A Mormon Cricket crosses the road. Photo from Reno Gazette-Journal and The Wall Street Journal.
Some of you may know that I have a hatred of crickets. I wouldn’t call it a phobia, that implies my hatred is unreasonable. No, I hate them for very good and rational reasons. Mostly my problem is that they jump. And they’re as likely to jump right at you as away.
It’s a good thing I don’t live in Nevada. I saw a story in The Wall Street Journal this week describing an actual plague of a species called the Mormon Cricket, famous for swarming in very large numbers in the springtime. The poor residents of small towns in the Nevada desert have quite a problem to contend with:
In flyspeck villages like Tuscarora, crickets are a serious matter. The critters hatch in April in the barren soil of northern Nevada, western Utah and other parts of the Great Basin, quickly growing into blood-red, ravenous insects more than 2 inches long.
Then they march. In columns that in peak years can be two miles long and a mile across, swarms move across the badlands in search of food. Starting in about May, they march through August or so, before stopping to lay eggs for next year and die.
In between, they make an awful mess. They destroy crops and lots of the other leafy vegetation. They crawl all over houses, and some get inside. “You’ll wake up and there’ll be one sitting on your forehead, looking at you,” says Ms. Moore.
They swarm on roads, where cars turn them into slicks that can cause accidents. So many dead ones piled up on a highway last year that Elko County, Nev., called in snowplows to scrape them off.
I’m quite sure I’d be moving out for the duration. At least our local insect plague of locusts only happens once every seventeen years! The Journal reports that insecticide is only intermittently effective against such numbers. The only thing that seems to really help is sound, specifically blasting heavy metal music at the critters to get them to move on. Seems they really don’t care for Led Zeppelin and AC/DC.
Hmm, does that mean I have something in common with a cricket? Perish the thought.
So here we are, it’s April 28, and the forecast high today is… 93 degrees.
What’s wrong with this picture?
My tulips, which just came into full bloom on Friday, are frying in the heat. Mark and I are running around with garden hoses as though it were July. We’re running the air conditioner around the clock with the shades drawn to keep out the hot sun. I have such a sense of dislocation as I look out the window. Experiencing this heat when the leaves aren’t even fully out feels very strange.
I distract myself by watching the birds, who are deep into their springtime dramas by now. Who needs a soap opera or reality TV show when I can watch the daily action of the birds?
The House Wrens arrived last week, and a male has already claimed our garden as his own. Not without a fight, I’m afraid. On Sunday he had to battle with a late arriving male. The two of them chased each other around and around, whizzing through shrubbery and circling the tree where the little Wren house hangs at top speed. Because all Wrens look alike to me (sorry), I’m not sure who won, the original bird or the latecomer. But now there’s a solitary male once more singing his lungs out throughout the day. I’ve seen one female check out the house so far, but she was non-committal. Very cool, these House Wren females. I can’t tell yet whether she’s decided to take up residence or hold out for a better offer.
The Catbirds moved back into their summer quarters on Monday. I was delighted to see their sleek Cary Grant selves hopping around in the vegetable plot, eating ants. And we have also welcomed our usual spring migrants. The White-throated Sparrows and Eastern Towhees visit every April, but move on by the end of May.
I saw an interesting bit of courting behavior among the Cardinals a few days ago. A young male who’s moved into the garden was singing to a female on a fence line. As I watched, a second female darted down, swooping close to the male and perching on a post just above him. She began to sing a song I’ve only heard males sing before. Then she enticed him to a nearby tree, away from the hapless first female. As he watched, the new female sang softly but continuously while gracefully stretching out first one wing, then the other. Then her tail feathers. The whole performance reminded me of an alluring fan dance.
Doesn’t it figure? On the first day of meteorological spring (March 1) we get the biggest snow of at least two years. By the time we went to bed last night it looked like Norway outside, with snow blowing sideways and everything covered in sticky white snow. This was the view out to our patio table:
The Wall Street Journal has a list of the nations with the highest energy consumption per capita. Would you be able to guess the top ten? I would have guessed only two, myself. And oh by the way, the U.S. is not number one. Or even in the top five, for that matter. Wall Street Journal Tables on Energy Consumption
And also, Chris Martin of Coldplay gave a charming interview on 60 Minutes last night. I’m going to be so crushed if this band ever gets into the headlines with Oasis-type shenanigans. But that doesn’t seem very likely. Proof that popularity and quality are not mutually exclusive.
Mark and I went to a great concert Wednesday night. Thievery Corporation has been playing five sold out shows at Washington’s 9:30 Club this week. They’re a local DC duo at the core, Rob Garza and Eric Hilton. However they perform and tour with a larger band set-up that includes multiple vocalists, guitar, sitar, bass and a small horn section. We’ve followed their music since the mid-nineties, and one of the reasons I love their sound is that they draw on a huge number of musical influences. On any given album you can hear sixties bossa nova, reggae, Brazilian, Indian and downtempo electronica sounds. Among other things.
Plus they are true independents. The ironic name is in keeping with their fierce determination to NOT be a corporate product. So along with creating their music, the two run their own independent music label, ESL Music. I like most of the bands on the label, and would encourage you to give any of them a try. They take the whole independence thing quite seriously, and the one aspect of the band I’m not so crazy about is their fondness for revolutionary imagery in their marketing. Personally, I don’t find Che Guevara at all a romantic figure, but hey. It’s their party.
The best way to hear their sound is to go to the Thievery Corporation MySpace page, which has song files and several videos all in one place. Just as a sample, here’s a video of a song from their newest album, “Radio Retaliation”:
Today is our first measurable snowfall of the season. We’ve managed to escape with mere dustings so far this winter, while all around us the rest of the country seems to have had more than their share. My family up in Rochester, NY have had about 80 inches so far, but then they expect that sort of thing up there. Around here I’m far more afraid of other drivers than of the road conditions. We have too many residents with shaky driving skills who grew up in warm places where it never snows. Like Centerville, Virginia.
My friend Jamie has been keeping me updated on all important cat-related news (thanks, Jamie!). Yesterday she posted a link to a story in the Christian Science Monitor about a new business concept in Japan: Cat Cafes. Apparently there are enough cat-loving people working long hours and living in tiny apartments to support a sort of rent-a-cat service. They pay upwards of $8 an hour to go hang out with the kitties who reside at the cafe. Don’t you love it?
Back to work today after being down last week with a very nasty cold. Sorry for not posting, but I was completely busy blowing my nose for five days.
I was up way too late last night watching a film I haven’t seen for ages. “Bedazzled,” starring Dudley Moore and Peter Cook. Peter Cook is the Devil, who persuades nebbishy fry cook Stanley Moon (Dudley Moore) to sell him his soul for seven wishes. Of course, none of the wishes turn out the way Stanley intends. Somehow the Devil always finds a loophole that sucks all the pleasure out of the wish. For example, Stanley wishes to be desired by women. So the Devil turns him into a pop star with hordes of screaming girl fans. But then the Devil shows up as a newer and even more popular performer who effortlessly takes all the girls’ attention away.
I had seen it years ago on a terrible print but remembered it as clever and funny. Thanks to modern digital TV, the print last night was brilliant and looked brand spanking new. I got sucked it and wound up watching the whole thing, way past my bedtime.
Check it out:
They re-made the film in 2000 with Elizabeth Hurley as the Devil and Brendan Fraser as the poor shlub who is her victim. It was also pretty good. Elizabeth Hurley has such fun being evil, you have to love her.
Back to work this week, after a grand holiday season. Christmas was quiet and very enjoyable after a busy, busy fall. New Year’s was even better, with me tagging along as happy arm candy while Mark worked as producer and director of NPR’s New Year’s Eve broadcast, Toast of the Nation.
I’ve been to New York several Januaries now. (This was not Mark’s first New Year’s broadcast). Yet I’m always surprised how cold the city can be, temperature-wise. The people I find quite warm. I think sometimes New Yorkers have the reputation for being harsh and unfriendly, it’s not true at all. They’re fast-moving, but quite open with visitors. I still can’t get over how much more livable the city seems nowadays than in the 1980s when I first began visiting. Back then I remember running around on the upper west side, near Riverside Drive. The apartment buildings were grand and gracious, but many cars parked on the street bore signs saying, “No Radio In This Car.” I haven’t seen anything like that in years.
I had to trek through the Times Square subway station on New Year’s Eve, but it was a controlled bustle. Tons of city and transit police out keeping a jaded eye on things. Wind chills were in the teens that night– I thought the folks on their way to stand in the cold out at Times Square were insane. I was on my way to the nice cozy club where the broadcast was hailing from: The Mingus Big Band, live at The Jazz Standard. I felt like I was truly where it was at that night. Poor Mark, meanwhile, was out in a drafty sound truck parked in front of the club, directing the show with voices from NPR in Washington filling in his ears. He promptly came down with a nasty cold once we got home!
A highlight of my trip was a visit to the Iyengar Yoga Institute of New York. The studio is a lovely, airy space up on the eleventh floor of a building in Chelsea. I was there on a clear windy day and enjoyed a class with one of their senior teachers, Bobbie Clennell. She taught a restorative class for Level III students that was a revelation to me. I’d never taken a restorative class that wasn’t also a gentle class, suitable for beginners. We did a lot of intense supported backbends that had a tremendous opening effect on my shoulders and chest. I have immediately introduced several of them into my home practice. Another pose was supported headstand using the rope wall in the studio. We hung with our hips supported by the ropes for more than five minutes so our heads were in mid-air. Exhilarating!
Now it’s back to my quiet mat at home. No rope wall, but I’m content. I have a quiet space with an open wall, and I make my own steady progress. I had a list of goals for my practice in 2008 that were mostly met. Time to make new plans now that it’s 2009.
Mid-November always makes me want to curl up with a good book. Preferably a scary book. My mental soundtrack in this season is the winter concerto from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Just picture me in an armchair with a reading lamp over my shoulder listening to the rain outside.
Perhaps it’s perverse of me, but at this time of year I love reading something that will give me a chill in keeping with the dreary weather outside. I’ve just begun reading Roald Dahl’s Book of Ghost Stories. It’s a collection of stories collected by Dahl, rather than written by him. You may remember Dahl for some of his own creepy stories, like “Lamb to the Slaughter.” Since I’ve just begun this book, I don’t know yet whether it will join the list of favorite short-story collections I go back to year after year. Here’s short list of my loves:
The October Country, by Ray Bradbury
Bradbury is a master at creating and sustaining an eerie atmosphere. All the stories are wonderful, but my favorite is “Skeleton,” about a man who becomes obsessed with his own.
The Oxford Book of English Ghost Stories, ed. by Michael Cox and R.A. Gilbert
This has lots of all-time classics, including the most chilling ghost story every written, “The Monkey’s Paw,” by W.W. Jacobs. It’s the all-time best illustration of the old saying, “Be careful what you wish for.”
The Bone Key, by Sarah Monette
This is a recent book of linked stories by Monette, who writes in a wonderfully antiquated gothic style. The tales are connected by a single protagonist, an archivist who works in a mysterious library-museum, who has a sensitivity to the strange and uncanny.
The Bloody Chamber, by Angela Carter
An oldie but a goody, this book came out in 1979. Not actually ghost stories, these are retellings of classic fairy tales in a much darker vein than normal.
What do you like to read when the weather turns dreary? I’d love to get some suggestions for my nightstand once I finish the Dahl collection.
I'm a writer, healthcare consultant and yoga teacher. My hobbies are cooking, gardening, blogging and books.