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Day of the Lawn Lepus

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  The icy stare of cold indifference …Photo by  Wei Fukuyama  on  Unsplash   Thursday is a lawn mowing day around these parts. It’s the day before trash pickup, and I wanted to get the fresh cut grass taken care of, so that I won’t have to smell hot clippings in the can all week. The sun was out amid patchy clouds and a cool breeze is ruffling the palm leaves. That morning was perfect for landscaping. It felt like a scene from a Hollywood production about the best attributes of owning a lawnmower . That’s when it happened. I was just getting the weed wacker battery out of the charger; it was now up to full power and awaiting the assault on the wild and unruly grass. Trimming the yard was the first step. Once I finished trimming the yard, I got the abdominal punishing push mower out of the garage to finish the job. It meticulously caps off the blades, resulting in an even trim that appears good until I get in the pool and look at it from ground level. Then I see all the spots I’ve misse
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Tim McCarver: Baseball Savant

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  He’d call it before you saw it Tim McCarver was a baseball savant. Whether you liked the way he called a game, or didn’t, he knew his shit. There was no better proof than what happened during the 2001 World Series. McCarver’s analysis when he described what might happen actually did seconds later. Tim McCarver was a baseball lifer. He had seen everything that could happen on a diamond. McCarver was the catcher on the Stl Cardinals when Bob Gibson had his best years. Gibson arguably had the best season a pitcher could have in 1967. 22 wins and a 1.12 ERA with 268 strikeouts. He won the NL Cy Young award for best pitcher and the NL MVP. Pitchers rarely win both. Tim McCarver was his personal catcher, calling all the pitches. McCarver caught Gibson’s Game One start of the 1968 World Series when Bullet Bob struck out 17 on the way to a victory. McCarver had a way with pitchers that had a mean streak. Gibson was as mercurial as a bad tempered thoroughbred horse. He also knew Steve Carlton
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Vacuum Accumulation

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  HOW TO BEST MANEUVER A HOOVER When a clean room looms When it comes right down to it, the instrument of debris consumption has never improved. Oh sure, a cyclone of suction that draws the material particulates into a canister has replaced the bags of yore. No longer does the operator of the machine for floor-sweeping have to deal with the potential of explosive dusty mayhem when removing the itchy eyeball producing pouch of corralled crud. A plume of various wastrel detritus would erupt into the face of the vacuum user and the surrounding local areas. The effect would render the face of the bag extractor to be covered in airborne sandy lint. Previously pleasant facial features were now reduced to scowling, frowning, and evermore increasing creases. It might even elicit a cough or sneeze or two. It was with this in mind that I began thinking of the one time, the tale of a supernatural traveling Hoover sales agent. A legend that was born amongst the smoking area cognoscenti elite of my
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