Garden update: Zukelear threat

The garden is damp this morning; I won't have to water it today with the rain we are getting. But I'm not certain if it's a good thing. Look at how full everything has gotten over the last couple of weeks, tomatoes ready to burst out of the bed and beans looking in the garage window.

The next batch of radishes -- two separate plantings -- are already up and beginning to fill in the place where the previous crop had been pulled.

Oops, crabgrass in the bed...I guess I'd better weed again when the rain stops.

A sign of things to come: Hungarian peppers are already coming in, these about 6 inches long and nearly ready to pick. There are about a dozen of them in the pepper bed. My daughter is pleading to pick a lilac pepper, but I won't let her; it still has green shoulders.

And oops again, more crabgrass. More weeding.

But look here, the zukelear threat. The first tiny zucchini with its blossom attached, about an inch and a half long. There are more coming along, this one being the first salvo in the coming zucchini war.

I think I detect chocolate zucchini bread in the near future...

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Veep in deep

The Veep "accidentally" shoots a fellow hunter. From here on there is absolutely nothing good about this story. It stinks like curdled milk and three-day-old fish on a summer's day in Dallas. How do we even begin to count the ways in which this reeks? The 22-hour gap: WTF? There's absolutely no excuse for this, we can all agree on this point. But why? Was a key person in this story under the influence of a substance that would take a day to clear? Were they trying to get their stories straight? Heck, could they not come up with a story? Or was the victim not in the clear for that long? The "group" of hunters: Why did it take even longer than the 22-hour gap to identify the third hunter? Why is the media repeatedly using the word "group" to describe two people (Dick Cheney and Pamela Willemore)? The composition of the party: A divorcee ranch owner. An older man who does not appear to be married at this time. A woman sans spouse....

Tinkering in progress

Nuts. I tried to post a rather long piece yesterday, attempting to create an expandable post so that only a lead-in appears on the main blog and the body is expanded only on selection of a link. I'm tripping over the auto-formatting that Blogger inserts into posts; it insists on embedding a begin-font tag all over the place, but no closing font tag. It's driving me nuts! I guess I'll have to try using a post template so that the text on all posts is the same unless indicated otherwise, to try and override the default fonting. Bear with me; you might see what looks like an old post appear between here and the previous post. But enough about me -- how are you?

Meditations on B-School debris...

My body had just reached that state one notch above sleep last night; I was relaxed and warm under the comforter and my husband's arm, when my mind slapped me awake. Christ, they have completely abandoned everything we've been taught in business school. I bolted upright, startling my equally drowsy spouse, and began to scrabble for a pen and paper. I didn't want to blow this off as a dream. I scrawled a note in scant light, reminding myself that this was a nightmare and not a dream. Everything I've been taught they've thrown out the door. They, being this presidential administration. Everything, being the basics we are taught in our earliest days of business school. My mind must have continued to churn after last evening's Book Salon at FireDogLake; Crooked Timber's Henry Farrell and author Jacob Hacker dropped in to chat about Hacker's book, The Great Risk Shift . I've not yet read it, it's on my list (I'm afraid that I'm still b...

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