Finally, fruit.

A few weeks ago, I couldn't stand it anymore. My plants were covered with green tomatoes and I was sure they would never ripen. So I plucked a giant green one and brought it in. I waited patiently, and not so patiently, as it stayed green for weeks. I guess they don't like to be watched, because as soon as I forgot about it, BAM! It was red. Turns out it ripened at the same pace as those on the vine (but less tasty). Now, well into September, I finally have my first harvest. And boy, oh boy, are they delicious. I will likely explode from over-consumption of BLTs.

Want to know what variety they are? Join the club. Chaos ensued between last frost and first harvest. I've transplanted the plants countless times and even moved my entire garden once. In the end, my army of seedlings dwindled to 6 hearty producers. So, what I'm saying is, the best I can offer is an educated guess. I've decided the big guy is a Jeff Davis, the pumpkin looking fellas are Verna Orange and the smallish ones are Cuban Blacks. Just don't hold me to it.

Fall gardens. Really?

One side effect of cube dwelling is that I have lots of in-between-work times to indulge my internet obsessions. Like adding new shades of mascara to my perpetual shopping cart over at Lucky Vitamin or learning 30 ways to build a DIY pizza oven (which is seemingly the topic du jour on every blog I read). The result is that I know A LOT of things. Random things. I know that there are Brilliant Blue mice in a lab somewhere and that a weathered Frenchman has miraculously survived months of solo night fishing. Somehow, the only things that ever elicit my complete and total surprise are ... who'dve guessed — gardening blogs. I've found myself staring, mouth gaping, at a recent inundation of blog feeds headlined "Time to start your fall garden". Seriously? I can barely manage my summer one. Some time in July it rained and my cute tomato seedlings morphed into these barely manageable monster vines (along with everything else in the yard). I mean, it's like the Island of Dr. Moreau out there. Last Saturday when I was using all but one foot to tie off limbs to anything that would bear them, sweat running into my eyes, covered in mosquitoes, I couldn't help but think about people starting FALL gardens. Who ARE you people? You're super-human.

Newton Schmewton

It's official. I'm a genius. And it's not just me saying it this time, it's science. See for yourself.

Tomatoland

I do not have a green thumb. I do not have a brown thumb. Can I have no thumb? The thumb of death. Sometimes I feel as if plants at the grocers shy away when they feel me looking at them. I understand. My track record with plants is a bad one. I’m the grim reaper of the plant aisle. I might as well pull out my sickle and mow them down on the spot. It’s because of this affliction that I had to stop importing plants to Cubeville. Though I yearn for greenery during my long, grey, polyester-filled days, my often neglected plants seemed to be a source of excruciating agony for green-thumbed, good Samaritan colleagues.

Knowing all of this, I still somehow managed to become obsessed with the idea of planting a small veggie garden this year. As if it’s not enough to challenge myself with the garden, I decided to take the plunge by starting 10 varieties of heirloom tomatoes. From seed. Surprisingly they all hatched. That was 8 weeks ago. It’s time (I think) to transplant them into the ground. I’m getting really lazy about this “hardening them off” business. I hope I don’t kill them.

The Compruter Fairy

Despite being a graphic designer, which has garnered me an undeserved “techie” status in Cubeville, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on inside my computer. It’s 100% magic to me. When a colleague asks me how to fix a problem (any problem), I advise them to “restart” and/or “give it a sec”. These are little gems of wisdom I picked up by calling the IT desk of every Cube Farm I’ve ever been in, like…8000 times. And it usually works. It’s a good thing, because my secondary advice would be something along the lines of sweet talk or perhaps burning sage nearby.

Speaking of things I don’t understand, here’s one that’s useful despite it’s scary Big Brotherness.

Yes, I know compruter is misspelled. It’s supposed to be. As in “They say a compruter can do my job better than I can damn do it.” Which in many cases, it can.

well hellooooo!

H E L L O W O R L D [read in ‘80s computer monotone]. Welcome to my little collection of musings. I’ll do my best to keep the categories down to a manageable number, but given the outrageous complexity of my biggest vice (escapism), I can’t make any promises.