Blogland of Milk and Honey

There are days when coming up with something to blog about is as difficult as pulling teeth. Four of them, large ones, very painful, face-distortingly difficult. (I love when cliches finally have personal anecdotes to back up their truthiness.)

There are days when blog topics drip off my fingers. Today is one of those days. So here goes.
Disclaimer: lots of things to post about does not equal interesting post. Probably the opposite, in fact.

1. The hostile takeover of The Shrubbery (my abode) by hostile ants.
We've always had ants, and when I was a child by age, I thought we were the only ones who had ants and it was very embarrassing. Anyone who knows me well knows that I have a BIG problem with FECUNDITY. The size of the problem should match the size of the subject of the problem, n'est-ce pas? And fecundity is big. Lest you think I'm a snob, I did not discover this word on my own--I got it from Annie Dillard, who has a whole chapter on it in her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.

Fecundity:
1. the quality of being fecund; capacity, esp. in female animals, of producing young in great numbers.
2. fruitfulness or fertility, as of the earth.
3. the capacity of abundant production

In other words, fecundity means there are more of them than there are of us. Way more. Remember the movies ANTZ and A Bug's Life? Sweet little children's tales whose poignancy was masked by animation.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I took my first action against the ants and gathered many on a napkin which I burned in the sink. (Don't tell Marv.) I didn't know what else to do with it! Today, I opened the dishwasher to unload/load etc and found a swarm of ants on the inside. yuckyuckyuckyuckyuck. I drowned them all with an easy push of a button. Brutal? Yes. But as my dad would say, it's their own dumb fault. Let that be a lesson to ants: never convene inside a dishwasher.

2. The Mason Jennings concert and the Categorical Imperative

At this point in the post, I'm getting tired of writing (an attention span that doesn't bode well for a wannabe writer) so a picture is apropos. Plus, the consensus of my group at the concert was that Mason is one attractive man. I'm wary of musicians though--I've fallen in love with a geriatric concert pianist in one short prelude. The music starts, the genius emerges, and I lose my mind.
I digress. The question is: when do you act politely, and when do you fight, dropping elbows, for the best seat in the house?

3. The social importance of having a T.V. show to follow.
I must stop here. Perhaps I will come back to this. So much for milk and honey.