4th of July musings

I'm not a fan of July 4th and I'll tell you why. Barbecues, people, barbecues. I can't recall a smell more offensive than that of a rotting, raw corpse upon which someone has smothered a greasy, red sauce and intends to call dinner hours later. Living in a tiny shot-gun apartment doesn't make it any easier. Anticipating all my neighbors grilling meats, especially those using that chemical fire-starter, has me shuddering with rage already. My weekend, inevitably, is either spent gagging on the odor or shut inside my hot apartment with doors and windows sealed tightly as waves of rotting meat stench roll by my windows, seeping in cracks and making me miserable. If people can't smoke cigarettes inside, than maybe they shouldn't cook meat outside. I think, and this is a big one, that I'd rather smoke a cigarette then be exposed to toxic meat smell. Walking home every day, I can pin-point the restaurants that contribute the most carcinogens to the environment and I wonder if normal people have any idea how offensive this stuff really is!
Even though I'm escaping out of the city this year, I recall last summer, where the same thing happened at an open camp ground. We could hardly find anywhere to settle down to eat our delicious, raw vegan picnic due to the mass-hysteria of barbecuing on July 4th.
Some people say, aw suck it up. I say, next time someone lights a toxic can of ass under your window, you can suck it up, buster. Cheers, and happy fourth to those individuals who find a quiet, undisturbed, unscented spot upon which to eat their nature's bounty.

Wanna be startin' something

Today I stepped in a big, juicy wad of gum, sitting in the blazing hot sun on the sidewalk where I picked up a City Paper to use as padding for a package I was about to send. "Bleeping Bleep!" I yelled, angry, fuming for the next thirty minutes as I could feel my shoe stick ever-so-slightly to the sidewalk below. In line at the post-office I could faintly smell sweat mingled with peppermint chewing gum. "Bleep!"
When I stepped into the office my co-worker told me, "Farrah Fawcett is dead." Heartbroken, I mused, "I guess stepping in gum isn't so bad."
Later, at my other job, my friend was looking at a blog that said Michael Jackson was dead. No Way! I said, but sure enough he's gone too. Walking home I saw a candlelit vigil in Rittenhouse Park, and I was wondering if it was for Farrah, Neda, or Michael Jackson.
I still have that gum stuck to my shoe.

'Sup Republicans?

What is going on with Republicans and infidelity? That Senator in the gay bathroom incident, that Senator from Nevada last week and today that guy from South Carolina. Seriously there's a trend and I'm kind of enjoying the show...play on boys!

Shower Curtain On-Demand

Wow, I wish I had thought of this idea. Get your favorite photo on a shower curtain! Supposedly they are non-fade and machine washable. Better be for $200! Still, this is a great idea.

All about the 80's

I'm all about the 80's and 90's house music lately. Can't get enough. I'm not embarrassed about it either. Last night I downloaded Crystal Water's Gypsy Woman (She's Homeless) and cannot stop listening to it. Ce Ce Peniston, KLF and Black Box are making a comeback, and I am totally digging it.
Another very 80's thing I'm obsessed with is neon, so I was more-than pleased when I opened the new Victoria's Secret catalog and saw neon tank tops. I snagged one in day-glow yellow. They make dresses and tops too! Warning: don't wear if you are trying to lay low.
Also really into Roseanne re-runs.

One thing that isn't cool and please God don't let it catch on: Neon scrunchies from American Apparel. Not cool. Scrunchies were never cool. I want to say "Run for the Hills", but in the hills they are still wearing the original scrunchie. I fear this scrunchie implosion as much as Uggs.
Say no to the scrunchie!

backyard chicks

I came across this story on NPR today. Thought some of you urban urchins with a penchant for nature would find this interesting. My co-worker gets green eggs from his CSA and here's why.
I'm not gonna start eating eggs or anything, but man would I love to hug a chick. And I also wouldn't be opposed to raising chickens for eggs-for-profit, but I think my fire escape has enough going on right now without an added chicken coop.

When I was a little girl, we had a backyard chicken coop just like these newbies. Only my family did it to save money, and probably for the animals too. I had to clean the chicken coop every day as my chore, harvest the eggs and feed the birds. There's a fabulous photo of me, age 3, with a huge bird in my arms. (sigh). Nowadays, people are doing it more to avoid additives and ensure quality. I think it is awesome.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=104304441&ft=1&f=1001

caught me a possum

As if this week wasn't hectic enough! Over the last year, I've tried my hand at gardening, trying to exorcise my black-thumb for a green one and do my daddy proud. Lo and behold I was successful at a few herbs but mainly delicious red tomatoes. Only...I would eye a delicious orb that would be of the perfect ripeness and the following day, when I went to pluck the fruit, I'd discover that it had a gigantic bite out if it. Thus began my problems with Peter Possum. Not only did he eat my crops, he showed me his under-belly and his long rat tail by climbing up my window grate. Not a sight to see at midnight. At least once a week since the debacle began a year ago, have I seen him. He's not afraid to sit and stare, hiss and harass my cats and basically be an all-around nuisance.
I'm an animal lover, first and foremost and after calling around various Philly humane animal rescue and quoted a fat $375, I decided to take matters into my own hands. With my friendly neighbors support, (the whole neighborhood is involved at this point, which kind of makes me like Philly again), we've borrowed a humane trap.
Yesterday I baited the trap with a juicy juicy apple and today, he is there, inside the trap. Tonight, Peter, you will leave the city and enjoy a country life. City living has you far too comfortable and I need to grow my garden.

ADDENDUM: Releasing the possum was the biggest concern I had. I honestly didn't know how to let him out of the cage. Would he be viscous and bite me? After pocketing my identification and my insurance card, I brought him downstairs and into the trunk of the car, covered in a dark plastic the whole time. We took our time while driving, avoiding huge pot-holes and, once we arrived at our undisclosed location where I know for a fact opossums thrive, we shuttled him out to the woods. I in my gardening gloves and long-sleeves with a big stick, and J with nothing but bare hands. Eventually we rolled the trap on its upside and watched our possum, tentatively at first, hop away into the wild. Free at last.