My new favorite scientific term: Rings of Repugnance. These are the tall rings of grass that circle cow patties in the pasture. Cows won’t eat that close to their dung, so the grass grows taller. There is a variety of fungus (“Coprophilous” – “dung loving”) that lives in dung piles. To thrive, spores from these fungii must get eaten by an animal in order to get redeposited in a fresh dung pile. But, due to the Ring of Repugnance, they have a hard time finding a way in the animal. The solution? The spores have developed little propulsion systems that launch them outside the Ring of Repugnance. For more information, see Be It Ever So Humble, There’s No Place Like Dung from the Carolina Biological Supply Company. Incidentally, most “magic mushrooms” are coprophilous. You might want to wash them before you snack.

My kitten and I have a lion / lion-tamer relationship. Only in reverse. When I yawn, she sticks her head in my mouth. I don’t think I need to say how disconcerting that is.

An excercise in remembering the early years
When I was very young, my family had one of those old-fashioned washing machines, with the open drum and the mechanical wringer. We kept it in the bathroom, which was a step down from the rest of the house. The bathroom was pretty large, and was always cooler than the rest of the house. There was a tub in the center, the toilet, a shower in the corner, and the washing machine. Sometimes we’d store cases of soda that dad brought home from “The Pop Shop”, grape and strawberry and orange and other hard to find sodas. I don’t recall a dryer, so I guess we hung the clothes out on the line. I knew the masher was old, and was facinated by all the moving parts. My mother impressed upon me the knowledge that the wringer was very dangerous. I pictured my whole arm getting sucked in and squished flat, so I was always afraid of it. One day, the machine broke and could not get repaired, so we started going in to town to use the laundromat. There were two I remember going to. One was next door to my father’s service station (an Amoco he got caught owning during the ’70s oil embargo). [Side story: Once while my mom was laundry there, I got into talking with a stranger. I wasn’t supposed to do that, of course, but the man was pretty nice. He ended up buying me a candy or soda or something, and that got me into trouble. I had to sit by myself and wait for the laundry to finish. Later (that day? I don’t recall), we went to a fair. The fair had a pony ride, the type where the ponies are tied to a wheel and they walk around in circles all day. The man running the pony ride was the one I’d met at the laundromat. I thought that was significant at the time.] The other was in a space-age kind of building and had an old-time red fire engine parked in the playground. Kids could climb all over the truck while their parents were inside washing clothes. Near this laundromat was an Arthur Treacher’s Fish & Chips. (I’d thought the chain went out of business, but I see they’re still alive and kicking.) I don’t think we ate there but a few times, but it was a treat when we did. I absolutely loved the battered crispy fish, so long as it was drowning in malt vinegar. What’s the point of all this? I still love fast food fish, drowning in malt vinegar. Every so often, I stop in Captain D’s or Long John Silver’s, and as I eat, I think back to when I was very, very young.

I’ve joined the team over at eat, link and be merry. It’s a weblog all about food. And as regulars around here know, I’m all about that.

I don’t have a good knife in my kitchen. As much cooking as I do, as often as I use knives, it’s a shame I haven’t bought myself a decent knife. By all accounts, this is the knife for me. And, as far as really good knives go, it’s mighty cheap.

If you live near Kent, Washington, please support the Whistling Train Farm. It makes me very happy to find places like this. I wish there were one near Athens. I wish I could start one near Athens.

“Don’t make Heaven mad, boy, don’t make Heaven mad!” So begins Don’t Make Heaven Mad , one of many songs written by John Lennon and channeled through Linda J. Polley. Frankly, I think it’s some of his weaker material, but maybe it’s just the way Mrs Polley sings. Oh yes, there’s wav files.

“You can eat if you want to; that’s your prerogative… I used to play that game… I know what it’s like… But I’m just not interested in it any more… " Breatharianism: the secret you’ve been looking for.

A temple at least 1000 years old has been found beneath the waters of Lake Titicaca, the favorite proper noun of seventh grade boys everywhere.

R.I.P. Deepleap. We hardly knew ye.