The Olympus 70-300mm, Where Is it?

Crumby, do you still visit those photography talk sites.

Yepper.

Well what’s happened to the proposed, mythical, Olympus 70-300mm telephoto/ macro?

It shipped in September, then again in October, or right now, Rayetta.

No Crumby. It didn’t. There are none of those to be found anywhere, except at Ace of Bicycles in Japan. I shall not purchase from Ace of Bicycles. I shall buy Americano.

Well Rayetta, I hear tell from those twain forums, both the loony tune forum and the calmer forum, that it has shipped. Yet maybe, the ship those particular lenses were on got pirated. Perhaps a pirate now has your lens. Har-har. Polly want its picture took. Hardy, har-har. Get out on the plank, Frank. Pretend like ye are walking the plank. I’ll take yer picture. Har-har. Er. OK Rayetta. I see from your eye glint that you do not appreciate my sense of humor.

Crumby! You know how much I want this particular lens. Do you really think a pirate has my lens?

Maybe, Rayetta. Those pirates are making a comeback, especially those East Asian pirates. Nobody and nothing is safe in those parts, maybe. Those pirates are always looking around for something to steal. What those pirates do is capture a ship full of Olympus lenses. Then, the lenses that don’t get sodomized, or forced to walk the plank, get sold to the Communists. Then the Communists sell them back to US. But there’s a terrible price mark up. Because both the pirates and the Communists need to make a profit. That’s how capitalism works, Rayetta.

Hmmm. Well all I can spell is, I better get my lens pretty quick. Otherwise, responsible parties are fixing to rot in Hell for all eternity.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Spooky!!!!

That’s right. The spookiest day of the year has arrived, Halloween, Day 314 of DY 1. Yikes! Christians, Muslims and Jews, oh my, they’ll be at it to the end. That’s pretty spooky. Plus, in these parts, remembering to boil the water is spooky. Yikes! Our Kinglet, Chitlin and Associates are spooky. Spooky, spooky, spooky, spooky! Whoa! What would you do if Sleeza showed up, zombie like, at your door for trick or treat? Scary that!

Er. What about a Chitlin costume? Is anyone going to a party tonight, got up as Chitlin. Whoa! You know, Chitlin could very well make history as a scary Halloween costume. I bet he does do, just that.

In the old days it was harvest fairs, Samuin fires, plus maybe a head hunt or two. Yet all these happy festivities were tradition bound with lots of rules. Those interesting heads, for example, were collected fairly, with plenty of rules applied to their collection. Then, once all the heads were collected, they were set up on display at the fair. Heads were judged for interest and quality. If a head stayed fresh, that was quality. If a head stayed fresh and talked, it won the blue ribbon.

Now here’s my bosom companion, Crumby. Are you spooked, Crumby?

One of my dern knees hurts worse than the other knee, Ray. Plus that dern Lleu Llaw set up the telescopery gear too soon last night and got dew on it. The dew, obscured my view, of that very interesting comet, Holmes. See Ray, I desire to compare the progress of that particular comet from stygian night to stygian night. But how can I do that if Lleu Llaw allows all the gear to dew up? Dern it! Then too, I keep heading into the Boy’s Comfort Station fer a little tap water. That tap water may have do-do in it. So, yepper Ray, I am generally pretty spooked.

Well, buck up my bosom companion. I have some good news. The terrible Wicker Man has sent word that he shall take the day off. So on this spookiest day ever, at least we don't have to worry about the antics of the Wicker Man.

It's a trick, Ray.

You think so, Crumby?

Ray’s Thought for the Day - What’s blooming at the CB?

Only the Aster ericoides, practically. We have entered a dull lull. Only the Aster ericoides and my sister’s banana feeder brighten the scene. Plus, the Aster ericoides are sparse.

This situation reminds me that for the upcoming DY 2, I need to decrease the grass and increase the herbs. Also, my sister spells, Ray, my butterflies need some place for puddle parties. You and Crumby need to fix them up a nice spot. So I have my work cut out for me.

Speaking of my sister, Rayetta, here she is.

Yes Ray. Here I am with some important news regarding my potential photography gear. According to EBAY, the mythical 70-300mm telephoto/macro from Olympus is available from the Land of the Rising Sun, Japan. The vendor is Ace of Bicycle 2004. Everyone interested in this lens should carefully read the description of the lens provided by Ace of Bicycle.

Meantime, no word on whether this lens shall be available to US, ever. And Ray, if you ever pull a stunt again like you did Sunday, I shall castrate you myself, personally, in a supervisory capacity, of course.

Whoa! Who shall actually castrate me, Rayetta?

Lomo. Or maybe I shall have Crumby do it.

Crumby would never castrate me, Rayetta. Crumby's too sensitive. Plus, he's my bosom companion.

Never mind that Ray. I have my ways. Just remember, I have my ways.

Er. Look Rayetta, here's Crumby now. Is it Crumby Ovater or Crumby Castrater? Huh-huh. Hold it! What's that Crumby's got? That's a dang castrater implement! Lomo! What are you doing here? Unhand me, dang it! Crumby, stop fiddling with my trousers! Yikes! Rayetta! Mercy, you caint do this.

Yes I can Ray. The day is Day 313, Halloween Eve, the second most spooky day of the year, and the best day for castrations. Hmmm. Boys, take Ray into the Boy's Comfort Station. No need to make a mess in the laboratory. Do him in the shower.

Yes, Lovely Druidess. Yes, Lovely Druidess. Your wish, is our command.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
_____

OK. Let us reconnoiter the above, logically. How many grown men have been castrated by their sisters? Easy that, not many. Yet anything may happen on Halloween Eve, maybe. Why, the miserable Iranians could magic up a nuke. Er. That example may be excessively far fetched. But what if we had a major sewage spill in these parts. Yes, that is not only possible, but has actually occurred.

The boil water datum has gone out. Yet, some may ignore the datum.

Crumby, for example, drank out of the tap. What effect shall that have on Crumby? Tomorrow is Halloween. Shall Crumby, having drunk of the poop water, turn into a terrible monster, under the influence of both the poop water and Halloween. Maybe!

Crumby' s Telescope Tomfoolery Notes - Comet Holmes

Lleu Llaw! You need to go set up the telescopery gear pointing generally NE. We are fixing to espy the Comet Holmes, maybe. Uh. Go on and set up now. Then we may actually espy the comet around 10 PM or a little later. Lleu Llaw! No dilly-dallying. Set up the big Mak. Then, if this comets any count, we shall set up the Great Red Tube tomorrow night. Be sure to put a cushion in the double decker lawn chair, fer me. Other items you shall need to set up besides the cushion include, the Froggy-went-a- courtin' head lamp. The dern good fer 10,000 year flashlight is broke. So set up the head lamp. Set up the plastic Pepsi table. Then too, since ye have plenty of time, set up all the ep boxes. Who the heck knows what ep to use on a comet? Do you get all that Lleu Llaw?

Yes, Master Crumby.

OK. Bueno. Now this particular comet is in Perseus below Mirfak, or however that's spelled, and above Capella in Auriga. Here. I have printed you out a map. Use this map if you get confused Lleu Llaw.

Yes, Master Crumby.

OK, Lleu Llaw. I don't want any foul up on this comet similar to what happened during the wretched Mercury crossing. So fix everything up so that I shall not be disappointed.

Yes, Master Crumby.

Head on out now Lleu Llaw.

Yes, Master Crumby.

Later.

Gracious sakes alive! Come along everyone. Lleu Llaw has espied the great comet.

So out we all went to espy the comet. This particular comet is worth a look see. For starters, it's big and bright. Plus, the glow surronding it is really big, maybe 50 times the diameter of the star like comet, itself. Yip, yip, yip for a spectacular comet.

For the record, Lleu Llaw first espied it around 9:20 PM.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Halloween is Upcoming - We Cavort on Many Planes

It was all just a semantical misunderstanding, ladies. Jeez Louise! Boy howdy! A trip to Houstink sure can set everyone on edge. Those parts are so evil, yer face may break out even on a short visit. Mercy!

I am, of course, referencing the King Arthur situation on Ray’s Round Table, yesterday, and why yesterday’s program turned into a dust up. Dang it! Where’s Culwuch? Here he is. Culwuch, King Arthur is yer cousin, right? So King Arthur owes you, right? So if you asked King Arthur to appear on Ray’s Round Table, he probably would, right?

Maybe Ray. Arthur Cuz already did me a bunch of favors. But as ye know yerself Ray, blood may be thicker than water.

Dang it, Culwuch. Blood is thicker than water. That’s a fact. There’s particulate matter in blood that makes blood automatically thicker than water, always. There is no maybe about it. Dang it!

Look Ray. I aint gonna help ye at all if ye keep up that tone of voice. After all, it was ye Ray, that stole my beautiful girl friend, Olwen.

Ye were wearied of her anyway, Culwuch.

No I wasn’t.

Yes you were. Anyway, are ye fixing to help get yer cousin on my program or not.

Maybe. But here’s the deal, Ray. In return, I get to spark my former beautiful girlfriend in private with no interference. If ye get King Arthur, I get Olwen back, maybe. Deal?

Er. All righty then. Olwen shall never abandon me, ever, anyway.

We shall see about that, anon, Ray. Now I am off to seek my cousin. The journey is long and perilous.

Well, au revoir then. Ye need to have him back here by next Sunday morning early, or the deal’s off.

I shall hasten along then. Anon, I, Culwuch, shall return and claim the beautiful Olwen. Au revoir.

Well go on then. There he goes. What an asshole. Dang it!

Ray’s Round Table, 4

All righty. Today we are fixing to have a round table parley similar to those on Sunday morning TV. In the best tradition of Media Liberal TV, and Media Conservative TV, all my guests, plus me, have incestuous relationships. Today’s round table guests, just like last Sunday, are, Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, Druid News Service; Dr. Rayetta Pistrum, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta; and my bosom companion, Mr. Crumby Ovate.

Er. We could not round up King Arthur. Maybe King Arthur shall show up next week. You twain ladies, plus Olwen, need to get to work on attracting King Arthur to the Round Table.

Goodness! What do you mean, Ray? Do you mean that your twain beautiful girl friends, myself included, plus your sister, for Goddess Sakes, are to flaunt ourselves before King Arthur, so he shall come on your program?

Uh, oh. No, I do not mean that, Hope. Actually, my good buddy Culwuch, may need to do that chore, attracting King Arthur to the venue. So never mind. Uh. OK?

You better change your plans Ray. Hmmm. Prostituting your beautiful girl friends is wicked. But prostituting me, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta, your only known sister, is even worse. Who put such a ridiculous idea into your noggin? It was Crumby, wasn’t it? I bet Crumby put you up to that nonsense.

Yikes! No, no, no! I am incredibly innocent. I would not think up such a ridiculous yet horrible scenario for a hundred dollars. Rayetta, please believe me! Not at any nonce ever, should I think up such and such, ever, over geologic time including all the anons to come. Mercy!

Hmmm. All righty then, Crumby, you seem sincere. But hold out your arm anyway.

What for Rayetta?

Ray is fixing to give you an Indian burn for good measure.

But I don’t deserve an Indian burn. Ray needs the Indian burn. Ray thought the King Arthur prostitution ring up all by himself.

Never mind that, Crumby. Ray, I order you to administer a blistering Indian burn to your bosom companion.

No! Dang it! Rayetta, you are embarrassing me, plus ruining Ray’s Round Table.

Oh I am, am I? Yet, I am supposed to summon King Arthur for a good time at your bequest. Hmmm. All righty then, hold out your arm, Ray. You Ray, my wicked brother, shall receive an Indian burn from Crumby.

No, no, no, Rayetta. Crumby has the strength of ten. He is liable to tear my skin off.

Even so, Ray

Wait a minute. Should we not, alternative to my justly deserved Indian burn, discuss our Houstink adventure. After all, we got to see all those giant flags at the great vehicle dealerships. That’s fairly interesting.

Hmmm. That is an interesting Americano phenomena. All those prodigious, yet dirty, flags flying over the various business dealerships along the I-10 corridor are interesting. Perhaps Ray, you have escaped your justly deserved Indian burn for the time being. Does anyone have an opinion about those flags?

I do Rayetta. Gracious sakes, those flags are nasty. Those flags need to be taken down and laundered once in a while.

I agree Hope. Those flags did look nasty. I bet the responsible business Americanos never take those flags down. Plus, those gigantic flags could break loose, blow into the I-10 thoroughfare and engender many to smite their great vehicles into other great vehicles. Many should perish. What a potential safety topic, environmental hazard that scenario is.

Yeah but, Rayetta, I Crumby, ovate that the many in those parts, are in those parts because they deserve those parts. Or, they deserve those parts because they are in those parts. Either way, they get what they deserve.

Hmmm. Perhaps so Crumby. Bye now, and watch out for the Wicker Man!!!!

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Manawyddan Son of Llyr

A while back the Welsh and the Irish may have had a great war. Fortunately, a survivor of that terrible tussle was Manawyddan. Manawyddan’s survival was fortunate because Manawyddan possessed useful abilities. Among those useful abilities Manawyddan possessed is cobbling. Cobbling, or shoemaking or bootmaking is useful.

Many require a sturdy pair of boots. That is why Manawyddan, the greatest of all the boot makers, passed along the secrets of quality bootmaking to Pryderi. Pryderi, once he got bootmaking down, was better equipped, intellectually, to take on swine herding. Sturdy boots are essential to the swine herder.

Yepper, after a while, Pryderi got to be King Pryderi, the greatest of all the Welsh swineherds. All Pryderi’s swine herders were provided with official swine herding boots. Those boots, many still in use today, are remarkable. No swineherd adorned in a pair of King Pryderi’s boots, shall slip and fall on the swine poop. Moreover, should a swineherd wearing those boots step in the swine poop, that swine poop shall not stick to the soles of those boots. Happily, since the soles of those boots repel swine poop, the swine poop does not get tracked into the house.

Badgemagus! I am leaving you, fer sure.

No, no, no Darling. What have I done to discomfit you so? Please, don’t leave me. Please!

Yes, I am leaving you Badgemagus. I love you somewhat, but every day, you track swine poop into the house. The odour of that swine poop discomfits me. Plus, I have to clean it up. I weary of cleaning up the swine poop. So I am leaving. Out of my way, Badgemagus.

No, no, no dear. Er. I know. I shall go to King Pryderi. King Pryderi's boots are reputed to repel the swine poop. Once I have a pair of those boots, I shall never track any more swine poop into the house. Then we shall live happily ever after.

All righty then, Badgemagus, but you must set out this very nonce. When you return, you better have on swine poop repellant boots, or I shall leave you. Either that, or I may change the locks while you are gone. Then I shall stay here and never, ever, let you back in. You shall wander the wilderness with your swine. Yes Badgemagus, you shall wander the wilderness, with no place to call home.

So then Badgemagus had to adventure off from his happy home, shopping for genuine, swine poop repelling, Pryderi boots.

Dang it!

Badgemagus had to take his swine along on the shopping adventure. A good swineherd knows better than to leave his charges unsupervised. Off went Badgemagus with his pigs.

Pigs, that some call swine, may travel along at brisk pace but seldom in a straight line, for long. So even though Badgemagus kept up a general heading for King Pryderi’s place, the pace, while good, was not straight. The shopping trip outbound took a while. Finally though, after suffering nearly too much, in accordance with the will of the Great White Goddess, Badgemagus arrived at King Pryderi’s Shoe and Boot Outlet Mall. Out front, the sign read, Attention!!!! Swineherds and Charges Trend, then an arrow pointing to the left.

Badgemagus herded his pigs off to the left. Pretty soon Badgemagus and his pigs fetched up at a corral. Yet the gate was shut.

Dang It! Come forth somebody, and help me get my pigs safely ensconced in the swine corral.

In a jiffy, because Badgemagus had already suffered enough, a bunch of Pryderi’s retired swineherds appeared. The way that worked is, when King Pryderi’s swineherds got to old to traipse about with the swine, they got retirement jobs at the Outlet Mall Swine Corral. There, in that capacity, they played 42 and told lies about their swine adventuring days.

Anon, a great many of the retired swineherds had Badgemagus’ swine safely ensconced in the swine corral.

How much do I owe ye fer the safe keeping of my swine?

Nary a red cent. This here is a free service provided fer shoppers. Only thing is, ye must make a purchase at King Pryderi’s Shoe and Boot Outlet Mall. Then, once ye have yer purchase, a token shall be provided ye, along with yer purchase. Bring that token back here, and ye may retrieve yer swine, free of charge.

What is the nature of the token?

That token shall be a coin of small value. On one side of that particular token is struck an image of good King Pryderi. On the flip side is struck an image of Tyrch Trwyth, the great boar.

Off went Badgemagus retracing his previous journey from the Outlet Mall entrance, minus the swine led meanderings.

Sir! You may not enter with those boots. Those boots reflect the swine droppings.

Dang it! Badgemagus had to take his boots off.

Yet Badgemagus had suffered enough. Anon, there he stood, adorned in a pair of King Pryderi’s special boots that do repel the swine poop. Anon, token in hand, Badgemagus retrieved his swine. All those swine looked swell. Plus those swine were fatter and better behaved than ever.

Off they all went, Badgmagus together with his swine. Anon, Badgmagus arrived at home. Yet the door was locked.

Dang it! My key don’t werk. Lemme in Darling, please. I have on the official King Pryderi swine poop repellant boots.

Then, Badgmagus’ Darling, espying through the peephole, did espy that the feet of Badgemagus were adorned in new boots. Plus those new boots reflected not the swine droppings. So Darling let Badgemagus in the house. Those twain, Darling and Badgemagus, plus all the swine, lived happily ever after.

Ray's Thought for the Day - A Day Off

Yesterday, I took a day off from werkin' in the sun, to werk in the sun. Rayetta says, Red says, that Indiangrass may catch fire and burn us up. You and Crumby need to see to that Indiangrass. That's how come I wound up werkin' in the sun at the CB.

Jeez Louise! Crumby never shuts up. Here he is, werkin' in the sun for five minutes.

Crumby, Chore Boy

Here I am, crippled up, barely able, yet hobbling along from this spot to that spot at a good pace. Anon, my furious endeavors shall raise a great cloud of Indiangrass chaff over the Cow Barn. A golden dust shall fill the air, raring on up to the high heavens. Where once stood a mighty pasture of 10 foot tall Indiangrass, only stubs of that prodigious tall grass shall remain.

Dern it! This chaff is getting on me. This chaff itches. There it goes down the back of my shirt. Dern it! Ray, I need to go to the Boy’s Comfort Station.

No Crumby. Keep working. You can head to the Boy’s Comfort Station once we are all done.

Er. Ray, we should take documentation pictures as we work along. I should be happy to go fetch the camera.

No Crumby. Keep working. It is too dusty for electrogramofotography.

Hack, hack, hack-hack! Ray, I am choking. I need a soothing libation.

There’s the water hose, Crumby.

Dern it! This hose is full of ants. Look at all those ants plus presumptive ants roaring out of that hose. I can not lathe my throat with water from this particular hose where these ants were once habitating.

Undo the hose Crumby. Drink out of the faucet.

Dern it! Here I am, groveling over a dang outdoor faucet just to get a little drink. This delicious water helps a little. But simultaneously, my gimpy knee, which bears the brunt of my great weight as I grovel at this faucet, hurts. Ray, I may have finally broke my knee!

Walk it off, Crumby
____

Now I am off to procure my delicious cinnamon bun. Crumby, worn out, lies prone still, upon the Ample Bosoms. I shall treat Crumby to a delicious cinnamon bun.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Sartorial Splendor

Over the course of quite a while that some name many moons, garments come and go. Those garments wear out or have accidents. Also, through no fault of their own, they may not fit, acceptably, so those garments, are discarded. Many of those departed yet personal dang garments are soon forgotten. Others are sadly missed. Yet others, worn to a frazzle, yet dear, may be kept safe in a drawer or juniper chest.

Where is my favorite garment? Here it is. This particular garment is my favorite all time shirt. Yet, it is worn out, thread bare. To keep it serviceable on special or ceremonial occasions, I have stitched in a tousand or maybe two tousand stitches. (A stitch in time, saves nine). So it is still perfectly all right to wear on special occasions so long as I remain inert. If I stretch or get active while adorned in this shirt, though the stitches hold, adjacent areas of the shirt may bust loose.

Now, this shirt mostly serves as an icon for sartorial splendor and a reminder that if I ever get another favorite garment comparable to this shirt, I must purchase a great plenitude of similarly replicated garments. See! I should have bought up maybe three fifty replications of my favorite shirt once I figured out my favorite shirt was my favorite shirt. But by the time I figured that out, sadly, it was too late, and I could not find any more of my favorite shirts anywhere.

Sartorial splendor for me, Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee, is an ideal balanced between twain contrasting ideals. One of the contrasting ideals is the sartorial splendor of Mohatma Gandhi whose favorite garment was baggy undears. I don’t know how many of those baggy undears Mohatma possessed, maybe, just two. Then the other contrasting ideal is the tailor made clothes wearing gentlemen. These dapper fellows may have a great many garments of every sort fitted to their personal dimensions.

Probably, I, Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee, could make a fit out of Mohatma’s baggy undears and get along in those, during Beelzebubberriffic. Yet, only random chance should fit me into a dapper fellows garments. I know the latter is a fact from personal experience having benefitted from some dress shirts the rich donated to the orphanage.

Here you go Ray, some nice tailored dress shirts, just for you. The sleeves may need to be cut down a mite.

Yepper, those sleeves got cut down a mite so that the shoulder seams fetched down to the general vicinity of my elbows. Fixing up the shortened sleeves to match the shoulder seams was quite a trick. Those shirts were pretty dang big.

Fortunately, in those days, I was chained to my little work desk in the near-Stygian darkness of the Tabby Lab laboratory and that was the only locale where I had to wear those particular shirts. Plus, my sister, Rayetta, would spell, You sure look handsome in that nice lab smock today, Ray.

What has triggered all these recent sartorial noggin thoughts is, of course, the change of seasons. These days, one can not set forth adorned to the minimum and get by all day. Noper, one must set forth adorned maximally, yet shuck this or that as Ogma Sunface dictates, maybe.

Ha! Here’s my bosom companion, Crumby, adorned in his green Brownie pants. Crumby, do you surmise that you shall shuck those green Brownie pants, anon. We are, the twain of us, fixing to head out to the east pasture to mow and stack hay.

I know Ray. Anon I must shuck my green Brownie pants. Anon, the fickle Ogma shall heat me up. Yet for the nonce these green Brownie pants shall serve me well. These green Brownie pants shall warm my poor crippled up legs so that I shall hobble about on my sore feet, stacking hay as efficaciously as may be.

All righty then, Crumby. Let’s head on out.

Annnnnnnnuuuuuuuuuuhuhuhuhu! Crumby utters his chore war cry.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - The Diurnal Patterns of Pants

What’s the part of your hide that is darkest? Easy that, the part that gets the most exposure to Ogma’s fickle rays. On me, that part is the northerly expression of my buttocks.

During the day, cotton pants expand, responding to the heat and friction of the environment. Your belly also expands from the same causes, but not as much as your pants. The effect is that your pants want to head south. This situation may be easily rectified by a belt, sufficiently adjustable, that may be cinched up to nullify the pants expansion. Then, properly cinched up, your middle parts are like getting hung.

The scientific name for this cinched up condition is bowel strangling. Bowel strangling can stove up your bowels so that normal progress can not occur via your bowels due to the tightness of your belt. Bowel strangling is fairly dangerous because you want normal progress to take place through your bowels at all times.

Suspenders may be substituted for a belt. Yet, for the very active person, suspenders are troublesome. Your shirt, under the suspenders, tends to want to hike north due to the friction the suspenders apply to your shirt, maybe. Pretty soon most of your shirt is bunched up between your shoulders.

Then there are pants with built in belts, known in the garment trade as hemi-belts. These dang belts are sewn to the pants at the factory. I have two pairs of these particular type pants. Both pairs are defective. They are defective because the hemi-belts are not sufficiently adjustable to account for the normal diurnal expansion of the rest of the pants. Those hemi-belts, cinched to the max, allow those pants to head south, Greyhound like.

Keep a hand on yer pants Ray, there’s ladies and children on site!

Ray Girds His Loins

Besides my usual undears I should carefully consider what to wear to werk this morning. I shall need to wear more clothes. Otherwise, if I just wear the same amount of clothes, I shall be too cold. If I am too cold, by werk efficiency shall render whatever enterprise I undertake, unprofitable. Yet if I put on too many clothes, I shall be too hot, and a likely candidate for an inner thing chafing event.

Dang it! You twain beautiful girl friends need to wake up and dress me.

Your clothes are set out Ray.

Where?

On your Lazy Boy, in the laboratory. Now shut up so we can go back to sleep.

Here they are. Now I remember. Here are my favorite cool weather werk garments. You may see, it is like this. Beelzebubberriffic persists so long in these parts that a Sun God Trainee is likely to forget what is available in the juniper chest, or, even the existence of the juniper chest.

Ray’s Rainfall Update - Day 305

Our first wet norther of Olwen White Track the season arrived this morning. Yippee! The official CB gauge collected 1.25". Praise the Goddess! Not only that, for a change, I never broke a sweat, all day. So let’s see, 1.25" + 46.51" = 47.76"

OK. Related to the whopping precipitation total, the CB has a bumper pecan crop this year. We have picked maybe 50 lbs and stepped on that much more. Yet those pecans are everywhere. Mmmm. Pie. I shall get some pecan pie.

Oddly, the squirrels seem much less excited by the pecans than they are in a typical year when there are hardly any pecans. Er. Maybe that is not so odd. Relative scarcity must frenzy up the squirrels, whereas, abundance frenzies them down.

Ray's Thought for the Day

Leaving out Dr. Paul, if the Blessed Goddess smote all the Mammonite Republican kinglet wannabees at once, smiting them all dead, would Dr. Paul then get the kinglet nomination of the Mammonites automatically?

Who would get the nomination if say, Big Fred, survived the accident arranged by the Blessed Goddess in a comatose state, but all the rest of them were killed dead except Dr. Paul? I bet Dr. Frist could prove conclusively, to the satisfaction of himself, that Big Fred, even comatose, was as lively as ever. Then the Mammonites could choose between a Dr. Frist certified Big Fred, and Dr. Paul.

Noper. All that is ridiculous. Under those circumstances, the Mammonites would beg the current Kinglet to stick around maybe. Certainly, the circumstances outlined above, should constitute a national security panty franty. So the Kinglet, heeding the mournful whining of the Mammonite masses, should stay on. That way, the upcoming should be unnecessary.

Reckon the so-called democrats might roll over on this seemingly imaginary scenario, too?

Rayetta's Butterflies - I May have Missed One

That's correct. Once again I got caught with the 35mm on my camera. This time, I missed the zilpa longtail, (Chiodes zilpa). My brother, Ray, the Sun God Trainee, also espied a zipster while werkin' in the sun, Friday. So the Pistrums have espied two zilpa longtails at disparate locations, yet have nary an electrogram to show for our espyizations.

Now my noggin is working furiously. What if I possesed the imaginary 70/300mm telephoto/macro and it had its own camera body? Then I should have two camera bodies and a lens for each one of those bodies. I would be ready for anything. All I would need is a camera bearer. Crumby could do that.

At last, our first wet norther of Olwen White Track the season has arrived, a week late. Wet northers perk us up. So I am perked up.

Hold it! It says here that Zilpa longtail babies eat Nissola. Is that correct? Nissola in the ROT is one of those Trans Pecos beans, with a range disjunct to the range of the zipster. Hmmm. Perhaps there are Nissolas in the Mexican component of the Tampaulipan.

All righty then. Ray did get an interesting electrogram of a Great Spreadwing (Archilestes grandis. Blue eyes.

The Green Lynx Spider Mother - Always a Killer

La de da. And I was convinced, based on hearsay (see 10/7 below), that the green lynx mama only guarded the egg sac, didn’t eat while performing that onerous task, then expired. Ha! Never believe anything about nature you have not personally confirmed. All that malarkey is, well, malarkey.

Check this out, two electrograms, baby green lynx spiders












and mama. This is the same green lynx spider photographed on (10/7 below), now with baby spiders. Look at that miserable bug. That miserable bug may have been after her babies. Now though, that miserable bug is dead. How long do you think that miserable bug shall have any of its juices left? Easy that, not long, not long.

Swell! Now it is time for me Dr. Pistrum, Olympus E-330 user for almost half a year, to weigh in on the new professional model Olympus DSLR, the E-3. There is no way Red would authorize the purchase of the E-3 at $1,699. Nooooooooooo way! To get that kind of money, I would have to offer myself as a sex slave to some greasy Mammonite, once. Then, after that adventure, I could use his credit card to make the purchase, since he would be dead and disfigured beyond recognition anyway, assuming anyone ever found his body.

Noper, I must content myself with the so far mythological 70-300mm telephoto/macro. That’s the one I can afford. Yet I am troubled, still. Who among the mere mortals of this humble planet has espied this phenomena, the 70-300mm telephoto/macro? Does this lens exist? Is it for sale, anywhere?

La-de-da. I am fated to await whatever gizmo comes my way. That’s just life. Crumby is just life, too, for Goddess’ Sakes. Oh! If Crumby got a job we could easily afford all these gizmos, even the E-3. Crumby can make lots of money when he’s not crazy. But alas, Crumby is still crazy as a Betsy Bug. Oh well, these gizmos, or their extended utility, may be imaginary anyway.

However, that spelled, I certainly would like to see Crumby get up the gumption to at least make enough money to fix his C 5060WZ. Even though, obviously, Olympus, having foisted a defective camera part, the mode/control dial module, on an ignorant public, should fix Crumby’s camera for free. Unlikely that.

La-de-da. As you may see, the CB has mixed feelings regarding our camera brand of accidental choice for natural history documentation. Olympus, la-de-da, has a sensor, sized to promote telephoto and relatively whopping depth of field. Yet strangely, until the mythological 70-300mm telephoto/macro may have come along, no moderately priced lenses of much account, other than the wondrous, 35mm macro, are extant. Merciful Goddess, wise those effete Buddhists up. Spell those back-sliding rascals. The Goddess commands that you sissy backsliders forget about all this snobbery. Give the regular people, and men like Crumby, camera equipment that is affordable and not easily destructed during a moment of mere hysteria. Give us trusty apparatus, or even apparati (sic) that shall keep us happy and carefree for many moons.

Ray’s Round Table - Three

All righty. Today we are fixing to have a round table parley similar to those on Sunday morning TV. In the best tradition of Media Liberal TV, and Media Conservative TV, all my guests, plus me, have incestuous relationships. Today’s round table guests, just like last Sunday, are, Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, Druid News Service; Dr. Rayetta Pistrum, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta; and my bosom companion, Mr. Crumby Ovate.

Yet as I look around the Round Table, one of my triplet quests is missing. Where is my bosom companion, Crumby the Ovate?

Sakes alive, Ray, Crumby is ensconced is his Orgone Box.

Dang it, Hope! We need four for the Round Table. Rayetta, I mean Dr. Pistrum, you need to go fetch Crumby to the Round Table.

Patience Ray. Crumby’s substitute shall arrive anon. In fact, here he is, none other than the famous Lleu Llaw Guffes, Lion of the Steady Hand. Now we have our fourth.

Uh. OK. Lleu Llaw, you appear to be chomping at the bit, so let us begin with your comment or opinion.

Thanks Ray. Yet I do not have a comment or opinion. But Master Crumby does, of course. Alas though, my Master is much wearied with the telescopery, plus his knee is also afflicted by gout, maybe. These travails have overcome my Master. Crumby has taken to his Orgone Box for a nap. So Crumby has directed me, Lleu Llaw, to divulge his opinion.

Great. So what is your Master’s opinion, Lleu Llaw?

Crumby’s opinion is that all the actual or aspiring Whores of Babylon, should, for a million dollars, or the going rate, whatever that might be, in return for services rendered to the rulers, have a nice W of B, symbolizing Whore of Babylon, tattooed, or maybe branded on their fore noggins. That way, the Whores of Babylon shall be readily identifiable as such, Whores of Babylon, on the TV. In addtion to the usual media suspects, all the kinglet wannabees, leaving out Dr. Paul and a couple of the Dems, maybe, need those tattoos or brands, fer sure. Except, of course, any of them that are actual rulers already, need Ruler tattooed or branded in their fore noggins, alternative to W of B.

Huh, huh. That’s pretty good Lleu Llaw. Tell Crumby when he wakes up, that’s pretty good. Huh, huh. W of B could also stand for, Whore of Bush. Huh, huh. All righty then, Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, my beautiful girl friend, your up next.

I’ll swan Ray. Our own well-coifed ROT Jefe, is headed out to get himself coronated as Vice Kinglet of US. If he succeeds on that adventure, he shall keep the ROT, Mississippi, and Senator Imhofe in the Mammonite column for sure in the distant upcoming. Goddess help US!

Whoa! Merciful Goddess, save US from the well-coifed! All righty then, finally, here’s my sister, the learned Dr. Pistrum with the CB ecology notes. Dr. Pistrum

Thanks Ray. The dearth of meaningful precipitation plus the unseasonable heat have combined for generally miserable ecological conditions at the CB. Two successive runt like dry northers have only worsened the misery. Surely, the Blessed WG shall not allow this situation to continue much longer.

Further, the dearth of precipitation at the CB has, for the first time this year, DY 1, engendered a paucity of flowers. That means the butterfly population has nose dived in response.

Last year at this time, on our journey through the depths of space, the snouts were ubiquitous. Now they are apparently extinct or biennial. Take your pick.

Also, we have too much dead grass standing or lying around. Ray, when Crumby wakes up, you two need to go out and clean up some of that grass. Cut it and pile it up somewhere. We can have some fall hay piles. Won’t that be fun! That’s all for now, Ray.

Dang it! How come I have to pile hay with Crumby, Rayetta? Crumby shall whine about his legs hurting plus shirk. Why, can’t Lleu Llaw here, or Lomo or even Raymone help me?

Nonsense Ray. Crumby is perfectly capable of helping as soon as he finishes his nap.

Great. Well that’s it for Ray’s Round Table this Sunday. Next week we may have a special guest, King Arthur. You won’t want to miss that. So watch out for the Wicker Man!!!!

Crumby’s Telescope Tomfoolery Notes

Annually, the merciful yet erratic White Goddess tests Her Druids to espy whether those Druids are fit to continue habitating on the plane of existence they are currently on. Er. Maybe the afore spelled is an over generalization. She may not test all the Druids, but She does test me.

This year, DY 1, the afflictions concurrent with my tests seem to have moved from my noggin to my legs from the knees down. Consequently, I can not walk, only hobble a little. Yepper, I am particularly afflicted in both feet. Plus, one knee is working way better than the other one.

Yet so far during this annual test period I have not been banished to the wilderness like happened last year. Praise the Goddess, Red is letting me stay in the house, so far. Otherwise, I might, even now, be banished to the wilderness, hobbling about pitifully, the great heat of Olwen White Track the season, sapping the last of my strength, the great heat of autumn slowly sucking out the last of my sweat until, until, until, oh I can not spell it. Mercy!

Barely able to hobble along and denied camera privileges due to some unfortunate accidents that were entirely not my fault, I have been hard pressed to keep myself entertained and out of trouble. You may see, if I spend too much time hobbling and whining pitifully, Red, heeding the complaints of the many, citing my behavior, may banish me again. I certainly do not want that to happen. So I need to occupy myself with interesting activities that may temporarily take my noggin focus off my terrible crippled up condition. Then instead of hobbling around, moaning and whining feebly, I shall be industriously engaged in some interesting activity.

Lleu Llaw, my faithful servant plus Lion of the Steady Hand, heed all this.

Yes Master Crumby.

I, Crumby Ovate, ovate that the skies are as clear as ever they are in these parts. Therefore, we shall sally forth into the stygian darkness of the east pasture tomorrow morning. First thing, you, Lleu Llaw, must arise from the Ample Bosoms at 4AM sharp. Then, you must go forth. Set up all the gear at the usual location. The gear you need to set up handy is the big Maksutov, the good for 10,000 years flashlight, the double decker lawn furniture, the Pepsi Cola plastic table, the University Optics orthoscopic cigar box and that big old goofy 40mm plossl. But before you do all that, set me out some proper garments. What I shall need set out is my green Brownie pants and a light jacket.

Once you have set out my clothes and set up all the gear all handy like, you will need to assist me. First, I may need some help getting into those green Brownie pants. Second, once I have got those on, you shall lend your steady hand so that I may proceed into the stygian darkness, onward, navigating all the treacherous objects concealed by the stygian darkness that are liable to trip me up. Only after all that Lleu Llaw, shall you rest.

Yes Master Crumby.

All righty then, heeding my recent advice I am out in the east pasture espying Saturn, that we know as Bran the Blessed, Talking Head, and Venus the Planet or Love Goddess. There they are, between the hackberries. Good job Lleu Llaw, this is perfect.

Thank you, Master Crumby.

Saturn is just plain shocking if you have not espied it for awhile, shocking and interesting. Whoa! The Love Goddess is about quarter phase. That’s shocking and interesting, too. OK. Cool! Now Lleu Llaw, we have some stygian darkness left, so let’s espy the Great Nebula. You shall need to first relocate the big Maksutov slightly. Once you have got the big Maksutov re-situated, you shall need to re-situate me and the double decker lawn furniture.

Yes Master Crumby.

Goodness! That Great Nebula is shocking plus interesting.

Crumby on the Xmas Mountains

So far as I can remember, I have never been to the Xmas Mountains Property. Nor have I done any research pertinent to that particular parcel. So this spell, spelling of the Xmas Mountains is purely ovational.

Clearly, with the Xmas Semi-Montane Property spat, we see the ruling class at odds over the future of the planet. Some of the rulers like to save certain properties or parcels until someone, at some future date, figures out what that property or parcel is good for. Believe it or not, some properties or parcels of land, even in the Republic of Tejas, fall into the category, good for nothing. Good for nothing in the good old days, meant that parcel was too troublesome by nature for cropping or grazing. Now, those properties are still no good for cropping or even grazing. Probably, those properties have been grazed for a hundred years anyway, and now they are seriously no good for grazing. Yet those properties or parcels are also so aesthetically ornery, remote, and water free, that improvements are considered unlikely to eventually pay for themselves.

Enter Land Commissioner (LC) Jerry Patterson. Our plump LC may venture out on the ROT public land every once in a while. Because, oddly enough, the LC is supposed to sometimes keep track of oil and gas production on the public land, maybe, so the LC gets to go visit public federal land plus the scanty and diminishing ROT public land. These parks and such are plenty dangerous places here in the wild ROT. Here now, I shall just list some of the mighty scary stuff our LC might run into on one of his inspection tours. Uh. Rattlesnakes, chiggers, pigs, peccaries, turkeys, possums, bears and lions (unlikely) illegal aliens (potentially armed, maybe), deranged property owners (probably armed) occurring adjacent to or even wandering freely on the public land.

There now, those are all the items that have almost got me during my many adventures on all those lands, so those are what are likely to get the LC, too. Yepper, even I the Crumby Ovate, in my former capacities as rig hand and environmental consultant, encountered all those terrors and survived, so I know what our LC is up against.

So I can easily understand why our LC goes armed into those dangerous plus scary spots. Yet I wonder, does he go, alone. Unlikely that. Noper, our rotund LC visits the hot LZs with plenty of protection. I suspect, for a comparison, one might envision Senator McCain at the Baghdad market. Yet, unlike Senator McCain at the Baghdad market, our LC packs, personally.

Boy howdy, I would sure like to be hiding out in the brush with the peccaries, when our LC, together with his Land Office entourage and associates alights or maybe rolls up to a well pad. Then, if somebody would loan me a camera, I could secretly take pictures of the assembled assault team. Ha! Then I could id what they are all packing.

Mercy! Once I was faunching around on this workover rig. The roustabouts were singing, Crack that Whip! I got so distracted I helped lose a bunch of shaped charges. Mercy! I sure hope those shaped charges are still safely buried in the mud at that particular site.

Whoa! I have distracted myself. Apparently the disposition of the Xmas Mountains turns on gun control. One bunch of rulers wants gun control in the Xmas Mountains. The other bunch of rulers, ably represented by our LC, wants a free fire zone. Gracious Sakes! If I was a chigger, habitating in the Xmas Mountains, I would be plenty scared. Our LC may organize a chigger hunt.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Photographing the Hymenoptera

Dang it! I can hardly ever get a picture of a Hymenoptera to turn out. Why is that? I think it is because those bees, wasps, hornets and what not quiver while I am trying to take their pictures. That’s right. They are quivering faster than the camera’s fastest possible speed. They are quivering so fast that the mere human eye can not detect the quiver.

The Hymenopteran quiver is slightly annoying because I want to figure out some stuff about them. That is because, here at the CB, they are wonderfully diverse. Yet I can not take pictures of them due to the dang quiver they all seem to do.

Mercy! Despite a change of season, it sure was hot this afternoon. There I was, werkin' in the sun. Soon, a thought occurred to me, helping to distract me from my suffering. The thought was, ecology pots. Or maybe they should be named, ecology buckets. The way ecology buckets work in the nursery trade is, instead of just having a single species in the bucket, three species habitate in the bucket. Then the customer that purchases an ecology bucket, or pot, gets a simple plant community instead of just one lousy plant.

I even saw an example of an ecology pot which is what triggered my thought in the first place. That pot featured Dicliptera brachiata, Aster oblongifolius and a violet species. I don't know which violet, because that violet was in a vegetative state.

The merely vegetative state of the violet suggests that it was not blooming. Neither was the aster, but an adjacent pot had a blooming aster. The diclipera was blooming. So you may see, that with a well-designed ecology pot, something could always be blooming.

Perhaps I shall go into the ecology pot business. That way, I could fix Crumby up with a job, helping out with the ecology pots. Crumby's not too crazy for ecology pots, or buckets.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Scenery Photographs

I don’t get scenery photographs. Neither does Rayetta. Neither does Crumby. Not even when Crumby gets to use a camera. Raymone claims he gets it. But I don’t see what Raymone sees.

Here’s a bunch of Helianthus maximiliana mixed up with Panicum virgatum, Sorghastrum nutans and Tripsacum dactyloides. Unidentifiable, are a bunch of insects and a small dog. There are a bunch more identifiable plants, identifiable only because I know what is out there. Then there are a couple of out buildings, partially included.

Yet, this is our farewell to Beelzebubberiffic photograph, even though, it’s still pretty dang hot in these parts. Plus, the rain has been sparse, lately. Anyway, this is our photographic evidence, that H. max still blooms in the fall, even with the seasons all out of whack.

Yepper. Tomorrow is the last day of summer, officially, in these parts. When I designed the Druid calendar, I fretted quite a bit. What did I fret over? Easy that, what if Olwen White Track the season rolls around on Day 299 of DY 1 and it is still hot. On that account I almost moved the start of Olwen White Track, the season to Day 314. Well, now my fret is likely to become a reality. Sometimes, frets are like that.

So if the hot weather continues, I shall make a seasonal adjustment to the Druid Calendar for the upcoming DY 2. All righty then, maybe.

Now here's my sister, Dr. Pistrum.

Thank you Ray. I too am fretting. My fret is, Where are the Ubiquitous Snouts? Nary an Ubiquitous Snout has been espied at the CB since April. Where are they? They were ubiquitous at this time last year, here. Where are they now? Are they biennials?

Rayetta's Butterflies - You Got to Crawl on Your Belly Like a Reptile

One of Crumby's spells, not mine. For some reason, Crumby thinks,

You Got to Crawl on Your Belly Like a Reptile

is funny. Whatever!

Anyway, I have been practicing sneaking up on the tiny hairstreaks and blues. The really little ones like to get on the Aster subulatus. Plus, the tiny hairstreaks and blues may be ground huggers by nature.

The best way to approach these little ones may be, as Crumby suggests to, Crawl on Your Belly Like a Reptile. Really! These little ones do not spook as easily when you are down on their level.

Here's a second occurrence record of the mallow scrub-hairstreak (Strymon istapa) at the CB. Using this methodology, belly crawling, live view A is very handy because the reptile like photographer may use her elbows bipod-like in contact with the ground. Course, this methodology may not be applicable during chigger season.

Here, the camera is maybe 8" from the butterfly.

Ray’s Round Table - Two

All righty. Today we are fixing to have a round table parley similar to those on Sunday morning TV. In the best tradition of Media Liberal TV, and Media Conservative TV, all my guests, plus me, have incestuous relationships. Today’s round table guests, just like last Sunday, are, Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, Druid News Service; Dr. Rayetta Pistrum, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta; and my bosom companion, Mr. Crumby Ovate.

Crumby, my bosom companion, I see that you are chomping at the bit. So let us begin with your thoughts or opinions.

Yep. I am fairly excited, all righty then. You know the coolest beetle ever, that some name the shine or monkey ass beetle. That coolest of all beetles featured on this very venue is most likely Trigonopeltastes delta. I can live with Trigonopeltastes as a cool genus name, fer sure. Then also, I have a Telescope Tomfoolery note. Early risers need to check out Venus, the planet or Love Goddess, plus Saturn, or Bran the Blessed, the original talking head, in the constellation, Leo. That’s it, Ray.

What family is that beetle in, Crumby?

Scarabaeidae Ray. It is one of the famous scarab beetles, sacred to the old timers, maybe.

OK. Who wants to go next? Hope, my beautiful girlfriend, are you ready to go next?

Goodness! Yikes! Gracious sakes alive! Sleeza has been turned loose again. Remember, for a while she was being held at one of Chitlin’s secret locations. Apparently, Chitlin and Associates needed to put some new voice recordings inside her noggin. But now she is loose on the world stage again. Guess what everybody, Sleeza says, The Iranians are lying about their nuclear program. Sleeza says, President Putin is centralizing too much power in the Kremlin.

Ha, ha, ha, tee-hee, snort, ha, ha, hee-cup, tee-hee-hee, snort, huh-huh, neighhhhhhhhhhh, wheeze, huh-huh, oh my goodness I laughed so hard, I peed myself, ha, ha, ha, tee-hee, snort, ha, ha, hee-cup, tee-hee-hee, snort, huh-huh, neighhhhhhhhhhh, wheeze, huh-huh, mercy!

Mercy is right! Thanks for that, Hope. Let me just wipe these tears from my eyes. Everyone, get control of yerselves. Mercy! All righty. Yer up next, Rayetta, I mean Dr. Pistrum

Thanks Ray. I’ll swan. That Sleeza is such a Whore of Babylon. But never mind that. As everyone knows by now, a crimson patch turned up at the CB yesterday. Now, the question is, is that crimson patch an explorer from foreign parts, or one of Ray’s caterpillars, metamorphosed at last? Alas, I do not know. Alas, I surmise we shall never know. We should have kept better track of those caterpillars. How the heck does a busy person like me track caterpillars? Hmmm.

Uh. Is that all, Dr. Pistrum?

Yes, that’s all for now, Ray.

All righty then. I, Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee, have a special guest that I am fixing to introduce to the Round Table. The special guest is, Ms. Olwen White Track, Moon Goddess, my beautiful girlfriend.

Thanks Ray. Hi everybody. Goodness. My bosoms keep falling out. Ray! Crumby, may be staring at my bosoms.

No, I’m not. It was an accident.

Uh. Ok. Everyone calm down. Olwen has an important announcement to make relative to the Druid Calendar. Right Olwen?

That is correct, Ray. I have. Let me just get these twain tucked away. All righty. My season, Olwen White Track, is upcoming in just two more days, which is the upcoming Day 299 of DY 1. That means, if we calculated more or less correctly, Beelzebubberriffic, is at long last, coming to an end. Yes Ray, no more fretting over those exasperating inner thigh chafing events. No more sopping wet clothes from werkin’ in the sun.

Yea! All praise the Goddess fer Olwen White Track, the season. Yippee!!!!

All righty then. That’s it for Ray’s Round Table this week. Everyone needs to watch out for the Wicker Man, in the guise of the Boy Giant, Goliath. Adieu!

Rayetta's Butterflies - New CB BDS - Chlosyne janais

Tra-la-la, la-de-da. I am pleased to announce that the crimson patch (Chlosyne janais) has arrived at the CB. Yes, a nice big, fresh one. Perhaps this is an ancestor of one of our imported caterpillars. But maybe not. We're taking what She's giving. Tra-la-la, la-de-da.

Just yesterday my brother, you know, Ray, the Sun God trainee, came home from werkin' in the sun. Rayetta, you know what I espied today? I espied this runt of a border patch attempting to fornicate with a crimson patch, at werk.

Then too I found this interesting moth, or muth. So I brought it home. Look Rayetta. It is a sphingid. More specifically, according to Dr. Holland, it is (Pholus fasciatus). I shall put it up on the Carolina jessamine plus purple leather flower trellis and take its picture.






So how about that? The very next day, after Ray's interesting job comment, plus capture of a Sphingid, a crimson patch turns up at the CB. How about that? Tra-la-la, la-de-da. This crimson patch is 2+ - 2+ on the Rayetta scales, fairly large and fairly tame.

Once our newly arrived crimson patch espies all the Anisicanthus we have at the CB, and all the other nice butterfly habitat we have, I am sure it will decide to become a regular among our butterfly fauna, habitating here from this day hence. Tra-la-la, la-de-da.

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Living with the Trickle Down

Among US, these days, and for quite a spell previous to these days, society has been ordered by the trickle down. How does the trickle down operate? Easy that, the US government, or state, allows the super rich to keep most all of their hard-earned incomes, instead of taxing their hard-earned incomes. Then, the super rich, flush with all that cash, spend that cash, or invest that cash. The lucky rest of US, then get some of that cash in the form of trickle down. Here’s an example. A super rich person decides to build another mansion in a remote area. But there are no helicopter pads or airplane runways in the remote area. Plus the roads, utilities and private golf courses in that remote area may be substandard compared to what a super rich person may be used to. So the super rich person must spend cash to purchase all those items. Yep, the super rich must either spend their own cash or convince the government to pay for some of those road and utility items for the sake of progress in the remote area. Yet eventually the super rich person may pay somebody to do some work on the new, another mansion out of his or her own pocket. That pay is the trickle down. That pay check, may either come directly from the coffers of the super rich person, or, that pay check may come from the US government. If the paycheck comes from the US government, the trickle is more properly referred to as, sideways trickle.

These days, the super rich are more cosmopolitan than ever. That means the trickle down is more cosmopolitan than ever. And that also means, anybody, anywhere, no matter how miserable the anybody or anywhere, can potentially, get some. Often, the most miserable anybody, anywhere, can get some, actual trickle down, but more likely, that miserable anybody may get sideways trickle too, in addition to the actual trickle down, or maybe just sideways trickle. The miserable Iraqis, for the nonce, get mostly sideways trickle. Yepper, even the miserable Iraqis, get some.

Now, having considered the trickle down and sideways trickle that the super rich organize for the benefit of US, plus the miserable anybodies, anywhere, let’s consider the effects of trickle down on the old US noggin. The old US noggin (what passes for collective consciousness among US, maybe) is filled with opinions regarding the super rich. Nearly all these opinions revolve around trickle down, specifically, getting some from the super rich.

Getting some from the super rich generally means doing something for the super rich that pleases the super rich. So that places all of US in competition, thinking up stuff that shall ultimately please the super rich. A service, idea or gizmo, or idea/gizmo combo, created by one of US, may result in comparatively abundant trickle down. If that happens, the American dream for that trickle down recipient noggin is realized. That is the wonderful mythology, realized. Or, just holding down a job, getting some from the trickle down stream repetitively, may realize the wonderful mythology for that recipient noggin. Either way, to get some, somehow, the individual noggin, perhaps even considered collectively, must please the super rich.

Uh. I almost forgot about stock. US noggins purchasing stock in their global corporations pleases the super rich very much and may lead to plenty of trickle down. Or maybe not.

Gee whiz! Some noggins may be insulted, controlled thusly by the super rich. These noggins may surmise, to heck with pleasing the super rich. I wish to please, just me. Often, these noggins wind up in prison. Or, these noggins are attached to slackers, lurking in the shadows. Oooooo! That’s pretty scary. Considered globally, there may be quite a few assorted noggins who surmise, I shall not please the super rich, because, pleasing the super rich is against my religion. Druids fall into this latter assorted noggin category.

The Return of the Coolest Beetle Ever

Here again at the CB is the coolest beetle ever. One of these days I shall figure out who this beetle is. Or, maybe not. Failing to figure out who this is, I may need to make up a common name. How about monkey ass or shine beetle?

That's an Atteva moth, or muth, next to the famous shine beetle.

OK. In the past I have slighted the goldenrod, unfairly, out of ignorance. Surely, ignorance is the font of wickedness. But never mind that. As it turns out, the goldenrod is pretty cool when one considers all the plethora of bugs that enjoy themselves on it, just like these twain. Bottoms up, Crumby, the coolest beetle ever is spelling.

Also, Ray, my bosom companion has a thought. Ray.

Thanks Crumby. My thought concerns the supposedly formidable Hymenoptera. As everyone knows, most of the Hymenoptera sting. They fly and sting among other habits. These habits, one might surmise, being able to fly swiftly about and sting, should render the Hymenopteran relatively predation free. Yet I have observed a great mortality among the Hymenopterans from the predation of various invertebrates. They are victimized by robber flies, spiders, even miserable bugs. Mercy!

So next time a Hymenopteran stings you, consider all those other humble invertebrates that would gladly have saved you from that Hymenopteran if only you had given those other invertebrate half a chance. But you did not give them even half a chance. So you got yourself stung. Ha!

Ray’s Thought for the Day - Dr. Paul Again

I can say that my employer, Mr. Red Ears, a very senior Druid Ovate, may endorse Dr. Paul for Presidink uber US. Some of the rest of the Druidry are not so certain. Particularly Crumby and the ladies. Crumby, my bosom companion, seems to feel that Libertarians may be too sissy plus fascist. The ladies, on the other hand, feel they may not be quite sissy enough, plus fascists.

Say, that reminds me. Tucker Carlson may be the only supposed Libertarian actually featured on cable news. Anarchists, like me, are semi-interested in Libertarians, especially the once Libertarian, Dr. Paul. But how does Mr. Tucker fit in? Uh. I like Tucker, but............

That’s Tucker’s line. I like so and so, however, but..................

Ha! Ha! One of the ruling class prerogatives is to get their semi-capable offspring on the TV. Yippee for the class conscious Tucker who likes everyone.

Yet digression is the better part of faunching around. So getting back on task, why is Red considering endorsing Dr. Paul? Easy that, Dr. Paul is the only presidink candidate that cares about US constitutional democracy and is willing to stand up and speechify, fer it. Yet, when Dr. Paul talks, his Nazi scum competitors for the upcoming may be heard mumbling and giggling in the background.

Yes, Dr Paul’s competitors are Nazi scum mumblers and gigglers, one and all. So maybe that’s why Red is considering endorsing Dr. Paul.
_____

Now it is time for Ray’s Actual Thought for the Day.

Many moons ago, at the orphanage, Dr. Swineherd brought twain Guinea Pigs home to the Tabby Lab, our bucolic Druid College that also doubles as an orphanage.

See here Rayetta, and you to Ray, I have brought you twain pet Guinea Pigs. These particular Guinea Pigs are apt to inspire many hours or even days of intellectual stimulation. However, the antics of these Guinea Pigs, no matter how entertaining, must not interfere with your work in the laboratory. So you may only play with your Guinea Pigs, during your 15 minute daily recess. Uh, you can feed them right before you go to bed.

My Guinea Pig developed an affliction known as “wet tail” and died straight away. But Rayetta’s Guinea Pig gave birth. So I got a new Guinea Pig out of that deal. My new Guinea Pig also died straight away. Therefore, I Ray Pistrum, now Sun God Trainee, have sworn off Guinea Pigs.

Rayetta's Butterfies - CB BDS Update - Ceraunus Blue

Well now. I was very busy this past weekend with the CB BDS. Three, or possibly four butterflies new to the CB BDS showed up. One of those four, the panoquin is indicated below, somewhere. Two other ones are currently being sorted to species, Julia's skipper, Eufala skipper, or both. The fourth documentation is an especially tiny one, the Ceraunus blue (Hemiargus ceraunus). This is the tiniest regular butterfly, as opposed to some tiny skippers, to appear in the CB BDS. Tiny and tame, that's 3 - 1 on the Rayetta's scales. Furthermore, this Ceraunus blue provides more information on, what Aster subulatus is good for.

Of interest are the swarms of white-striped longtails. These characters have built up a high population density at the CB. At this nonce, they are possibly the second most common butterfly after the clouded skipper. Hmmm. Maybe they are third, after the dusky blue groundstreak. Anyway, they are everywhere one espies.

A troubling note regarding the white-striped longtail at the CB is the probable larval foodplant. That larval food plant is probably Rhynchosia minima, an aggressive vine that usually requires lots of management in these parts. Yet, a little too much snoutbean may be worth the trouble it causes for the sake of the longtails and their amusing antics.

So, Turns Out, the Big Green Spider is Named Lynx Spider

See, 9/27, the spider's the killer. But no longer. This one, a different green lynx spider than the other one, is guarding its egg sac. Apparently, at this stage, the female, like this one, does not eat. However, this one kicked the bejesus out of a great purple hairstreak that got too close to its egg sac. I found two of these eggs sacs plus guardians today. The other one was too high up to photograph. Both were located in Solidago altissima or Solidago canandensis or whatever that Solidago is named, these days.

Ray’s Round Table

All righty. Today we are fixing to have a round table parley similar to those on Sunday morning TV. In the best tradition of Media Liberal TV, and Media Conservative TV, all my guests, plus me, have incestuous relationships. Today’s round table guests are, Ms. Hope Remains, Ace Reporter, Druid News Service; Dr. Rayetta Pistrum, the Lovely Druidess Rayetta; and my bosom companion, Mr. Crumby Ovate.

All righty. This is a new format for the venue. So what everyone gets to do is spell any opinion or comment that pops into your noggin. If you do not have an opinion or comment then I, Ray Pistrum, Sun God Trainee, shall prompt you with a question. Then, you can comment or share an opinion regarding that question.

Does everyone understand all that? Crumby?

Where’s the round table, Ray?

The round table is figurative, Crumby. Since we are sitting in a circle we shall pretend there’s a round table here in the laboratory. I considered moving the kitchen table in here, but there’s not room. Who wants to go first? OK. Ms. Remains wants to go first.

Yes I do, Ray. Goodness gracious. Paraphrasing the well-known enviro-idiot, M. Chertoff, illegal aliens crapping and littering in pristine areas is the worst you can do to the environment. But grading the pristine area with a bulldozer is comparatively hunky dory. Goodness! Don’t mess on Tejas.

Crumby, I see that you are agitated.

Yepper, I am Ray, agitated. If the illegal aliens are prevented from crapping in pristine areas, what shall the boleros have to do? Those poor beetles, habitating in the pristine areas, shall have no shit to roll. Yet there is always the possibility, that patch hands, laboring on the workover rigs in the pristine areas shall crap enough to sustain the boleros. That’s my hope.

Right, Crumby. Rayetta. Your turn.

Thank you Ray. As everyone knows I have a butterfly feeder, fattening up my butterflies on bananas. Yet, I may be accomplishing more evil than good. Those butterflies, stuffed full of banana, may be more susceptible to predation by illegal aliens like Anolis carolinensis. I have pictorial evidence of just that. Here’s one of my banana stuffed tawny emperors entering the digestive tract of a darn lizard. How about that?

Goodness gracious sakes alive, Rayetta. Couldn’t you rescue your tawny emperor from that arboreal lizard?

No Hope, I couldn’t. That lizard was too high up in the tree for me, and elusive. Plus, just last night, I noticed that another illegal alien lizard, Hemidactylus turcicus, was ambushing the moths, or muths, as they assembled on the bananas. So that feeder imperils the Lepidoptera, day and night.

Land sakes Rayetta. Whatever shall you do?

Well, it is like this, Hope. Some day my acute interest in the butterfly feeder may wane. Once that happens, I shall, based on the data accumulated, produce a scholarly report entitled, Bananas in the Butterfly Feeder, Good or Evil! Everyone shall learn my conclusion, once and for all. Ha!

Mighty fine sis. OK, how did everyone manage during the worst day of the year, Band Day. I did fine, myself, as Hope here can testify. Yepper, my beautiful girlfriend, Hope here, plus my other beautiful girlfriend, Olwen, plus me, post delicious cinnamon bun, all split the scene. Yet Rayetta, you and Crumby endured the racket and noise pollution. How did you do that?

Hmmm. Well Ray, I just kept busy, doing my best to ignore the racket. Crumby wore your ear protectors, then eventually retired to his orgone box. How did that work out Crumby?

With Ray’s ear protectors on, and the lid shut on my orgone box I could barely hear the noise pollution. But then I was afraid I would smother. I had to crack the lid. So then I prayed to the Merciful Goddess for temporary deafness. Then the Merciful Goddess showed pity, and blessed me with a nice long nap. So I’m OK.

Crumby, did you clean up my ear protectors, once you were done using them?

I shall get right on that chore, anon, Ray.

Good. Wipe them down with alcohol. All righty then. Ray’s Round Table is apparently almost out of time. We have just a little while for Rayetta to sum up any new developments in the CB-BDS. Rayetta.

Well Ray, we have an exciting new skipper today. The new skipper may be the dotted-roadside skipper (Amblyscirtes eos). We are fast approaching 70 butterfly species documented for the CB-BDS, DY 1, Praise the Goddess!

All righty then. On that spell, Ray’s Round Table is adjourned. Watch out for the Wicker Man!

Rayetta’s Butterflies, New to the CB BDS - Ocola Skipper (Panoquina ocola)

No Crumby! I have work to do here.

But Rayetta, I am too sensitive. How can I live through all this noise pollution?

Hmmm. Listen Crumby! They have toned it down this year. It is not as bad as in years’ past. So you shall just have to put up with the noise pollution. Tell you what, Crumby. All you need is a little job to help take your mind off the noise pollution. You can help me monitor the Helianthus maximiliana, oddity of nature, for butterflies. I am pretty sure we shall find a new butterfly today, on the H. max. Also Crumby, you can wear Ray’s ear protector. But if you see me attempting to communicate with you, you shall immediately take that ear protector off. I am too busy to put up with those,

I caint here ye, Rayetta,

highjinks you like to pull. All righty then. Do you understand all that, Crumby?

Yes maam.

Good. Now get all the gear together. Get Lleu Llaw to help carry it. Then we shall all head out to the east pasture.

All righty then.

Later.

Goodness! There’s a new one already. That is a panoquin, or I am not the Lovely Druidess Rayetta. Buzz click. Buzz click. Buzz click. Buzz click. Buzz click. Buzz click. Buzz click. There now. I am heading back to the laboratory to check these out. You two stay here. I shall return anon. Keep your eyes peeled for additional newcomers, Crumby.

What?

Crumby!

Er. No, no, no! I got Ray’s ear protectors off, Rayetta. See! They are off. What am I supposed to do?

You and Lleu Llaw shall stay here, monitoring for butterflies, and I shall return anon.

Yes maam.

Later.

These are all pretty good. This one shall do for the venue. Ocola skipper 2- - 1- on the Rayetta scales, smallish and fairly tame.

Crumby - The Worst Day of the Year

This is the worst day of the year, fer me, Day 260, DY 1. How come? Easy that, the noise pollution reaches crescendo, both for loud and duration. No, I am not off to the annual OU-TU tussle. That racket would be preferable to what I may be fixing to endure, because the OU-TU tusssle racket only lasts a few hours. This particular racket, now resounding in these parts (8:10 AM), shall last all day, and into the night time, maybe. This noise pollution and racket shall be so loud, so intrusive, that I may easily discern this particular noise pollution even over the racket of the OU-TU tussle on the TV, volume turned up, AC at deep freeze setting.

Yepper, it is Band Day at the Burger Center. Hear them! Yep, the young music scholars are already furiously banging drums, over yonder. Soon, the first discordant blaaaaaaaaaaaaaat of the day shall accompany the furious drum banging. Boom, boom, boom, rat-a-tat, blaaaaaaaaaaaat.

Eventually, all the young music scholars in all the marching bands from these general parts shall have assembled. Each marching band shall have a long turn at: Boom, boom, boom, rat-a-tat, blaaaaaaaaaaaat. Mercy!

Apart from the noise pollution, provided free to everyone within earshot, the purpose of Band Day may be like a contest. Like which band or bands, does the most sensational, boom, boom, boom, rat-a-tat, blaaaaaaaaaaaat.

Having endured many an annual Band Day, personally, I would enjoy a little more variety in the noise pollution. Each Band Day should have a theme. Perhaps, considering political sentiment in the Republic of Tejas, for the next annual Band Day, all the band directors might teach their young music scholars to goose step. They would have a whole year to teach those musically inclined scholars to play instruments and goose step simultaneously. Whoa! I would stick cotton in my ears to see that action, once.

Alternatively, I may not be fixing to endure the annual Band Day noise pollution. I may split the scene. Er. Rayetta, want to go somewhere and look for butterflies and take me?

Rayetta's Butterflies - New CB Documentation

Ha! The Julia heliconian (Dryas julia) has at last visited the CB. Plus, I got a documentation picture. There were two Julias, but alas, I could only get a picture of one of them. This is a large, nervous butterfly. That's 1 - 3 on the Rayetta scales.

Ray's Thought for the Day - An Oddity of Nature

As everyone but the ecologically inert knows, a great abundance of rain fell in these parts during the first DY 1 growing season. The plants, as an effect, grew and grew. Some of them, as they grew and grew, flopped over.

Ray! Can we take a picture of this oddity of nature?

Course we can, Crumby. It is my turn with the camera.

All righty then. Let us take a picture of these Maximilian sunflowers by all means that have flopped over.

Er. Crumby, those are mighty long stems and the diameter of the whole affair must be nigh on to 20 cubits. However shall we get it all in the picture.?

Er. I know Ray. We need some elevation. I shall fetch Lleu Llaw and Lleu Llaw shall fetch the semi-trusty step ladder to this location.

All righty then Crumby. I shall await your return to this location, anon.

Later.

I have returned Ray, despite many afflictions, both physical and mental. Here also, as you espy him, is Lleu Llaw Guffes, Lion of the Steady Hand, my loyal servant, with our step ladder in his steady hand.

All righty then. How shall we proceed, comrades? How shall we position our step ladder most efficaciously so that I may then ascend on high with a view to photographing this monstrous strange plant or group of plants?

Master Crumby, and Ray, Sun God Trainee, if I may spell so, this spot looks likely for it is the very spot that has fickle Ogma behind, yet also affords a clear view of yon odd vegetation.

Set it down then Lleu Llaw, at that very spot, and I shall ascend. Yet as I ascend, keep your steady hand on the ladder. That ladder can be tricky.

Yes Lleu Llaw, keep the ladder steady. For great evil may afflict my bosom companion should he topple off the ladder and break Rayetta's camera.

Fear not, I shall lay my steady hand upon the ladder, Master Crumby.

I shall ascend then heavenward, Lleu Llaw, if yer grip is firm.

It is now, indeed, firm. Fear not, Ray.

Take a bunch of pictures of it, Ray.

All righty then, Crumby. Here I go.

Later.

Man, these wide angle nature pictures are miserable. Well, looks like this is the best one, Crumby.

I agree Ray. Hopefully everyone shall be able to tell from the picture how the stems all flopped over and the flowers are all secund and pointed up at the tips of the stems.

Rayetta’s Lepidoptera - Ray and the Sphingids

It’s me, Ray, Sun God Trainee, fluffing up my sister’s CB Lepidoptera documentation. Here’s a moth, or muth, I chanced upon while it was relatively inert. Er. This one’s a sphingid, all righty then, but which one. So I took its picture, then headed back to the laboratory to compare the picture I took to Dr. Holland’s plates and spells.

This moth, or muth, is most similar in appearance to two of Dr. Holland’s moths, or muths. These two are Protoparce sexta and Protoparce occulta = carolina. According to Dr. Holland, white spots dorsally on the abdomen were considered an important key character delineating these taxa in those days. My sphingid lacks white spots on the abdomen.

Dr. Holland also apparently examined the tongues of various members of the genus Protoparce. The tongue of members of this genus, Protoparce, is, in both sexes, at least as long as the body. So these Protoparce moths, or muths, are likely capable of licking out the very deepest of corolla throats or bottoms in these parts. Like for example, this Protoparce could easily stick its tongue all the way down a Bignonia radicans floral tube.

The caterpillar of this moth, or muth, is one of the familiar yet unpopular tomato hornworms.

Rayetta's Butterflies - My Butterfly Feeder Revisited

Crumby! It's not a toofer cave. It's a gum cave. You no longer have that toofer. That toofer can not have a cave in it. Jeez Louise!

That is correct, Rayetta.

Hmmm. I just needed to comment on Crumby's previous. Jeez Louise!

Anyway. One of the perils of butterfly feeding is having the provender stolen nocturnally. To help sort this peril out, try chopping the rotten fruit into such small portions that a nasty noser shall lack the ability to haul off the rotten fruit, expeditiously. That's my advice. Chop it up. You won't be sorry.

Remember, in my camera review, presented previously, I spelled that I would never buy another camera that did not have a fully articulated LCD. That potential new camera must also have live view.
This picture shows why. Shutter speed on this shot is 1/15. All I had to do was rest my arms on the picnic table and compose using live view to get this shot of this goatweed leafwing. If I had been quicker, I could have also gotten a shot of this goatweed leafwing enjoying the pear.

Note that the pear is not chopped up, an oversight on my part. Now, if I could just get a picture of the tropical leafwing at my butterfly feeder.

Crumby Spells - Whut the heck?

Here I am, a hapless victim of lying, gluttony and imperialism. Specifically, I do not have a job. So I am a victim of joblessness or unemployment. A person of my sensitivities, you may see, can not work with Republicans, for Goddess Sakes, let alone, for a Republican. So obviously, I am too crazy to work.

Few may follow the logical sequence in the preceeding. But that's OK. I don't mind. Spells are like that, not for everyone.

Since I do not have a job, I have plenty of time for other stuff. Like today, I spent quite a bit of time reflecting upon the absence of any pain in my new toofer cave. I was pretty well used to it aching occasionally. So today, when my new toofer cave didn't ache, for a change, I found the absence of minor pain, fairly interesting.

But not as intersting as this picture Raymone was kind enough to take, fer me. This picture features a cocoon on an Indiangrass leaf, and some Indiangrass seeds stuck to the cocoon. Whoever, built this cocoon had to put some serious torque on that Indiangrass leaf to get it to bend over like that, pendecho. These cocoons also turn up on little bluestem leaves plus the leaves of Leptoloma cognatum, the mysterious fall witch grass, which gets a new scientific name every six weeks.

Yepper, I am more than a little curious about what lives in these interesting cocoons. I have opened two of them up, but both times, the tenant was out. Perhaps I shall never discover what constructs these cocoons. Yet I shall keep trying. It beats working for a Republican.