Tag: harvest moon

Shine on, Harvest Moon

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 15 Comments

I wish I could tell you that I’ve been enjoying all the decades-overdue dope-slaps Cheeto Benito has been getting from judges lately. Incidentally, you wanna wash those hands afterward, Your Honors. You don’t know where this mook has parked that fat orange mug of his.

Or that the GOP pestilential “debates” featuring the also-rans — a junior-varsity rogues’ gallery that Batman would hand off to Robin (“Here, kid, take care of my light work. …”) — have been must-see TV. I haven’t watched a nanosecond of them, preferring to let Charles Pierce (“doomed and useless”) and Kevin Drum (“shitshow”) handle that thankless bit of heavy lifting.

No, I’ve mostly been riding my bikes, awaiting tonight’s Harvest Moon — the last supermoon of the year — and fiddling idly with the WordPress Block Editor.

I’ve had several back-and-forths with a WP “Happiness Engineer” name of Liz about the Strange Case of the Spastic Comments, and she’s been very patient with this senile old fool, who basically wants to keep driving his 1954 Studebaker Conestoga of a blog editor until the wheels come off.

Which they may very well be doing. Who knows? My WP theme is retired, and so am I, but at least I remain functional. Most days, anyway.

Anyway, with one eye peeled for that instant when a wheel or two or three passes me and my Studwhacker as we’re getting our kicks on Route 66, I’ve been under the hood of an unused WP blog, banging on greasy bits I don’t recognize with a good hammer and a bad attitude.

Any of yis who are still experiencing technical difficulties with commenting on this blog are cordially invited to visit that one and try to comment, see if its swinging door leads to a jukebox and a barstool instead of the Three Heads of Cerberus (Drunk, Confused, and Angry).

It’s a one-post blog, with a new(er) theme called “Hemingway Rewritten” — yeah, I know, the gall of me — and none of the usual bells, whistles, and aaaooogah horns in the sidebar. Plus, since it’s a free blog, there are ads. Ick.

Frankly, you’d be better served by howling at the moon.

Mooned

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
It’s all downhill from here.

Tonight is the Harvest Moon.

That’s not it up there. That’s a view of the north end of Duke City from just below the Tramway. And it looks much better in that photo than 11 p.m. does on the Timex, especially if you went to sleep, or thought you did, at 10.

Mom’s chili (Mom not included).

I blame the moon. But what actually woke me last night after an hour of sleep was probably Spike the Terrorist Deer noshing on our pear tree, or Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment), trash-talking at him.

“Yaaaaaaaah! Gedoudaheeeeeah! ’Member what happened to your momma, Bambi?”

Naturally, I hollered for my momma, but she’s been dead almost as long as Bambi’s, and having seen way too many horror movies I really didn’t want her coming back on my account. She might have her own agenda.

So as a sort of substitute and/or magic potion I’m making her famous chili from a stained, tattered recipe card the old gal typed up herself. It was one of the rare occasions when I asked her for something other than money to buy drugs.

And if that’s not weird enough for you, how ’bout this?

When I woke up at 11, I felt rested.

But I went back to sleep anyway.

 

Wild, wild life

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
That's what I call an ex-dove.
That’s what I call an ex-dove.

Between episodes of “Attack of the Booger Monster” it’s been National Fuckin’ Geographical lately around El Rancho Pendejo.

Yesterday afternoon I was slouched in the office, trying feebly to generate some paying copy with a skull full of Claritin-D 12 Hour, when I heard a bass thump! in the living room and assumed another dipshit dove had augured into the picture window by the cat tower.

It was a marvelous night for a moondance.
It was a marvelous night for a moondance.

Well, close. A falcon had chased a dove into the window and was sitting on the lawn, plucking the dumb sonofabitch like a harp, while the cats watched with professional curiosity. No photo of the raptor at work, alas; I went for a camera but he took off with his dinner before I could make a Kodak moment of it.

Then last evening I took a few snaps of the post-eclipse supermoon, having intercoursed the penguin the night before (check those ISO/f-stop settings, kids). We had a few shooting stars to keep Luna company when it was all red in the face, too. Quite the night.

Today I felt capable of a short bike ride for professional purposes — the reviews don’t slow down just ’cause I do — and afterward I treated myself to a second dose of green chile stew. I’m hoping it succeeds where the Irish penicillin failed. It’s a rare bug indeed that can withstand the one-two punch of chicken noodle soup and green chile stew.