The Hanging Gardens of Joseph St

I've mentioned to a couple of people that we were trying the "hanging tomato" thing this year. The blank looks suggest that y'all are not reading enough airline magazines ... anyway, here's the result so far. You put the plants in at the bottom of this thing, fill the sack with potting soil, water it religiously (thanks, Linda), and in fact, tomatoes grow out the bottom. These are supposed to be Romas, as you can see. I'll report further when we actually eat one, but so far, so good.

Downtown, Eastside, Lamb Chop News

Last night, we took our dinner plans downtown and again found that the Earle's outside tables are the best seat if what you want is sunset action. Yes, I said "sunset" in the context of Ann Arbor. We do have 'em, here in the midwest, although they tend toward pastels and not the flaming pallettes of seaside venues. And since it's a block off Main and doesn't specialize in huge plates of medium-competent tourist food, like most of the Main Street Ventures shoppes, you can usually get a seat, more or less on demand.

So we ate, and my meal included half a dozen frenched lamb chops, the bones of which I requested "to go" for a certain Shepherd who'd had a hard day -- jumped unexpectedly by a traumatized grayhound. No damage except to Coney's ego, I suspect. Anyway, we took the bones home to the Eastside, presented her with one, and -- and then, what DID we do with the rest of them? Whatever it was, it wasn't secure, since the box appeared on the floor at bedtime, autoclave cleaned of every last organic molecule, no bones to be found. Oh, well. Stealth dog. We knew that. No osteoporesis for her, she's getting her calcium.

Marnee Thai

Went to the downtown incarnation of Lotus Thai (which is over in the Target Mall, whatever it's called), namely Marnee Thai, in the Ashley Mews building, just south of Main and WIlliam. (Whew, that was a long, comma infested sentence.)

Still working the liquour license, so nothing to drink but Thai Iced Coffee, etc. Otherwise, an identical menu, in a smaller, much more pleasant venue. The views leave something to be desired: the BP gas station or the DTE local office. Kitchen not quite as fast and one or two items might have been a touch overcooked -- otherwise, a near replica, food wise, of the suburban food, and a more relaxing place to eat. And they were doing well, seemed like. 3/4 full at 8:30 on a Wednesday night, several other couples after us, and 2 or 3 walk-in take-out customers. All with no booze license. Maybe this will work out for that silly development, finally, and actually accomplish the extending of downtown by another block south. After all, Leopold Bros. is down there in the valley, just another two blocks' walk, and a block past that is the old Ark locale, where Susan Chastain is moving the Firefly. And both of those places have PARKING, for God's sake, as do the immediately nearby sidestreets (as we well know, since we used to live a couple blocks up from the Ark, then the original Main Street Market.) Now, if we can just keep global warming from flooding Allen Creek and making a lake out of Fox Tent and Awning's parking lot, maybe the Downtown Development Agency can actually claim a win, for a change.

But don't bet on it.

Dogs are Literal-minded

Wednesdays, we take Coney to a doggie day care place, partly so she gets
some extercise and partly so, as an only dog here at home, she stays socialized
and friendly with other dogs.

Yesterday, we all left the house to implement this policy. I got into the
passenger's seat, and Linda and Coney were still out in the yard, browsing
the fresh, green crab grass (Coney was, not Linda.) My car door was still
open, but the back door wasn't. Linda said, to Coney, "Are you ready to get
in?"

Apparently she was, since she leapt -- not crawled, but leapt -- into the front
of the car, into my lap, all 65 pounds of shepx. It took, oh, a good two to
three minutes to sort this out, in between the hilarity (I was laughing
uncontrollably) and the knowledge on Coney's part that there are biscuits in
the glove compartment, but that her usual place to receive one is in the back
seat.

Guess you had to be there.

Nothing Earth Shaking

Last MRI was as positive, when someone who knows what he's doing looked at it, as the previous one. Basically, tumors in head gone, good.

We have also, however, backed off on the steroid that I was taking, down from a big 'ol 40mg 4 days a week to 1mg, daily, just for the fun of it, far as I can tell. This has its interesting aspects, since while I was taking the big dose, I never, ever, got anything resembling a headache. Now, it's possible to get one, and I'd gotten used to being immune, even to things like slighly misadjusted glasses frames. Bugger, back to reality.

What's next? We haven't really decided -- a different drug, probably, but not clear which or how. And once I can successfully navigate more than 10 or 20 steps without a crutch (a physical one -- my psychological crutches are far, far too deeply ingrained), I'll be back at work, physically, instead of just virtually as I am now, a mere wispy voice on the phone, demanding compliance with standards.

Meanwhile, it's Sunday night, and that starts with "S" and that rhymes with "don't mess," and that means "rawfish." Time for our weekly religious observance at the shrine of hamachi and others. Yum, can't wait.

The following appeared in the WCA news in 2000, when the original Sweetwaters cafe' on Washington was my morning stop, before work, and I used to hear a lot of this kind of thing.

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AND SPEAKING OF AFFIRMATIONS

Ann Arbor: Overheard in the cafe this morning: two women (regulars, who I suspect of being public school teachers) -- one says, "It's one thing to LOVE your dog, but it's something else to LICK your dog." Her friend gives her a completely emotive, between the eyes, I'm really listening to you look and says, "Mmm-hm." Minutes later, they were discussing sushi and giggling.

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Very Random Semantic Rambling

Returning from a walk with the dog, Linda said, "Coney got a horse biscuit."

Consider the possible range of meanings, there. A biscuit FOR a horse? A biscuit MADE OUT of horse? A biscuit SHAPED like a horse? A crude euphemism?

Turns out, it was a biscuit FOR horses, a thing we didn't have in my youth, when horses were lucky to get a sheaf of hay and some sweet feed and maybe a pat on the back with a shovel. But it raises some other questions: what animals now have their own snacks, that I don't know about? I know that Purina makes "chow" for just about everything that's held in captivity -- are there high-end, gourmet treats for primates, for example? Bonobo Bites? Rhesus Pieces? Macaquearoons?

This is apparently how going off steroids makes you think ... if "think" is the right word, here.

Can you interpret MRI Imagery?

So I had another MRI of my head last week, and they gave me a CD of the results. Trouble is, I have no clue how to interpret the results. They look a little funny to me -- both the stills and the motion. Anybody have any ideas?

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Look kind of interesting, don't they?

What more do you need to know?

Even one Whole Paycheck Store in your community is too many.

Old Family Pics

Found this old sepia tone of Uncle Mert, cooking from his rolling chair, probably sometime around 1937. Funny looking old geezer, wasn't he?

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So hundreds of you have written in, asking about Uncle Mert. I did a quick search on our family geneological database for a sketch of him, and came up with these short little notes. Hope you find it interesting.

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Mert (Mertram) DeNyal-Dodder McLuggage was an early immigrant from County Kerry, in a plague ship with his parents, Shilaligh and Allison McLuggage, fleeing the porrige famine. Landing in the St Lawrance (they were aiming for Canada, not the US, since they were devout Protestants), they made their way about as far south as Kingston, ON, when the ship was set upon by a press gang which pressed Mert (even at the tender age of 14) into the local mounted infantry (since he was the only one willing to admit that he knew which end the hay went into.)

A cavalryman for the rest of his days, Mert fought with the commonwealth troops in any number of key engagements, including being part of the little known Canadian forces operating with the Sioux, against Custer, at the little big horn; fighting with Wolsley in Ashanti-land; taking part in the harrying from one end of Afganistan to the other of the elusive Sultan of Swat; and finally the viscious retreat from each well-defended pension and auberge in Belgium during 1914. Severely wounded in his drinking elbow at Ypres, he was assigned to training duties for the rest of the Great War, and was not called up for the second. The picture shown here is uncharacteristic, since he appears to be unarmed (except for the spoon). He was, according to family and neighbors, seldom without a sidearm, and usually a carbine and sabre as well. He passed away in 1939, infuriated as usual at being turned down for active duty.

ART FAIR CANCELLED IN ESTHETICS FLAP

Found this -- dating to 1995. How quickly 12 years go by. Notice that it pre-dates the art-on-a-stick phenomenon, the bogus "free art fair parking" raids, and the premeditated false-directions-to-Zingermans campaigns. Ah, the good old days.

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Ann Arbor: Collapsing in a heap of bitterness and ill-feeling, Ann Arbor's famed Street Art Fair has finally been cancelled. After years of declining attendance and waning interest (last year's event drew 28 human visitors and a schnauzer), the fair was no longer providing the city with the revenue draw that was its admitted original purpose.

A State Street area restaurant owner who asked not to be identified sobbed, "Time was, I'd move more Rolling Rock than you could shake a credit card at." Last year, his sales for the entire 5 days totalled 2 pints of shandy (sold to some confused English tourists) and a bottle of Mad Dog. "And what am I gonna do with all these leftover crawfish?" he added. A spokesman for the crawfish declined to comment.

The demise of the fair is generally traced to civic ordinances passed during the administration of Joseph "The Bohemian" McLuggage, the city's first (and so far only) Surrealist Party mayor. Elected during a moment of inattention on the part of the Republicans, McLuggage's brief ascendency resulted in a flurry of unusual laws, such as the creation of a Visual Environmental Protection Agency, charged with cleaning up toxic arts and crafts; the establishment of a "Superfund" to pay for a 75% reduction in the number of mini-vans; and the so-called "Brady Bill," named after Mert Brady, a University of Michigan software engineer who lost most of the feeling in his big toe after someone ran over it with a stroller. The Brady Bill requires a 30-year waiting period prior to the purchase of "wheeled infant transport assault vehicles," during which time the applicant is checked carefully for sanity, driving ability, and prior history of art fair attendance.

Staff at Ann Arbor's Odd Town Tavern feigned indifference to the loss of Art Fair revenue, claiming that most of their regular customers were only dimly aware of the annual event, anyway. Management also denied a report that a clandestine, unofficial "Tempeh Fair" was being planned for the alley behind the bar.