![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Unless it's pouring down with rain
Aug. 3rd, 2006 11:59 pm
High today, here: 22. Dewpoint then: 21. High dewpoint: 21.
High today in TO: 23. Dewpoint then: 22. High dewpoint: 22.
Low today on the balcony: 19.9. High: 24. Currently: 19.9.
High yesterday, here: 32. Dewpoint then: 25. High dewpoint: 25.
High yesterday in TO: 33. Dewpoint then: 24. High dewpoint: 25.
While it is cooler in here, it also smells very much of WD40. I don't know why this is. I'm not sure it's a good trade.
I learned today that the word "coriander" comes form the Greek word for "bedbug". Because, supposedly, it smells like crushed bedbugs. (The Wikipedia article on coriander notes that most people today don't know what crushed bedbugs smell like, due to the prevalence of pesticides.)
I also learned today, and I'm amazed I've never heard this before, but this is the kind of thing you pick up listening to sports radio all afternoon, that Roy Halladay, in 2000, had the highest ERA of any pitcher in major league history with more than 40 innings pitched in a season. And here's something I just learned now, which I'm amazed I've never heard before: despite the fact that he missed the entire second half of the season, Roy Halladay led the American League in complete games last year. Finally: Roy Halladay's first name is actually Harry. His middle name is Leroy. How about that.
The dog likes to eat dirt. It also likes to eat sticks. It would like to eat the concrete back step, but, after giving it a shot for a few minutes, determined that it's not quite that powerful yet. Someday.
It also likes to eat my flowers. Tomorrow, possibly, I'll have enough going on that I won't need to talk about Hezbollah and Israel, but: the dog, in my garden, my poor already-beleaguered, bedraggled garden, my plot of virtual desert by some actual cedar trees, where no one in their right minds would want to plant a garden (but was it ever flowing with milk and honey?), the dog, trampling and digging up and eating my garden, largely because it knows that this is the one thing in the world I don't want it to do, so that the garden is the one place that it won't let me drag it out of: what am I supposed to do about this dog eating my garden? There's not a damn good thing I can do about this dog eating my garden. I viscerally desire to kick it in the head. But that won't do any good; nothing will do any good--it's not my dog; I can't do anything about this dog that will stop it from eating my garden. It's not even my garden, really, this garden I've planted on someone else's land. So, that's just the end of my garden.
High today in TO: 23. Dewpoint then: 22. High dewpoint: 22.
Low today on the balcony: 19.9. High: 24. Currently: 19.9.
High yesterday, here: 32. Dewpoint then: 25. High dewpoint: 25.
High yesterday in TO: 33. Dewpoint then: 24. High dewpoint: 25.
While it is cooler in here, it also smells very much of WD40. I don't know why this is. I'm not sure it's a good trade.
I learned today that the word "coriander" comes form the Greek word for "bedbug". Because, supposedly, it smells like crushed bedbugs. (The Wikipedia article on coriander notes that most people today don't know what crushed bedbugs smell like, due to the prevalence of pesticides.)
I also learned today, and I'm amazed I've never heard this before, but this is the kind of thing you pick up listening to sports radio all afternoon, that Roy Halladay, in 2000, had the highest ERA of any pitcher in major league history with more than 40 innings pitched in a season. And here's something I just learned now, which I'm amazed I've never heard before: despite the fact that he missed the entire second half of the season, Roy Halladay led the American League in complete games last year. Finally: Roy Halladay's first name is actually Harry. His middle name is Leroy. How about that.
The dog likes to eat dirt. It also likes to eat sticks. It would like to eat the concrete back step, but, after giving it a shot for a few minutes, determined that it's not quite that powerful yet. Someday.
It also likes to eat my flowers. Tomorrow, possibly, I'll have enough going on that I won't need to talk about Hezbollah and Israel, but: the dog, in my garden, my poor already-beleaguered, bedraggled garden, my plot of virtual desert by some actual cedar trees, where no one in their right minds would want to plant a garden (but was it ever flowing with milk and honey?), the dog, trampling and digging up and eating my garden, largely because it knows that this is the one thing in the world I don't want it to do, so that the garden is the one place that it won't let me drag it out of: what am I supposed to do about this dog eating my garden? There's not a damn good thing I can do about this dog eating my garden. I viscerally desire to kick it in the head. But that won't do any good; nothing will do any good--it's not my dog; I can't do anything about this dog that will stop it from eating my garden. It's not even my garden, really, this garden I've planted on someone else's land. So, that's just the end of my garden.
