Citation needed...

In the interest of full disclosure, and in case I ever elect to return to academia, I must dutifully report that I did not coin the term "Cankle". Though it might have been invented by others still, my usage of the term derives from a series of discussions with Melissa and Stef regarding the adsurd size and color of my post-Havasupai ankle. I hope we can all move on from this small incident of blogish plagariasm towards the greater good.

Save me from my garden!

I have visions of tomato plants engulfing me in my sleep. Its terrifying. I only planted 6. Three grape tomato plants and three regular tomato plants. They're huge! And they're totally harassing the yellow peppers. They've pulled their cages right out of the ground like Frankensteinian monsters that have finally broken their restraints and are now going to rampage through my neat furrows of peppers, herbs, and carrots.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the garden, the squash is threatening both the corn and the zucchini. If this were World War Two, the squash would be Nazi Germany, slowing gathering strength and encroaching on adjacent countries until it decides to launch it's blitzkrieg attack on the neighboring plants. This morning I launched a counteroffensive with my pruners. Damn it, I'm not letting the squash take Czechoslovakia or Poland!

Flight of the Conchords...

Want to waste 30 minutes of your workday? Then check this out: it's a couple of guys from New Zealand that have a musical comedy act. It's somewhat like Tenacious D, but funnier and much more musically impressive. Anyway, this is a 30 minute sketch. They also apparently have a show on HBO, which it probably just as hilarious.

The Hierarchy of Towels

My roommate gave me the evil eye the other day for drying my hands with the dishtowel. I didn't know we had dishtowels and was also unaware they were different from the hand towels. Apparently neither are appropriate for wiping off the counter. I wish someone had explained this to me earlier -- In my simple mind, I had basically lumped all towels into two categories -- bath towels and kitchen towels. I figured their differing sizes and softness were merely functions of how large a thing you needed to dry and how much chaffing you were willing to endure. My mom probably tried to explain the difference to me ages ago, but somewhere between calculus and the lines from Top Gun, I forgot.

So, in lieu of the proper towels, I basically had an informal hierarchy of towels that related to their perceived cleanliness. The cleanest towels were hand towels, and in a pinch, they could be used as dish towels. Eventually the hand towel became a bona fide dish towel, which eventually morphed into a counter wiping towel, and finally, a sink and floor wiping towel -- after which they would be washed and the cycle began again.

In case you're wondering, men have a similar hierarchy for clothes. The cleanest clothes are for church, funerals, and other formal events, next is work meetings, followed closely by dates and then down to Saturday attire. Yes, it's said but true. Don't believe me? I cite Ghostbusters as corroborating evidence:

Peter Venkman: "Did you happen to see some shirts on the floor in here?"

Dana: "I put them in your hamper. I thought they were dirty."

Peter <shakes head>: "I have a hamper? I have more than two grades of laundry. There are lots of subtle levels between clean and dirty. <Lifts shirt out of hamper and smells it.> See, this isn't so bad, just hang it out the window and it'll be fine."

Cankles?

I have a cankle (calf + ankle = cankle). It happened about 1000 yards from the campground at Havasupai. I was 10 miles into a 10.5 mile hike through a canyon on the southern rim of the Grand Canyon with 40 pounds of camping gear on my back, when I took one wrong step and rolled my left ankle. The irony is dizzying. Sometimes I think my cankle is mocking me.



Once your laughter has subsided, check out my album of Havasupai photos. Even considering the cankle, it was one of the most amazing places I have ever been.