Ugly as Sin

As spring begins, a lot of gardeners bring attention to the beautiful things that you can find in your yard. My beautiful things are few and far between yet, so I would like to share with you what is without a doubt the ugliest feature of my garden (regardless of the season).
This is my greenhouse. I built it myself about three years ago, right after I moved in. It is a testament to the raw desire to construct, a head of both reason and planning. When I built this I had no practical experience building anything, and I simply framed together the walls using uncut/unmodified in any way, nominally 8 foot long 2x4's. This gives me an approximate cube of 8x8x8...the I needed a roof...I had not thought about this in the early stages of construction, as I thought the creative process would just work itself through and that the design of the roof would by that point be obvious. Not the case. The roof is a sloping cap, also built with 2x4's, which I had to lift onto the eight foot structure. The front of the roof is 3 feet high, for a total height of 11 feet. It is a practical, yet imposing structure,. I of course immediately swathed the whole bottom of the structure in plastic before putting the roof on, resulting in the near immediate replacement of all the plastic. I also quite mistakenly used a thin vapour barrier plastic, instead of durable greenhouse poly, which has lead to the replacement of all plastic components with sturdier stuff. There is some annual maintenance involved.
The floor is gravel, but of course, I put down no landscape fabric or plastic before laying down the gravel, so the floor, at the height of summer any way, is mostly comprised of very tall buttercups and assorted grasses and even horsetails. This years project is to fix the floor.
Ugly though it may be, It fills the need I always felt to have a greenhouse. I grow a lot of chilies in this thing, and it makes my life better.
One day, when I have thousands of dollars to blow, I will replace it with a stylish cedar post and plexiglass conservatory type of thing, but for now, or until it collapses (we are talking about untreated 2x4's in the coastal wet fog belt), this is the view from my deck. It's almost pretty if you squint.

Working Away Sucks: Refrain

Got a little hungry after some time in the garden this afternoon...thought I might have a nice snack of peanut butter on something. This is the only something in my house to put peanut butter on. Decided not to.
As a side note...this was formerly (before converting to penecillan) a slice (the end bit) of a loaf of homemade/organic wholewheat or light rye (cant remember and aren't willing to put it to a taste test). Its only been thirteen days, and I had the heat off. Wonderbread would have survived. Wonderbread would survive a thermo-nuclear holocaust. I think I need to go to the store. Now.

Working Away from Home

Working away from home….sucks. This is my conclusion after much study and contemplation.

It’s not just the absence of all the amenities…although this does start to wear you down, but the fact that you are missing out on your life…completely. Unless, of course, you strongly identify yourself with your work….volunteer peace keeper in Iraq, or environmentalist living in a tree sort of thing. However, if you’re a regular Joe six-pack, who likes to putter around the house after a tiring day at the office, then a string of motel rooms and no real days off can get to you.

There is also the economy of the matter. If you live in a motel room, you tend to eat out more, raising the basic cost of living. Particularly if your average stay in any one motel is three nights. Moving constantly means eating conveniently, although not always healthily.

Not to mention the situation with your dog. Dogs are not welcome at most hotels, and whether or not your pet is accepted has very little to do with the scuziness factor of the motel in question…some very shady establishments will not take dogs. Crack whores yes…dogs no.

Oh, and I really noticed a trend that dog owners get thrown into smoking rooms, although I’ve actually never seen a dog hacking a butt in front of the TV.

Here is a brief summary of my last month:

4 nights in a nice Oceanside resort cabin with full kitchen and complementary bathrobes. Dog was not a problem. Had to move on due to higher costs associated with the coming of tourist season.

3 nights in sleazy motel in room that had a former chain smoking tenant. Hot plate, micro-wave, and fridge that froze everything and could not be adjusted. TV..No phone…one given on last day…microwave breaks…replaced. Dog okay, but $10 charge…waived by owner upon meeting dog. Moved on to take days off.

2 nights in older motel…dog loved…stove but no oven.

3 nights back in same sleazy motel as before, but in different room with only microwave and beer fridge. Evicted with very short notice due to previous booking by other parties. Had stripper living down the hall. Lucky to have brought own fork, opened dog food can with knife blade.

2 nights at same older motel that loves pets as before but moved to smoking room. Had to move on as on wrong side of a very early morning ferry ride. Also had to take partial day off to unload dog on friend, as no place taking dogs could be found at reasonable cost.

1 night couch surfing at friends place that was taking dog.

Drove around for many hours looking for any place for myself…all cheap places booked…found one that could offer me two nights but needed three…drove more…gave up and went back to place that offered two nights, found out that I could get three after all, took place.

3 nights in “marina resort” motel room. Nice wooden interior, but no phone, no TV, no microwave…no nothing ( except coffee pot-don’t drink coffee) Pub nearby…groceries 22km drive.

1 night couch surfing at friend who took dog in.

Steady decline of sanity.

Home now.

Kira: She's Bookish

The love of a good woman is like a toaster, ....well, I tried, but the toaster metaphor actually does not work for most of life's situations. Anyway, this lttle post is about my partner (the girlfriend, the old lady...choose your own term).
Kira made the observation that my blogs haven't really included her, so I thought I might try to remedy this

As an update, Kira still lives in a van about 1400kms from home. She's an archeologist working in northern BC's oil-patch. She's been doing this for a while now, and spends most her time far far away. However, this is about to change. Recently she was offerred a job much closer to home (well for most of the time), so theres a good chance that I will at least get to see her on weekends. This is a good thing.
On a side note, after thirteen years of co-habiting, I think we may have gotten engaged last weekend. We also decided that we are going to Mozambique this winter. It was a pretty good weekend.
Oh, and if we do end up getting married, she will be moving out of her van.

Monkification Part 2: The New Corporate Reality of Buddhism

Blogging when I should be out in the rare sunshine gardening. But the yard is still a little moist for the huge amount of landscaping I have planned so I thought I'd turn your ear with a little whimsy.

When I was a small child, very few people had corporate sponsors; usually just race car drivers. Boxers all wore “EVERLAST” boxing shorts, but I think that maybe they were the only ones that made shiny gold trunks. Quite quickly though, all professional athletes started wearing logos, the Nike “swoosh” became a ever-present symbol. Kids had it shaved in their heads, and some had it tattooed on their butts. The three stripes of Adidas, the union Jack of Reebok (now just how Reebok managed to copyright the flag of an empire is beyond me, and no points for originality either…maybe that’s why you don’t see any of the cool kids wearing Reeboks no more). The movement went from just getting the logo out there on your product, to placing the logo on things that aren’t even related to the product. The ubiquitous T-shirt becomes billboard, and little Adam is forced to spend thirty dollars on a Billabong T-shirt made by Fruit of the Loom (and how many of my classmates actually surfed??). The North Face parka made its début at Starbucks, for swilling Mocha Lattes on nippy mornings.

Now arguably designer fashions have been around for as long as fashion has, but my point is that many of these companies do not design many of the items that display their logo. But the certainly want it seen. Why not?? Children are a great marketing tool. They have a real “in your face” way of displaying their individuality. They are not clones. That kids Nike hoodie is blue, while that young girls Calvin Klein T-shirt is pink.

Wait, I said I wasn’t going to pick on fashion designers…but hold on…did Tommy Hilfiger really invent the T-shirt? And how many variations of blue denim trousers are really all that unique. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got logos on some of my clothing too. But when you do all of your shopping at Value Village, you can’t be too choosey. I also own a North Face duffel bag that I picked up at a street market in Bangkok. Looks real enough, and works just as well. I still believe in quality, and I have certain preferences. I love my Stanfeild wool sweaters. You can tell a “Stany” at twenty feet, but you have to look inside the garment to see the name. Quality footwear is a must, but no “swooshes” in my house. I have no need for $300 running shoes. I don’t run. Ever.

The part of this corporate marketing ploy that I can’t figure out is why now every garment manufacturer is now putting labels on the outside. I may be getting old, but I still know what’s cool, and the generic Wal-Mart and Zellers brands just aren’t, and never will be. This has not stopped them from advertising like they are. So nowadays, it’s getting really difficult to find clothes without labels on the outside (as a side note here, I have a bit of a sock fetish, the only clothing I buy new, and most of my socks now say things on them…my wool is “Smart” and my synthetics are “Therma-Maxxed”). It’s a bit crazy.

It is a world wide phenomenon too. This is, of course, because most of these shoes, T-shirts, and things, are manufactured in third world sweat shops by small children and old ladies. It is quite likely that the majority of people in the world just wear whatever is cheap, and lets face it, people surviving on a bowl of rice a day are not going to cough up thirty clams for a styling T-shirt. But as soon as a middle class develops: BAM!!! It’s all about the logos.

But Adidas has finally crossed into the newest frontier. Sponsoring the religious garments of our worlds holy people. Imagine the sales when the Pope addresses the crowd in a Tommy Hilfiger robe, and the market created by Nike prayer rugs. Gotta have that competitive edge when kneeling at the mosque. Wait….it will come to pass.

Cambodians Would Kick Ass on Fear Factor

Are you the sort of traveller who doesn't bother eating a hearty breakfast before jumping onto a bus or train, with the rather naive assumption that meals will work themselves out along the way? I am; and it has usually worked well for me. Some of the best, and certainly most authentic cultural culinary experiences have been gulped down in a dusty parking lot at the edge of a town that I'm just passing through.
Cambodia is not the best country to practice this philosophy. I only took two long distance bus rides in Cambodia, and at both meal stops I was confronted with some local delights that I could not bring myself to try.
The average Cambodian probably does not consume insects on a daily basis, but I assure you that these cockroaches are not out on display for tourist snapshots. I witnessed elderly ladies haggling for the juiciest roaches, and dismissing others as being of poor quality. What qualities one looks for in an insect snack are not known to me, and my grip on the Khmer language was too flimsy to inquire, but one observation I did make, was that not all of these critters are dead. Most are, but some still had a little bit of pep in them.

Cockroaches aside, Khmer cuisine is generally very good, not as exotic and tasty as Thai food, but they serve up some solid curries and assorted other yummies. But not where your bus stops. They ride between Phnom Penh and Siem Reap (near Angkor Wat) is pleasant journey, once you break free of the bustle and smog of the capital, but there aren't many places where buses stop, and after a few hours you do get quite peckish. About one-third of the way into the journey ( it’s about seven hours in total) the morning bus makes its first official stop (not just so the driver can take a leak) in the small Cambodian town of Skuon. Breakfast here (and in surrounding towns) is a leggy affair. Deep fried spiders. A delicacy enjoyed by young and old. Crunchy on the outside, and filled with what appears to be a creamy yellow goo. Yummy...not that I even got close enough to smell these things. They also sell whole pineapples for about $0.25US. Pineapples are tasty, and have yet to make it into any Fear Factor stunts.

These spiders are not feral, but are bred in holes, exclusively for the deep fried spider industry. There is a good explanation for how this food source developed. Under the Khmer Rouge regime, Cambodians were simply being starved to death, and unable to consume any of the food that they were producing, as it would negatively impact the production quotas set by the party. Protein is a requirement for survival, and it comes in many forms. Some sources walk on four legs, some crawl on eight. Why these spiders are still consumed is a bit of a mystery. Did the guys who survived that plane crash by eating their friends crave a bit of person every know and then after they where rescued? Put it down as a cultural difference.

So here we have a nation of people who survived a genocide, are confronted with landmines on a daily basis, and can gulp back bugs first thing in the morning. Evidently, fear is not a factor for the people of Cambodia

Larry Flint Would Love My Dog

Sooner or later you Blog about your dog.
But this is not a cutesy piece about my dog bringing me my slippers on cold mornings. I have no slippers, and my dog would certainly never anticipate my need for such things.
Rather, this is a bit of a deconstruction of the contemporary social views about pornography by a brief study of habits expressed in the canine kingdom.
If the above picture depicted a human female in a similar position, it would be regarded as degrading and exploitative. However when the girl in question has four legs and a shiny coat of fur, the mood changes. To what. I'm not sure, but my dog knows no shame and modesty is not in her vocabulary. This is best observed by the loud crotch licking at family dinner gatherings. Stern words of correction are met with puzzled expressions, lacking guilt or understanding. Human female solo crotch licking is generally limitted to contortionist fetish websites, so no meaningfull comparision can be made, save to say that this sort of display would be frowned upon in most parks and in the living rooms of most friends. Which brings us to the crotch snifing / nuzzeling of complete strangers. This could be a method for a human female to attract potential mates, but one should employ a certain amount of cautious reservation when rubbing ones head against the crotch of another at first meeting as the response to said activity could backfire. We will not even delve into the social greeting system of sniffing the bums of others.

Actually, I lied earlier. This is just a way to sneak a cutesy picture of my dog into my Blog. It also highlights most of my learning from the three years of sociology I took before I dropped out of university.