From a recent issue of The New Yorker. Artist: Zach Kanin.

I Hate Leaf Blowers.

I've complained before, mildly, about leaf blowers. Well the days of mild complaints have long ended and now I'm an obnoxious, opinionated, out-spoken enemy of these horrible devices.

I will make begrudging allowances for people who have to clear away vast expanses of lawn in public places. The Mall in DC comes to mind. They probably don't have that many leaves but I grant that it's possibly quicker to use blowers in those settings. And the young strapping men usually hired to do such work like to play with them, just as they like to play with guns and other phallic-like items, so they probably do a better job than they would with rakes.

And there are some older people who believe they are being gentler to their bodies by using leaf blowers, so go ahead if you must. Frankly I'm not convinced that it's any more gentle to lug around an electric blower than to brandish a rake but I have no evidence that I'm right.

But for most homeowners or business owners I say get rid of those evil devices and pick up a rake or broom (or hire someone to do that).

I hate leaf blowers because they are:
1. Noisy. Painfully so.
2. Messy. All the leaf mold spores and dust and bits of leaves that get tossed up into the air we breath can NOT be good for us. Not to mention the chemicals that the homeowner may have applied to their lawn. Another thing I hate. Lawn chemicals.
3. Time-consuming. I am positive that it doesn't save any time to use a leaf blower, especially if you live, as I do, some place where you have to dispose of your own leaves. Your options are bagging them up for the trash/recycling crews to pick up or composting them, which is what we do. And is of course what I think everyone should do. Because it takes absolutely no time to maintain; pile up the leaves and walk away. That's it. (Man, I've got at least three rants I could include in this one but I won't.)
4. Resource-wasting. Obvious. They use gasoline or electricity. Boo-hiss.
5. Polluting. The devices themselves must be recycled when they inevitably break down or burn up (which just happened to my neighbor and is why I sat down right now to write this pent-up rant). So what happens when they are discarded? They end up on the coast of some poor nation -- India, Brazil, Ghana -- where children sift through trash piles of hazardous materials.

So there it is. I'm sorry if I've offended anyone. I don't really want to make anyone feel guilty. Truly. But since I can't say all of this to my neighbors -- I have said much of it, and yet they still speak to me! -- I felt the need to lay it all out there.

And I think I violated only one of the Thanksgiving rules I posted earlier today. Rule 2: Speak without accusing.

Image from here. A blog I'll have to check out later.

Thanksgiving is a good time to make changes. I found this in my inbox today so here's my new creed.

1. Listen without interrupting
2. Speak without accusing
3. Give without sparing
4. Answer without arguing
5. Share without pretending
6. Enjoy without complaint
7. Trust without wavering
8. Forgive without punishing
9. Promise without forgetting

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Perplexing bumper stickers seen in Maryland.

I recognize Don Quixote in the lower right and possibly a cross in the upper left but what does all of this mean?? Random images or a single coherent message?

Surprising story about mozzarella.

I like the opening paragraph to this very interesting article.

Buffalo mozzarella is the Great White Whale of American cheesemaking: a dream so exotic and powerful that it drives otherwise sensible people into ruinous monomaniacal quests. Despite all the recent triumphs of our country’s foodie movement (heirloom-turkey-sausage saffron Popsicles; cardamom paprika mayonnaise foam), no one in the United States has, as of yet, figured out how to recreate precisely this relatively simple Old World delicacy — a food with essentially one ingredient (buffalo milk) that is made every day in Italy. Over the last 15 years, in fact, the attempt to make authentic buffalo mozzarella — to nail both its taste and texture — has destroyed businesses from Vermont to Los Angeles. It seems truly doomed. “A Polar wind blows through it,” Melville might have written about it, if he had been a food writer, “and birds of prey hover over it.”

The photo is by Peter Bohler, and I hope he doesn't mind that I posted it here. I believe that "fair use" applies to a one-time use on a barely read blog. 

The Red Elephant up the street re-appears. And now I know it's a political statement.

I've been keeping my eye on, and posting pictures of, this interesting little house for years. Here, here, and here.

Best tweet ever!

@GarryShandling - If you're head of the CIA and can't hide an extramarital affair it means it can't be done. Case closed, fellas.

Kitten playing, displaying his amazing nervous system. Adult Lady Cat tolerating.

A fried green tomato. We had our first true frost last night so I picked the few that remained.

Sweet Georgette definitely tolerates, and sometimes enjoys, Clarence.