We were here when it fell, and we heard it. The last tree standing in our back yard has been sawn down and hauled away in chunks.
Turkish loved that crabapple tree, and so did Miss Mia Sopaipilla. It was fine for climbing, and occasionally held a toothsome squirrel or two.
The Turk enjoying the view in 2007
We two-legged sorts were less enamored of it — it shat bitter green apples all over the yard each fall when it was in sound health — but it was lovely to look at until fire blight carried it off, as it did the smaller ornamental apple next to the driveway.
Before that it was either aphids or a bacterial infection that did in the small stand of black walnuts by the fence. These were a favorite of the late Chairman Meow, who used them to access the pergola over the deck, so she could keep an eye on things. She always did like heights.
Miss Mia Sopaipilla, being of the non-white, non-Christian, non-tea-partying persuasion, reports that she will be hiding behind the coffeemaker until the midterms are over.
We’re seeing lots of journalism from The Old Gray Lady, McClatchy and other national news sources lately about politics in Colorado.
And voters in Larimer County are said to be confused and angry, which will surprise no one who is actually from Colorado; Larimer is only slightly less fire-engine red than our own El Paso County.
Speaking of which, the local cage-liner has come out for Buck, naturally, and I expect Bibleburg to turn out in force for him, though we went for Obama way back when “change” wasn’t all that was left in our pockets. The electorate has the attention span of a retarded golden retriever and will eagerly bite the hand that feeds it, regardless of race, creed, color or religion.
Well, maybe and maybe not. The Washington Post recently undertook a massive survey of the so-called Tea Party “movement” and 11 percent of these fine, upstanding Americans said that the prez’s race, religion or ethnic background was either a “very important” or “somewhat important” factor in the support their groups have received.
Surprise, surprise. Some angry, dumb-ass honkies are scared of anyone who doesn’t share their skin color, superstition or ethnic heritage. They get to vote right alongside the smart people, and anger is a powerful motivator, especially in tandem with ignorance (ask any opinion-page editor).
Fact is, shit rolls downhill, and Obama and the Donks are living in the valley. Doesn’t matter that the Daffy-Fudd administration piled all those turds up there and then gave them a push on their way out the door — or that all us little folk are trapped down there in Smelly Valley, too.
Toss the rascals out! If only we were talking about the right ones. …
More dry, dusty cyclo-cross today, domestic and foreign alike.
At the U.S. Gran Prix of Cyclocross stop in Kentucky, Georgia Gould laid a humiliating beat-down on the women’s field, outclassing everyone for a second consecutive day, while Jeremy Powers took over from Tim Johnson in putting the ol’ Louisville slugger to Ryan Trebon.
Across the pond in the Czech Republic, Zdenek Stybar played the Roadrunner to Niels Albert’s Wile E. Coyote, going “Beep-beep” and then kapweeeng on the bell lap, leaving Albert standing there with his jaw on the ground, his Acme® ’cross bike collapsing into a pile of parts underneath him. I swear I actually saw the course rise and settle under Stybar’s wheels as he rocketed along to keep his undefeated streak intact in front of a partisan, boisterous crowd in Pilzner (mmm, beer).
I didn’t get out myself, unless you count a bout of leaf collection and removal in tandem with Herself. A neighbor uses our maple’s leaves for compost in her extensive garden, and it looks like we’ll have a record haul this season — we’ve already collected six bags’ worth and there are still a few green leaves on the tree.
The only thing missing from the old days is the sound: Doooooooooo. ...
Cyclo-cross weather in Bibleburg today. Well, not quite — so far it’s merely blustery and cool, not soggy and muddy. But the day ain’t over yet.
I rolled over to Monument Valley Park and did a leisurely hour of ’cross, dodging dog-walkers, joggers and spectators at a kiddie soccer match, then rolled home to start my shift in the VeloBarrel. Imagine my surprise when the promised live video coverage from today’s U.S. Gran Prix of Cyclocross race did not eventuate. As we speak I’m staring at the online equivalent of a test pattern and a smattering of snarky comments from pissed-off would-be viewers.
I’m reluctant to be harshly critical of the gang at CyclingDirt.org, having recently watched Herself prep feverishly for a streaming videocast of a meeting and knowing next to nothing about the technology and procedures involved.
Still, damn. I’m glad I’m not selling ads for these folks. This is like telling everyone about this really cool party you’re throwing but giving them the wrong address.
Mad Blog Media 