- Absolute Surefire Steps to Kill Your Venus Flytrap
- Cat Monday
- Dumb Ideas
- Hard Science
- Have A Great Weekend
- I'm living in my own private Tanelorn
- Personal Interlude
- Social Media
- Swimming in Strange Waters
- Tales From The Ranch
- Things to Do in Dallas When You're Dead
- Thursday is Resource Day
- Travels Abroad
Daily Archives: May 13, 2011
In the tradition of acquaintance and force of nature Jack Bogdanski, have a good weekend. (For me, it’ll be the first free weekend in well over a month.)
Every six months or so, I look for a more effective tree-rat repellent. Traps haven’t worked, and most of the recommended repellents have no effect at all. In fact, I think they’re gargling the mothballs everyone has suggested for their aggravation. I suspect that it’s time for more determined measures, so I’ve looked into statuary. Aside from the obvious selection, which the Czarina will not stand for, it may be time for custom work. After all, what says “bog garden” like a custom fiberglass Cthulhu emerging from the muck?
The Czarina is quite fond of quoting a book by Eric Hansen called Orchid Fever. In it, Hansen describes an orchid enthusiast in Spitzbergen, above the Arctic Circle, who keeps his collection in a well-heated greenhouse during the summer and moves them to a space in the laundry room for the winter. His wife refers to the orchids as “his green harlots,” so the Czarina sympathizes whenever she looks inside the greenhouse.
Personally, I don’t see what the problem is. I mean, I could be like a lot of other husbands. I could insist upon dragging her out into the cold on Sunday mornings in December to watch Dallas Cowboys games. I could pull the bedcovers over her head and then pass gas. I could plan a roadtrip and charge the 300-pound Samoan attorney to her credit card. (I’ll do that with the crocodile monitor, but only when she’s out of town. Once she looks into its beady yellow eyes, she won’t want to send it back, especially if it’s already gotten used to its lizard bed by then.) I just have a rather disturbing addiction to plants that eat flesh, and it’s not like I’m raising opium poppies or making breast milk cheese.
That said, I made the plunge. I have a Nepenthes hamata from Sarracenia Northwest on its way. Where is your God NOW, er, I mean, what can it hurt?