neighborhood of the most beautiful garden that ever human art contrived, or else of a Dismal Swamp, I should certainly decide for the swamp.' Thoreau has always struck me as an exhibitionist, a thoroughly unsympathetic character who thought he was more original than he was. The fact is that most of his fellow-countrymen agreed with him, which is one of the reasons for the slovenliness of the American backyard.

Oh, snap[dragon]!

And this:

..like most people I can't really accept doomsday. The slow-motion
collapse of the technological structure that supports us is easier to visualize:
a world in which the few who knew how would be planting vegetables, chopping
wood and raising chickens among the ruins.

man, did she ever know what she was talking about, and in 1978. She was probably worried then because the four KISS solo LPs had just dropped.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Oh, SHIT! Blossom end rot!

So all the time Nick Eddy's going "garden garden cats cats cats garden the Clientele cats garden garden Nabokov cats garden..." but evidently I don't know dick about anything, because, though I thought we have been watering adequately, we have fruit, on a couple of our zebra plants, that is getting the dreaded blossom end rot. Plants that are inadequately watered get this, as the fruits can't spread the necessary calcium through the growing fruit fast enough.

I'm gonna try a cure (hydrated lime in water) that the experts* say will help and then really water a full half-hour each night and pray for forgibness from them green zebra gods!

* I went with the expert who looked most like she'd be the Bionic Woman's neighbor


Basque for you-know-what!