Finally a cartoon character willing to tell one of my jokes without wearing a disguise. That takes some balls, especially since the little guy was neutered!
Pickin’ and Grinnin’
Why would you have sex with a chain-link fence?
I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t see how a man would do it, and I didn’t understand the attraction. I later learned the man was drunk, and thought the sex was a female.
That’s the thing with picking fruit: you have time to think.
h/t to Fables and Flora for the photo
Information was exchanged yesterday that the blackberries were looking good, and there were a lot. We were welcome to come and pick. We took up the offer this morning, driving the short distance to the property on the border between Talent and Phoenix.
As mornings go, it was normal, and glorious with sunshine, blue skies, and budding clouds. Summer’s heat had withdrawn to re-organize and energize, so the air was a comfortable seventy degrees. Most of the area’s wildfire smoke had hitched a ride out of the valley on the wind.
I’d heard about the sex with the chain-link fence on the radio during the drive. Neighbors had it on video. Seeing the video isn’t on my bucket list.
Starting out your berry picking is about looking around to find a ripe offering, sampling them to confirm your visual assessment, and then embracing the mechanics. Like blueberries, the key is color, and its easy release. If the berry is ready to be picked there’s no effort. Just a slight tug, and it rolls off the bush and into your hand. If they don’t come off like this, the product is likely to be sour.
Differences arise between blackberries and blueberries. While I enjoy their sweet juiciness, the largest difference from a picking point of view is that blackberries are in thorny brambles. There are many gorgeous gems hanging there, but getting to them is challenging without sacrificing some blood. Unlike my wife, I’m not a person willing to reach for a berry too far. That’s probably why she’s a better picker than me, collecting about one hundred and fifty percent of the produce that I acquire in the same period.
I’m not jealous; she’s just a better picker. Besides, once we get home, they belong to us, and are shared.
Shouting, “You’ll never take me alive, picking man,” the blackberries sometimes leap to freedom as I approached. The blueberries do it the same, so I don’t take it personally.
Unfortunately, some strange streams empty into this vacant space of thoughts. We had three television stations in southern West Virginia, where I went to high school for my final three years. All three stations featured a show called “Hee Haw.” It may be my imagination, but “Hee Haw” seemed to be on thirty hours a day.
“Hee Haw” was a syndicated variety show that featured country and western music, buxom women, and corny puns and jokes. Roy Clark and Buck Owens were the show’s hosts. One segment was called, “Pickin’ and Grinnin’.” Naturally, out there, my mind invited the segment in: “I’m a pickin’,” Roy or Buck would say, and the other would reply, “And I’m a grinnin’.” Then they’d play some music, stopping for a joke before resuming. They’d do this three or four times.
My mind mercifully cut the stream off after a while. Thereafter, I turned resources toward scenes I was contemplating, character development, and pacing and plotting.
It was a short pick, about an hour. We ended up with twelve pints. Of course, it was the year’s second pick, so we’ll freeze them, and be set for at least a few months.
A Sign of the Times
Sign on a road on the border of Talent and Phoenix in southern Oregon:
Sniff, Lick & Cover
Sniff, Lick & Cover (Catfinition): Prescribed etiquette for a finicky sophisticat’s evaluation and dismissal of food. One, approach the food, stopping two to three inches away. Two, stretch neck out, and deeply and suspiciously sniff the food. Three, step forward and give the food one lick. Four, turn around and mime covering the food as though feces is being buried.
Sniff, lick & cover is appropriate for all foods, regardless of price, source, or past enjoyment of the food.
Today’s Theme Music
The time currents are battling, splintering our hearts, minds, and senses. Would that we could do the time warp and find that place of comfort we think must exist.
Back in nineteen seventy-five, less than a blink of the galactic eye, pop culture was thrown into a spin by “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” They say it happened on August fourteenth of that year. If I could do the time warp, maybe I could ride a wave, return to there, verify that date, and breathe in the mood. On the other hand, a sliver of cerebellum thinks I’m still living and existing back then, feeding streams of knowledge across the void to me here and now. Alas, contributing to the confluence of confusion, multiple mes are feeding multiple mes, including this me, from multiple moments in my existence to create this big shiny moment that I think of now.
Oh, the hell with it. “Let’s Do The Time Warp Again.” It’s just a jump to the left, and a step to the right.
Purronym
Purronym or Purr de Floof (Catfinition): The other names by which a cat becomes known.
Ford Venti Super Duty Pickup
Saw my first Ford F-550 Venti Super Duty pickup yesterday. I was behind it in Medford traffic.
That traffic reminded me of the SF Bay area traffic. Thirty minutes to go two miles. Impressive. No sign of what caused the back up. It’s another mystery.
The Venti was yuuuge. Gray with chrome bumpers, the tail gate seemed as big as my SUV. Hell, it’s VENTI lettering on its tailgate was as tall as my windshield.
I remember reading that the Venti rode on special twenty-nine inch wheels, with equally special tires. Passing it later, I received a clearer idea of just how large this vehicle is. It took several seconds of motoring to clear its length. Once I got clear of it, I was surprised that it was still daylight. Sitting behind the Venti, I didn’t see the sun. It was like a Venti eclipse.
The Venti seats eight. That gives you an idea of its size. With an interior of its size, I figure it’s the perfect vehicle for self-driving, because they could convert that interior into a truck cave. Mount a sixty-five inch curved HD television, a small refrigerator, and some recliners to help pass the miles, and it’s like you never left home. It could be the almost perfect mobile office.
I’d feel safer if the Venti was self-driving, or “auto-drive.” Come on, it’s pretty amusing to call a truck an auto-drive. I’d feel safer because the person driving this behemoth seemed like a wizened elf. With all that interior room, they had the seat pulled forward so that their forehead was almost resting on the steering wheel. I don’t think they could reach the gas pedal. That might explain why they were going twenty-five in a forty-five zone. Once I passed them, there was nothing ahead of them.
Those sort of reasons are encouraging me to add one of the periscope options on my next vehicle. I was against them on principle initially. Now I see that those car periscopes can have some value. When you’re following a gigantic vehicle like the Ford Venti, you need something to raise to see ahead of it.
Starbucks is giving every new Venti owner a gift card worth one hundred dollars at most participating Starbucks. I have to admit, Ford’s marketing campaign with Starbucks over the Venti almost enticed me into plunking down the seventy grand for that vehicle. Checking that gas mileage – thirteen on the highway, seven in the city for a combined ten – stopped me.
It’s amazing that the gas mileage is so poor, even though it’s a hybrid.
