Brown Bazooka


Susan Boyle Artwork

I wish I could take the credit for this art, but I cannot.

"Susan Boyle" art, Susan Boyle in New York at Today Show

Susan Boyle with Cat

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Osage Oranges

I was out walking the dogs at the Battleground Park, stumbling around near old cabins from ages ago when I came across what looked like lime green brains in the grass. Upon further review and research I discovered what they were. (Okay, the Old Lady figured it out)

Osage Orange

Beyond OK and AK these trees are quite rare, I believe. And Osage Orange trees don’t get fruity unless they’re female and they’re 10 years old.

Osage Orange

The Osage Orange, they say, was planted as a natural barrier to protect properties from poaching.

Osage Orange

I have this cucumber air freshener in my car that’s powered by the cigarette lighter (I mean the power adapter) and it smells like this damn Osage Orange! It’s amazing. This crazy fruit has the skin of an old lizard, the guts of a coconut crossed with a kiwi, and the smell of a fanned, freshly-sliced cucumber in the hands of a beach-tanning Seth MacFarlane.

Osage Orange

Native American warriors incorporated the Osage Oranges into their war clubs. These things are bad ass. When I was walking the dogs I feared gravity yanking one down onto the head of my little miniature dachshund. She would have been crushed by these lizard-skinned, lime green demon fruits. The Osage Orange is an awesome tree with skinny leaves that get yellow in autumn. You can also call them hedge apples, if you’re a pussy.



Dogs, Tennis Balls, Wood Chips, Violins?

“Damnit! Every time I come here I step in dog shit…is that a violin I hear?”

And just like that the dog shit is forgotten thanks to the Violin Man sitting on one of the Bark Park’s concrete benches. Country Park just off of Lawndale on the north side of Greensboro is home to the Bark Park – a group of three adjacent dog parks where dogs and owners sniff each other and babble endlessly about the cute things their dogs do.

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Ruby barks at the Bark Park's Violin Man

I’d say about fifty percent of the time when I’m at the Bark Park, the Violin Man is there jamming out with his dog named Dallas. At least I think that’s his dog. Dallas is either his dog or he’s there so often he knows all the names of the regulars. He’s pretty good, too and depending on the whether his music fits right in. Sometimes, though, I get the feeling he’s kind-of showing off and it seems a little weird. I mean, isn’t there something a little bit different about a person that plays an instrument out in public, just for the sake of playing it?

The Bark Park is a great place, though I hate the name. You get the occasional dog scrap and the mindless owner that doesn’t pay attention to their dog. Of course, even though trash bins and little trash bags are readily available, there’s an 80 percent chance you’re going to step in dog shit if you walk around at all.

dog park ruby

Ruby leaps a log at the Bark Park in Greensboro

The place is maintained very nicely and there are plenty of places to take a seat. If you’re like me then you’re going to take advantage of the walking paths to avoid the weird people that linger around and wait for you to ask them about their stupid dog. There’s no denying the Bark Park at the Country Park off Lawndale in Greensboro is one of the best places in the area if you’re a dog owner.



The Worst Way to Die?
October 29, 2009, 8:54 pm
Filed under: Nature, Women | Tags: , , ,

Taylor Mitchell, a young and promising Canadian folk artist, was attacked this week by a skinny of coyotes during a hike she took alone in the Nova Scotia wilderness. I’ve never heard of her, but she was currently being nominated for Young Performer of the Year by the Canadian Folk Music Awards.

She died in the hospital following a 12 hour struggle. There can’t be too many ways to die that would be worse than a slow death following a Canadian coyote attack.

From what I know (which isn’t much) coyotes are skittish animals. In fact, they frequented my yard when I was growing up. A skinny of them occasionally wandered my yard. Late at night you could hear them cooing from the open field of the airport, waiting for the next deer carcass.

Coyotes are jerks and that’s all there is to it.