Philosophical question

Although one might ponder, "Agatestone. How in the world did you cause that Butternut Squash to catch on fire?", I think a better question would be, "Agatestone, how have you gone so long without catching a Butternut Squash on fire?"

Dear Reader...

If you happen to find yourself in Tel Aviv, Jeruselem, or really anywhere in Israel, I would be eternally grateful if you were to run into a grocery store and pick up some, yes, Israeli Nesquik. It's a sad day in Agatestoneland, as I have finished my last canister of Israeli Nesquik. And I need more. No, I don't need more, I NEED more. Desperately. Longingly. Excrutiatingly. Israeli Nesquik is like crack to me.

Remember the Starsky and Hutch episode where the bad guys got Hutch addicted to Heroin and Starsky had to get him clean. Hutch was all sweaty and shaky and moaning, and Starsky kept feeding him candy bars, as they hid out in the local friendly pimp's hotel. Well, that's how I feel. Except, well, I am not sweaty or shaky, I'm not moaning, I haven't eaten any candy bars, and I'm not hiding out in the local friendly pimp's hotel. But otherwise, I feel just like poor Hutch.

Good or Not So Good

Good: mint chocolate chip ice cream topped with hot fudge

Not so good: vegan mint chocolate mousse

They're both filled with chocolatey and minty goodness, yet, the mousse was unpleasant.

Morris Dancing.

I recently saw an outdoor practice exhibition of the ancient art of Morris Dancing. And I have one question to post at you, dear reader. What is is about Morris Dancing that causes at least one barefoot Morris Dancer to abandon her practice mid-frolic and begin running madly in the street, chasing cars and bicyclists? All this while wearing kneepads with bells on them.

Are they being sarcastic?

I just purchased a CD from an independent online store. One where you can get obscure music unavailable to mainstream music sellers such as Amazon or iTunes. I want to share with you the confirmation letter I received after placing my order:

Your CD has been gently taken from our CD Baby shelves with
sterilized contamination-free gloves and placed onto a satin pillow.

A team of 50 employees inspected your CD and polished it to make sure
it was in the best possible condition before mailing.

Our packing specialist from Japan lit a candle and a hush fell over
the crowd as he put your CD into the finest gold-lined box that money
can buy.

We all had a wonderful celebration afterwards and the whole party
marched down the street to the post office where the entire town of
Portland waved "Bon Voyage!" to your package, on its way to you, in
our private CD Baby jet on this day, Sunday, September 9th.

I hope you had a wonderful time shopping at CD Baby. We sure did. Your picture is on our wall as "Customer of the Year." We're all
exhausted but can't wait for you to come back to CDBABY.COM!!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Sigh...

--
Derek Sivers, president, CD Baby
the little store with the best new independent music

As I know next to nothing about this turtle, besides his name, Diego, I really have nothing to say about him. We met last weekend. Here's a photo of his wife/husband/offspring/cousin, Gordon, admiring a waterlily.


Here's a closeup of Gordon, posing for the camera:


It's a little-known fact, but my cousin the Chocolate Whisperer is a closet turtleologist who could help us further explain who these turtles are. Although, after consulting wikipedia, I have learned, hopefully correctly, that turtles who live in brackish water are called terrapins. As the water surrounding Gordon's manhole cover and Diego's log was exceptionally brackish, perhaps Gordon and Diego are terrapins. Who knows? Actually, I know someone who may know, the Chocolate Whisperer.