Bee bar

The "Bee Bar" has become a popular drinking spot in Vidalia, Louisiana.

Now that they're coming, I've watered down the liquor.

Watering bees

It is so dry here, I've put out a dish for the bees to keep them off the faucet, so I can water plants.

When I put the dish of water down yesterday, they didn't approach it. I added a teaspoon of nectar mix for hummingbirds. They seem to like that better.

Add "watering bees" to "composing ditties for birds" on my list of unexpected adult tasks.

There's a thread at firedoglake, a progressive-liberal site, concerning a speech by Barack Obama.

The comments turn into a pretty good, civilized discussion of the issues raised by the post.

(Thanks, Mr. Reynolds.)

Now that's rich.

Possum

Honey, you're not a squirrel.

Frothing at the Mouse has taken up new, elegant digs at WordPress.

Here's the gist:

We read and pay attention. Kos has built up a ocean of trust that you can only envy.

But that's the whole point of this, isn't it? You and your ilk are envious, bitter and desperate.

Well, I've got some advice for you: go back to whatever cave you crawled out of and teach yourself something about honesty. Because that's where trust begins.

This might be the first time I've gone to Kos' site.

But I was alive and watching during dot.coms. I watched Ameritrade companies go up and down and could watch people take money. Being a "poor 30-some-odd year old graduate student" is no excuse for bilking people of their money. Even if Kos had a sleazy partner for a while doesn't make him sleazy, too, mind. But that's not substantiated because apparently Jerome Armstrong is still negotiating with the SEC or some such. Never mind.

But I do hate those little sissy fists of fury raised while telling people:

If you still hold a subscription to that magazine, it really is time to call it quits. If you see it in a magazine rack, you might as well move it behind the National Review or even NewsMax, since that's who they want to be associated with these days.

Or:

Sad, perhaps. But this is apparently the price one pays for crashing the gate. (Plug for book there.)

In honor of Father's Day, here is a picture of my father. He was a Democrat until the day he died at 78, 1990, July 5.

UPDATE: Here is a clear description of the whole kerfuffle, with some thoughts to the future of blogs.

UPDATE II: Capitalist running dog right-wing neo-con conspiring owner of The New Republic weighs in. (Thank you, Dr. Reynolds.)

James Joyner is following the Kos-New Republic controversy. It is escalating.

I've said before that I love a good blog brawl, especially when I have no dog in the fight.

Tonight I might pop the top of a Milwaukee's Best, spread some Braunschweiger on rye toast, and settle in to read the 300+ comments at Kos' post.

Or I might go see some hogs instead. ("Thousands" is something of an overstatement. Still plenty to see.)

UPDATE: 400+

UPDATE: 500 at 6:27 p.m.

We have a little vocabulary problem.

Since Charlie calls himself "Sweet Birdie Boy," I thought it would be nice to have a comparable name for Lucy. I came up with "Girly-Bird."

Try that. Isn't it fun to say?

Now Charlie wants to call himself "Girly-Bird."

Sweet kisses for you.

Oh. You mean me?

We had a charming young woman from Baton Rouge come to stay this weekend for fun and relaxation.

Saturday night we had my brother, Lyman's son and the young lady to a dinner of boiled shrimp, baked onions, blanched Italian flat beans, stewed potatoes with garlic chives, mushrooms in Madeira sauce, and grilled T-bone steaks. (T-bones on sale this week for $4.99 a pound).

Sunday was quiet.

Yesterday we cooked fried fish, fried okra, fried potatoes, and fresh cucumbers in vinegar for Lyman's father and mother. He was out of pocket on Sunday, at a bank affair in Jena.

Fried catfish is a favorite meal for both Lyman's parents.

For dessert, I baked a huge deep-dish blackberry pie using a recipe from The Evolution of Cajun & Creole Cuisine. There was a problem, possibly using frozen berries, so the thing turned out runny but delicious. It should still keep them happy for a few days.

Big Daddy doesn't care for cake. It was his birthday pie. He turned 87 on May 30.

Next month those two will celebrate their 65th anniversary.

Happy day, you dads out there!

We have a dense cloud cover with moisture moving north from the Gulf.

We've received a cool .06 inch of rain so far.

Charlie now talks about and gives "sweet kisses."

For readers following Chris at the Big Yellow House, it's time to update your bookmarks. She is now blogging at notes from the trenches.

The world can be a sweet place.

I have a mental block this morning.

I received news this week that my nephew and his wife in Washington state have added a brand-new strapping (8 lb. 13 oz.) girl to the family. A first grandchild to that brother.

So I've been tallying up the great-nieces and -nephews, finding that the ratio of girls to boys is being corrected in that generation. Girls 4, boys 3.

But I can't think of one nephew's name for the life of me.

More coffee.

UPDATE: This is pitiful. Looking at the alphabet doesn't even help. And I like the man.
All right. I found it on a list of baby names -- Chad.

Poor kid. I wonder how many others have blocked his name since 2000.

Lucy has completed her second 28-day cycle of sitting eggs.

On the 28th day, June 12, Charlie broke the natural egg after leaving it alone for nearly a month. Perhaps he can count, too.

So we've taken out the dummy, and Lucy is back to some semblance of normalcy.

Now what?

Wretched, beastly, no-count fire ants!

They weren't there yesterday.

Can anyone, anywhere, name one good biological consequence of their existence?

Well, rats.

It is dry, dry here. Enough to hurt the crops, and to bring honeybees lingering around our water sources outdoors. These bees seem congenial enough. I walked through them to turn on a faucet just yesterday.

Today they're buzzing around a shallow puddle on the patio.

I was stung the other day working around one of the raised beds. I happened to put my hand atop one that had settled on the wall. It stung right at the base of my pinkie. I am not allergic to bee venom, so have suffered just a little discomfort.

But they do die after stinging, and that leaves us one less bee.

Here is a fun little video of Willow, an Amazon, I think, doing her tricks. Watch your volume on this one. It's loud.

Ooh-la-la.

OK, Francesca, here you are. Nearly two minutes of Charlie fawning over himself.



And yes, I need to do some housekeeping.

Don't you like that one little reference to Lucy? That's her voice in the background.

UPDATE: Two minutes (or 1:51) is too long. I'd prefer to keep these things to a minute or less. Even I lose interest. But I had what I had.

Charlie went on in a similar vein from 7:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. yesterday. He's quiet today. I'm surprised he isn't hoarse.

By the good graces of Dr. James Joyner and Brett Marston, I verified that this site might be a decent source for a brief history of Abu Musab al-Zarkawi.

I haven't read a coherent one before.

Gulf crab

This Gulf crab is worth wrestling for the meat.

I like to keep the drama down. I grew up in a tempestuous time, and I've had more in the past five years, and I'd just as soon everyone take a deep breath and settle down.

But I do like a little.

Lyman planted asparagus roots in the central raised bed. The sprouts are stocky when they just come up, then turn into slender ferny plants.

When they begin to break ground, they raise a hump. I'm now counting humps.

I am outdoors today battling chamberbitter.

I think I'll call it the alternative, "gripeweed."

It's pleasant in the shade this afternoon, not too hot, with a soft breeze.

Good grief. Don't you, too, need one of these in your kitchen?

Check that price.