Hugh: Revisited

Hugh was a temperamental cyclamen. He had his ups and downs, but he had standards as well. He was a plant with ideals and deep seated convictions-- I don't know what they were, but man, that plant could get behind his morals.

That's the only justification I can find for his four week hunger strike. Before Hugh went all Ghandi on me, he had such verve, such zest for life and the simple pleasures that made it worth living. Things like, water, warm air, sunlight-- the occasional fluorescent lamp... they really made him happy.



I don't know what Hugh died for (something makes me think he was protesting frivolous Italian vacations) but I planted this sunshiny lollipop in his memory. R.I.P Hugh. You died with honor, as the Borg you were named after died. You are missed.

Yo Ho Ho

It was "Pirates of The Caribbean Friday", here in Burbank, meaning a house outing to the movies. I knew we were in trouble when one of the roommates turned to me mid-movie and said " I WANT to be a pirate. ARGH". And he was serious because not only did he make a hook with one finger, as if to imply he would be perfectly happy with a single working hand (I think i remember a shel silverstein poem where a man with a hook went to pick his nose now no longer has a nose. roommate probably hasn't read that one), but he reached into his jacket after the "ARGH" (not even nargh, he definitely went with the argh. I have to admire his attention to pillaging linguistics), and pulled out a flask of rum.

Now, some points have been lost for the lack of a counter flask of grog, but the presence of said booze meant he'd been considering the transition to piracy for at least three hours (Three hours: approximate amount of time needed to procure rum, a flask, and muster up the gall to bring it to a Disney movie).

The transition was complete when we left the movie and he proceeded to climb the first palm tree we saw.



I can only assume the rum was getting a bit strong and he wanted some coconuts to make a pina colada. Either way, It's been two days and he's still convinced he wants to ride the high seas and torture the land-lubbers (land-lubber taking the brunt of the abuse: miku).



I think I'm going to photocopy that nose picking poem and put it on the fridge before he makes a pact with Davy Jones.

Flower Garden, or Fun with Photoediting

Bonus: little robin redbreast. Doesn't he look like he'd say "Weeeeeee!" if he could?

Fear

I startled a rogue possum. No one mentioned possum cohabitation in the lease. In four months of Valley living I haven't seen roadkill let alone live possum. The extent of my Burbank wildlife experience was when Miku got herself stuck in the car.



And now the possum is hiding under that very car. I think it has a friend in the tree. And another one in the fence vines. So I'm sitting here, blogging in fear. Fear that when I walk past the car the possum will dart out and attach it's fangs to my achilles tendon with a ferocity only nocturnal rodents can muster. Even the cat went inside. I'm getting hungry.