Took a photo-stroll through the Houston Arboretum and found the pond by the Woodway parking lot abuzz with critters. July 19, 2021.
(All IDs subject to scrutiny but I’m not saying it unless I believe it.)
In the first place, I did not know that cormorants hunt in packs.
At Brays Bayou in Houston, TX this morning I witnessed a flock of maybe 40 in an absolute feeding frenzy, working their way downstream in a tight grouping and spreading terror, no doubt, throughout the fish community below. I captured some surface turmoil at one point and later discovered this huge fish had burst into the air to the amazement of everyone, including the cormorants.
Anyway, I had no idea there were fish this big in the local bayous. What do I know? Next to nothing, apparently.
[Lady Bracknell and Algernon have just exited into the music room.] JACK Don't worry Miss Fairfax, nothing will come of all this. In my experience nothing ever comes of anything. GWENDOLEN Pray don't talk to me about nonexistence, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about nothing, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. JACK I do mean something else. GWENDOLEN I thought so. JACK Nothing is or is not, but that thinking determines the matter. GWENDOLEN Lady Bracknell has a way of coming suddenly back into rooms, and thinking has never made it not so. JACK I should get to the point then. There's something I desperately need to discuss with you. GWENDOLEN Critical Race Theory? JACK Um… no. I am in love with you Miss Fairfax. GWENDOLEN Romantically? JACK Madly. I know that's terribly conventional but it feels utterly unique somehow. GWENDOLEN Are you sure it isn't existential angst? JACK It's hard to tell the difference sometimes, isn't it? GWENDOLEN Oh, very, Mr. Worthing. Very. JACK I fell in angst once. This is different. GWENDOLEN Oh, I'm sure it's nothing, Mr. Worthing. JACK I'm sure that it's not, but you asked me not to talk about nothing. GWENDOLEN So long as you don't mean something else. JACK Marry me, Miss Fairfax. Before you change your mind. Or I mine. GWENDOLEN I've never believed that one should marry for angst. JACK Well, then do it in haste. Does this village have a vicar? GWENDOLEN Not any more. Now we have a meteorologist. JACK Does he preside at weddings? GWENDOLEN He talks about the weather. Is it true what they say? JACK You would have to wait until they say it. In my experience, the voracity of statements not yet made is exceedingly difficult to ascertain. GWENDOLEN They say that love is forever. JACK Oh, that. No, I think they mean existential angst. GWENDOLEN It's hard to tell the difference sometimes. JACK Sometimes I feel it's just a thought. Other times I think it's just a feeling. GWENDOLEN Maybe we should just talk about the weather. JACK When people talk about the weather, they usually mean something else. It makes me quite nervous. GWENDOLEN It's all weather, Mr. Worthing. Everything is exactly like the weather. JACK I was afraid this all would come to nothing, Miss Fairfax. And now it actually has. GWENDOLEN It's a wonder anything happens at all, Mr. Worthing. [Lady Bracknell fails to come suddenly back into the room. Awkward silence.] —
With all respect to Mr. Oscar Wilde.
8×10″ pencil on paper. Based on this.
A Social Researcher named Fender Mixed HE, SHE, and IT in a blender But the sample got out And it spread all about Now we all get to pick a new gender
* For the record, please refer to me as He, Him, or “Hey You!”
Back in my days at the used bookstore, we once acquired an estate which included a significant library of Boswell & Johnson related material. While these items did not sell well, we did dedicate an entire shelf section to them for the shear prestige of it.
Here’s a bit I recall reading in one of the books, an exchange between the two recorded by Boswell, I believe. This is retrieved from an unreliable memory, keep in mind. I could not find a reference to it with an internet search.
Johnson, in teasing, asks Boswell about the Scott’s habit of consuming oats. “In England,” he says, “we feed oats to our horses.” To this Boswell replies, “well, that’s why England has such great horses, and Scotland has such great men.”
Anyway, this came to mind after reading Catherine Meyrick’s book review of a novel that casts these two as mystery solving sleuths. Seems like a fun read.
Native to South America, the Black Velvet Leatherleaf Slug is by far the most stylish of mollusks. In appearance it is unlike any of our native slugs and is being monitored as an invasive species by the scientists who concern themselves with that sort of thing. It is clearly the Batman-villain of lawn sod and forest leaf mat. Sightings have been recorded in all the US gulf coast states since 2005, when it was first spotted in Florida. This one crossed my path at a nearby park here in Houston, Texas.
When the plastics reach the apex of second half-life they will lose all mass and become weightless misshapen orbs of light, floating up out of the depths of the oceans to disperse and litter the skies, eventually forming a vast blanket around the planet and reflecting the sun’s energy back into space. By this time humans will have devolved into tadpoles incapable of abstraction and the petrochemical winter will blot out most of the higher life forms.
Somewhere, in a self-sustaining cryogenic chamber, one man will survive to fight back against the coming end of civilization. That man will be played by Vin Diesel. No, no. Nicolas Cage.