Random Mischief

Too Much of a Good Thing?

I have been up to some marketing/pantry mischief.  It’s something I like to revisit from time to time, not only to annoy the humans, but to keep my hand in.

Our mischief for today involves those little nuggets of delight known as dried cranberries.

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Sigyn loves them.  And she is quite excited to learn that this package had 20% more!  Evidently the humans have already opened it and begun to enjoy them.

But the humans have the memories and attention spans of gnats, so when I put cranberries on the shopping list, they thought they needed them.  And when they looked in the pantry, I made sure they didn’t see the already open package.  So they bought another one!

And opened it.

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By my estimation, they now have about 60% more, since neither package is full.  But not for free.

And because when you look up “gullible” in the dictionary there is a picture of the human female, I was able to pull this entire stunt again.

Behold!

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Next week, I try for four.

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More Suspect Seasonal Decor

There is NO END IN sight.  If it can be tarted up for the upcoming holiday, there are decorations for it (whether they make sense or not.)

Want to make your cookies or cupcakes a little more festive?

Behold!  Sugar and dye, ready to hand.

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Because nothing says, “Happy Spring” like candy severed bunny heads.

Does your mantel or end table need a fake lagomorph covered in faux bryophytes?

If so, you’re in luck!

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Uh, Sigyn, you may not want to hug that thing.  I mean, I hope those are meant to be mossy topiaries, but what if they’re back stock of  unsold chocolate rabbits from last year?

Oh.  The label says “DEC POLYRESIN BUNNY.”  So, plastic.  Or is “DEC” short for “deceased”????

Moving on.

If you are on the hunt for something soft and cuddly, something to love and cherish, something that epitomizes all the whimsy and gentleness of the season,

there

is

always

that

rare and

adorable creature

known as the

unnamed

bunny sloth.

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Out on the Town, Trying to Pick Up Chicks

The local markets have been full of all the trippings and trappings of the annual Eater Bunny celebration for well over a month now.  Sigyn and the human female like to stop to squee over all the “cute” things.  I have tagged along on today’s shopping trip,  just to curb their enthusiasm and make sure that not too much junk follows them home.*

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Really, dearest?  You want four bright yellow fluffy fake fowlettes with seriously beady eyes?  I know you think they’re cute, but I simply cannot imagine anything sillier.

Except perhaps a six-pack…

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Or the pastel jobbies in the background.

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*It’s my personal theory that the inferior “chocolate” used in seasonal molded rabbits gives off fumes that make mortals susceptible to the lures of plush animals in colors not found in nature, misshapen marshmallow birds, shredded cellophane, stale jelly beans, dyed wicker, and blown-out eggs filled with confetti and malice.

A Little Night Botany

I will give the human female this:  there is one facet of her existence in which both her botanical skills and her sloth (by which I mean her laziness, not the stuffed representative of the Xenarthra which resides on the sofa) have paid off.  When the humans first moved into the house (back in the Mesozoic), the female noticed a few pink evening primroses in the weedy lawn.  Subscribing to the theory that most wildflowers are pleasing to have about the place, she mowed around them.  Less lawn to mow, and all that.

She continued with this regimen in subsequent years, with the result that the front lawn now looks like this:

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I took that photo a bit ago. They’ve actually filled in a bit since then.  It’s by far the most gaudy and profligate display on the street.

Tonight, feeling in a bit of science-ish mode, the human female has taken her little black-light flashlight and come out to see if the flowers have any markings visible in UV light.  According to her, some flowers do, since many pollinating insects can see UV light.  These markings can serve as nectar guides, etc., etc., [insert long string of botanese.]

At any rate, here we are.  Flashlight on, and…

By Odin’s rotten depth-perception!  Boost me up, mortal, so that I may better see!  Observe:  there are no specific markings, but the flowers themselves glow brightly under UV, while the surrounding foliage appears dark.

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Under strong, directional UV, they fairly glow.

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Come look, Sigyn!

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Just don’t lean in too far —you know how hard it is to get pollen out of your hair!

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I Don’t See Mint *OR* A Spring, Part I: It’s Very Flowery Here

The human female hasn’t been doing a lot of field botany because she’s still having trouble with her feet.   Or that’s what she *says,* anyway.  Personally, I think she’s just to rotund to move anymore.

Nevertheless, she happened to have a meeting today in a part of town that is not too far from an area she knows can be lush in the spring, so we are stopping for a quick look.  It’s called Minter Spring.  Minter than what?  Is there a plain Mint Spring somewhere?  Is there a Mintest Spring a little further down the road??  I do not know.  Place names in this part of Midgard are so silly that there’s no telling.

So here we are.  The soil is very sandy.  The plants here are ones that like living in a place that’s like a beach with no water.  (That’s right. No water— I don’t see any actual spring.)

This is pointed phlox.  I think that particular obnoxious shade of pinky-purple is not otherwise found in nature.  (And that’s a good thing.)

phlox

But Sigyn doesn’t seem to mind.

Sometimes Sigyn needs a boost to look at the flowers properly.  The human female says this next one is called “drum-and-sand warts.”  That can’t be right.  She’s wearing a hat, but maybe she needs sunscreen and some shade.  Perhaps the warm spring sun has scrambled what passes for her brain.

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Or maybe she’s just drunk.  Can’t rule that one out.

Just to show you how DUMB Midgardian names can be, this next one is called “blue-eyed grass.”

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It’s not a grass, it doesn’t have EYES, and the flowers dry purple.  But the flowers on the phlox dry blue, so I suppose it all evens out.

Oooo!  The female says the blue-eyed grass is a very naughty plant and does not transplant into the home garden very well.  Also, the three or four species in this part of Midgard like to play botanical footsie with one another– so much so that it can be impossible to tell what species most plants are!  There are almost no plants of pure lineage.   A race of color-shifting, uncooperative, bastard posies.  I approve!

Sigyn is very fond of daisies.  This particular one is called daisy fleabane.

fleabane

Supposedly, strewn about the house, it is will keep fleas away.  Hey!  I think the human female has fleas–we should pick some for her!

Which might be harder than it sounds…

fleabane2

Stuck.

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Oops. We Both Goofed, Part II: Afters

You wouldn’t think that after all of that babagawhatsit, chicken, vegetables, rice, barberries, bread, and assorted chlorophyllous greenstuff, we wouldn’t have room for anything else, but you’d be wrong!

Mortals usually are.

We have brought home a package of what purports to be dessert.  The human female can’t have any, but we sure can!  I can’t read half of this, though, Sigyn, can you?

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Cookies made out of peas?  Are you sure that’s a good idea?  Or wait–it says “chickpeas.”  Is that a typo?  Is it chicken and peas?  Frankly, that sounds even worse!

poke, poke, poke.  Should cookies be crumbly and sandy?

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I don’t trust them.

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Oops. We Both Goofed, Part I: Making Up for It

Sigyn and I were so busy traipsing about after the humans in the Big City to the South, hauling things in and out of bookstores, playing hide-and-seek in pen emporia, slurping noodles, and frolicking among the produce that we BOTH forgot that the 28th was our Anniversary!

We are making up for that now by having a lovely dinner at the local Lebanese restaurant.  It’s not much for atmosphere, being a small family-run place, but the food is usually first-rate.

We’re starting with what must be one of the most unlikely dishes in this realm.  Take a large, blackish-purple vegetable with no taste of its own, roast it until it turns completely black and smells like burning luggage, then smash it up and add unconscionable quantities of oil, sesame paste, and Frigga knows what-all.

And it turns into this.  Babaga-something-or-other.

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Just because I can’t remember how to SPELL it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate its smoky, smashy goodness.

Time for the main course!   Grilled chicken and veggies on skewers (pointy things–I approve!),  yummy flat bread, and fluffy rice with saffron and…  and…

What are those red things, Sigyn?

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Ah. Right.  Barberries.  Fluffy rice with saffron and barberries.  Perfect.

I don’t know about this green stuff, though.  Green is great, yes, but what is this for?  How am I supposed to eat it?  No one has ever been able to tell me.

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Sigyn says that chewing on the parsley after eating the meal will make your breath sweet, that chlorophyll is a natural breath-freshener.  I wouldn’t know — I’ve never kissed a cow.

I’ve decided that this dinner will be the mortals’ present to us.

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That means this is theirs.

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